Indulge in a little Practical Gothicism...

Interfector Mortis: He stalks out the door, blood rushing in his ears, boiling with fury, with rage at the disrespect. The disobedience. The—
He stops dead.
She had called Thanatica a waste of talent. Called his Thanatica, a waste.
He has half a mind to go back and really show her what such insolence brings. Turns halfway around before wrenching himself in the direction of his room. Something feels off.

He's not sure what, but it nags at him as he stalks to his quarters. Strides long, face drawn, not a man you want to get in the way of. Not a man in the mood to indulge any disturbances. When he reaches his doors, he almost storms inside, letting the door slam behind him with an echoing bang through the quiet halls.
Daniil flinches at the sound.

Flinches like it had been he himself getting slammed. Not real pain, no, but he feels... guilty? He's not sure why. It's just a door. Perhaps at the fact that all of his Wake know he is displeased. Although....
Would that not be a good thing? he thinks. For my Wake to know some misdeed has happened? To know to be scared?
That makes him pause. Does he want his followers to be scared of him? To cower? To flinch away? He begins pacing, wide, looping spirals around his room. No.. No I just want them to treat me with the respect and deference I'm owed. Which is exactly what Gore has failed at today. What the girl has failed at. He can feel his rage rebuilding, the kindling sparking in his gut again.
Who are they to think they have that right? Who are they to think themselves better than him? To know better than him? Gore is nothing but a tool, broken yes, but sharp. Yet, like many tools, easily disposible if needs must. Half a pity project, all advantagous opportunity. No one would be surprised if the forgeiner who got kicked out of med school ended up a criminal. That makes him marginally useful.
And the girl is nothing but.... The girl is...... The girl-

He stops in the middle of his loop. Face draining, eyes growing wide in mute, understated horror.
The girl- No.. No Clara is his daughter and he... he had- he just-
What had he done?
Daniil almost sprints back to her, back to the mess he's left behind. To his daughter on the floor, on her knees at his feet, bleeding that he's left. But-
No, I.. I cant. He jerks to a halt, halfway to the door in an aborted grab for the handle. I've... I've hurt her so much she was terrified I can't go back there now. It'll only make things worse. And oh what if Gore thinks he's going to hurt her more. He's strong yes, but Daniil has some doubts on whether or not he would be able to get a half rabid Edward trying to protect Clara off of him. I have.. I have to... god what have I done. How could.. how could I have ever...

Instead of rushing to his daughter, as he would like to, Daniil finds himself rushing to his own bathroom, trmbling, and coming to rest on his knees before his toilet, the sick barely making it into the bowl. His stomach churns as he thinks about what he did. What he didn't do. What he said, and didn't say. At how very cruel he was to the one person who matters the most.
He needs to make this right. How can he even begin to make this right?
How does a man come back from that. From doing that to his child. From making her so scared she stabs herself to get him to stop. To see that, to see her on her knees asking for medical help and to tell her to fix it herself.
Daniil retches again, trembling, sweat collecting on his neck, below the collar of his lab coat. He hopes Gore helped her. That another person today didn't abandon her like he had.

He gets no sleep that night, spending the hours alternating pacing, and rushing back to the toilet. He can't get the look in her eyes out of his head. Both when she spat words with all the vitriolic, venomous hatred musterable, and when she knelt there, wide eyes pleading with him for medical attention. Both make him nauseous.
It's light out by the time he finally manages to get himself to go to her. Armed with bandages, ointment, and, if it will be accepted (though he knows he doesn't deserve that), a father's love and embrace.
He steps out of his chamers, trying his best to be quiet. Unobtrusive, even. A first for him in all the years Thanatica has stood.
He has a daughter to find.

[She cuts a hell of a figure in the pristine halls of Thanatica. Tall, bold, unabashed — amongst the primly-uniformed scientist who stare as she walks past, she struts with her open coat and tight striped trousers, hands in her pockets, eyes forward. She doesn't even bother knocking at Dankovksy's door; she just shoulders it open and strides in to perch on his desk with a grin.]
Dankovsky, you sonnova bitch. Been too long.

