[Fallen 1/4]Changes

|| It was a gloomy early morning, the straggling bits of sunlight making their way through the girl's window, hitting her pale complexion with a gentle warmth. Clover had been staring up at the ceiling all night, her blue gaze locked onto one spot. She'd been left alone for a week or two, she wasn't exactly sure of how long it'd been. Damien had disappeared one day and still hadn't returned, though the girl wasn't necessarily bothered by it. Clover hardly saw him anyway, what with him working with the Ministry, being in the basement, or more recently, getting Chava back from Azkaban. Yes, though mostly uninterested, she was always watching and was, for the most part, aware of what was going on in the house. Clover wasn't sure of the circumstances in which Chava ended up in Azkaban, though she knew she was there for quite a while. The woman was gone almost as quickly as she returned, but Clover didn't care enough to figure out why that was. She was more observant than one would think, considering the girl was either locked up in her room or out in the town. Clover yawned and decided it'd be smart to get up for the day, despite her obvious lack of sleep. She dragged herself out of bed, taking a look around her bedroom. She'd made some adjustments to it in the past month, and quite frankly, it was the tidiest room in the entire manor. The rest was trashed, but Clover couldn't be bothered to try and clean it up, not even to at least sweep the mess into piles. The girl had removed everything from the room and had only a bed and a small desk with her rucksack on top, which were situated on the same wall. Opposite that was an entire wall of shelves that spanned the length of the wall, and each plank of wood had about twenty mason jars situated on them, neatly placed and labeled. There had to be at least a hundred of the vessels, although only thirty or forty had something inside them. This had become Clover's hobby since arriving at the manor, considering she needed something to keep herself occupied. A few times a week, she would leave the house and prowl around the town, finding her victims. She mostly eyed the local orphanage, killing a few of the teenagers that lived there. Who cared about them anyway? Of course, that was after harvesting a reasonable chunk of their hair, sliced clean off with her dagger. Clover didn't always murder them, however, as she didn't want to raise a red flag in the community, or to Damien. She killed just enough to keep her sane. Over the course of the month, she'd killed around twenty people, mostly the teens and a few elderly citizens, and lopped off hair from twenty others, who were unaware of their lack of locks - or so she assumed. That was what each jar housed - a supply of hair, with the label proclaiming the donor's name, age, general description of their looks, and status. Clover glanced over to them, reading some of the labels. Thomas Blackwell, 35, curly brown hair, blue eyes, 6'0, slender, alive. Cecilia Paxley-Price, 16, blonde wavy hair, hazel eyes, 5'1, chubby, deceased. The purpose of this system, of course, was so that Clover would have an endless supply of polyjuice potions for the future, an appearance for every possible situation she might find herself getting into. She sometimes slipped into the potions room and took some unmade polyjuice just to keep as a stash, and she honestly didn't really care if Damien found out or not. She planned to fill every jar eventually, though for now she'd decided she had enough. The girl still had a plentiful lot of Darcy's hair as well, though that was locked away elsewhere. Clover cracked her neck and rubbed her eyes, pulling her hair up before descending to the first floor of the manor. She was careful not to step on the broken glass that littered the floor as she made her way to Damien's throne. He wasn't there, so why not take a seat? Clover obliged to her own thought, sitting on the thing curiously. She yawned and basked in the rare silence that for some reason occupied the Dagger Manor, knowing it couldn't last for very long.

|| Before he was taken, Damien had not been in a good mental state. Since being released, he felt better than he'd ever had. Where once he'd wanted very much to die and let his suffering be over, he now had a brighter look on the world. His hatred of Lucedio was nonexistent, and he could even see how the man was quite reasonable. Oh, and Chava, how the rage fueled up when he thought of that woman. It made him glad that she had left nearly two weeks ago. He nudged open the door, before his eyes narrowed at the sight of someone sitting on /his/ throne. Who dare-- No, that was his daughter. And when did he care about someone sitting in his throne? That thing was bound to rot away, so he needed to get rid of it, as well as the other two. And did he really need that many daggers around? "Clover." He spoke in greeting, closing the door behind him.

