After the conversation he had in the hallway, the talks of missing loved ones and the seeing the distress on the Rogue as he had no idea whether Addie was real or not, The Capitalist retreated to his room. He's met some new faces, spoke his mind to them about what they should expect in the near future, regarding obtaining memories and names for themselves, as well as the Horror that comes with those identities. He had lied to the group as a whole, or made no response to the words of sympathy altogether in regards to how much the change in the Hunter's symbol had affected him, but the perceptive, including the 'Blank Slates' could probably tell that whatever his feelings, it was a dark one.
For the rest of the day... or night, he's not quite sure, he found himself either at his desk, jotting down a few new notes, especially those connecting figures like Mo and Akala together, as well as curious ones like 'Where's Addie?' or simple notations about which door symbol, thus room, belonged to which face that he recognizes and so forth.
Now, he's retreated to sitting at the edge of his bed with some of those notes in hand. His long legs hanging down from the mattress, bared feet on the ground next to the dress shoes and socks near his nightstand. On his nightstand is that envelope, the letter correspondence between him and Colette Winslow. His is business disheveled, as the day waned on, his suit jacket is already removed, hanging on the back of his office chair, leaving him in his white dress shirt, the sleeves folded up to his elbows, the black slacks, a black vest and that undone tie. Around his wrist is Conrad's watch still.
In previous visits to this place they all find themselves at the end of whatever one calls these stories they play out, the Penitent would never have just entered the Capitalist's room without knocking and waiting to be answered. Now though, something's different. Maybe it's the presence of Anette lingering so close, harder to shake than her previous selves. Maybe it's the fact that the Hunter they both knew is missing. Either way, she's just pushing the door open and stepping into the sort of familiar room. She hasn't spent a whole lot of time here, really.
Using her foot to shut it behind her, she's got a bottle of whiskey in hand and she considers the man and his disheleved appearance, sitting here. She's dressed as she always is around here, loose fitting clothes that are comfortable. No shoes. But the vision of the Capitalist causes something of a surge in memory with her. While he may not look as bad as those days Cillian McTavish looked after the banishing of Barbas, she can still see that moment, after Leviathan was dealt with, when she came into the chapel to see him sitting there in that stained white shirt, drinking and thinking over the caskets of his cousin, and her sister. And that woman. Josephine. It gives her pause for a moment, as she can see it so clearly, and remember the words she spoke. "You're still here," she says, though quieter than Anette did, it's got the same cadence and Old West drawl that Nettie spoke with.
She shakes her head, as though pushing the image away, she steps up, setting that bottle down upon the nearby nightstand. "Brought you something," she offers. "You've looked better." That, too, is similar to what she said, that afternoon in the chapel at Prosperity.
Hearing the sound of his door opening comes as some surprise to the Capitalist. The Hunter, at least, used to knock, before opening up his door before he even got a chance to respond, so when he sees the Penitent now entering his room, there's some familiarity in the image that she presents, that confidence which Anette exuded, even in the way that she kicks the door closed behind her. Maata aside, there was no one that he wanted to see more than Anette. If it'd been anyone else entering his room unannounced, he may have gotten surly.
A look of appreciation and a smile is given to both the Penitent and the gift which she brings. "Sometimes, I need to be reminded on when to eat or drink in this place. Taking that in," His chin lifts to point at the bottle, "on an empty stomach might not be the best idea, but I'm willing to chance it. Especially in this place." Any memory of not being able to taste anything is forgotten and so far, the only thing that he had tasted was the tobacco in his cigarette, though even that hadn't registered to him then.
Setting his notes down atop the evneloped on the nightstand, he pats at a space beside him for her settle down. As for the messy state of his attire, it does draw him back to that day at the chapel, where he had been at his lowest. "At least I'm not covered in blood and grit." Those dark eyes now look at her appraisingly, "How have you been? Learned anything new?" This, he has doubts about.
"I can run back out and get some real food, if you want. Or I've got some candy on me. What do you want? Eggs?" The Penitent's love of eggs is almost legendary! But her words are soft, her hands sort of clasping together behind her. "Sorry, I should have thought to bring something to eat too." There's a small little smile though, as she waits before sitting down if she's going to be running off to get some food.
