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INBOX text / audio / video / action I only drink Chocolate Milk. THE DARKEST OF MILKS! art credit code credit

[ It's Lucina so casually toying with the poor, defenseless gummi worm that really alerts Owain to just how down she must be feeling; maybe he's projecting, but restless hands always find a way to bother him when he's upset about one thing or another, and though the change in him is rather minute, there's a sharpness in his eyes as he sits a little straighter and listens a little harder. Lucina's expression sinks, she talks about a darkness that's reared its head in her life, and then - the question drops.

Even now, after a year or so of practice, talking about his parents while here in America makes him feel just ever so slightly unsettled. He'd thought after leaving his family to become a retainer of Nohr, he'd finally found enough independence to stop longing for the days before the Risen, when things were quiet and gentle and he didn't have to cry at night, wondering if his father would come home from the war or staying beside his mother's bed while she battled exhaustion born from all she would do. But - ah. He shifts in his seat, scratching uncomfortably at his arm. In Nohr, he always knew he had the option to return to Ylisse one day. He doesn't have that here. ]

It... I don't know. I thought it was, when dad died. [ The blood on his back, the arrow that pierced him. The death Owain carried. There were certain sons and daughters of the shepherds just - lost their parents to a battle far away from them. Owain was there to see both Lissa and Lon'qu's lives end. He chews on his lip as he thinks. ]

Then, with Naga... I wouldn't give up the reunion I had with him. With all of them. The reunion you'll still have with them. It meant the world to me, seeing our parents so young and so vibrant and so full of life. [ A moment's hesitation. ] But - I don't know. It's - more difficult for me to answer, as I am now, having come out the other side of the war.

[while her hands still may be fidgeting with this poor gummi worm, she remains silent, attentive to his words. the loss of Lon'qu had been so devastating, she remembers -- not the gallant end of old legendary heroes the way Owain always boasted of, but...better, perhaps, in saving his son.

but better for what? a future without him. that's the sort of thing Lucina's stuck on right now -- not the merits of their wishes, but...the reality that it left a bunch of kids alone to face down hell. and even though she believes in what he says -- about a future where she'll see her father and mother again, though younger and different... it's hard to convince her mind and heart to agree. believing without seeing, after so much tragedy, is hard...yet she's been given such wonderful gifts here. so...so shouldn't she be content with his word? not...bitter and backward-facing?

too much strain on the worm has it snap, and she exhales, popping the pieces in her mouth and chewing silently, mulling on his answer. she's silent for a time after, too, slumping back against pillows and curling her knees up toward herself.]

...I must still be such a child. To be even the slightest bit angry with them, after all they've done for us... [she closes her eyes.] I'll always be grateful. Always. But still...

[ the once whole and loving gummi worm snapped between Lucina's fingers, the silence pierced only by the rustling of her pillow and the quiet sigh that escapes her... it's all just so - sad. Owain thrives on language, on finding the right word and the right feeling to capture every moment that passes him, constantly cataloguing his life in imaginary narratives and invisible diary entries, but as he watches his cousin shrink against herself it's just... sad. he's silent for too long after she trails off, not sure what to say.

he's been where she is now. the silence after coming to America... it gets to you. there are still wars here, there's still tension and new atrocities creeping into so many of the things they're forced to live through, still unbearable pressure on the mantle of being an imPort in a world of humans that lack real power, but there's so much downtime. it's hard, coming from the coal to diamond pressure they were forged in as children to the relative peace of a world that holds no real home for them. there are still nights where he thinks back on his parents and the sacrifices they made, but never so vividly as he did when he first arrived. never so vividly as he would have, if he were here as a teenager. ]

You're not-- a child. [ ... ] You never had time to be a child. They left us too soon to experience the freedom and the innocence that we should have had.

[ again, he shifts, tries to find a way to feel comfortable, but his skin is itching and his knee is bouncing and he has to focus on breathing to become the steady rock for Inigo and Severa he forced himself to be during their time in Nohr. he shuffles just an inch closer to Lucina, wrapping his arms around himself as if he were cold. even now, it's hard to face the proof that the young woman he so heavily relied on growing up is just as small and just as fragile as he was. ]

You can get angry, if you like. If you could say anything to your parents, without having to worry about staying strong or bearing all the weight they left on your shoulders - what would you say?

