whatisay: (Basic - Sprawl)
Jason Compson IV ([personal profile] whatisay) wrote2015-04-07 06:55 pm
Entry tags:

PSL: Quentin's Funeral

Capitol funerals are oleaginous with wealth. Today they assemble to commemorate Quentin Compson not just with tears, but with commissioned oil paintings, fireworks, an orchestra playing some lugubrious dirge, with wines ages two hundred years and flowers genetically engineered to have the deceased's initials appearing naturally on each petal. The young man's body is no longer a matter of sodden, lifeless flesh but ash compressed into a shimmering jewel, set at the middle of a wreath of designer oleander at the base of a portrait picturing him more present than any who knew him ever saw him. The painted eyes look aware, like they're taking in every detail around them, while in life Quentin always seemed a step out of time, thinking of something else, half-listening to the conversation.

Jason, fifteen years old, hasn't seen his father sober since the older Jason went to identify the wax-white, water-bloated corpse in the mortuary. This Jason, in a new suit with a tag on the back of his shirt that itches his neck, had stayed home with his mother, listening to her mewl about how could this happen to her, how could Quentin have done this to her. He'd expected to feel something when his father came home, either relief or grief, because everyone was supposed to feel something when a sibling died, but the only emotion that had surfaced was a strange sort of unease that he'd quickly choked off with disgust that his father didn't even bother to come straight home, and instead arrived drunk.

"Did you drive like that?" Caroline had asked. "Did you want me to have to identify a body today too?"

The older Jason's drunk at the funeral, too, trying his best to stand still and not sway next to his black-clad wife and eight-months-pregnant daughter and her new husband. Benjamin's been left home; his crying would be "upsetting". Uncle Maury's had a few too; Jason's starting to suspect that maybe he's the only sober one, sharing company with Caddy's fetus. When the eulogy ends, having described a person Jason's certain never actually existed, there's a reception with pay-per-plate seating and photographers and fireworks in the background.

His mother pretends to faint from crying, although her face is dry, and calls for Jason, her 'last remaining son', to come help her. Jason slips outside just out of her eyesight, not wanting to engage, hoping she just assumes he didn't see or hear her while Maury props her back up. He heads round the back, slouching on a bench in sight of the parking lot, reconnoitering every half hour or so to see if things have died down. His nose, fresh from a rhinoplasty, is straight now, but there are fading bruises under each eye, covered by slight makeup. He undoes his tie and unbuttons his jacket, then finally just flings the latter off onto the lawn somewhere.

At some point his father goes to a microphone and starts rambling about the nature of time and his daughter's wedding and then Jason's just done, incapable of anything but disgust with everything here.

He heads back to the bench and picks up some pebbles, chucking them at the pigeons just to see if the birds will fly away.
cigne: (Default)

[personal profile] cigne 2015-04-09 11:42 pm (UTC)(link)
He's still not being very nice, but the anger is no longer directed at her, and it's enough to keep Swann talking, even if she still doesn't comprehend a lot of it.

"Why did your family have to do anything to him? Maybe he was just sad inside. Sometimes I get really scared about things that aren't scary, and my daddy said that sometimes, people just feel a certain way. If things make me scared, maybe things made Quentin sad. Maybe he just didn't want to be sad anymore."

She's looking back down at her doll by the end of it, tightening the braids to make sure that the flowers don't fall out. She's been told a million times that dandelions are weeds, that if she's going to pick flowers, wouldn't she rather have the nice ones? But Swann has never understood why being a weed was supposed to make dandelions any less pretty or nice.

"Won't you be lonely?"
cigne: (Default)

[personal profile] cigne 2015-04-10 05:44 am (UTC)(link)
She goes quiet, her brow knitting as she taps her toes together again, thinking hard. It's not easy for her to understand that transfer of blame, or why Jason is so sure about how people will treat them. She thinks that people would be nicer because of their loss.

"You're not... you're not zoo animals. Quentin was sad, that's all. And you're still here, and Caddy. And she's going to have a baby soon, and people will think about that instead, people like babies."

Turning her gaze back on him, she looks concerned, about him. "So you're just going to stay in your house all the time?"
cigne: (Default)

[personal profile] cigne 2015-04-11 01:05 am (UTC)(link)
It's another thing she doesn't understand, and that makes it impossible to answer, the way he laughs and speaks sarcastically about Caddy's unborn baby. She just frowns at him.

"But what about what you want to do?" It's never occurred to her that his mother might just decide these things on her, wouldn't ask how he feels about it. It's rare that Swann's father asks her to do anything at all, let alone something so drastic and against her own will. Swann, at ten, essentially runs her own life, with her own staff to order around as she pleases, her only obligation being a more exclusive private school than any other in the Capitol, the one all the old money children attend.
cigne: (Default)

[personal profile] cigne 2015-04-11 04:15 am (UTC)(link)
Her brow knits, and she's so confused. She crosses her arms, holding her doll to her chest, and leans back against the bench. She's too short for anything but her head to hit the edge of the seat, and it's uncomfortable, but she doesn't want Jason to know that, so she tolerates it and doesn't say anything.