Interfector Mortis: Stamatin. It’s been too long indeed, and yet it seems you’ve still not learned any proper decorum or manners.
[He rises from behind his desk, cutting a decently impressive figure of his own. The coat, the platforms, the demeanor, all working toward him seeing larger than he is, if not larger than life.]
While within the walls of my Thanatica I really must insist you use my proper title, no matter our history or familiarity.

Andrea Stamatina: [Well, he's changed. She eyes him up and down, taking him in. He was always serious — and a little full of himself — but now, he looks... well, he almost looks regal. She never thought she'd find Daniil Dankovsky imposing, but she almost does.]
Proper title, huh? [She reaches out to poke the nameplate on his desk beside her thigh, then folds her arms, pressing the bare swell of her breasts together under the coat.] Interfector Mortis. You always did get wet for Latin.

Interfector Mortis: It’s- [He’s sputtering, as often is the case when talking with Andrea.] It’s an appropriate term!

Andrea Stamatina: [Ah, at least he's still easy to fluster. Her wolfish grin spreads wide.] Yeah, and there are lots of appropriate terms in Russian, too. But I know which language you prefer to bark.

Interfector Mortis: Prefer to— Stamatina! [He shakes himself, trying to not let her get under his skin.]
It’s not as if the same gravitas is present in our mother tongue. Circumstances like these require a wee bit of ostentation.

Andrea Stamatina: [Her grin only grows. After all this time, it's still so satisfying to make him squirm.]
And ostentation you're certainly giving, Interfector. The matching uniforms are a cute touch, if a bit conservative for my taste. Bet you have fun peeling them off at the end of the day.

Interfector Mortis: [Daniil straightens, trying to regain his composure.]
The only peeling of uniforms I do at the end of the day is removing my own vestments. I wouldn’t be able to say if my Wake finds it fun.

Andrea Stamatina: [She stares at him, then throws her head back and laughs.]
Oh, you're fucking kidding me! You have a whole Wake hanging on your every word, calling you "death-killer," clawing their own eyes out to work here, and you don't fuck them? What's the point of a cult if you don't fuck them?!

Interfector Mortis: They are my colleagues, my underlings and, for some, at one point my students or mentees. It would reflect poorly on Thanatica to have misconduct happening within its walls.

Andrea Stamatina: Uh huh. [Oh, Daniil will know that tone in her voice and that glint in her eye. That's how she looks and sounds when she's making a plan.]

Interfector Mortis: And just what are you intending to do? It’s not as if you would cause a misconduct case you don’t work here!

Andrea Stamatina: Exaaaaaaaaactly. [She trills the word out.] And if their dear Interfector Mortis won't see what's under those uniforms, someone should.

Interfector Mortis: Stamatina…
[He just looks defeated. Honestly once Andrea gets something in her head it’s almost impossible to steer her from that course.]

Andrea Stamatina: Don't worry. [She stands up so she can grin down at him and grasp his chin in her hand, the way she's done many times before.] You know I clean up my toys after I play with them.

Interfector Mortis: [And damn if that doesn’t still manage to make him weak at the knees, even all these years and a new gender later.]
Just… Do try not to break anyone. I am rather protective of whats mine, after all.

Andrea Stamatina: You know... [She trails a finger down the line of his throat, stopping to hook it in the collar of his robe.] I've been wondering how much this body of yours has changed. What's it been, six years on the hormones now? Longer? [Her grin is sharp, too full of teeth, and her voice is a low purr.]
Fucked a guy who'd been on 'em for just a year. Y'know what he told me? Made his sex drive go through the fucking roof. They do that for you too, Danya?

Interfector Mortis: [Daniil’s mouth drops open, looking much like a surprised fish. He works his throat for an embarrassing long minute, trying to get words to work again.],br />I… Andrea… thats- I’m..

Andrea Stamatina: Oh, they do, don't they? [Too late. She's scented blood and now she's on the hunt.] Under that prim little robe of yours, I'll bet you're dripping.

Interfector Mortis: This is.. highly inappropriate…
[Never mind the way he’s shifting, thighs pressing together under the cover of his vestment.]

Andrea Stamatina: Ah, poor Danya. [She pushes her hand through his hair, then grips and tugs.] All that hormone lust, and no one to satisfy it... your Wake stuffed to the brim with handsome men and pretty women and not a single one of them is stuffing you to the brim. Pity, pity...

