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Hudson's opinion on Buddy/Daniel?
Hudson would've gotten a long with Buddy and consider him a friend.
The two would be around the same age when Hudson got hired.
Later when he goes insane, he would've been loyal and protective in his weird messed up way.
I think out of everyone and everything here, I'm the closest thing to looking "human", in some twisted way.
Catch me on my left side, you wouldn't think much. A short young man who looks drained, that's all. Sick, even.
Catch me on my right side and you wouldn't want to stick around. No one did, really.
It hurts. My teeth show through the gash and gore while my jaw is slightly slanted. My throat is a mess, inside and out. And my eyes...
I couldn't tell you where they were.
. . .
I've always been on the small side, there's no question about it.
I remember when I was little my mother would call me, "her little sparrow". Like I was weak. Helpless. But precious at the same time.
From the start, I wanted to prove her wrong.
And I think I did, honestly. But not without shame. Or guilt.
Or blood.
...
I remember how I was.
Witty, wistful, nostalgic and eager. Eager to help. Eager to prove what I was worth. Eager to look at the bright side.
What bright side?
I remembered when I went down hill.
I yelled at a friend who was only doing his job. He punched me afterwards. I hurt him with my sharp tongue and he hurt me with his fist.
I think a part of me wanted that. Wanted to be hit, to be hurt. As if maybe that could restore who I was.
Or could gain me a couple brain cells.
I remember how I would sneak off to the sewers, only to be met with welcome arms.
Even if I didn't always want them.
He was there to make me a cup of coffee when I needed it. To teach me melody and beats when I needed a change of subject. And to embrace me when I didn't know what to do.
I loved him more than my own father. And unlike my own father, he loved me back.
And then I pinned a knife to his throat. I asked if he trusted me, if we were friends.
I ruined it. I ruined his trust, I ruined our friendship.
He still loved me though.
I didn't deserve it though. It's not like I was actually his son.
...
I remember when she would comfort me, always treating me like she treated me when I was little. No matter how many temper tantrums I threw. No matter how many insults I spat. No matter when my heart beat had stopped.
She said she would share her heart beat with me. Her heart would beat for both of us.
Whenever I questioned her, she told me, "Because it's what older sisters do."
She said that a lot.
Even though it hurt that she wasn't really my older sister.
I guess she was just that kind.
And then, there was her.
Like the others, I didn't deserve her.
Not her humour, not her snappiness.
Not her kiss. Or her love.
But I wanted to deserve it. All of it.
His friendship.
His forgiving nature.
Her kindness.
And her heart.
I think I even wanted to deserve my father's pride or my mother's sweetness.
I mean, I don't think my father was ever proud of me.
Maybe because he just saw through me, even before I turned insane.
Maybe he was just that smart than everyone else from the beginning.
I got what I deserved though.
Blood, loneliness, wounds that never heal, headaches that never fade.
I'm finally as disfigured as my personality.
Happy Birthday, me. You did it.
Å̴̡̛̛̻͈̲̘̤͑̃̽̀̊̉͊̃̐͗͌̍͘͢͜͞n̴̸̸̢̨̛͍̞͉͖͙͎̝̬͓̤͖̘̪̮̿ͬ̏͊͂̋̽̔͐́ͦ̃ͤ̉̔͗̀̇̎̓̆ͅd͔̼̖̣̤̈́͌̈͋͛̆ͦ͑̋̓̀ͦ Ī̛̘͎̣͖̫̰͚̟͆͌͋̽͆̀͑͋̾̅͆͌̃͊̌̕͜'͓̝̭̅͆͛ͫ̚m̵̡̛̟̫̯̭̭̳̝̝̹̺̙̩͚̙̦̳̑͋͒̀̄̅ͫ͂͑ͤ́̀̎̈́̈͐̋̊ͤ̓̍ͦ̊̔͜͞ s̜̼̱̣̊̒̔̇ͨ̍͒͒͝o̸͖̹̰̦̩͓̭͙̠̖̬̐̋ͩ͒ͯ̆ͬ̓̇́̌̍ͪͪͧ̀͘͢͢͠͞ s̸̴̞͎̃́o̥͙̖͑̽ͨ̌͒r̷͇̻̺̦ͮ͌̅͑͆͊͋̑̑ͨ͝ͅ_̵̮̖̯̳̥͖̯̰̰̃̽̀ͨ̈́̋̒̏͆͊͒́͆͟͢͟͜͝r̹̻̽̑y.̷̗̺͈͌̄̀̈́̍̿͢͟
(For @thelocalmoth and for @creationandcalamityau who might so happen to recognise which characters are being mentioned ;) )