[ frank raises a brow at the attempt of humor, his lips curving into a small smile in subtle appreciation for it.
but he listens intently, letting the kid tell his story right up until the picture is offered in his direction. he doesn't immediately move to take it, slight hesitance on what he might see, but he steps forward, taking the polaroid carefully before he peers down to it. ]
Shit. [ he says quietly beneath his breath, recognizing instantly features that resemble too closely to his own, even including the bumps upon a nose that signal that history of being broken one too many times. even the hair, which he's let grown out much more in recent days, though much tamer than in the photo, bears a close resemblance. ]
Yeah, doesn't seem like much of a talker. [ he huffs a light breath, silence filling in that awkwardness he feels over the image. but when he looks up, his voice remains sincere when he asks, ] He, uh ... he take care of you?
[He sheepishly rubs the back of his head, looking aside.]
He did fish me out of the ocean when I was younger before. And once threw me over his shoulder to carry me back to the monastery when I leapt from a high ledge along the beach-side...
I admit, I had a habit of wandering with unparalleled energies.
[His smile softens, thins.]
I don't know, though. I tried to keep him company as best I could. I know not why, but I had feared that leaving him to his own thoughts would be a terrible and irresponsible thing for me to do... Or that he would feel left out, because he was just a lay-brother and left to himself so often...
[ for a moment, there’s a bit of a private smile, a twitch of his lips that he hides by ducking his head. because the sentiment is nice, taking care of each other. when he thinks of it like that, he’s reminded of amy and wonders briefly how that kid might be holding up right now, if she’s doing alright on her own.
the way diarmuid talks about this friend, it’s almost familiar to him and that girl, how often he’d had to pick her up as she wrestled him stubbornly, trying to do things on her own as he scolded her through it. ]
Yeah, I ain’t surprised.
[ to hear that he wanders, evidence of that pretty clear with the range of trouble this kid gets into.
his eyes still peer to the photo as the kid carries on speaking; he’s got no way of knowing what was on the mind of this man that looks so much like him, but somehow he can almost feel like he understands a bit of it, if only by a glance. ]
Diarmuid. [ he says with his eyes still cast down, the first that he ever says the name. it’s a few beats before he raises his eyes though he still turns his eyes, still feeling too awkward to focus his gaze. ] You’re a good kid. You care about people. Like you really give a damn, not because you have to, but because — because it’s genuine. And this man, this — friend of yours, I’d throw everything in to bet that he really appreciated having you around. Guys like this — [ like me. ] They don’t say it, but they feel that. And I’m sure he did too.
[He looks a little hushed to awe, at the words he speaks.
They don’t say it, but they feel that.
That is what he had always hoped. That the Mute felt it, felt how much he valued his company and how he appreciated how often he listened to his relentless ramblings. But it's more than just that — Pete's words leave him feeling a little proud, because... because the man's saying such kind things about him, and he's not sure how to process such a thing.]
... Thank you, Pete.
I think... you two are alike enough that I can trust your word.
[He knows nothing of Pete's past, of course, other than that he was a soldier. But such a thing... it does something to people. It certainly did something to his dear friend from home. And now that Diarmuid faces dangers so often... he feels maybe he's trapped in the whirlpool violence and death and fighting for one's life causes, in a similar enough way that he feels closer than he had before his pilgrimage.
He feels his throat tighten, eyes glistening a little under heavy curled bangs.]
I used to tease him about being such a shadow, sometimes; I never minded it, but I did tease, just to see his unimpressed glances. I never understood why he'd been so wary until I'd stepped out into the world he'd floated in from. Saw the things he'd seen. Even just a fraction of it... [He rubs his eye, one corner with a sleeve, then the next; you didn't see anything there, Pete. Don't even mention it.] I wish I could have had the chance to thank him.
I hope he knew that, as well. That I was grateful. I'm terrified that he didn't.
[ he doesn’t know how much his words might resonate; he didn’t know this man, and for all that they look the same, their minds and their pasts weren’t the same, and frank couldn’t exactly pretend to know exactly how he’d felt.
but he knows those eyes that mimic his own, and he knows diarmuid. with those two factors in mind, he thinks he can at least put some of the pieces together.
he catches a faint hint of those fallen tears, but as the boy wipes them away, he won’t draw attention to it. ]
From what you’re saying, he stuck by you. Through whatever shit that came and hit you, he was there, and so were you. That — that tells you right there, he knew.
