(no subject)
Clone-kin posted a quote in fic based on it. an invitation to write original fic based on it. Her word being my command (or something), I did. Here be
Gh "Never forget the Japmen're six-faced and have three hearts. It's a saying they have that a man has a false heart in his mouth for all the world to see, another in his breast to show his very special friends and his family, and the real one, the true one, the secret one, which is never known to anyone except himself alone, hidden only God knows where."
And here, (non HP-related!) angst-filled mutterings.
There were days when Carl wondered if he still had a heart. Living did that to a man, accustomed him to the daily knocks and bruises, the disappointments and little betrayals that made up life, the truths and beauties not nearly salve enough to save him from hardening. Especially in his line of work, where truth could be bought easily, as long as you had enough money. Some days he wasn't surprised he didn't have a heart, God knew he'd seen enough, done enough, to run through three with ease.
Sure, people thought he was a caring man, in a way. He had money to burn, and he gave some to charity. He was convinced - hell, he knew - not half of it would get to the people claimed. He had two daughters, and he bought them everything they asked for. His wife took them with her when she left him, and since he only saw them every other weekend, spoiling them was about the only fatherly thing he could do.
But then, of course, there were the days the sunlight slanted through the clouds just so, or his younger daughter asks him what his job is for a school project, and he remembers he has a heart left, and more, that it can break.
Gh "Never forget the Japmen're six-faced and have three hearts. It's a saying they have that a man has a false heart in his mouth for all the world to see, another in his breast to show his very special friends and his family, and the real one, the true one, the secret one, which is never known to anyone except himself alone, hidden only God knows where."
And here, (non HP-related!) angst-filled mutterings.
There were days when Carl wondered if he still had a heart. Living did that to a man, accustomed him to the daily knocks and bruises, the disappointments and little betrayals that made up life, the truths and beauties not nearly salve enough to save him from hardening. Especially in his line of work, where truth could be bought easily, as long as you had enough money. Some days he wasn't surprised he didn't have a heart, God knew he'd seen enough, done enough, to run through three with ease.
Sure, people thought he was a caring man, in a way. He had money to burn, and he gave some to charity. He was convinced - hell, he knew - not half of it would get to the people claimed. He had two daughters, and he bought them everything they asked for. His wife took them with her when she left him, and since he only saw them every other weekend, spoiling them was about the only fatherly thing he could do.
But then, of course, there were the days the sunlight slanted through the clouds just so, or his younger daughter asks him what his job is for a school project, and he remembers he has a heart left, and more, that it can break.