all we are will fall
Who: consultmybooks and imatreenow, to be joined later by fortunefail
What: like he was going to stay quiet for much longer
When: Saturday afternoon (October 22nd)
Where: outside house 52
Summary: Good old fashioned breaking-down and violence. Giles learns that distressed young boys aren't all that they seem. Yuan interferes. And no one was surprised.
Rating: PG-13? yeah? sure?
[Some days were better than others, but none of them were very good. Lows. Lower lows. Slightly higher lows. Grieving is a process, but Mithos had never figured out how to make it past the first few steps. It isn't easy when the smallest things can set him off and pull him back down. Today it's the garden that snares him, the one Martel had planted in front of the house. Still here, even though she was gone. His feelings are difficult to sort through, but that isn't new: a reminder of her, but entwined with and inextricable from a reminder of how short her stay was and how much he hurts. The wilted brown ghosts of flowers appease him in a way, with the broken validation of knowing that something else is suffering too, but some of the plants remain stubbornly green. A color he can't help but associate with her, and it falls back to the start of this whole ugly knot.
On a whim, with typical paper-width unpredictability, he decides he can't stand it anymore. He has to pull it up, piece by piece, kneeling in the dirt, bent over his work, teeth gritted, hands possessed, shaking as anger or despair or both eat away at him. Ceaselessly. Meticulously. An act of love, even if it looks an awful lot like hate.
Weed it all out. Everything that hurts.]
What: like he was going to stay quiet for much longer
When: Saturday afternoon (October 22nd)
Where: outside house 52
Summary: Good old fashioned breaking-down and violence. Giles learns that distressed young boys aren't all that they seem. Yuan interferes. And no one was surprised.
Rating: PG-13? yeah? sure?
[Some days were better than others, but none of them were very good. Lows. Lower lows. Slightly higher lows. Grieving is a process, but Mithos had never figured out how to make it past the first few steps. It isn't easy when the smallest things can set him off and pull him back down. Today it's the garden that snares him, the one Martel had planted in front of the house. Still here, even though she was gone. His feelings are difficult to sort through, but that isn't new: a reminder of her, but entwined with and inextricable from a reminder of how short her stay was and how much he hurts. The wilted brown ghosts of flowers appease him in a way, with the broken validation of knowing that something else is suffering too, but some of the plants remain stubbornly green. A color he can't help but associate with her, and it falls back to the start of this whole ugly knot.
On a whim, with typical paper-width unpredictability, he decides he can't stand it anymore. He has to pull it up, piece by piece, kneeling in the dirt, bent over his work, teeth gritted, hands possessed, shaking as anger or despair or both eat away at him. Ceaselessly. Meticulously. An act of love, even if it looks an awful lot like hate.
Weed it all out. Everything that hurts.]