"I've learned a few things. Some of the people we knew in Prosperity are here now. I ran into Martin Munson. I saw Hector DeWitt wandering around. And, uh, your uncle. Arthur. He was wondering if he should come talk to you. They're all pretty confused, naturally. I also bumped into, uh, Sam? Or Deputy Chong." She gives a slow blink. "It made me do a little bit of thinking."
"No, that's not necessary." Capitalist says in quick response, reaching out a hand to prevent her from leaving and only releasing her once she's settled down. "Candy is fine." It's not as exciting as say a plate of eggs, but it will have to do. He's almost forgotten what either tasted like. His main interest, of course, is in the whiskey and in the Penitent's presence.
Listening to the few names that are mentioned, he's almost surprised to hear some of these, expecting them to be the figures that they remember, but who never show up in this place. He never really knew Martin nor Hector very well, the new arriving Munson, especially, during his time in Prosperity, but he knows that they've gone closer in the aftermath in New Orleans. Then, his uncle's name escapes the Penitent's lips, bringing forth Cillian's natural instinct to... well, uncle Arthur had been absent from Cillian's life since the last Reaping, even if he knew that he'd think about the man from time to time. "But no Addie?" He goes on, "I can't say that I ever knew Addie to have ever come here, not after the Island, not after the Noc. So I can't say whether she even had a room here or not." The mention of Chong has him idly curious, though moreso with what she says afterward.
She's in no rush to go darting off, so her little packet of hard candies is produced from her pocket, something more akin to what'd be found in 2018 than in 1902. It's also put on the night stand and then she's settling down on the edge of the bed, next to him. "Try one," she suggests with a small smile, settling in as she looks over the room. It seems bigger than hers, somehow.
"They are pretty confused, naturally. All they've got to relate to anything is 1902, Prosperity. A few new faces who supposedly don't remember ... anything but this. Like Venus, before she ended up on the Noc. But I haven't seen Addie, no. I've never seen her here at all." Her arms reach out in front her her, her back arching slightly as she gives a little stretch. "I never saw her on the Noc either. Speaking of," she frowns a little. "You remember those new doors we saw here last time? Did you ever figure them out before Prosperity? I don't know if anyone did, but they work now. Well. They open to whatever you want them to open to, it seems."
Well, the Pentinent insists, so rathe than immediately diving into that bottle of whiskey, he takes a piece of hard candy from the bag, unwrapping it to pop it into his mouth. It's a strange sensation how strong the flavor is when you've been accustomed to being unable to taste anything for so long. There's something almost thrilling in it, just to remember what things tasted like. She can see it in his eyes, the way that they light up, and then the suckling on that bit of candy, moving in from one side of his mouth to the other. "I'd forgotten what anything tasted like." Now, the idea of food sounded so much more alluring. Without even finishing the candy, he pops open the bottle of whiskey, taking a long drink of the booze straight from the bottle, tasting the blend of sweet and heat as it trickles down his throat.
The bottle now lowered, his hand resting on his thigh, he has to admit, "If anything, this, the ability to taste, is the only good thing that's come out of us returning here." Soon, he goes in for another sip.
"A door that leads to whatever you want them to? How is that even possible? I mean, are there buttons to press, like in the kitchen, at least? And when you say whatever you want, what are the limitations?"
She watches him eagerly, waiting for that reaction, the realization of taste, and her face splits into a beaming little smile as he speaks. There's a laugh as he just starts drinking right afterwards though. "It shouldn't be surprising, but it is, hmm? Like, we know we can die and that'll still reset, but that caught me by surprise too. These little pleasures, at least we can enjoy them." She seems to think that it's not all bad, here, at least. If only for being able to enjoy basic things.
Her expression grows a little more serious as she licks her lips and considers. "I don't know how they work. There's no buttons or anything. One of the new guys called them 'realms of possibility.'" A pause, and she nods slowly, "And said whoever opens them will see whatever they desire, but it's not quite that. It's whatever you want. I hoped for a swimming pool, and there it was. I did some experimenting. I could close the door and reopen it and I saw a gym full of equipment, because I was thinking about it. And then ... Kylie's quarters on the Noc, even. I never went in, though."
