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ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴅᴛᴇᴀᴍ ᴏғ ʜᴀᴅʀɪᴇʟ ([personal profile] hadrielmods) wrote in [community profile] hadriel_logs2018-11-14 07:35 am

Event Log: Memories Past

Who: Everyone
What: Memory Share Event!
Where: All around the city
When: November 14th-20th
Warnings: Please remember to tag all warnings for memory shares!


Have you ever looked through someone else's eyes? Heard through their ears, spoken with their tongue? The gods have tried to teach some of you empathy, but it's time you learned the hard way, exactly what the others here have been through. For a week, every time you brush skin to skin with someone, you'll experience a memory of theirs: happy, sad, it doesn't matter. All that matters is that it feels real to you.

The first touch may come as a surprise- it lasts only for a split second but may feel like an eternity, where you're trapped in someone else's memory. After that, it could be more expected, and some may even figure out how to control it and share specific scenes from their past with others. Or, you might wear gloves and long sleeve shirts for awhile, nobody's judging.

Maybe curtail the handholding for awhile- or go right ahead, if that's your thing. After all, you never really know somebody unless you've walked a mile in their shoes, right?

► This log covers November 14th-20th.
► Feel free to make your own logs as well
► Please tag headers of threads with content warnings where they apply
► Please put your character's name and open/closed in the subject line of your starters!
► If you die in a memory, you don't die in real life, but if you do die in real life please let us know here.
braveoff: <user name="wonjae">; commissioned (7)

going with frank first (cw: extreme violence)

[personal profile] braveoff 2018-11-17 02:19 pm (UTC)(link)
Ephemera woke up first, and Drake smells coffee. He hauls himself out of bed and pulls on a t-shirt before venturing into the kitchen, where the other man is at the counter staring at the coffee dripping into the pot as if he's waiting for enough to pour. It earns him a grin as Drake approaches, comes up behind him and slips an arm around his waist fondly.

"Morning." He turns his head to bump his against Ephemera's, and the second they touch there... the apartment vanishes.

--

Drake is coming home in the evening, kicking the door closed behind himself and dropping a bookbag unceremoniously in the foyer so he can hang up his coat. He’s tired and hungry and wants to just grab dinner and go collapse, but has to say hi to Ma first. The tv is droning on in the living room but a quick glance only reveals a middle aged man in a recliner, so Drake moves down the hall to the kitchen. As he gets farther from the tv, he can hear… something. Crying.

His mother is at the table, with a towel full of ice pressed to her face, sobbing into it. She doesn’t seem to hear Drake, but he rushes over and kneels in front of her.

“Ma?! Ma! What happened?”

“Oh, Drake…” She lowers the towel, and it’s bloody. Her eye is already swollen shut, blood smeared on her cheek and lips.

From the living room, the man is calling out. “Hey! Kid, if you’re in there, grab me another beer!”

Something in Drake’s expression must scare his mother because she starts shaking his head as he stands up. “No… no, Drake, don’t--”

But he’s off, seeing red as he storms into the living room. The man in the recliner glances up, then scoffs at him.

“No beer? Shit, you’re both useless.”

“Get up.”

“What?”

“Get up, you miserable fuck.”

“Drake, don’t…” Ma is pulling on his arm and Drake just gently pulls free, stepping closer.

“Get up, Frank.”

“Whaddaya gonna do if I don’t?”

“Try me.”

“Nothin’ kid. You’re never gonna do nothin’ and you’re never gonna be nothin’. Just like your Ma. At least one of you could get me a--”

He doesn’t get to finish because Drake’s already moving forward, ignoring the awkward low angle to punch Frank sharply in the face. Straight in the nose, just once. Ma keeps begging from the background.

“I said try me! Huh?”

Groaning in pain with one hand clutched over his now-bleeding nose, Frank does get up. But when he drops his hand it’s not to make a fist. It’s to pull out a switchblade. “Walk away, Drake.”

“No. You’re done, asshole.” He lunges forward and Frank raises the blade, going straight for the kill, right in Drake’s eye. Ma screeches bloody murder as Drake dodges a second too late, the knife cutting deep into his temple instead, the origin of the scar he still bears. He lets out a sound like a snarl and the fight begins in earnest.

Ma keeps screaming.

It isn’t until Frank is a motionless lump on the floor and Drake is still wailing on him, 19 years of restraint and abuse from several men boiling over on the one in front of him, that Ma rushes forward and grabs his arm to stop him.