Interfector Mortis: [He gasps, throat bared as he looks at her with half lidded eyes.]
I…. Been busy..

Andrea Stamatina: But you want it, Danya, don't you? Always could read you like a book. All you have to do is ask nicely, and I might give you what you want. Hm? That's all. Just open those pretty lips of yours and say, "Stamatin, I want you to bend me over this desk and—"

Nadezhda Zaitseva: Interfector Mortis, I have the— [She stops dead, slackjawed and staring at the scene in front of her. A woman taller than both of them, half-naked save for a coat barely covering her nipples, grasping Thanatica's leader by the hair and purring filth into his ear. And he's not pulling away. And Nadya can't look away.]

Andrea Stamatina: [The way they're positioned, Daniil's back is to Nadya at the door, and Andrea herself is facing towards it. She raises her gaze from Daniil's face to look over his shoulder at the newcomer. She doesn't look annoyed at the intrusion — if anything, her grin only widens.] Oh, Danya, I did say your Wake was stuffed with pretty women... here's one now. My, aren't you a little pearl of a thing.

Interfector Mortis: [That shakes Daniil out of it. He jolts, ripping himself out of Andrea’s grip, takes a step back, straightening out & futzing with his coat, trying to cool off before turning to look at the intrusion.]
Ah, Zaitseva. You have the…?

Nadezhda Zaitseva: I-I can come back...

Interfector Mortis: No, no it’s quite alright. What [he coughs, clearing his throat,] what was it you had for me?

Nadezha Zaitseva: The... um... I... [She can't stop staring.]

Andrea Stamatina: [She, still grinning, has lounged back on Daniil's desk, thumb hooked in the front of her trousers to pull them down just slightly. The dusky trail of hair disappearing below the waistband is even more evident than usual, that way.] Spit it out, little songbird. Pretend I'm not here.

Interfector Mortis: Do ah, try to ignore her. Anything else just encourages the behavior. What was it you had to give me?

Andrea Stamatina: Oooooooooh, touchy. As if you weren't just panting in my hand like a puppy in heat, In-ter-fec-tor Mor-tis. [She overpronounces every syllable.]

Interfector Mortis: [Pointedly ignoring Andrea, he focuses only on Nadezhda.]
Zaitseva. What did you have for me?

Nadezhda Zaitseva: The... latest reports from Morokova's batch of testing. [She holds them out to Interfector Mortis, finally tearing her eyes away from Andrea.]

Interfector Mortis: Ah, you can set them in the desk, I’ll look through them later.

Andrea Stamatina: Yes... set them on the desk. [She scoots back on the desk, locks eyes with Zaitseva, and spreads her thighs wide to pat the wood between them with her palm.] There's room.

Nadezhsa Zaitseva: [She approaches, almost trembling. She sets the papers down beside Andrea and tries to back away.]

Andrea Stamatina: Ah, ah. Where did I tell you to put them, Zaitseva?

Nadezhda Zaitseva: [She stares. Slowly, she picks them back up and places then between Andrea's spread legs.]

Andrea Stamatina: Good girl.

Interfector Mortis: For the love of- Fine!
[He throws his hands up, exasperated.]
Do whatever it’s not worth trying to stop any of this, I’ll be in the main laboratory if anyone wants to get any actual work done.

Andrea Stamatina: And leave you hard and wanting, Interfector Mortis?

Interfector Mortis: I’m ignoring you, Stamatina.
[He storms out the door, also trying to ignore the damp patch in his underwear and the coiling heat in his gut.]

Petra Stamatina: hello… childe… daughter…

Clara: Is— is there something you need?
[I’m not your daughter. Don’t say that. You don’t get to say that. Clara’s stomach lurches horrible. It’s not like they care for her, just when she channels something bigger. And even then, it’s still her. Do they think themselves capable of magic? Of miracles like she is? This house would be a dead empty mouth without her, waiting for people to fall in. She swallows, forces herself to smile softly.]

Petra Stamatina: always need you…. never leave you…. my dear oh my dear… i only wish to care for you…. to hold you…..

Andrea Stamatina: [She's silent, close to Petra, as close as they can be without being one.]