Still suckling on the bit of candy, the Capitalist sets the bottle down on the nighstand. The positive spin that the Penitent tries to put on their time here, does get him to say in surly, yet humorously wry tone, "Now if only we could combine that ability to taste with the freedom to actually live our lives, out there, rather than in here. Make something of ourselves, you know." Then again, he's often a businessman with ideas and there was no way that any of those ideas would flourish if they stuck in this place.
There is some amusement on hearing that she wished for a pool, though even he can't say that it was a stupid thing to want, because a pool would be great to alleviate some of the boredom one experiences here. Though, it's when she brings up Kylie's quarters on the Noc that has him even more intrigued. "Just her quarters on the Noc?" He asks, before trying to confirm, "Not the entire Noc itself?"
"It'd be nice, to get out someday, I guess," the Penitent does admit with a small smile and a slight shrug of her shoulders. Despite everything, and her difficulty at getting away from Anette -- not that she necessarily wants to -- the Penitent still feels like she belongs here. This prison, is her punishment. For what, she still can't really say. Maybe it's her punishment for getting a bunch of millenials killed on a cursed island. For becoming a selfish looter on Sevastopol. For being an outlaw in the Old West. Either way, it fits. It meets some of the expectations of her feelings. "We have no idea what's out there though. From the Old West in 1902 to a space station in 2149. Who knows where or when we really are."
She shifts slightly, considering. "I'm not sure. I guess it could be the whole station? I just wanted her quarters, so the door in the parlour out there was like the door in that hallway in the lower levels of the station. There was nowhere else to go. I couldn't say, if it could do the whole station. I only tried for small rooms." Her eyes are thoughtful, and distant and she considers the implications. "But maybe we can just go anywhere. I expect we'd still wake up here."
"To create my own business, my own company. Something." The Capitalist says with firmly, though there's clouds in his eyes as he can just imagine what that would be like. "Always trying to outwit my competitors." However, the Penitent's pessimism about the whole thing does put a slight damper on these dreams of his. Especially, when she brings up the point that there may be no out there. This does make him wonder, stating it openly, "Could we possibly be the last humans alive? Or is this some space colony that we're living in because the earth was destroyed." There were so many possibilties now, all of them bleak. He has no way of explaining their memories and the lives that they live while asleep.
"The Noc, with all it's glitz and glamor, was one of the most frightening places that I've ever had the displeasure to walk through. The empty corridors, there was something hauntingly foreboding about it all. Then again, it's like walking through an empty mall, when the rest of the world outside of the mall was also in silence."
"You'd be great at it," The Penitent assures, even though the Capitalist certainly knows what he's good at. "Even when you lost it all as Cillian to free all the families from their blood pact, you were building it back up again. And Anette wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty if need be, too." Truly, the two of them probably could have put together a criminal empire, depending on how it all went. Likely though, they wouldn't have needed to.
"We just don't know," she says, attempting to be soothing as she reaches a hand for his shoulder, offering a reassuring touch, and a brief squeeze. "I kind of liked walking through the mall when there were no tourists. And the lower levels, when you got to know the layout, those empty metallic corridors were like home. But, the point remains, there's a lot more to do now." A pause, and then she wonders quietly, "I don't suppose you've bumped into any of my sisters? Or uh, Jonah?"
Yes, the Capitalist would be great at creating his own company. Or that's how he sees it as well. While not all of Conrad's decisions were the best, that musical festival was a success in itself, before the bad things happened. Driscoll cobbled together his own company and Cillian and Anette both made their own circumstances work, despite no longer being one of the most prominent families from some ghost town. "We made a great team, you and I." He graces her with one of his playful smiles, the edges of his eyes crinkling gently.
