He had her here for months. He had her right there and he barely gave a damn about her, as hard as she tried, everything she did. He couldn't even be bothered to save her life. I was there. I saw.
She comes back like this, and now it's 'beloved daughter' and 'Crown Prince'? 'My sword hand?' He trots her out like a trophy and tells us to fight her, if we don't like it, and that's the best of it?
I can't believe you. Of all people. What happened to, you can't trust him, Paul? What happened to, you know all about people like him?
What's the change, Oscar? What so moves your heart in his defense?
[..... This is not what he expected to be dealing with. ]
I'm still gathering information, Paul, but he's like the Witch from Remnant. All of his anger and fear stems from a deep loneliness that I don't know the source of.
He probably doesn't know how to love like we do. He's too selfish and blinded by his own pain. What happened over the summer is inexcusable. All I'm saying that, in this instance, he's not entirely wrong.
There's something bigger going on. Hurling our own anger and hurt and confusion at him isn't going to make anything easier.
Unlike you, I haven't hurled anything at him. Not my anger, or my lack of understanding, or, apparently, my dearest sympathies.
You think to come to me and tell me that I don't understand he's lonely. That he's selfish. Like I didn't live in that house. Like I didn't stand by his side. Like I didn't do everything I could, like none of us did. Like all of that was nothing.
It was nothing. It was water into sand.
Allow me to be direct. I care as much for his feelings as he cares for anyone else's. I care as much about them as he cares about her. He can rot in his house and his pain, for all of that care.
But he can't have her. He can't come and take her from everyone who loved her when he didn't.
I'm not the one who thinks he can control fire, Paul.
[wasn't it only a short while ago the they ha their own struggle over the flames. Oscar closed his eyes, dimly recalling his vision of Gerry's reflection in his minds eye. Even now, the smell of acrylics and smoke didn't seem too far away... ]
Going after him now, with the fire of your righteousness, is only going to burn your house down. Is it going to be worth the effort if she rejects you afterward?
If all you have to offer me is condescension and trite truisms, I might as well go back to that house and take up my old room. At least coming from him I expect it.
Yes, that much is -- correct. She has her own body, now. It is in worse shape than last I saw it.
His Saints are also known as Lyctors. I am the--incomplete one, Gideon is my other half. Her death and our Lyctorhood is the fault of the Seventh Saint.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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I think his only crime here is reanimating a daughter that he never met and trying to include her in his life.
It doesn't look like he's the one that instigated this situation. He's only trying to make the best of it.
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He had her here for months. He had her right there and he barely gave a damn about her, as hard as she tried, everything she did. He couldn't even be bothered to save her life. I was there. I saw.
She comes back like this, and now it's 'beloved daughter' and 'Crown Prince'? 'My sword hand?' He trots her out like a trophy and tells us to fight her, if we don't like it, and that's the best of it?
I can't believe you. Of all people. What happened to, you can't trust him, Paul? What happened to, you know all about people like him?
What's the change, Oscar? What so moves your heart in his defense?
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I'm still gathering information, Paul, but he's like the Witch from Remnant. All of his anger and fear stems from a deep loneliness that I don't know the source of.
He probably doesn't know how to love like we do. He's too selfish and blinded by his own pain. What happened over the summer is inexcusable. All I'm saying that, in this instance, he's not entirely wrong.
There's something bigger going on. Hurling our own anger and hurt and confusion at him isn't going to make anything easier.
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You think to come to me and tell me that I don't understand he's lonely. That he's selfish. Like I didn't live in that house. Like I didn't stand by his side. Like I didn't do everything I could, like none of us did. Like all of that was nothing.
It was nothing. It was water into sand.
Allow me to be direct. I care as much for his feelings as he cares for anyone else's. I care as much about them as he cares about her. He can rot in his house and his pain, for all of that care.
But he can't have her. He can't come and take her from everyone who loved her when he didn't.
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[wasn't it only a short while ago the they ha their own struggle over the flames. Oscar closed his eyes, dimly recalling his vision of Gerry's reflection in his minds eye. Even now, the smell of acrylics and smoke didn't seem too far away... ]
Going after him now, with the fire of your righteousness, is only going to burn your house down. Is it going to be worth the effort if she rejects you afterward?
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If all you have to offer me is condescension and trite truisms, I might as well go back to that house and take up my old room. At least coming from him I expect it.
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Its what makes us who we are.
... I can't control you, and I won't try. You'll do what you want-- and that's why I like you.
Just don't do anything you'll come to regret.
I'll keep digging for info in the meantime.
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You and Teacher can rest easy. I'm not going after him. I won't put her in danger.
Try not to dig yourself into anything you can't come back from, either.
Nothing
There was no reason to, when he knew he couldn't fulfill his end of the bargain.
Oscar knew he was already too deep. He had been since the very moment he decided to try to get to know the young seer from the stars.
Instead he disconnected. There were other conversations to monitor, and he needed to make a few calls. ]
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that is correct
it was another Lyctor
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But. I don't exactly know what a Lyctor is?
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His Saints are also known as Lyctors. I am the--incomplete one, Gideon is my other half. Her death and our Lyctorhood is the fault of the Seventh Saint.
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Still. I'm glad she's got you. We haven't talked much but you seem like a good person.