Clara: [Clara forces her feet to plant so she doesn’t bolt.] I’m always here, you know that. Never anywhere else.
[Don’t come near me. Don’t. Don’t demand I become something other than myself, when I barely know who that is. She looks up at the writhing hydra before her and cannot tell which face frightens her more.]

Petra Stamatina: [she moves, with andrea as one, step in step toward Clara. toward Thanatica. arms reaching out.]
let me embrace you my dear…. let me hold you close…. hold you to my breast, keep you safe…..

Clara: [Her skin is buzzing and fear makes her sick. Why her? Why could Petra not kiss the walls and bow to the banisters? Why is it her flesh that must be used as instrument for the sister’s madness? She closes her eyes and bows her head slightly, as the heat of the hydra comes closer to her.]
Of course, mother. Of course.

Petra Stamatina: [arms twine around her, both sets? one set? it is all the same with the twins….]
oh my dear, my darling…. i’m so so proud…. you’ve done it sweet girl, you’ve proven yourself.

Clara: [There’s too many limbs to count. A monstrous creature that wraps her and eats her whole. It only wants what’s beneath her skin, wants to break her bones and lick out the marrow. She is putting her head in two sets of razor teeth. Her cheek thumps dully against a shoulder. Which shoulder doesn’t matter, she can’t tell them apart anyway.]
I told you. There are miracles here. Dreams are not gone from the world.

Andrea Stamatina: [She's encircled entirely. It's impossible to tell where one twin ends and the other begins. Is Petra in front of her and Andrea behind, or the other way around? In the end, it doesn't matter. She's encased. She's bound.]
We were so proud, daughter. Did you hear how they cheered for you?

Clara :[Clara heard nothing over the pound of her own heart. She shudders, a trembling breath forcing its way out of her. It’s too warm, too close, too confining. She does not want this daughterhood.]
Yes. I heard it. [Thanatica heard it. She is overjoyed at Clara’s success.]
I saw you there. Up above.

Petra Stamatina: we were watching dear…. watching your triumph… you did so well…

Clara: thank— thank you. They saw it too, everyone. Saw what… what you made.
[Clara can’t breathe. Why are they everywhere? Why are they holding her? What do they want her to do— expect of her? She can’t see what they could possibly need.]

Andrea Stamatina: [They loved the Polyhedron, of course. She was their first daughter. But she never manifested as something they could physically hold, could cradle like a true child, and to do so now for their second daughter feels like a miracle in and of itself. She strokes a hand through Clara's hair, sighing.]
Is she proud? Did she speak to you?

Clara: She’s always speaking to me. When I’m here, we share a head.
[Clara shudders at the hand in her hair. It makes her scalp prickle uncomfortably.]
She was happy. Very happy. She likes to be seen.

Andrea Stamatina: [That's the worst thing she could have said to quell Andrea's mad, sick affection. When Clara says they share a head, she delivers a flurry of kisses over the hat.]

Clara: [Clara nearly cowers away, horrified. Why did she say that? It’s true, but why did she say it?]

Petra Stamatina: ouh! so she can always hear us….! oh oh dear oh how we adore you so….
[she brings her own face down, giving her own kisses to the hat, leaning and trailing them to reach the bare skin of her forehead.]

Clara: [Clara wants to cry. She can’t hide from either of them, from the pressure of two mothers crushing her down.]
She knows. She knows that you love her. She loves you too.
[But I don’t. Get away from me!]

Andrea Stamatina: I shouldn't have given her to Dankovsky. [She snarls the name.] He's not worthy of our child.

Clara: She wants to use him. He gives her new people, new furthering. He feeds her.
[Don’t hurt him. I can’t protect him from Artemy and you both, I’ll be killed in the process.]

Andrea Stamatina: We could feed her! We should be nursing her, not him.

Clara: She chose him.
[Clara looks up imploringly, forcing herself to slump deeper into their arms.]
Please. S—We want him. He furthers our cause. Was he not your friend, once?

Andrea Stamatina: He was. Before he slaughtered our first child.

Clara: He didn’t. He didn’t.
[They’ll kill him. They’ll take her father.]
The Inquisitor did. It was her words that pushed for it. She made everyone believe it was the only way. I— I wanted to preserve everything!