milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

"Ma?"

He walks in, blinking around, a little confused. A small enough child, lame leg trailing behind him as he turns his head this way and that, obviously looking for someone. The cane in his hands is clutched tightly.

"Ma? Ma? Mister Stroker sir? Ma?"

He's starting to think this isn't home.

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He nods.

"That's like my leg. It only hurts when I put weight on it. Or when I've done a lot of work or walking or running or the other boys have beat me up because my mother's a whore or something."

He doesn't move his hand.

"Does this hurt?"

"No, 'Po. It doesn't hurt to have you touch me."

She's careful, though, not moving at all. Her skin is cool, and feels like good leather.

"My leg hurts when I stand on it, and my hand when I use it, and my face hurts when I talk...but it doesn't hurt to be touched."

"Bet you sit a lot then and don't talk much."

He looks at her carefully.

"I didn't think anybody could hurt that much."

And he doesn't say it again, but another apology of sympathy is in there.

"I don't mind the pain. Its always been here."

She smiles at him again, and shrugs.

"I'd rather meet people than not."

He shrugs.

"I dunno. People don't seem to like me. Or they don't care."

"I like you well enough."

"You're a little different than most people. You haven't even kicked over my cane once."

"I know how hard it is to walk with a bad leg."

She says, and sighs a bit,

"When I was very little, my brother Jormungand would support me so that I could get around the house."

It is obvious that she misses him, horribly. Yamino is very nice, and very close to her brother in temperment, but the human form shakes her every time.

"He sounds nice. I wish I had someone like that."

"He is the best of brothers."

She sits up straight,

"I hope he isn't too uncomfortable where he is now."

"Where is he now?"

"Odin threw him into the ocean. He's stuck down there, just like I'm stuck in Niflheim."

"That sucks."

She nods, and uses the back of her gloved hand to blot the tears from her living eye.

He pulls his hand away.

"I can go now if you want."

"Its okay, 'Po."

She makes the effort to smile at him, and pats his hand with her living one,

"I cry a lot."

He shrugs.

"I used to. Nobody seemed to care much so I stopped."

"I can't help it."

She sighs. She'd rather not cry.

"Do you want something to eat?"

He shrugs.

"I'm okay."

And he tries to think of what his Ma does when he's upset. Or used to do when he was upset. Or tries to do.

And he's not saying a damn think about destinies and prophecy and whatever other garbage she'd throw at him.

So he hops up next to her, wraps his arms around carefully, and presses a soft kiss to her living arm.

She smiles, and then hugs him back. They both seem to need it.

"Thank you, 'Po."

She rests her living cheek against his hair.

He blinks up at her with a shrug.

"I dunno. It's what Ma does."

"My mother did so, too."

She nods, with a small smile.

He nods.

"They do that."

"So they do."

The smile is slightly sad, but she'll live with it.

"How long do I have to do this before you feel better? Cause I'm not Ma. I don't know."