Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The horse ran fast and steady, its pace frantic but controlled by the man who rid it.

Not much time later, he found himself in front of an old building, the rider signaling it to stop as he got down. His plaque shone bright, "Sheriff" written over it, indicating the job he was in charge of.

Opening the door, the Conductor looked at the office he had been at time and time again. It wasn't very big, just a small building close to the town he was supposed to take care of. It was superficially tidy and very impersonal, there were a few decorations, but Conductor's favorite was a painting of the night sky, where the moon was the main focus, shining bright.

He sat down on the desk and looked through some of the papers from the day before, recalling all the events. Nothing too important happened yesterday, nothing too important had happened in such a long time, he preferred to read some of the older documents.

Between the documents, a letter appeared. He grabbed it with curiosity, remembering how a few weeks back he had put it away, deciding he'd check on it later. And it seemed that that "later" was now. He wasn't too delicate with it, deciding to just rip the envelope and read whatever the paper said.

Written in a messy and hasty handwriting, the letter was a warning from the neighbor town. A month ago, a bandit had intruded in their area, resulting in a series of horrible events that ended with the lives of many of their inhabitants. Now, he was heading to their village, and they needed to be prepared for it.

Conductor felt a knot on his stomach. He had been a sheriff for a long time, he knew what he had to do to keep everyone safe and he had been doing it right for a long time, always trying to be ready for any setbacks.

But somehow, this felt different. It felt big and dangerous, something new he had been wishing for, never stopping to think if he was actually prepared for it. He needed a plan, and he needed it to work.
Thinking of a way to alleviate his stress, he went back outside, getting back up on his horse and looking at the town's chapel in the distance.

After he had finished his drink, the piano music faltered, the dancer's body falling limp on the stage.
Conductor could hear the claps and conversations of everyone present, it was the bar, so full of people and joy. Even with how loud the people were, he couldn’t hear anything they were saying.

He couldn't concentrate on anything that wasn't that woman, her presence felt like a wave that pulled him in, always guiding him towards what he wanted the most, but never hitting him with enough strength to get him there. The dancer smiled and gracefully accepted the cheers from the usual customers of the place, bowing and sitting on the ledge of the stage to talk with the pianist.

The Conductor had seen this scene time and time again. He was a regular at the bar too, even if his reasons weren't the same as everyone else’s. All he could do was watch from afar, admire and feel the yearning in his chest when the melody made Charity dance, her soft movements accompanying the music so beautifully and poetically.

In his eyes, the dancer was one of the most beautiful people he'd ever met. Her eyes were covered by a thin veil that feigned elegance and the visible part of her face showed a theatrical expressivity, as if her feelings were fabricated.

It must have been the drink and his desire to forget, but involuntarily, Conductor wondered what it would feel like to dance with that woman, just them. A dark, infinite room that only knew them in the most intimate way possible, with an infinite song and a desire to never stop dancing.

Of course, this was just a dumb scenario his mind had made to distract him from his crumbling life that was slowly spilling from his hands, but he tried to indulge as least as possible in his fantasies. He shouldn't even be there; he was intentionally missing church to not deal with the guilt that killed him inside.

Finally he decided to leave the bar, looking back at the door before he got on his horse.

Chapter Text

The Conductor wasn’t someone who liked to take risks or to do anything out of the ordinary. He knew he craved for it, but whenever he actually had to face a strange and uncomfortable situation, he always felt sick to his stomach.

That was exactly how he felt at that moment. He hadn't felt this ill in a long time, and accompanied by his sudden urge to vomit, it didn’t bode anything good. Even with this, he had to face the decision he had made and talk to Charity.

It was a bright night, the moon whole and white, reminding him of that painting. He tried thinking of what he was going to say when that woman showed up. He replayed the scene that had happened that morning over and over, beating himself up mentally for even thinking this could be a good idea. Charity was looking so beautiful while dancing, and he had drunk just enough to finally gather the confidence to ask her out after her dance. She was visibly confused, but agreed nonetheless.

After ten years he had finally done it, and he wasn’t sure if it’d be a good decision, given he had taken it a week after he read that letter. That goddamn letter. As thankful as he was for the warning, all it had done was keeping him awake entire nights and making him stressed in the mornings, becoming a vicious cycle he didn’t know how to scape. This just seemed to be another one of his desperate attempts at improving his life.

But any thought he had was completely forgotten when the dancer came out the bar’s back door. She was wearing an old dress, a bit small for her and not very flattering. When the Conductor saw her, his stomach stung so hard he thought he'd faint, but his pain completely dissolved when he heard her.

“Thank you for inviting me… Conductor.”

This wasn’t his first time talking to Charity, he had seen her smoking at the back of the bar many nights, and he listened to her rambling for hours. This time though, it was different. He knew why, his nervousness being a clear indicator that he saw this date as something way deeper and more personal. But he didn’t dare to show it. He couldn’t afford to let Charity know he felt weak about her.