[she can feel the itch and tingle of tears welling up despite her wishes, and so she keeps her eyes shut, her brow furrowed in the fight against them. he's right and she hates it -- true, they had kind days at play and carefree evenings before storytime, long, long ago...but so long ago as to just be the shadow of a memory. something pretend, imagined to be idyllic compared to the torments that followed. the justice cabaal surely was a great thing, but perhaps made only greater by nostalgia and the need for something good to hold onto. she fears much the same for the memories of their family, the very notion making her heart ache.

she's so ashamed of her anger. the memory of her family deserves so much better than resentment for all the hard work they put in! there should be nothing but admiration and love. to feel anything negative seems an affront to their memories, a failing in her that tarnishes any good she may do. a pillar, chipped at the base and imperfect.]

...I wish they'd never promised me anything. [her voice is small, wavering with the fight to keep from bursting into tears.] No...no promises to go riding far afield, or...[she breathes.] Or assurances that there would be time for dress-up or practice later. Later, later...Always later. Just-- [her body goes tense as her lips curl back to expose gritted teeth, anguished.] Just don't leave me with broken promises, dammit! Don't promise me anything at all!

[ lucina raises her voice and owain doesn't... react, not really. it would be pointless, for him to say things like "they didn't know later would never come", or-- or "they were lying to themselves as much as they were to you", these sentiments that would put pity on sully and chrom's shoulders, paint them as human and forgivable. he wants lucina to be able to experience these emotions without being weighed down by guilt, or empathy, or anything other than the soft heartbreak that comes from being so young and having lost so much. the freedom they've always longed for comes in more than just bright skies and no need to hope tomorrow will come; more than the freedom to sing, to love, to laugh, it's the freedom to scream and to cry and to mourn and to grieve.

as lucina's family, someone here and capable of fulfilling the promises he makes to her, he wants to be able to give her that.

again he edges forward, not quite sure what to do with his hands. his instinct is to hold lucina, but he doesn't want to smother her... he gives her space, always close, always here if she needs a shoulder to lean on, but he keeps his feet tucked under himself, legs crossed and hands folded. listening, with an ache in his chest. ]

Would you have been happier to live in a world without that hope...? To be given nothing but the cold promises of war? [ you were still a child, you needed to be protected. did that protection matter, in the end, if such protection did nothing to deter them from first having to raise a sword against the undead? ]

I don't... know... if you felt like this - but the fire in my heart was always so close to going out, during the war. [ Owain glances away, just for a moment, but he forces himself to stay steady and keep eye contact. ] Mother was always so tired, those nights she came home from tending to the fallen. She spoke to me like she would the soldiers she would rally to fight alongside of her - trying to inspire hope, conviction... but it never worked on me. When you're that young, you don't want to dream about the glory of battle or some far-off, distant peace. You just want your mother to stop being so wracked with fevers, you-- you want your father to be able to hold you like he used to, before his ribs were too bruised to pick you up. You can see through the exhaustion and the gentle words and just see the woman in front of you with a body that's slowly failing her.

[ she always looked so gaunt. radiant, but far too thin, hair lacking in that golden shine it had before-- before grima. it's been a long time, since owain's thought of how broken lissa would look on the worst days. he needs a moment to collect himself before pushing on. ]

If she hadn't promised me things like-- like "if you pick out your favourite story, I'll read it to you tomorrow evening", even though those promised evenings never-- never came? [ Owain frowns, flexing and unflexing his fists. ] I would have just spent my days... crying. Struggling with my combat training even more than I already did. Promises like those were the most of my parents I ever had.

[Lucina's fingers claw against her skin and curl into the flesh of her palms in her fight to keep composure, a heavy, painful lump stuck in her throat. fresh, hot guilt roils up in her stomach to overwhelm the frustration she feels as Owain speaks of his mother. guilt and shame -- while Sully and Chrom took to field far ahead to stave off danger, Aunt Lissa was often closer at hand to tend to the many who returned wounded and dying. a presence Lucina could easily take for granted, were it not for how plain it was to see what her being there meant to Owain and everyone else. herself, too. no one spoke more proudly of Chrom than his sister..

a couple tears sneak their way out of her eyes in a blink as mention is made of Lissa's weariness, worn plain for all to see despite her fervent efforts to stay bright and unfailing. much the same was needed in Lucina, though she's certain she was never so bright and encouraging as her or any of the others who lifted her up. especially not Owain, who, despite all his anxieties of shortcomings, burns more brightly in Lucina's mind than his mother could.

and he's right, of course. she knows it. as much as she hates, hates what was taken from them, the promise of it was really all they had left to keep going forward. not for them alone, but for all the people who were left, dangling on a thread. and even after Naga's promise, just the hope that they could reverse it all for their pasts to be safer, and promises could be fulfilled.

but not for them. and that's what still hurts, sours her stomach, and weighs so heavily on her heart and shoulders.