Drake falls backwards and goes very still, as if in shock, and stares at his bloody fist. Reaches up to touch his head and that hand comes away covered in blood too. From the cut and the few hits Frank got in, one of which split his lip. Ma starts crying again, the sobs hysterical and incoherent as she clutches at her son, and Drake stares at the body. He’s still breathing, Drake can tell because of the blood bubbling out of his mouth.

Shaking now, he shifts and digs into his pocket, pulling out his cell phone and calling 911.

When the cops and ambulance come, he’s extricated himself from his mother and is sitting out front, still covered in blood, smoking. He points the EMTs inside to Frank, and flicks the butt into the street, holding out his wrists to be cuffed.

As they lead him to the car, he hears his mother screaming again. “Don’t take him! Don’t take my son! You can’t take my son!!!”

Except they have to. The memory fades on a siren.

--

And then they're both back, frozen in place, and Drake's not sure how to process what happened or if it happened to both of them, but he's not letting go just yet.
Edited 2018-11-17 14:22 (UTC)
requiemshark: (035)

[personal profile] requiemshark 2018-11-17 03:38 pm (UTC)(link)
"--the fuck!"

Ephemera tenses, almost going into a defensive stance before he has time to think about it. The mug he's fussing with drops, hits the ground but doesn't break. Spills coffee everywhere. He's shivering all over, adrenaline flooding in with no place to go. Everything in him says fightfightfight and he knows this - vision. Not the sensory details, the way blood bubbled up around the man's mouth afterward, but the story.

Breathe, Ephemera tells himself. Breathe, motherfucker. Stay in the moment.

Carefully, he puts his hand over Drake's and turns to face him. There's coffee everywhere, but he'll worry about that later.

"Drake, what the fuck. You okay?"
braveoff: <user name="wonjae">; commissioned (3)

[personal profile] braveoff 2018-11-17 03:43 pm (UTC)(link)
"--what?!"

Ephemera's reaction, for a moment, sends Drake into fight mode too before he confirms there's nothing actually in the apartment. It's just whatever he must have seen that set him off, and Drake feels something cold spreading through his limbs. He thought that when something like this had happened a year ago with the dreams, that Ephemera had seen the worst of him already.

And now he's running through all the worst points in his life trying to come up with what it might have been, except he can also still hear Ephemera's voice from his memory, how full of pain and hate he was.

It's a lot. This is just a lot.

"I'm fine, don't... I think it was touching, so." It's almost physically painful, but he pulls away carefully. Then his voice is wary. "What did you see?"
requiemshark: (006)

[personal profile] requiemshark 2018-11-17 04:24 pm (UTC)(link)
"...oh."

It hurts to pull away, especially in the aftermath when all Ephemera wants to do is grab Drake and hold him close. And touch the scar on his brow, just to remind himself how well it had healed now that he's seen what caused it.

Breathe, Ephemera reminds himself. It's over now.

"You." He swallows hard. "Beating the snot out of the guy who hurt your mom."
braveoff: <user name="iconsaveyou">; commissioned (pic#12587863)

[personal profile] braveoff 2018-11-17 04:34 pm (UTC)(link)
It's okay, Drake thinks, it didn't happen right away, maybe there are rules. Maybe it's skin contact. They'll have to figure this out but right now his head's spinning a little, and he steps around the coffee puddle on the floor to sit at the kitchen table.

Oh. Oh, that.

"...Frank. His name's Frank." Is, not was, because Drake didn't kill him but Frank probably would've preferred that to how he is now. Still alive, last Drake had heard. Paralyzed and then a stroke and still wouldn't die, that motherfucker. Literally, heh.

Drake's voice goes cold, shut down.

"His name's Frank and he didn't deserve all that. That was for a bunch of other guys too. He was just the final straw." One hand reaches up and touches his scar, balls up into a fist. "I saw you painting your armor. With this... guy. Creepy. He was asking Sharkface psych questions."

He says it like that because it wasn't quite Ephemera. Not exactly.
requiemshark: (030)

[personal profile] requiemshark 2018-11-17 04:49 pm (UTC)(link)
"....oh."

For a moment, Ephemera can't think of a damn thing to say to that. He knows about Frank. Heard the story, knows how it worked out. The things it put into motion.

But, of course, there's more. And of all the people in this place, Drake deserves the truth.

"Called him the Counselor. He probably had a name, I never asked."