[ he goes quiet briefly, a silent sight as he casts his eyes low once more, lip curling thoughtfully into his mouth as he considers. but within a few beats, he’s moving his own feet, shuffling over to where he has a jacket of his tossed over the back of the couch. reaching within, he pulls out a slightly crumpled paper — a photograph — pieces all taped together as if it’d been once ripped and overused.
stepping back over to the boy, he holds the picture to him in turn, his eyes set on the trio upon it. ]
That’s ... that’s my family. I lost them pretty suddenly, and I — I guess for a long time, sometimes even now, I get scared about the things I never had the chance to say. Things I didn’t do because I thought I’d have time for it. [ his nose scrunches, taking a necessary deep breath, gaze still turned away. ] But, y’know, the people you got in your lives, the ones who stay close, the ones you care about, they’re the ones who know. Whatever you didn’t get to say, it doesn’t matter, because they were the ones who knew it better than anybody.
[Diarmuid's never really thought about 'family'. Not the same kind of family Pete's holding out to him right now — he had devoted himself to the people who raised him, had sworn away love, lust, or the promise of someone to pass along his wisdoms and adoration. He was okay with it, because he never really knew what it was like to begin with — and you cannot miss something you'd never had, not really.
Not in the same way Pete misses his family so clearly. The look on his face as he passes Diarmuid the picture says it well enough. Diarmuid feels this horrible weariness fall across his shoulders, as heavy as a lead blanket, but he's ever so careful at holding the memories of a lost family in his hands. This time he does let a tear drip down his face, because it's easier to weep for someone else's loss than his own. What a true nightmare, to wake up and know the world you had made is gone.
He thinks about his own family. What's left of it. What's been reduced to...
Will life ever be so simple again, as it was on the shores of Kilmannán?
He thinks not. There is no peace upon this earth, not now, not ever.
But... But surely they can lessen the blow life delivers.
They can be good and decent and kind. He smiles a little.]
... What a blessing they were on this world of ours.
Its thanks would not be enough.
[He's not sure what to say that won't make things more difficult for Pete. He's already probably making this visit worse than it needed to be — more painful. He'd just rushed over to show him a picture, and now he's gone and dug up painful things, things the man probably had no want to explore this day. His heart feels swollen in his chest, like it may burst from his ribs.
He looks to him, swallowing hard.]
I'd lost my family as well, not so long ago. It was — it wasn't like yours. It wasn't normal, but... they'd raised me since since I was the smallest creature. Their loss weighs on me, and I still see the very moments their spirits flew, when I sleep at night.
But... I suppose my strongest solace is knowing there is nothing they need fear any longer.
That they created who I am, and so thrive as fragments of myself.
[He puts the photo back in Pete's hand, looking down in what seems to be shame.]
[ frank sees the tear slip across diarmuid’s cheek and his own chest tightens from the guilt of it. but he’d wanted to present some honesty, some part of himself that’s genuine, with all that the kid’s placed some trust in him, whether misguided or not.
he’s not going to be a replacement for his friend, he doesn’t intend to be, but he can still try to look out for him when it mattered.
especially when it’s clear he’s lost so much of his own, and tries his damn hardest to keep his spirits up despite it. kid’s a lot stronger than he is, frank knows that much. ]
Don’t be sorry, kid. [ he shakes his head, peering down at the picture in his hand when diarmuid returns it. ] Sometimes I — with how long it’s been, I worry sometimes about forgetting. It’s good to talk about it, y’know. Every now and then.
[ raising his head again, his lips are parted, eyes shifting slightly as if in thought about his next words before he speaks them. ]
So ... so thanks for this. And for showing me that picture of yours. I know it means a lot to you.
[Diarmuid smiles, rubbing his face with his sleeve.]
We won't forget.
But we should not also forget... it would be a grave sin, that we die with our dead — that we dishonor them by closing ourselves off in whatever life we may have left in our lungs.
