[Once she's past him, he - perhaps unwisely - darts back into his room for a moment, to turn his plants upright, and hurriedly scoop some of the spilled mix back in around their roots. They chirp alarm and upset into his new sense, mostly the cyclamen, crushed vasculature and naked roots and too much commotion-!
He whispers a quick apology and leaves again, wary of leaving Lusamine unattended for long.
The living room is lived in, somewhat. There are three to four notable elements here: 1) A few more houseplants scattered around, including a fairly large dracaena near the window. 2) Sewing implements spread across the dining room table, around a jacket whose back has been partially cut out, and some other, less distinct pieces of fabric. The chair here turned around and pulled out from the table, as if just gotten up from. 3) A blanket fort? 4) Occasional tufts of silvery-purple fur attached to the furniture here and there. The couch is there for sitting on, if she doesn't mind taking some fur away with her.
Gladion stops at the near end of the hall. When she turns, she'll find an expression on his face that's guarded but not angry, exactly, now that his plants are confirmed not dead.
It's complex, but he looks concerned. Disturbed. Somewhere between the two.
She's gotten worse was what he kept thinking, every time he heard news about her. Is this what that looks like? Something is physically wrong with her. And the paranoid accusations aren't new, but there's a genuinely fearful edge he's never heard before, and it puts him off-balance. He's not sure how to handle having this kind of power over his mother; his first instinct is to be bitter about it, resenting her ignorance, and...
.....
Not helpful. Shove it down and stand firm.]
I've been living here since coming from Felfri. Money was tight and it came recommended.
[Two years ago, he might have wanted to roll his eyes, lashing back any way he could when his anger didn't matter. Now, he has to be better than that. He has rehearsed being better than that. He has rehearsed this, originally for if/when she woke up, not for facing down some kind of...accusation of...whatever he's being accused of, but regardless:]
I'm our family's protector now. [Said with incredible gravity for a kid in an oversized tinsel sweater.] What world it's in doesn't matter any more now than it ever has.
[.....speaking of which,
he's going to go around the corner and put the kettle on.
If just to give his hands something to do so he's less nervy.]
no subject
He whispers a quick apology and leaves again, wary of leaving Lusamine unattended for long.
The living room is lived in, somewhat. There are three to four notable elements here:
1) A few more houseplants scattered around, including a fairly large dracaena near the window.
2) Sewing implements spread across the dining room table, around a jacket whose back has been partially cut out, and some other, less distinct pieces of fabric. The chair here turned around and pulled out from the table, as if just gotten up from.
3) A blanket fort?
4) Occasional tufts of silvery-purple fur attached to the furniture here and there. The couch is there for sitting on, if she doesn't mind taking some fur away with her.
Gladion stops at the near end of the hall. When she turns, she'll find an expression on his face that's guarded but not angry, exactly, now that his plants are confirmed not dead.
It's complex, but he looks concerned. Disturbed. Somewhere between the two.
She's gotten worse was what he kept thinking, every time he heard news about her. Is this what that looks like? Something is physically wrong with her. And the paranoid accusations aren't new, but there's a genuinely fearful edge he's never heard before, and it puts him off-balance. He's not sure how to handle having this kind of power over his mother; his first instinct is to be bitter about it, resenting her ignorance, and...
.....
Not helpful. Shove it down and stand firm.]
I've been living here since coming from Felfri. Money was tight and it came recommended.
[Two years ago, he might have wanted to roll his eyes, lashing back any way he could when his anger didn't matter. Now, he has to be better than that. He has rehearsed being better than that. He has rehearsed this, originally for if/when she woke up, not for facing down some kind of...accusation of...whatever he's being accused of, but regardless:]
I'm our family's protector now. [Said with incredible gravity for a kid in an oversized tinsel sweater.] What world it's in doesn't matter any more now than it ever has.
[.....speaking of which,
he's going to go around the corner and put the kettle on.
If just to give his hands something to do so he's less nervy.]