The rest of their conversation is somewhat darker, so feeling the reassurance from this contact which she gives him does help him to refocus some of his thoughts on their present situation rather than dwelling on some of these 'What ifs'. "I guess there's that." One of his hands lifts to be placed atop her own, the one resting on his shoulder. "Where do you want to go next?" He's cooped himself up in his room this whole time, but if these magical doors bring some happiness to the Penitent, he seems willing to share that experience with her.
"You mean, besides Bella?" The Capitalist asks, shaking his head, "Can't say that I ventured out for very long. The only others that I met were Glenn, Caleb and two new faces. A young woman in bunny slippers and some guy."
Unable to help but grin at that playful smile, she shrugs her shoulders a little. Whatever else has happened, Anette has clearly helped her just accept a part of herself. The burden of guilt is no longer a crushing thing to her that she needs to hide away from. "Twice," she says quietly. Because Wyred couldn't have happened with Madison's assistance, either, investing in the technology to make it all work.
She glances at her hand upon his shoulder when his own joins it, head tilting slightly. "I don't know where to go next, which is funny. So many options available and I don't even know what to choose." That thought has her wondering. "There is a draw to visiting places like that though. Where I've ... died. That's morbid, huh?" She makes a face, her brow creasing in a frown.
"Yes ... Bella. I should talk to her some more too. I'm just thinking, it's strange how ... I had this big family this time. And I cared for them all, very much. But then, looking back ... two of my sisters were robots. Angeline worked for us, once, when she was Dahlia. I remember then fondly, but they don't feel like ..." she just sort of trails off in thought there, uncertain on how to really get into this topic of siblings with the Capitalist.
Just a little awkwardness returns when the Penitent brings up the fact that they'd worked together 'Twice'. It's nothing the Capitalist was ashamed of, of course, for without Madison, he wouldn't have had that festival. This does conjure up his own thoughts on the matter, something which, while they'd bring up from time to time, never knew how to handle. "Yes, Twice."
If there's one place that the Capitalist may never want to visit... besides an empty space station, it's the Island. He shared moments with Maata there. Whether or not she meant the Island rather than the Noc when she brought it up, there's this distracted look within his eyes, that gaze staring off at nothing notable. No, he didn't want to return there, though he still responds, "We'll go whenever you're ready." His own hand now giving hers a light squeeze, just as his eyes return to look upon her again.
Then the true talk of siblings comes up and at first, the Capitalist merely nods when Angeline is mentioned and the fact that two of the Penitent's sisters were synths for what reason. It does make him say with a short-lived laugh, "The Hargreaves were a strange bunch, I'll give you that." But as the topic was touched upon, it does bring his focus on their own sibling relationship. "They don't feel like what?" He asks. "I mean, do you share the same bond with them the way," Yeah, here it comes, "The way you did with Conrad?"
Not really noticing the awkwardness, or perhaps, it's simply replaced by actually bringing up the topic proper, the Penitent is likewise just sort of staring across the way, at the door. She certainly feels closer to the Noc, than to the Island. In truth, the Island scares her, in that memory of Madison. Terrified, and guilt-ridden, drinking alone in the dark. There's even a bit of a shudder felt through her, as he squeezes her hand and her gaze looks up, nodding vaguely at the thought of the doors.
"Well, that was Jack for you," she muses, shrugging her shoulders. "I need to talk to them properly, I think. See how it's all making sense for them. Sam didn't seem especially brotherly, honestly. The brief chat we had was mostly about the new faces and the changes. He didn't feel like my brother. But then, I guess ... we both put some effort into keeping that bond, even here. I tried really hard to not be Madison, but you drew her out of me, a little. And I really had nothing else to go on. Then, after the second time, I kind of missed that, and I came to you. We promised we'd try to let nothing change, hmm? This is especially cruel." She sighs, and she eyes that door as if she's considering just leaving rather than deal with these thoughts.
Having finished with that piece of hard candy in his mouth and with the converstion turning in this uncomfortable direction, the Capitalist reaches for the bottle of whiskey with his free hand, taking in a much needed drink from it. The burn almost felt comforting to him and despite the affects of alcohol sooting him i a sense, this was still a difficult topic to tackle. He remembers that the Penitent didn't drink, but he offers anyway, not verbally, but with a gesture with the bottle.
