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Entry tags:
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- zelda
Event Eleven.
 | |
A grass-bank beyond, A blue sky of spring, White clouds on the wing; What a little thing To remember for years -- To remember with tears!" | |
Welcome to Awash's eleventh event log, everyone! Further information on this event can be found here at the OOC post. | |
he day is normal. It's a bit chillier than it's been, the nip of fall in the air, but as the new people in the Town settle in... things have gotten peaceful.
SHOUTO
Hanging out with Shouto had been a reason to pass the time. They converged without much acknowledgment they did it, and felt decidedly better when it was done. A strange feeling, like he needed to just be around someone else for a while.
The memory comes suddenly and without warning. All Shouto had to do was say something blunt and silly, and Damian offers a tt in response to keep from laughing.
It's not the worse memory possible, but it's extremely personal regardless. The things his mother tells him, things he knows mothers shouldn't say at all much less to their children. It's like a scar, a stain. He's the boy with a "bad" parent. A mother, the one parent held in such high esteem. Everyone else has a mother who loves them, surely. Mothers love their children. Mothers would die for their children.
But Talia only makes excuses. And Damian can't forgive her for it.
This time, he isn't left standing angry and embarrassed when the memory is gone. He's left instead to be sad, head turns, lips down, and gaze knowingly anywhere but at Shouto. He's glad he explained part of it already.
He just wishes Shouto hadn't of had to see it.]
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Sorry.
[For seeing a memory that he doesn't think Damian wanted anybody to see at all.
... Though now he has to wonder if Damian's been dead before? He looks plenty alive right now and in the memory.]
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[Damian gets it's not pity, but he feels like he doesn't want Shouto's sympathy either. Acknowledging shitty parents sucks.] I didn't realize our talk would have ended up with a pay-per-view stream of an actual instance.
I guess I should be the one apologizing.
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The town really wants to put memories on display. If anybody should apologize it's this place.
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[Heaving an exasperated, quiet sigh, he glances up. He can't believe how draining it is sharing and receiving memories. He's taken a lot of trials and tribulations in his life, but this may be the more tiresome of any one.]
How are you holding up?
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[At least this isn't the "don't eat" test. He failed that one fast. Now it's just sharing memories.]
... Decently. But there's some stuff I didn't really want public. I'd be better if we could control what we shared.
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Maybe it doesn't even matter. Maybe the trigger changes. Have you noticed a similarity?
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Not really. With Izuku and Uraraka, we were touching. But with you we were just talking.
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[The hair on his arms are still ripe with goose flesh. Even being the host of the memory had been very real.]
We can go to my boathouse, if you want. We won't have to deal with anyone else for a while. We can come back into town later.
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... Yeah. Let's go.
[He'll still write a note to Izuku, just in case he needs him for anything.]
Lead the way.
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But he leads the way for them toward Bluo and the harbor. Surprisingly, he doesn't rush, but while there's no hurry, there's intent. He has a destination, and nothing elsewhere around them really steals him from the goal. His eyes move; he's perceptive, looking and thinking.
One of the docks in the harbor has a raft tied off, and there's a long stick lying lengthwise along the dock edge. Shouto is here, however, so Damian motions across the water toward the boathouse, the one closest.]
Are you able to make ice across this kind of water?
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Shouto's not in a rush either, he's as calm as he usually is when they're walking down the streets. Then they make it to the boats on the docks. Oh?]
Yeah. [From his left side the dock starts frosting over before it reaches the ocean, freezing over the surface. He takes a step onto it, perfectly solid. Except it's exactly as slippery as ice usually is.
Except then he looks back and meets Damian's eyes.
--
It's not an old memory, he's not a child this time. He's at the front of his house, slipping his shoes on. Fuyumi asks why he's going to the hospital after all this time. A gnawing sensation of guilt settles at the pit of his stomach. His father's fault Mother ended up in the hospital. But he feels guilty for even existing. She broke because Shouto existed.
He makes it to the hospital. His body is split, ice, fire. If he ever wants to use both he has to talk to his mother. He knows. But his hands tremble as he reaches for the door. Nerves get to him. It's been 10 years since he's seen his mother in person. Is he ready for this? He can't keep avoiding it anymore. A breath. Determination sets in.
He's going to talk to her.
The door is pulled open. Their eyes meet. He's full of apprehension. Does mother even want him there?]
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It hurts his heart, in a way. He doesn't at all act as if he's very sympathetic or even empathetic, but... seeing, hearing, feeling what Shouto feels. Relatable in the emotions. Damian understands. Damian sees it happening.
