01-25-2008, 02:10 AM
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The sentiment that Fatin and Phasma had a mother-daughter relationship did bring a bit of a smile to his face, though it was pained just as much as her poor attempts at laughter. He sat beside her on the old log, his height slouching better to her level and beyond as though he was physically weighed down by such a sudden loss. “It's all right,” he offered to her wordiness, knowing that it was easier for some to talk things out than bottle them up. That was one thing that he surely took from his parents, that enabling ability to bottle things up and store them away. Perhaps one day he'd choose to spoil his liver on them like a long lost leader had, but that thought was neither here nor there. He was very rarely conscious of his throwback quirks of inheritance.[/html]
“I'm sure she would love any place you chose for her, whether it was at the seaside or deep in the forest. I think she knows that you would only pick the best for her,” that was of course, only speculation on his part. He barely knew Fatin aside from running into her offhandedly and of course, her accepting him. Yet he thought it was the right thing to say, even if he wasn't exactly sure that it was something that everyone would do. He thought to himself, if he were to have died suddenly before he had ever left home, would his parents have buried him in his favourite place, or in their own backyard? He could easily picture them arguing more over the location than what he would have wanted, humorously enough.
“I just can't believe it happened like it did… I could have sworn that she was fine the day before.” Even at that, he had only seen her briefly. In passing, like so many other jumbled up faces.