If anything, despite what his former self had been saying since their first awakening, the Capitalist decides to take this leap, "Maybe it's as you've said all along. We're not really these people, we just have these memories." This does nothing to help his case regarding Cillian and Anette, however, if they weren't Madison and Conrad, then they couldn't have been Cillian and Anette either. It's only after he's said this that this very fact dawns on him, making him regret even opening his mouth. "It's like, I know how I want to feel and there are times where I'm still confused about it all." The hand at his shoulder gives hers a couple of pats before he withdraws it, letting it drop to his side.
She eyes the bottle thoughtfully. It's tempting. It's very tempting. But then she lifts a hand, palm towards the bottle as if to ward it off, and shakes her head. Not just yet, apparently. Even despite the topic, she isn't ready for that kind of thing. Though, now she's caught wondering why. It's all Madison's fault, the reason she doesn't drink.
"Yeah, I suppose you're right. But that doesn't mean what happened wasn't real. And it was easier to say I'm not Madison, or not Kylie. At least, not anymore. They died. Hell, with Kylie I shot myself." A pause, and a soft sigh. "Anette didn't die though. Where does she end?" She glances at his hand, dropping to his side as she looks up at him with a sad smile. "Do you know what I wish? I wish I could forget all about Anette, if I don't get to keep being her. It's too painful, and I don't even know what to call you anymore. If I call you Cillian, I think of my brother. If I think of you as Conrad, I can't help but think of us finally getting married. And Rhys, well, I never really knew him much."
The Capitalist sort of expected her not to take even one sip of whiskey. Rather than take another, himself, he sets the bottle back onto the nightstand, no longer needed it. "To be honest, I don't even know what I'd prefer to be called. Those who I've spoken to, some, have a preference, but me? There was a time where I was adamant that I was Conrad, then Rhys and now..." A weary sigh escapes his lips, eyes staring out idly down at his hand which rests, splayed, on the mattress. "You're the opposite of me. If I could, I'd forget all of my other memories except for Cillian. His life was a fullfilling one. One which was marked by loss, but fullfilling all the same."
"I never did pick out a name for myself, you know. I never found one that fit, or really felt like mine, though I tried. It was easy, for me, to just call you Conrad before this." The Penitent gives another of those sad smiles, shaking her head. "Maybe that's a better idea, forgetting everyone else. But I ... I liked being Kylie. She gave me something to really hold onto. Though, so does Nettie, really. And I think, that loss we had is a part of what made our life so fullfilling. To live, and remember those that we lost to let us live." She reaches for his hand now, with her own, sliding hers beneath his and lifting it.
"If my other siblings aren't my siblings, why does this one matter? Because we tried to hold onto it afterwards, I suppose. The question is, do we have to?" A pause. "We have no idea what's coming next. The TV is playing MTV all the time now. Eighties music all the time. I joked maybe next time it'll be a music video instead of something awful again, but really. We might hate each other; or barely know each other again. No regrets, we promised. I don't regret what we had, even if it is confusing. Does it matter?" She asks again. The problem is any argument cuts both ways. Much like his thoughts before, she finds herself wondering if Madison and Conrad don't matter, than how could Anette and Cillian?
"There's almost no reason for me to want to be Conrad anymore." The Capitalist starts, before adding emphasis, "Almost." Here, his eyes seek out the Penitent's. He didn't have Maata anymore, thus the reason why he's been rather anti-social as of late, but Conrad always had Madison. He knows this much. "Not even Rhys is a pure blank slate, despite having no emotional attachments, he knew many of the others here. Cillian," Just saying that name makes him stop to think, "While Rhys may have some camraderie with the crew of the Hephaestus, Cillian had family. People who he actually cared for. Even now, you see it in the eyes of the others. Glenn? He was always the surly sort, at least from my memories of him on the Island. Here, though, you can tell that there's some connection between us. I'm sure it's that way with the others too." Which is why he's not quite sure why Samuel would feel differently with his Hargreave family.