There's a lump in the bottom of his throat at the end, suffocating him. He's tense, unsure how Shouto may react to the exposure, but not defensive. It's not enough. It only left a taste. An uncertain longing.
He doesn't walk forward or walk back.] What happened?
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We talked. It was... hard at first.
[ After that much time they were basically strangers. They barely knew anything about each other's lives. ]
She... She forgave me surprisingly easily. [ Does he feel like he deserves that? Not entirely. She would've been well within her rights to tell him never to come back. ]
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Besides, Shouto is important to Izuku, and Damian is fairy fond of Izuku, too, who reminds him of Jon.
Carefully, he steps up along the ice walkway and reaches out to put a hand on Shouto's shoulder reassuringly. He nods, lowering his hand again. Shouto did the right thing.]
I'll tell you a story about parental forgiveness when we get to the boathouse.
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It's not great that either he or Damian have such a complicated history with their families. But it's something they share that he's not sure anybody else would understand.
Shouto gives Damian a little nod before walking towards the house. ]
I tried to visit her every weekend.
[ He misses it now that he's stuck in Chroma. ]
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Visiting her helps her, you know. [That might not make Shouto feel very good about missing it now, but--look. Damian is trying to be helpful... even if it sounds kind of clinical. He's trying.] People who have been through trauma and isolate themselves don't recover as well as those who continue to be social active.
Getting there isn't easy, I'm aware. But I think she started getting better when she finally saw her son again.
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I didn't know that. [ Trauma... that's what living with his father was like for his mother. Years and years of trauma and being used as a tool. But mental health is barely covered anywhere at home. ]
I think my siblings visited even when I didn't. [ Or at the very least Fuyumi did. He can't say anything about Natsuo or Touya. ]
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You know... she probably thought you were angry with her. When you didn't go see her, even if she understood. It's best you went and let her know that wasn't the case.
It takes more courage to do that than fight super villains.
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It was never her fault. His father was awful and abusive and didn't care about anything but the prize at the end. Never mind the people who surrounded him. ]
It took me a long time to visit her. But I was never angry at her.
[ If Izuku never got involved in his life, he doesn't know if he ever would. Nervousness and guilt sticking to every memory. ]
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It's... sure a thing, the boathouse. A mish-mash of two very Different boys trying to coexist. Damian is minimalistic like his father; things either have a place, or they should be hidden out of the way. Jon, on the other hand, while not a disaster, doesn't mind; organized chaos in spurts here and there.
It looks much like Jon whirlwinds through, and Damian follows along behind (tries) to keep things in order. No fridge, of course, but Jon has plastered drawings to the wall of the stairwell leading up to the balcony above and outsider. A ten year old's art: the greatest, not the worst. Many of it drawings of them or drawings making fun of Damian, a lot of exaggeratedly >:( faces on a tanned boy's head.
The Superboy is missing, but there's a note on the counter in the kitchen that says,
D,
took krypto to play with ace
giving batcow the love and attention she deserves
what are we eating for dinner?
J
Damian motions to--the general area inside.] We can sit on the balcony if you'd rather be outside.
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But the art is pretty endearing in its own way. Damian apparently left them up, so he can't be that bothered by them.]
The balcony would be good.
[ He's not sure he wants to be inside right now. ]
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The chairs aren't deck chairs and look out of place, but Damian and Jon have put two normal chairs up here for sitting. It seems, actually, like they may spend a good majority of time here, too. He lets Shouto pick a seat.]
I said I would tell you a story.
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About parental forgiveness. [He was listening when Damian said it.]
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Because you were her son.
[His head lowers. He glances at Shouto, near the chest, the seat of the chair, and then he moves to sit in the other one.] My father doesn't believe in killing. Anyone. It sounds expected to some people, that it's wrong to kill. But Father believes even criminals shouldn't be killed no matter what they've done.
I was never raised that way with my mother. She taught me anyone opposing me should die; survivors were a detriment, a loose end.
There was a night, even after having lived with my father, when I killed someone. I did it on purpose, voluntarily. I wanted the man to die because he said he would come back and hurt Father, and I knew he would do it.
It's one of Father's highest moral codes, not killing. I knew I was a disgrace. I knew he would disown me. I would never be his son again; I was a monster. And yet... he forgave me. I still don't understand why. He didn't send me away. He didn't turn me in. He didn't hate me.
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