...Owain was still so small back then, so the weight was heavier on him. she's certain. yet here he is, seven years her senior now, with such a better eye for this past they shared. she's so ashamed of herself.]

I... [she swallows thickly, her eyes downcast.] I gave up more than I can say. Again and again. I, I can never say that I...always had hope. But rather that I...kept moving forward because it's all I had left to do. Because I had you and, and Kjelle and the others...I had to do something. Pick up where Father left off. Do as he did, and just guess...maybe that...I'll do something right along the way.

That's how hope was. It was...like a heartbeat. A sound, then silence. There, then gone. Again and again and again.

[she lets out another small, shaky breath. one of the dogs comes over, nosing her and licking at her cheek, forcing her to fidget a bit to move that snoot and scratch at their ears.]

[ Owain listens, eyes down. He feels as if the dogs, great and lumbering as they are, are proving more capable of providing comfort to Lucina than he is - as he wraps his arms tight around his waist and makes room for one of the great fluffy bastards to settle in between them, he offers the tiniest smile and wetly laughs when it rolls on its back for tummy scratches. He relents, taking time to think before he continues.

Should he tell Lucina about Robin? It's something he's grappled with time and time again - is it his right, his place, to tell Lucina the details of what they went through together, despite knowing she'll forget it all should she ever be ported home? Reassuring her of their ultimate success had worth, there's merit in trying to ease her troubled soul in the face of all that lies ahead of her... but warnings of Plegian kings and misguided assumptions, inevitabilities that are outside of his hands, seems like it would do nothing but add weight to her shoulders. The knowledge that she could go home lacking in any tactical advantage he could give her... it feels condemning. Dooming Lucina to being miserable while she's stuck here, waiting for the day she's sent home and hoping against hope she'll retain the critical knowledge needed to prevent so much unnecessary tragedy.

But that's tied to what they're discussing now, isn't it? Did hope, false or otherwise, condemn the both of them to being miserable? Would knowledge, for Lucina, pose the same obstacles? If they'd never been told to wait for a day that wouldn't come, would Lissa and Lon'qu's deaths have hit Owain as hard as they did? His hand stills in his dog's fur as he takes a long, heavy sigh and raises his eyes again. ]

I wish I could just tell you to... put all of this out of your mind. Find a new life in America, be happy, embrace all the wonder the land here offers you. But - for all the spells I've learned since I last lived in Ylisse, I haven't yet mastered the right enchantment to make someone's thoughts any less ill at ease.

[ -- but even if he had, such a clean fix would be tantamount to cowardice. lucina is a lot of things, but she's in no world a coward. ]

I... wish we'd known how to prepare ourselves better for all those nights where hope's heart felt as if it might never beat again. But the day will come when you and your mother and your father will be able to spend time together in peace. You'll have to fight for it, but it will come. I can say this with certainty, rather than with empty hope. I saw it. I lived it.

[Lucina's now got a weird kind of throne going on here: two dogs on either side for arms to rest on, her back against a pile of pillows. as far as places to be goes? not the worst of them by a long shot.

she feels another press of guilt upon her chest at his wishes for her happiness. gods, if she could keep her mouth shut and a smile on to assure him and everyone, she's half-convinced that'd be the better of things, even if the other half of her knows that's not how it works. it'd be more a cruelty to him and all those she loves to conceal like that. she knows. another rotten truth.

another rotten truth? Owain's prophecy, while so good and true, also is marred by the fact that it's...not the same. that family of theirs, back in time, won't truly have raised them -- they'll only be just beginning! and there they'll be, these omens of a dead future, left there with them as reminders of what may have been. until she's eye to eye with the man she adored growing up, Lucina's just not sure how she'll be able to accept imposing into his younger life like this, even for the greater good of him and all who were still alive then.

adding the mystery of this world into the mix, and it's just the nastiest cocktail of conflicting emotions swirling about, some meshing worse than others. hope floats to the top always, yet the despair and uncertainty remains heavy and ever-clinging to the bottom, maybe to never be truly cleaned off.

and that's just how it is, isn't it? there's only so much one can do within one's control to really navigate their fates -- they've gone well and beyond the usual reach a person has in doing so, simply by the fact there was nothing else left to reach for. but it's never enough. never, never.

Lucina closes her eyes, swallowing hard. her head tilts to the side and comes to rest on Owain's shoulder.]

I believe you. I'll always-- [she swallows again.] As long as I'm here, I can believe everything you say.

[gods. she doesn't want to forget.]

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will i ever not be six years late, science has no answers

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