Ephemera runs a hand through his hair. Breathes. "Had to go through him before Locus would let me in the field."
braveoff: <user name="wonjae">; commissioned (2)

[personal profile] braveoff 2018-11-17 05:40 pm (UTC)(link)
"Right. You uh... you mentioned that. Hoops."

Drake doesn't really want to think about it. He wants to break this moment, shatter it to pieces so it can never be put back together because it's awful. Neither of them had ever wanted to see each other like that, it's not who they are anymore, but. Here it is. He takes a long, slow breath, in and out. There must be something he can say to-- oh. he's got it.

"That's not how I wanted you to meet my mother."
requiemshark: (023)

[personal profile] requiemshark 2018-11-22 03:18 pm (UTC)(link)
Ephemera cracks a weak smile at that. "I was gonna get her flowers. Moms like flowers, right?"

It's easiest to grab onto something a little less awful than the rest. A joke, something to lighten the mood. Anything. Ephemera used to be good at making people laugh and forget the blood.
braveoff: <user name="iconsaveyou">; commissioned (pic#12587875)

[personal profile] braveoff 2018-11-22 03:23 pm (UTC)(link)
Despite everything, Drake smiles a little too, picturing it.

"My Ma would love them. But she's a real trip." She'd give them a hard time forever, Drake knows it, it'd probably be a disaster until they learned to navigate it, but hey. What isn't, in life?

Then something occurs to him, and he pushes himself up to grab a towel to clean the coffee off the floor.

"...do you think we could control this? I could show you something... better."
requiemshark: (023)

[personal profile] requiemshark 2018-11-25 02:18 am (UTC)(link)
"Maybe. But I'd figure it out."

Ephemera's determined. And he used to be pretty good at making people laugh, way back when. If he practices, then he can remember and try it again. He wants Drake's mother to like him, if they ever meet. And why shouldn't they? Strange things happen every day in Hadriel. That hardly even qualifies on the weirdness scale.

"I mean. We can try?" Ephemera hesitates. "I'm sorry about the coffee. I didn't burn you, did I?"
braveoff: <user name="wonjae">; commissioned (18)

[personal profile] braveoff 2018-11-25 02:52 am (UTC)(link)
"You didn't, I'm fine. I just want to clean it up before it gets sticky."

Which is what he does, just a little too-quiet. The images are stuck in his head, of Ephemera with that low hateful rage in his voice, that sneer at the Counselor... but then Ephemera saw worse from him, and for some reason that makes him really uncomfortable. It was one of his worst moments, one of the things he's still ashamed of. That wasn't the way to handle it, and it had cost everyone in the situation dearly. But what's done is done. He couldn't take it back, just had to own up and be better.

Drake wrings out the dish towel, rinses his hands, and turns back.

"Can we go sit?"
requiemshark: (Default)

[personal profile] requiemshark 2018-11-26 05:37 pm (UTC)(link)
Breathe, Ephemera reminds himself. What they saw dredged up the past, but they'll be all right. It just takes a moment to recalibrate, that's all.

He tries his best to smile. "Yeah. C'mere."

The couch is nice, full of pillows and blankets.
braveoff: <user name="wonjae">; commissioned (26)

[personal profile] braveoff 2018-11-26 05:44 pm (UTC)(link)
Couch it is. Drake trails after Ephemera, then settles next to him and considers their options. The first touch was fine, over clothes... so he grabs a blanket and wraps it around himself like a cloak, head and all, before leaning against Ephemera. They just need to decompress, ease back out from the shock they were just given.

"Okay, I'm... I'd had a dream about that, last night, so it was kind of on my mind already. I'm gonna think about my mom really hard, and maybe you'll see that instead? You think about... jumping again, I liked that."

He doesn't know if this will work or if they're rolling the dice, but he also wants the last memory out of both their heads.
requiemshark: (030)

[personal profile] requiemshark 2018-11-27 04:31 am (UTC)(link)
It hurts not being able to reach out and just touch Drake, but Ephemera breathes. Centers himself. Have to be deliberate about this.

At least they can press against each other. Take comfort from the closeness.

Ephemera rests his chin on Drake's shoulder, keeping his breathing slow and steady. "Yeah. Jumping. You'll like that."

Or at least he hopes Drake will like it. They shared a dream like this, once.

He closes his good eye, hoping maybe that will help, and offers up his bare hand.

In the memory, Ephemera is barely nineteen, scrawny and trying his best not to look uncertain as Chica checks his equipment with quick, brutal efficiency. They're standing in a pelican, a green-gray ground spinning below them with toy-sized hills and buildings down below. They're still within the planet's atmosphere, holding steady.