"Glenn mentioned the MTV." While the memory of that channel is most fresh within his mind during his time on the Island, the 80's was still years in the past, so while he can recognize the music played, most likely some of those tunes being blasted through one of various loud speakers at Wyred Fest, he can't quite recall many of the bands or artists by name. "He didn't seem fond of it, but you're right. If the last thing we saw before Prosperity was Westerns." What he does know of the 80's doesn't inspire him much. Not at all.
He can only stare down at his hand now taken by the Penitent, though there's no blank, distant look in his eyes this time, he's purely focused on this connection between them. "We really don't have a clue what's to come, but it's difficult to be a blank slate as well." He uses that term for the new faces with no memories of anything. "Not with what we know, what we've lived. We could always put everything aside and go through life as Kylie and Rhys, no real attachments." Anymore... for Kylie.
"Different reasons, I suppose, but you sound like me when I was talking about Madison the first time we were here," she says softly in reply. "And those other connections, I don't want to lose them either. With Angeline, and with Senni. And ... Jonah." Her shoulders slump a little. "I almost killed Jonah, you know. When I found out about his deal that got Jack killed. I almost shot him myself, or thought about writing him in the book before we ... found the right path. So there's connections, and I feel like I need to apologise to him for that. And I've always been fond of ... Lupe. Ramona. She was my best friend on the Noc, really. Even if she was a little strange, even for a synth. And I want to see Senni, and Angeline again." She smiles at the thought of it.
Not having much more to add on the topic of MTV and the 80's, all she can do is nod vaguely at his comments. She isn't really sure what it'll all mean. Who can tell, with some crazy supernatural stuff going on anyway. "Is that really what you'd prefer? To put it all aside and forget about it all? If it's easier for you ... then, okay. I'm very good at ignoring how I might feel, and what I might think about. At least, I was. I can do that. But ..." she pauses. "That's not exactly what I was thinking."
The Capitalist had some knowledge that Nettie wanted to shoot Jonah at one point, perhaps in a conversation somewhere down the line, after they left Prosperity. It's not that Cillian and his wife didn't have their own conversation about his involvement with Zeb, though it was never really about the demon. It was about the fact that he had lured a woman to her death. That's when he turns back to the nightstand, not to look at the bottle of whiskey or his written notes, but to observe that envelope sitting there, the one from the Winslow girl.
"No, that's not what I want either," He says about them living their lives as simply Rhys or Kylie or something similar. "I just don't have a good solution for any of this. I loved Madison as a sister and depended on her desparately, but at the same time," he returns to look at her again, "I loved Anette more than anything."
Following that gaze of the Capitalist to the envelope there, the Penitent's brows lift up with a silent curiosity about what might be within it, her gaze focused on it for a moment as she squeezes at his hand again with those words. "I know that you miss Maata," she says quietly. "And worse, that a lot of people around here won't really miss her, it seems. She wasn't great at making friends. If they even knew her." There's a soft sigh, and she looks at him proper, meeting his gaze.
"We don't know what's going to happen. Already we've seen how things can change between us. In a couple of ways, even, and with new memories on top of these who knows how things will change again. But for now? We have this. Whatever it is. Can we just enjoy it while we can? Maybe it's not a good solution, but ..." she shakes her head. "Anette is the first life here that I've truly missed. And you know I loved Cillian just as strongly. And how can I ever forget that, when I have that ring that brought me to tears when I had to turn it down?"
He knew that her eyes were on the envelope, his own catching it from out of his peripheral view after having already dismissed it in his mind. The Capitalist reaches for it, his actions slow, but decisive, and he's not in any rush to reveal the contents within. Slowly does he work to lift the flap off of the envelope, withdrawing the letters within as he listens to her speak about Maata of all people. "Hardly anyone knew her," He says of the woman he'd loved on the Island, "Then again, she was a little different here than she was on the island, but still a force to be reckoned with."