Anyway, the townspeople talked about Charity as a crazy lady. She had scars all over her arms that gave her a rather decaying look, the darkness under her eyes made her look sick and many rumors affirmed that she had tried to kill herself many times.

Conductor was completely aware of this, he wasn’t scared of her tendency to death, deep down he knew understood her, death had always been an intricate part of his own life.

His father died when he was very young and all he remembered of him were the endless fights he’d have with his mother. A negative feeling, something like guilt, would invade his chest when he found no sweet memories of him.

Many factors in his mind had messed with the way he processed grief, since any tender feelings would clash with the idea his mother had of how he should act as a man. She had died a few months before, the wound of her absence deep and fresh on his mind. Missing her made him feel abandoned by everyone.
Life was the coldest night of winter, and he had just lost his blanket.

“Good to see you outside that place. How’s life treating you?”

Something about Charity felt very familiar. Maybe it was the tragedy of her life. A woman who’d never been respected by the town or loved by any man. The oldest of her sisters, but the only one who wasn't married. So concentrated on performing and pleasing others that she failed to see how no one cared for her.

“I’m doing as good as someone in my situation might do.” She giggled. “But I must admit, I was surprised when you asked to see me. What is it that you want from me, sheriff?”

In the way Charity spoke, it was easy to see her dearth of carefulness. Life had taken away any delicacy she could have ever had, and that lack of softness became her undoing.

“Is your father at home?”

The dancer gave him a bad look, not taken aback by the question, but not enjoying it either.

“What’s it to you? Besides you know he leaves sooner… You wouldn’t be here if he knew you were here, would you.”

“Don't say those things, Charity. I spend time with you when I can and I want.”

She nodded with a smile. As unpleasant as hearing some of those things was, she found it ironic and entertaining in a way, so she played along with whatever the Conductor wanted. The sheriff spoke again.

“Fine, let’s get you out of here.”

With this, Conductor grabbed Charity’s hand and took her to a place away from the town, where no one could see them.

They talked the whole way, just like they did on those nights. It was nice, their conversations could turn the sickest theme into a normal thing to talk about, giving Conductor a chance to talk about things he felt like couldn’t even speak about with the priest.

Charity was a smart woman, she learnt to do many things on her own, like reading, sewing and dancing. She could be very social and funny, but most men at the bar were uninterested in her company except for the pianist. All of these characteristics made her very interesting for the sheriff, who looked into her eyes as if they were distorted mirrors.
Conductor found her presence comforting in a weird way. He didn’t want to put a name to the feeling, but he knew it was positive in the worst way possible.

When they finally arrived to the spot, the dancer smiled and sighed, looking at the stars that shone bright atop of them.

“I know you like them.”

The sheriff looked at her when he said it, smiling when he saw her face light up.

“Oh it’s more than liking Conductor, I adore them… and look…”

She pointed at the moon with an even bigger smile.

“…Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Mhm. I guess you're meant to feel admiration for it, you’re a moon penguin after all.”

He sat down and signaled for Charity to sit next to him, who snickered as she did so and fixated her eyes in the sky, sighing in delight.

“Thank you.”

Chapter Text

The piano made a loud, incomprehensible and ultimately wrong noise in the midst of night.
The bar was completely empty, except for Charity and the pianist.

"Not like that, Charity, I've already told you."

The dancer nodded, still trying to understand how to play the elegant and beaten up instrument that imposed itself in front of her.

"It's not as easy as you make it seem, darling..."

With a loud sigh, the pianist closed the fallboard, compressing the girl's fingers.

"You'll get it... Sometime. You were born for dancing, not music."

Charity smiled, seeming defeated.

"I guess, but I just wish I could be born for more..."

She got up and looked at the stage.

"... So much more."

Her companion nodded, dismissing the despair in her voice.

"You should sleep and rest well tonight, don't forget to pray, you hear me?"

Charity agreed with a soft hum, and with this, she saw the pianist exit the bar.

Alone, again. Her natural and most intimate state, solitude.
She walked carefully towards her room and closed the door and the window, the only source of light coming from an almost burnt out candle.

The dancer looked at herself in the tiny vanity she used to share with her sisters.
Relaxing her face, she took off her cheap jewels while she stared deep into her own eyes.
Not thinking, her low soft voice sang.

"I was hangin' 'round town, just spendin' my time...
Out of a job, not earnin' a dime"

Her hands moved to her back, fighting the knot that held her dress up.

"...A feller steps up and he said, "I suppose
You're a bronc fighter from looks of your clothes"

After a few minutes, she sighed in relief.
A hand to her chest, she looked away from the mirror. Maybe the systematic deformation of her reflection could make looking at it bearable, but the real image shown wasn't something she wanted to lay her eyes on.

Her sleep dress fell easily over her firm body, ignoring any curves she had. She imagined how beautiful her sisters' sleepwear must be now that they were married. Probably the complete opposite of what she was wearing, theirs would be lacey and flattering, white in color.