She slaps his helmet, hard, but her voice is clear and strangely gentle in their comms. "Congrats, kid, you managed not to fuck your suit up. Ready for the drop?"

Ephemera, who has never jumped out of a plane before and is secretly a little terrified of both Chica and the prospect of meeting gravity on a more intimate basis, stutters a bit on his answer.

"Eh, you'll be fine. Besides, I'll catch you if you're gonna die."

Then she steps back and drop kicks him out of the pelican.

It takes him a good ten seconds to stop screaming and then --

And then it's the rush of air and color and roaring noise and he can see everything. It feels like they're floating underwater only there's light and color and more things in his sightline than Ephemera ever imagined he'd see in one place and this has to be heaven, this has to be how it ends because he can't imagine anything better --

Chica laughs, flying alongside him.

"Told you, kid. Best thing in the universe."

And it is. He never wants to stop.
braveoff: <user name="wonjae">; commissioned (22)

[personal profile] braveoff 2018-11-27 04:39 am (UTC)(link)
Ephemera was thinking of something specific, which means Drake got the memory he intended. Drake, on the other hand, was just thinking about his mother abstractly, so it isn't quite what he wanted that comes across, but it's representative.

--

This is not a terribly interesting memory, honestly. Drake is sitting in his car outside what looks like an accountant’s office at night, fiddling with his cell phone. There’s a missed call from “Ma” and he taps her name to call her back, settling into the seat and cracking open a can of soda like he’s getting ready to watch a movie.

“Hey Ma. Sorry I missed your call, I’m at work. Can’t talk long, okay?” Strange maybe that he’d say he’s at work at an office that shouldn’t be open right now, but Ma doesn’t seem to find it so.

“Of course, sweetheart. I’ll keep it quick, I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“You sound upset, what’s wrong?”

Perhaps you questioned at the start of this vision… why is he in the car? Not exactly for privacy, considering he has the windows open and is mostly just making agreeable sounds and barely getting a word in edgewise. No, it’s because he knew he would to plug his phone in part way through this call. All told, Drake is stuck on the phone with Ma for two hours. No seriously.

“I agree, if you’re hosting mahjong, it’s only polite that the ladies bring refreshments.”

Yeah, that’s about as serious as the crises get. At least no one has to listen to this nonsense but him, right? Oh, sorry.

“Do you want me to come by and look at the sink?”

“No, no, honey, I know you’re busy.”

“You said it’s been leaking since Tuesday, you sure?” He’s extraordinarily patient, even when someone pokes their head out of the office and makes a distinctly ‘what the fuck, Holloway?’ gesture at him. He sticks a hand out the window, give him a minute..

“Ma, I gotta get back to work. … I gotta go, Ma. Ma--”

But she’s off again, complaining about how she thinks there’s a chipmunk living in the gutters.

“And Mrs Taylor didn’t call you back about what the book was this month? You should follow up on that. Do you wanna call her now?”

When he finally gets her off the phone the timestamp says two hours and eight minutes, and a look at his call list shows she’s already called twice today. Her calls are interspersed with others of normal length, a few minutes here and there, but all of hers are over an hour at minimum.

Drake shakes his head and drags a hand down his face tiredly, then unplugs the phone and rolls up his windows to head back inside.

His mother is a trip.

--

When they come back to the living room, they're still holding hands, because apparently one touch is one memory. Drake gives Ephemera's a squeeze, and offers him a broad smile.

"She kicked you out of the plane?"
requiemshark: (020)

[personal profile] requiemshark 2018-11-27 03:17 pm (UTC)(link)
"...huh."

Ephemera has no experience with mothers, no gauge for what is or isn't normal. He had foster parents, sure, but they were always relegated to the background. They put food on the table and occasionally yelled if he fucked up at school, but to this day Ephemera can't remember a single personal detail about either of them.

Well, maybe one. Mrs. Clark had a bad sense of humor, he thinks. She was the one who named him. He doesn't miss her. Never had any reason to.

It's different for Drake. Ephemera smiles back, lifting their joined hands a little. He doesn't move to kiss Drake, though he wants to. It might trigger another memory before they're ready.

"Chica? Yeah. That was her thing as an instructor. See who could recover from the shock, who wouldn't get locked up. I'll give it to her, I was never scared after that."

Not about the jump. Sometimes about what was on the ground, but never the jump itself.