"You're not a grown-up yet, what responsibilities could you have?" She thinks about her family, her father and mother and grandparents, and she can't imagine them saying she has to do anything 'for the family', because the Honeymead name stands on its own and she doesn't need to defend it.
cigne: (Default)

[personal profile] cigne 2015-04-11 06:19 am (UTC)(link)
"But Quentin was gone at school forever." A year seems so long to her, to have been gone at school and then just never come back, and she's still not even sure that Jason's telling the truth about Quentin killing himself. Maybe Jason just wants to upset her, he likes doing things like that.

She frowns at him when he swears, but doesn't say anything about it. "Is he sick?"
cigne: (Default)

[personal profile] cigne 2015-04-11 03:18 pm (UTC)(link)
"I'unno."

She shrugs. Swann is still young enough that she's rarely exposed to Mr. Compson, instead being shuffled off to nurseries and playrooms during gatherings, and with only one parent around, she doesn't even really have much opportunity to eavesdrop on adult conversations, to pick up those little tidbits of information that other children might absorb.

"Sometimes he acts like Grandma Honeymead when she was getting... um... dimensions? And then she died. That was when I was littler, before Grandpa died."
cigne: (Default)

[personal profile] cigne 2015-04-11 07:17 pm (UTC)(link)
"De-men-tia."

She repeats it out of habit, each syllable separate so that she can remember it for the next time. She doesn't know anyone else with a drinking problem, at least not a public one -- her daddy drinks whiskey and bourbon and brandy after dinner, but only a glass. Two when Viatrix is home. For Swann, that's drinking, not endless amounts that leave one a mess in front of everyone they know. Not enough to kill you.

"Why doesn't he stop?"
cigne: (Default)

[personal profile] cigne 2015-04-11 07:51 pm (UTC)(link)
"Will you miss him, if he dies?"

It's an innocent question, wondered aloud simply because Jason doesn't seem very attached to any of his family, hasn't said a single nice word about any one of them, and he has a lot more family to like than most people do. Swann doesn't know if she would miss her mother very much, but she would miss her father very much, and Eta even more.
cigne: (Default)

[personal profile] cigne 2015-04-11 08:57 pm (UTC)(link)
"Of course."

She says it instantly, without having to think, because it's true. She would be miserable without her father, always happy and joking around and bouncing her on his knee when she's sad. If the question was would she miss her mother, well then she might have to think a little bit harder to figure it out.
cigne: (Default)

[personal profile] cigne 2015-04-11 11:27 pm (UTC)(link)
Swann frowns and knits her brow, not upset with the question but just thinking about it, and it's difficult to sort through her own thoughts about it -- she doesn't have the emotional skills nor the vocabulary to actually express how she would feel if her mother died.

"I would... I would miss her, I think," she says slowly, her little forehead still furrowed. "But not like I would miss Daddy."
cigne: (Default)

[personal profile] cigne 2015-04-12 05:29 am (UTC)(link)
She frowns deeper, like she's confusing herself by thinking this way. Her voice holds protest, but not very much, because she's sure she would miss her mother more on principle than anything else. She would miss Viatrix because she's supposed to.

"I would miss her. It would just... it wouldn't be like if Daddy died. It would be a different kind of missing." She pauses and looks at her doll's head. "It wouldn't be so different anyway. She's always gone, and even when she comes home, she doesn't really have time for me."
cigne: (Default)

[personal profile] cigne 2015-04-12 05:53 am (UTC)(link)
Swann shrugs again, and fiddles with the mass of her skirt, all the fabric weighing her down and making it so hard for her to move. The bodice is tight, even on her little frame, and she wishes she could reach far enough back to loosen the corseting.

"She's my mother. Of course she loves me."

It sounds rote, like it's something that's been repeated over and over to her, until she spits out the same thing just from habit.
cigne: (Default)

[personal profile] cigne 2015-04-12 10:39 pm (UTC)(link)
"Yes it does," she protests, her brow furrowing deep again. "All mothers love their children, Daddy said so. She's just busy. They both are."

She's not there yet, not yet able to understand why her mother is never there, why she's so distant. She can only take the excuses that her father gives, sweet lies to spare Swann's feelings and preserve the family name.

"She gets me presents, at Christmas and for my birthday."

(no subject)

[personal profile] cigne - 2015-04-12 23:09 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] cigne - 2015-04-13 01:08 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] cigne - 2015-04-13 03:21 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] cigne - 2015-04-13 03:57 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] cigne - 2015-04-13 12:08 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] cigne - 2015-04-14 02:16 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] cigne - 2015-04-14 21:15 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] cigne - 2015-04-18 01:16 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] cigne - 2015-04-20 22:27 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] cigne - 2015-04-24 12:51 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] cigne - 2015-05-02 02:37 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

[personal profile] cigne - 2015-05-07 02:53 (UTC) - Expand