The dancer carefully wiped a tear off her cheek. She looked at her bed and approached it like she had done time and time again.
Quietly, Charity hid underneath it, letting her tears drop on the floor, just like when she was a kid.

There was a certain shame she felt deep in her stomach whenever she'd let herself weep, and underneath the bed, where no one could see her or judge her, was the perfect place to let the physical manifestation of her pain spill.
Her whole body shook with the strength of the feeling. She had no vigor in her body, which felt like a machine fueled by feelings and not reason.

The candle gave one last breath before completely burning out. A horse could be heard outside the bar, but it passed by after a few minutes.

Finally, Charity's breathing found peace when she fell asleep.

Chapter Text

He trembled as he woke up from the slumber he had been in, it had been four months since he had been able to sleep. The Conductor felt he had to be awake at all times, always alert in case someone needed him, even if the person who had needed him was no longer with him, the residue of that anxiety had remained in his mind after the death of his mother.

Trying to find a solution, the Conductor had started to ride his horse during the nights, roaming the town and mostly, the bar.
Perhaps secretly, he hoped to find Charity smoking sometime, as it used to happen before, and so he could talk to her without asking her. Though lately he always found the bar completely deserted, the dancer's balcony totally closed and not a trace of her.

Today, however, was not one of those nights. This early morning would give him an excuse to think and let the horse rest. He would not think about the letter, or what might happen to the town if he did not find a plan.
The Conductor thought about his life, if it could be called that, and with this premise he finally got up from his bed to take a walk.

He began to walk without a destination and following his steps, his ideas began to flow.
As soon as he stepped outside, the cold, thick desert air hit his face. It was always like this at nights and although more than once he thought he was used to it, he couldn't help but shiver and shrug his shoulders. He hated coldness, the abnormally vulnerable feeling it left on his body was unbearable.

He looked up at a waning moon that hovered over him without stopping his pace. Would Charity be looking at the sky as he was?
The Conductor wanted to convince himself that she was, that the mere fact of gazing at the same night sky that gathered both them and the whole of humanity indirectly formed an unbreakable bond between the dancer and him.

The stars always made him think of her, even before their rendezvous. He knew far more than those eyes of hers let him discover.
Objectively, the Conductor knew too much about Charity, he had read documents he should have never seen and although it tormented him, there was nothing he could do about the information which had already settled deep in his mind. Many times, watching her dance, the Conductor wished he had never laid eyes on those texts, ultimately, they were the reason he never saw himself worthy of her, there was an inequality of knowledge. It was unpleasant, but it was a disproportion the Conductor had no plans to get rid of.

When he felt his neck ache, he turned his gaze to what was in front of him. In the distance he could make out the outline of the church, distorted by the distance and the darkness. His mind mixed concepts; although he had never confessed it to anyone, he had always dreamed of being an exemplary husband, to find a dreamy love with a good woman and to form a beautiful home.
Charity would not be a bad wife, he had never questioned that, but her fame, the gossips, the fact that she would never be able to give him his longed-for family...

As he passed by the church he stopped in silence, it would not be his final destination, but the building aroused in him an important respect. Many times life seemed to him the greatest punishment of humanity, a mere transit that depending on chance could be a sweet journey worthy of commemoration or a garden of dry and dead flowers, bogged down and with no way out.
The second way of looking at it was the one he was most accustomed to, he looked at his neighbors and his family and saw sad believers passing through this valley of tears with hardships. He had understood firsthand how cruel and vile existence could be. The weathered stone of the church reminded him of the gravestones in the cemetery, and with that image, the memory of his mother.

On the one hand, it seemed childish and even wrong the way he longed for his mother. Her memory, her legacy, everything had altered the way he saw himself, the way he lived. What was once a path with certain miseries which he was guided through, as if his story were written by someone else, suddenly turned into broken, incoherent fragments that resented when he tried to make sense of them.

That's how he ended up where everything always finished, in the cemetery.

He could imagine seeing himself reflected in the dew on the grass, thousands of tiny reverberations that reminded him how ephemeral the state he was in was. As painful as it was, his mother's death should be the turning point that would make him change his life completely.
He did not want to continue living in this town, he did not want to feel the burden of taking care of his neighbors, of bearing their criticism.
Again his image in the dew came back into his head. It was shaped by other people's expectations, it was everything others had wanted of him, not what he wanted to be.

Coming to his bed and lying down, feeling the firm mattress under his body represented a strange fragility to him. The Conductor was still the same child who sought the approving gaze of others, he knew he couldn't live without it. He wanted to be his best self, even if it wasn't his real self.

That's why he continued to struggle, seeking false hopes of a life lived by him.
He brought his rosary to his chest as he hugged himself, trying to find comfort on his bed.
His voice was small as ever, repeating the Lord's Prayer over and over.

It was a shy knock on the door that made his eyes open with incertitude and his breathing stop.