|| It came as a shock that her father seemed to waltz through the door all of a sudden, and wasn't even peeved about the fact that Clover was in his precious throne. The girl squinted at him, looking him over. She got the strangest vibe from him, one she'd never gotten before. Something was definitely off. "Damien." She said, still not very comfortable with the prospect of calling him 'father' or 'dad'. Clover slid off her seat and landed on the ground, walking up to Damien curiously. "Where've you been all this time?" The girl inquired. He seemed far too chipper for the liking of her, and Clover wasn't about to have a happy-go-lucky father figure around.

| Damien narrows his eyes at his daughter before scoffing at her question. He begins moving around the house making note of the mess and the positioning of every dagger, before finally turning his gaze onto Clover. "That's none of your business." No, it was best if no one knew he had been with Lucedio. It would ruin their plan after all. Not to mention he had a large blank spot in his memories from the first week he'd been with Lucedio. He wasn't sure why that was, but according to his twin, he'd suffered a blow to the head, but that it was nothing to worry about. "The only thing you should concern yourself on, is that I've returned, and that I will be staying home more often. I'm not needed at the Ministry anymore."

Clover grumbled at the man, knowing there was something he wasn't willing to tell her. It aggravated her intensely, although she decided there was a bigger issue at hand than what happened to him whilst he was away. She could always pester him about that at a later time. "Actually, I have another concern." Clover began snootily, crossing her arms. "Where the HELL did Chava go? I /know/ you didn't go through all that work breaking her out of Azkaban to let her go so easily." She snapped at him, rather angry herself. Though they hadn't spent much time together at all, Clover had grown somewhat fond of the woman, despite the fact that she might deny it if asked. Her eyes remained squinted, looking up at Damien. If anything, she would willing to nag about that until she received an answer.

|| As soon as the question was asked, his anger flared up, and he growled out. How dare she ask that question! He stalked closer towards her, before aiming a backhand slap at the girl. "How dare you say that name!" He snarled slightly before turning away from her in disgust. "She left me. Get that through your head. I don't want to hear that name again." He pulled out the dagger at his hip. He spun around, bringing it up, before changing his mind and tossed it aside. Why would he attack his own daughter? She mentioned that person he hated. He didn't hate Chava, right? No. He didn't hate her. He despised her.

|| The girl ducked and avoided the hand that came for her, a growl rumbling from her throat. She couldn't believe he would dare try and hit her, and very quickly became enraged. "Oh really? Did she leave you or did you let her go? Huh? Also," Clover paused, taking a slight step backwards. "Chava, Chava, Chava, Chava, Chava." She nagged in a sing-songy voice. Clearly, Damien wasn't thinking straight, but as long as he was denying the facts at hand she might as well have a little fun with him. She would probably get in some trouble for it, but the amusement was worth it.

|| At this point Damien was combating himself. He could teach this runt a lesson the only way he knew how, or he could let this insolence not bother him. He decided to appease both sides and do both. He reached out, grabbing at clover by the neck, snarling as he did so, not caring if he made contact. He knew she would follow regardless. "Come along, girl." he moved towards the basement, the one place he made sure no one went. More specifically his torture chamber. Last time he'd been down here, he'd killed off the rest of his victims, which he presumed were still there. Of course, they were, but he had no way of knowing if he'd removed them during that blank period. "You see this room? I torture people here. If you don't want to see this room from their side, don't bring up that name."

|| The girl trudged alongside Damien, not too threatened by him. She eyed the mass of dead bodies in the basement, a slight smirk appearing on her face. Clover rolled her eyes at Damien, looking up to make eye contact with him. "I'm sorry that I'm concerned about her as I should be." She mumbled, purely annoyed at that point. She wandered over to one of the bodies and nudged it with her foot, though it merely moved an inch and left some blood on her. Clover crossed her arms once again, walking right up to her father. "I don't know what stick you got stuck up your ass while you were gone, but you should do something about it." She sneered at him before sprinting back up to her room, deciding leaving him alone would be best. Perhaps he'd snap back back into it soon enough, she reckoned.