( Though it only exists in the slight nuance of Mika's expression, some of his indifference soften when Ithaqua identifies her as his mother - by adoption. Her pitiful form reminds him at once - of his own mother, back hunched in prayer beneath those stained glass cuts of angels, and the orphanage caretaker, who was not quite a mother to him, but who was family all the same. She cared for him, wretched as he was, where his own mother could not bear to without breaking.
The memory continues, and he understands it's from the perspective of this aggrieved stalker. What he doesn't expect is the voice of the clergyman - the implications it confers to the twin trailing him, and, of course, the Ithaqua Mika trails instead.
He watches the fight impassively, but not with disinterest. Had his father struck his mother, he'd hate him, too. (But it was only Mika he hurt, so Mika could forgive him.) And the clergyman - Nathaniel - had done more than just strike.
Sometimes, blood matters less than the family you choose - the people who love you, truly.
He doesn't say anything, as the younger Ithaqua hurries with his letter as his brother bleeds out. It's a sorry sight, but a deserve end, he supposes.
It's really not for him to see.
Mika is quiet between the rasps of a man certainly dying, and his murderer's quill. He glances at Ithaqua, to gauge his reaction - whether it be through body language, or heart beat and pulse, should Ithaqua have either.. )
... Did she survive?
( Your mother, he means.
No judgment for the murder, nor the apparent attempt to disguise it as suicide. What Nathaniel did provokes question, but Nathaniel is less important, he thinks, than her. And so he asks after her first. )
no subject
The memory continues, and he understands it's from the perspective of this aggrieved stalker. What he doesn't expect is the voice of the clergyman - the implications it confers to the twin trailing him, and, of course, the Ithaqua Mika trails instead.
He watches the fight impassively, but not with disinterest. Had his father struck his mother, he'd hate him, too. (But it was only Mika he hurt, so Mika could forgive him.) And the clergyman - Nathaniel - had done more than just strike.
Sometimes, blood matters less than the family you choose - the people who love you, truly.
He doesn't say anything, as the younger Ithaqua hurries with his letter as his brother bleeds out. It's a sorry sight, but a deserve end, he supposes.
It's really not for him to see.
Mika is quiet between the rasps of a man certainly dying, and his murderer's quill. He glances at Ithaqua, to gauge his reaction - whether it be through body language, or heart beat and pulse, should Ithaqua have either.. )
... Did she survive?
( Your mother, he means.
No judgment for the murder, nor the apparent attempt to disguise it as suicide. What Nathaniel did provokes question, but Nathaniel is less important, he thinks, than her. And so he asks after her first. )