"You're good to your mom," he adds. "She really call you that much on the job?"
braveoff: <user name="wonjae">; commissioned (pic#11535694)

[personal profile] braveoff 2018-11-27 03:40 pm (UTC)(link)
"That's some tough love, man." He still sounds fond, though, because Ephemera was in the memory. But then his expression shifts. "Oh man, that's what you got? Yeah, she did.... two or three times a day, but Ma was the one thing I refused to give up for the job, until Liv. I didn't mean to show you that, though, those were a trial."

He puzzles over this, then thinks he's figured it out.

"You were thinking of something really specific?"
requiemshark: (012)

[personal profile] requiemshark 2018-11-27 04:02 pm (UTC)(link)
"It's dangerous," Ephemera admits. "Lotta shit can go wrong. She was good at figuring out who could hack it and who couldn't, though. Rather figure it out in training than the field, you know?"

She'd been a hard instructor, put the rookies through the sort of hell they'd thought would be over with now that they'd survived boot camp. But she'd been a fair one, in the end. Nobody had gotten hurt under her watch and everyone she passed went on to be a decent Hell Jumper. And she'd been Ephemera's friend, then his sister. The first family he'd ever had.

God, he misses her.

Ephemera grins a little, imagining that. But that's family, isn't it? You love them and they return the favor however they know best. "Nah, that's cool. She's your mom."

Family is everything.

He nods thoughtfully at the question. "Yeah. Think we can direct it like that?"
braveoff: <user name="wonjae">; commissioned (25)

[personal profile] braveoff 2018-11-27 04:06 pm (UTC)(link)
Drake just smiles, nodding. "I get that. It's not the kind of job you should do without a hell of nerve."

As for the memory shit, Ephemera's answer seems to be the answer to his question at well. If he was thinking of his first jump, and Drake got it? That's the way to go.

"Seems like. I can come up with something way better than one of her phone calls, something fun. Did I ever tell you about what she did when she met Liv? That was really funny." He's not sure Ephemera will want to see a memory of his ex, but they met again when the Door was bringing people in temporarily and things were... better. Much better. There isn't so much of a 'this person is making someone I care about unhappy' vibe to it now. "If you wanted."
requiemshark: (030)

[personal profile] requiemshark 2018-11-27 07:31 pm (UTC)(link)
Ephemera hums to himself thoughtfully. He's met Liv and didn't dislike her then. There just wasn't much time to make an impression one way or another. Then she showed up again and that was better. Lighter. Given the chance, Ephemera thinks they might have gotten along. Drake had feelings for her once. But that was in the past and maybe pieces of it didn't work out in Hadriel, but him and Drake, they did. The rest is in the past. And that doesn't mean the past is bad or in competition with the present, only that it happened. And he does want to see more of Drake's mother. "Yeah. Show me that."

He wonders briefly if he ought to tell Drake about Sunny. They hadn't been close, not in any real way, but he thinks about her sometimes. Wonders if she made it out alive.

That can be for later, he decides.
braveoff: <user name="wonjae">; commissioned (13)

[personal profile] braveoff 2018-11-27 07:39 pm (UTC)(link)
"Okay. It's entertaining, I promise. And kind of a taste of what you'd be in for." He reaches up with his free hand and un-bundles himself from the blanket, so that his head's free. Then tips it in, bumping their foreheads.

--

Drake is in his mother’s kitchen, working under the sink to fix a leak. From his vantage point you can see into the dining area when he glances up at his Ma and Liv where they sit at the table. Every surface in the place is covered in knick knacks and photographs. It's tacky but charming somehow, with how devoted whoever the owner of the house obviously is towards the boy that you can see growing up on the walls -- baby pictures and karate tournaments and awkward prom photos.

Ma and Liv are talking amongst themselves while Drake works, Ma knitting and Liv sipping politely at an offered drink. The older woman is peering at her critically.

"Hey, you know what? I took a couple cosmetology classes at the community college. I could give you a little makeover."

Drake seems to want to cut this off at the pass, and calls out without looking back up. "She's beautiful, Ma."

"Yeah. So's the sun, but you can't stare directly at it. Whaddaya say?"

"Why not?" Liv is either clueless of the danger she’s in or entirely too indulgent of her boyfriend’s mother.

"Good! Listen, let me go get my makeup caboodle, and I'll be back in a jiffy." Ma scrambles up, knitting abandoned, to go get the kit.

Drake straightens, bracing an arm over the cabinet door. His voice is deadpan. "If I were you, I'd make a run for it."