While he doesn't hand her the papers within the envelope, he does allow them to fan out over the bedsheets. There are a total of three letters within, two from Colette Winslow and one from McTavish, himself, alongside the original advert. It wasn't their happiest of memories, but Cillian also never kept any of these for long, having discarded, more likely burned them, when the opportunity arose... after the last Reaping. "You were left with something that made you happy, though killed you inside when it was initially presented to you. I was left with," A gesture is given to all the paperwork. Though, he was listening to what was said, he knew that some of it, the not worrying about it all, would be difficult for him. Unlike the Penitent, the Capitalist seeme far more high strung. "I'd like that." Still, his words are genuine.
"Different again as Thorne," the Penitent says in her soft tones, "Plus, that leg. That leg is how we met, even. Woman was tryna tinker with her own tech, no idea what she was doing." That moment, Kylie remembering. Woman did like her technology, that's for sure. But now she's looking over the papers themselves, tilting her head this way and that and looking at them. "Oh, this is ... huh." She glances sidelong at him. "This is like me having Madison's phone, perhaps. With all those emails and deals with Mister Akala."
While Anette was quite angry -- furious, really -- at Cillian's deals and the actions he took to see them through, at least once and was planning on it again, the Penitent can't muster the same level of anger about it all. "You remember what we said last time. No regrets. I'm not going to blame you for this kind of thing, not here. But how does it make you feel?"
"That leg..." The Capitalist just slowly shakes his head, an amused grin creeping onto his lips. "It was interesting, to tell the truth and she sure as hell was glad when she returned back here without needing the robotic contraption. I don't blame her." He does have to agree about the letters. "Yeah, you're probably right." This was his evidence of guilt. Though when he's asked about his own feelings regarding the letters, his attention is drawn away from them and from the Penitent altogether. "I don't really think too much about it. Maybe it would feel worse if she had died. Maybe if these letters were from," And here he struggles to remember the name of the first woman, "Dolores Patterson." Just like anything that happened before the last Reaping and the summer leading up to it, the details are a little harder to come by. "I would feel differently. That being said, these memories, in some way, I almost believe that they are showing us who we really are, in fragments." Slowly, he returns to look upon her, "For better or worse."
"I don't blame her either," The Penitent replies with an amused grin, echoing his own. "But it sure was something anyway. I certainly enjoyed that leg." Her tone is as suggestive as the words sound, and there's a brief laugh before she focuses her attention back onto the papers, though it's hard to switch her emotions around. Still, she does nod. "Maybe they show us who you really are. And who can say if you were really responsible for Miss Patterson if it's just as vague like the rest of our lives. Like when Anette spoke of that first person she shot? I don't remember doing that, really."
She thinks on his words in a moment, considering them. "You might be right on that, though I'd have preferred this all went in a different order. Though, maybe it had to be in this order. I ... think I learned a lot, from Anette, about how to ... carry a burden. Madison was crushed under the weight of it, Kylie ran from it. Nettie could," her gaze lifts up to the ceiling, and she gestures, "see the impact of it, realize what it might cost her, and do it anyway if she thought it necessary. But there's similarities in who we are each time, aren't there?"
"The symbol on my door. I never understood it, or I tried not to, but what it represents, is that really a part of me? Just like with these memories and these people who we become?" The Capitalist has been doing some thinking about it since he returned to his room earlier. Gathering the letters up and simply stuffing them into the envelope, rather than just returning it back to the nightstand, he opens one of the stand's drawers instead to toss it into there, next to Driscoll's business card, before shutting it closed. "Every one of my personas, the people who I remembered being, they all believed that they could conquer the world. Cillian had more weaknesses than the rest, in some regard, but he had those he cared about and loved. Conrad," He just has to chuckle, "He had his youth, but even he had his hangups... with his father." Thinking further on this, he sighs heavily, "I don't know if I've learned anything from these lives, nothing that will carry over when we next... dream or whatever happens to us when we're tossed into new situations. But for now," He half-turns, shifting his position, to face the Penitent directly, "Let's do what you suggested. Just live our lives in this very moment. Leave the worrying until," He shrugs, "We wake up again." Even though he says this, he reaches a tentative hand out to her, still uncertain about this decision, no matter how much a part of him wanted it. That hand grazes gently against her cheek. "Tomorrow, we'll venture into one of those doors and get the hell away from here."