Post by Dandy DiVito on Nov 7, 2021 14:02:48 GMT -5
In an ordinary crime, how does one defend the accused? One calls up witnesses to prove his innocence. But witchcraft is...by its nature, an invisible crime, is it not? Therefore, who may possibly be witness to it? The witch and the victim. None other. ... As for the witches, none will deny that we are most eager for all their confessions.
- Arthur Miller’s “The Crucible”
I know a veritable army of mo’fuckas open they shots at you by talkin’ ‘bout witch shit an’ magic, Claire. I know all them sumbitchres scream to the world that you ain’t as much ‘bout cauldrons and spells as you is ‘bout playin’ Queen of the midcard an’ runnin’ the show in that TV scene. I know e’rybody look dead ass into the camera an’ run you down like you a fuckin’ lefty lady in Charlottesville.
Hell, I done it over an’ over my damn self.
‘Cause facts is facts, an’ sometimes, we gotta wear the crown of shit we make fo’ ourselves, yeah? I mean, fuck, I been learnin’ that fuckin’ lesson the hard way the pas’ few months, takin’ my own fuckin’ medicine at the hands a’ better fuckin’ competition than you eva been. Shaw playin’ mind games, usin’ an’ abusin’ mo’fuckas he thinks is beneath him… Kemp layin’ in wait to take the path a’ least resistance at the biggest prize in the fuckin’ game… it all reads like the ol’ Dandy playbook.
How’s the old sayin’ go? You made the bed, now lie in it?
Yeah. Claire, you an’ me lyin’ in the beds we made. Yo’s is made outta fuckin’ animal bones an’ straw. Mines is made outta shit. Neither one a’ us is comfortable wit’ what the fuck’s goin’ on, but in the fuckin’ way we gettin’ handled by the world ‘round us… well, we earned that shit, didn’t we?
A good old fashioned witch trial of our own design.
Ain’t it a bitch when the fuckin’ chickens come home to roost? When the checks our asses been writin’ fo’ years bounce when they cashed? When that fuckin’ witch hunt hits the mark and finds a mo’fucka fuckin’ wit’ that devil shit?
I know you know that feelin’, Claire. Yo’ whole fuckin’ career is that feelin’. Pointed fingers always seem to be facin’ yo’ direction. The stares. The glares. The judgment. I know that shit, ‘cause I live that shit as well, Claire.
Dandy sits across from Yaz in her living room. There’s an awkwardness in the room that can be felt but not really otherwise observed.
“I know that scumbag Shaw is all about them mindgames, Yaz. I get that shit. I know it. But he ain’t dropped that paternity suit, and now that our match is over, I ain’t seein’ no reason he’d keep that shit up if it was jus’ bullshit. Just lay it on me, gurl… Did you fuck ‘im?”
Yaz scoffs and shakes her head no while rolling her eyes.
“You’re just so convinced that he’s honest in all of this that you’re showing me that you’re also convinced that I am not.”
Dandy throws his hands up in the air in a disarming gesture.
“Now, now, Yaz. I ain’t sayin’ I think you a liar.”
“Oh really? Is that so? Then why are we still having this conversation about whether you’re this baby’s fucking dad, Dandy?! I’m sick of feeling like I’m stuck in a witch hunt, because you’re freaking out about having a kid.”
“Yaz, everytime we talk ‘bout this shit, you turn it back on me. Dandy, you’re hurting my feelin’s. Dandy, I need you to trust me. Dandy, stop asking questions. It ain’t ‘bout me thinkin’ you a liar, but it fuckin’ is about me not gettin’ no straight goddamn answers.”
Yaz clutches her stomach and grimaces in pain. Dandy jumps forward toward her and gently places one hand behind her back and the other soothingly onto her pregnant stomach.
“You ok?”
Yaz doesn’t respond but closes her eyes and focuses on her breathing.
“Contractions?!”
Yaz shakes her head no, and Dandy lets out a sigh of relief.
“Good. What can I get you right now?”
Yaz weakly answers.
“Nothing. I’m fine. I just need a minute and some peace.”
Dandy nods.
“Ok.”
Dandy slowly rises to his feet and steps back away from Yaz.
“Where are you going?”
Dandy shrugs.
“I jus’ need a minute.”
Yaz is getting a little more worked up.
“You need a minute?! For what?! I’m on the edge of popping like a damn balloon and you need a minute?”
“Look, Yaz, e’rytime we have this conversation, I ask, you refuse to answer, and then it’s showtime.”
Yaz clutches her stomach again and moans out a breathy pained sound before angrily responding.
“Showtime?! WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?!”
Dandy closes his eyes as he shakes his head in frustration.
“Nothin’, Yaz. Nothin’.”
Dandy gathers his things.
“Are you leaving? Where are you going?!”
Dandy’s frustration grows.
“Yes, I am. I have no fuckin’ idea where.”
“Of fucking course! Every time shit gets a little rough, you fucking bolt! Same shit, different day, right? Jesus, just get out!”
Dandy stares a hole through Yaz for a moment before he turns on his heels and leaves.
“Fucking coward.”