Liv just smiles at him, and so he goes back to work changing out a rusted pipe. Soon enough the older woman is putting way too much blush on the younger one. The brush slips and powder goes up her nose, and she sneezes adorably.

"Oh, sorry, honey. Drake, can you get her a tissue?"

"Ma, I'm up to my elbows here. Give me a minute." Indeed, Drake is half under the kitchen sink, sleeves rolled up and wrench in hand.

The older woman huffs, waves a hand for him to nevermind, and reaches for the lipstick instead. She puts on a ridiculous amount of rather garish makeup, and as soon as Drake is done fixing the sink hustles them into the living room to give him an ill fitting hand-knit sweater (which he pulls over his head and learns it’s even worse on than it looked off) and take a photo of the two of them. She also tries to get them to pose with the cat, which Drake nixes as he tells her he loves the sweater. Liv politely endures, and when his mother retreats Drake turns to her with an apologetic smile.

"Where to for dinner?"

"Somewhere dark."

The memory fades out on Drake’s soft laughter.
requiemshark: (023)

[personal profile] requiemshark 2018-12-01 05:14 pm (UTC)(link)
Ephemera takes a slow breath so he won't tense up and lets it happen. The memory comes. Ephemera breathes through it. Smiles when it's done because he knows what it's like to move around the people you love, to learn their habits and tics and still love them even when it pushes. Even when the sweaters are ridiculous and the makeup so strange Chica's probably gasping in horror somewhere in the afterlife.

"I like your mom," Ephemera says, a little surprised. Because he does. He likes that she's the type of woman who says caboodle without a hint of irony. He likes how obviously she cares for Drake and how freely she shows it. It's what he imagined in the rare times he thought about what it might be like to have parents. And he'd been prepared for - a divide, something that would have to be reckoned with, before Drake's family would even look at someone like him. Maybe it's wistful thinking on his part, but Ephemera thinks he could get along with Drake's mother. It would take time, like all things do, but he thinks they could manage it. He'd wear sweaters and listen to her stories and maybe even submit to getting a makeover if she insisted, but --

But, in the end, Ephemera thinks he could fit in there.

He smiles. "She really loves you."
braveoff: <user name="iconsaveyou">; commissioned (pic#12587856)

[personal profile] braveoff 2018-12-07 03:14 am (UTC)(link)
Drake smiles back, glad it worked this time -- and Ephemera's not wrong, even if there's a lot of pressure on him sometimes because of it. He nods a little.

"She thinks I hung the moon, you know? No matter how bad I was, even after Frank. I'm gonna be her baby forever. Ma was the first one who ever had my back, but it's in a way that sort of backfires sometimes. I've gotta be there for everything. If I don't pick up the phone or make it to her to fix something, she panics, because I'm not perfect and I can't be everywhere. So it's not the same as you, but... you've got something vaguely in common already. Despite everything."

And part of Drake thinks they could fit. Ephemera might just like his mother in person too, for all her overbearing fussing. He's never had someone like that, and it might make up for whatever rudeness there is to get past, whatever shit Ma would give them. Besides, Ephemera's determined. That's key.

"You'd wanna make it work," he says softly, thoughtfully. "In my experience that means it probably could."
requiemshark: (024)

[personal profile] requiemshark 2018-12-08 05:59 pm (UTC)(link)
You make it work with the people you love. Ephemera remembers how he had to relearn things for the twins after things went south. How to move around them, how to sign and pay attention to how they held themselves, the different cadences of their laughter. A whole new language. Wasn't always easy but he'd loved them and so he'd learned. Found a way to fit with them in both the good and the bad moments. People can't always help how they are.

"That's family," Ephemera says simply. "Doesn't mean they're perfect, but they love you back."

And that's enough.

"She could teach me how to knit," he adds. "Always wanted to try that."
braveoff: <user name="wonjae">; commissioned (23)

[personal profile] braveoff 2018-12-08 06:16 pm (UTC)(link)
"Yeah..." Drake smiles warmly, squeezing Ephemera's hand and pressing a little closer -- safely wrapped in the blanket otherwise. "She'd come around, I think. Who wouldn't?"

No guarantees they're going to try and go back to his world after all, but Drake's got a bonus thing to consider now, when he thinks about it. Except then Ephemera suggests knitting and he huffs a soft laugh.

"You've never mentioned that... I could teach you. She wanted to teach me so we could make matching shit but I told her it was boring because I got better at it than her and didn't want to show her up. You saw the sweater, right? She's awful."

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