[Collecting the box of polaroids, he looks at him more confidently, even if the tear track on his cheek still somewhat glistens in the light.]
[ he doesn’t like being this exposed, to have someone peering at him when he’s mentally in such a vulnerable place, but diarmuid has uncoated something and it leaves him no place to hide, the words striking at the very thing that he’d attempted again and again for so long. ]
Yeah. [ he responds with his voice low, eyes turned away before they finally rise to look back, pairing it with a nod that follows.
he remains silent for a moment before he finally reaches over, his palm bracing over the boy’s head before he gives his hair a slight shuffle. ] I think you’re right.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
but he listens intently, letting the kid tell his story right up until the picture is offered in his direction. he doesn't immediately move to take it, slight hesitance on what he might see, but he steps forward, taking the polaroid carefully before he peers down to it. ]
Shit. [ he says quietly beneath his breath, recognizing instantly features that resemble too closely to his own, even including the bumps upon a nose that signal that history of being broken one too many times. even the hair, which he's let grown out much more in recent days, though much tamer than in the photo, bears a close resemblance. ]
Yeah, doesn't seem like much of a talker. [ he huffs a light breath, silence filling in that awkwardness he feels over the image. but when he looks up, his voice remains sincere when he asks, ] He, uh ... he take care of you?
no subject
... I like to think we took care of each other.
[He sheepishly rubs the back of his head, looking aside.]
He did fish me out of the ocean when I was younger before. And once threw me over his shoulder to carry me back to the monastery when I leapt from a high ledge along the beach-side...
I admit, I had a habit of wandering with unparalleled energies.
[His smile softens, thins.]
I don't know, though. I tried to keep him company as best I could. I know not why, but I had feared that leaving him to his own thoughts would be a terrible and irresponsible thing for me to do... Or that he would feel left out, because he was just a lay-brother and left to himself so often...
no subject
the way diarmuid talks about this friend, it’s almost familiar to him and that girl, how often he’d had to pick her up as she wrestled him stubbornly, trying to do things on her own as he scolded her through it. ]
Yeah, I ain’t surprised.
[ to hear that he wanders, evidence of that pretty clear with the range of trouble this kid gets into.
his eyes still peer to the photo as the kid carries on speaking; he’s got no way of knowing what was on the mind of this man that looks so much like him, but somehow he can almost feel like he understands a bit of it, if only by a glance. ]
Diarmuid. [ he says with his eyes still cast down, the first that he ever says the name. it’s a few beats before he raises his eyes though he still turns his eyes, still feeling too awkward to focus his gaze. ] You’re a good kid. You care about people. Like you really give a damn, not because you have to, but because — because it’s genuine. And this man, this — friend of yours, I’d throw everything in to bet that he really appreciated having you around. Guys like this — [ like me. ] They don’t say it, but they feel that. And I’m sure he did too.
no subject
They don’t say it, but they feel that.
That is what he had always hoped. That the Mute felt it, felt how much he valued his company and how he appreciated how often he listened to his relentless ramblings. But it's more than just that — Pete's words leave him feeling a little proud, because... because the man's saying such kind things about him, and he's not sure how to process such a thing.]
... Thank you, Pete.
I think... you two are alike enough that I can trust your word.
[He knows nothing of Pete's past, of course, other than that he was a soldier. But such a thing... it does something to people. It certainly did something to his dear friend from home. And now that Diarmuid faces dangers so often... he feels maybe he's trapped in the whirlpool violence and death and fighting for one's life causes, in a similar enough way that he feels closer than he had before his pilgrimage.
He feels his throat tighten, eyes glistening a little under heavy curled bangs.]
I used to tease him about being such a shadow, sometimes; I never minded it, but I did tease, just to see his unimpressed glances. I never understood why he'd been so wary until I'd stepped out into the world he'd floated in from. Saw the things he'd seen. Even just a fraction of it... [He rubs his eye, one corner with a sleeve, then the next; you didn't see anything there, Pete. Don't even mention it.] I wish I could have had the chance to thank him.
