[ Bless you, Nico. Lark goes quiet momentarily, trying to figure out how he should explain this without feeling lame, before realising that's probably impossible right now. He spent part of his morning crying like a child and his roommate caught the tail end of it, he's already hit that point. ]
I had a dream last night—not a bad one, mind you. It was pretty nice, even. [ ... ] I saw my mom again.
[ So that's her name. Lark stays quiet for a moment, wondering how he should continue this conversation—or if he should say anything at all, for that matter. ]
...What was she like? If you don't mind me asking.
She was...sometimes I worry I didn't know her like I should have.
[ Like...he knew her when he was younger. And then she died. And Nico grew up. How would they have gotten along later on? ]
She wanted to be...someone different than she was, I think. She wanted a new life instead of the one we got, but she...she cared about me. And other people. And she was really brave.
[ "Sometimes I worry I didn't know her like I should have" is a thought Lark has had himself more than a few times, though he's never tried to resolve that. At this point, he isn't sure he wants to know more about his mom. ]
I used to play this game. Mythomagic. And - I'd collect cards. Figurines. The only figure I didn't have was Hades. She...found it, and took it. But she wasn't supposed to take anything at all from that place. She did it because of me.
[ Right, he mentioned that game before. Lark still kind of wants to learn how to play it. He also isn't the kind of person to necessarily object to taking things—he's best friends with a thief and Wu-Jian is that sort of place, after all—but he also knows what happens when someone takes from places or people they really, really shouldn't.
...That said, it is a terrible kind of irony that this involved the figure of his dad, huh. ]
And so she...
[ Died, he doesn't say, but the word is obviously hanging there. ]
Lark looks down to the bowl in his hand, and suddenly finds himself wishing his hands weren't occupied. So he puts it down back on the kitchen counter, then reaches over to try and take Nico's hand, if he'll allow him. ]
My mom... honestly could have been mistaken for my sister, and a lot of people bought into that. She was—the sort of person who seemed out of this world, I guess? Kind of airheaded. Nearly gave me a heart attack when she fell off the pier once. And she'd hug me every chance she got.
[ If it sounds like complaining, it sort of is, in the way kids do about embarrassing parents. ]
But she was always calm, and she was...a very gentle person, too.
[ It's the kind of comfortable love where it's clear he's never questioned it, for all his grumbling at times. ]
...A year ago—or I guess a little less than two years, now—she fell really sick. It dragged on for months, and she... [ His voice trails off, and after a moment he seems to opt to just skip wherever that sentence was going entirely, like recalling it made him change his mind.] Eventually, every doctor or physician we got to see her basically told us...that she ought to settle her affairs before it was too late.
Then I turned 14, and one day I came back home to all my sisters gathered outside her room crying.
[ Nico's memories of his own mother are...confused. A lot of his past got sealed away for a while, then covered over with distance. But he did love her. It's just that Bianca is so much clearer in his mind. ]
Yeah. The day before, she told me we should go somewhere nice when she got better.
[ Even though by that point the writing was on the wall and everyone knew. He still doesn't know why she told him that, whether it was some attempt to comfort him or...
...It's weird to think that maybe she was trying to comfort herself. But he'll never know for sure. ]
After that, uh, I honestly don't remember much. My friend said I was kind of out of it up until the funeral.
[ It was alarming (going on autopilot and sort of dissociating, maybe), but it was indeed nowhere near as crazy as what Nico tried. ]
Yeah, and...okay, there was some kind of...festival the locals do, where they send off lanterns and apparently it lets you meet departed loved ones. I tried it.
I like to think it was, anyway. It was like...the year after she passed back home didn't happen. We went on that picnic by the beach like she said she wanted. And she looked like how she did before she was stuck in bed.
[ His voice starts to crack a bit as he talks, which is probably why he just left it at that. Goodness, when even this is making him feel emotional... ]
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I had a dream last night—not a bad one, mind you. It was pretty nice, even. [ ... ] I saw my mom again.
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[ Well...mostly about Bianca. He can't remember his mother much thanks to the Gods being dicks, but you know how THAT goes. ]
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[ He doesn't know about Nico's mom, but honestly he wouldn't be surprised if he ever found out either. ]
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...What was she like? If you don't mind me asking.
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[ Like...he knew her when he was younger. And then she died. And Nico grew up. How would they have gotten along later on? ]
She wanted to be...someone different than she was, I think. She wanted a new life instead of the one we got, but she...she cared about me. And other people. And she was really brave.
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She sounds like a great sister.
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[ Well. Fully. He sort of still blames himself. ]
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[ He can smell the self-blame, but...well, he doesn't really have context, either. ]
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...That said, it is a terrible kind of irony that this involved the figure of his dad, huh. ]
And so she...
[ Died, he doesn't say, but the word is obviously hanging there. ]
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[ All because he'd been sulking and she'd wanted to cheer him up. WHICH OBVIOUSLY HE TOOK SUPER WELL (he did not). ]
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Lark looks down to the bowl in his hand, and suddenly finds himself wishing his hands weren't occupied. So he puts it down back on the kitchen counter, then reaches over to try and take Nico's hand, if he'll allow him. ]
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We were talking about you.
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There goes my clever plan... [ He's half joking, but was he trying to dodge talking about his own feelings by listening to Nico instead? A little. ]
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Your turn.
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[ If it sounds like complaining, it sort of is, in the way kids do about embarrassing parents. ]
But she was always calm, and she was...a very gentle person, too.
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You cared about her.
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[ It's the kind of comfortable love where it's clear he's never questioned it, for all his grumbling at times. ]
...A year ago—or I guess a little less than two years, now—she fell really sick. It dragged on for months, and she... [ His voice trails off, and after a moment he seems to opt to just skip wherever that sentence was going entirely, like recalling it made him change his mind.] Eventually, every doctor or physician we got to see her basically told us...that she ought to settle her affairs before it was too late.
Then I turned 14, and one day I came back home to all my sisters gathered outside her room crying.
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She'd passed away.
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[ Even though by that point the writing was on the wall and everyone knew. He still doesn't know why she told him that, whether it was some attempt to comfort him or...
...It's weird to think that maybe she was trying to comfort herself. But he'll never know for sure. ]
After that, uh, I honestly don't remember much. My friend said I was kind of out of it up until the funeral.
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...So you dreamt about her.
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Yeah, and...okay, there was some kind of...festival the locals do, where they send off lanterns and apparently it lets you meet departed loved ones. I tried it.
[ Probably why he dreamt about her. ]
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Do you think it was her?
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[ His voice starts to crack a bit as he talks, which is probably why he just left it at that. Goodness, when even this is making him feel emotional... ]
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