I hope he knew that, as well. That I was grateful. I'm terrified that he didn't.
no subject
but he knows those eyes that mimic his own, and he knows diarmuid. with those two factors in mind, he thinks he can at least put some of the pieces together.
he catches a faint hint of those fallen tears, but as the boy wipes them away, he won’t draw attention to it. ]
From what you’re saying, he stuck by you. Through whatever shit that came and hit you, he was there, and so were you. That — that tells you right there, he knew.
[ he goes quiet briefly, a silent sight as he casts his eyes low once more, lip curling thoughtfully into his mouth as he considers. but within a few beats, he’s moving his own feet, shuffling over to where he has a jacket of his tossed over the back of the couch. reaching within, he pulls out a slightly crumpled paper — a photograph — pieces all taped together as if it’d been once ripped and overused.
stepping back over to the boy, he holds the picture to him in turn, his eyes set on the trio upon it. ]
That’s ... that’s my family. I lost them pretty suddenly, and I — I guess for a long time, sometimes even now, I get scared about the things I never had the chance to say. Things I didn’t do because I thought I’d have time for it. [ his nose scrunches, taking a necessary deep breath, gaze still turned away. ] But, y’know, the people you got in your lives, the ones who stay close, the ones you care about, they’re the ones who know. Whatever you didn’t get to say, it doesn’t matter, because they were the ones who knew it better than anybody.
no subject
Not in the same way Pete misses his family so clearly. The look on his face as he passes Diarmuid the picture says it well enough. Diarmuid feels this horrible weariness fall across his shoulders, as heavy as a lead blanket, but he's ever so careful at holding the memories of a lost family in his hands. This time he does let a tear drip down his face, because it's easier to weep for someone else's loss than his own. What a true nightmare, to wake up and know the world you had made is gone.
He thinks about his own family. What's left of it. What's been reduced to...
Will life ever be so simple again, as it was on the shores of Kilmannán?
He thinks not. There is no peace upon this earth, not now, not ever.
But... But surely they can lessen the blow life delivers.
They can be good and decent and kind. He smiles a little.]
... What a blessing they were on this world of ours.
Its thanks would not be enough.
[He's not sure what to say that won't make things more difficult for Pete. He's already probably making this visit worse than it needed to be — more painful. He'd just rushed over to show him a picture, and now he's gone and dug up painful things, things the man probably had no want to explore this day. His heart feels swollen in his chest, like it may burst from his ribs.
He looks to him, swallowing hard.]
I'd lost my family as well, not so long ago. It was — it wasn't like yours. It wasn't normal, but... they'd raised me since since I was the smallest creature. Their loss weighs on me, and I still see the very moments their spirits flew, when I sleep at night.
But... I suppose my strongest solace is knowing there is nothing they need fear any longer.
That they created who I am, and so thrive as fragments of myself.
[He puts the photo back in Pete's hand, looking down in what seems to be shame.]
I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for such a sad visit.
I spoke a little too thoughtlessly.
no subject
he’s not going to be a replacement for his friend, he doesn’t intend to be, but he can still try to look out for him when it mattered.
especially when it’s clear he’s lost so much of his own, and tries his damn hardest to keep his spirits up despite it. kid’s a lot stronger than he is, frank knows that much. ]
Don’t be sorry, kid. [ he shakes his head, peering down at the picture in his hand when diarmuid returns it. ] Sometimes I — with how long it’s been, I worry sometimes about forgetting. It’s good to talk about it, y’know. Every now and then.
[ raising his head again, his lips are parted, eyes shifting slightly as if in thought about his next words before he speaks them. ]
So ... so thanks for this. And for showing me that picture of yours. I know it means a lot to you.
no subject
We won't forget.
But we should not also forget... it would be a grave sin, that we die with our dead — that we dishonor them by closing ourselves off in whatever life we may have left in our lungs.
[Collecting the box of polaroids, he looks at him more confidently, even if the tear track on his cheek still somewhat glistens in the light.]
Don't you think?
no subject
Yeah. [ he responds with his voice low, eyes turned away before they finally rise to look back, pairing it with a nod that follows.
he remains silent for a moment before he finally reaches over, his palm bracing over the boy’s head before he gives his hair a slight shuffle. ] I think you’re right.