eachdraidh | Video - Seelie/Unseelie (Memory)

[If Stiles had been asked which memory he would have thought would have been forcibly pulled from his brain and broadcast to the entire Drabwurld, he never would have thought it would have been the one chosen by the star. With how his life had been lately, he would have expected something along the lines of screaming and death and pain and blood. Hurt. He'd expected to hurt.

He did, but in a different sort of way.]

[The boy that came running down the stairs had to have been about six or seven, dark hair tufted and sticking up, pajamas emblazoned with iconic little Batman symbols as bare feet padded over carpeted floors, down a set of stairs and over to the large Christmas tree set up in the corner. There was no snow outside (duh, California), but there was fake snow sprayed all over the windows, snowflake decals added to give it a winter feel. There was a gasp, little hands moving up to cover a mouth open in an 'o' of surprised glee at the presents piled up under the tree. The boy went over, pulling one out and shaking it, then looking up the stairs with a sort of thoughtful look. Maybe he could open just one before...]

Put that down, Stiles. Let us at least get a little coffee in us first?

[His dad came down the stairs, flannel pj pants and a tshirt half covered by a robe. He was yawning and scratching at his belly as he shuffled towards the kitchen. A woman followed after, looking just as sleepy but giving him a fond smile as she came over, her robe closed as she went to sit on the couch.]

Oh, let him open just one. It'll help him take the edge off, right, baby?

[The woman smiled at the boy and the boy jumped up, coming over to throw small arms around her neck and give her an enthusiastic kiss. The woman laughed and ruffled his hair, pushing him back over to the tree.]

Go on, then. One to tide you over until your old, grumpy parents get some caffeine in them.

[His dad sighed and looked over at her, but he clearly wasn't actually all that put out.]

You know you spoil him.

He's a baby. He's supposed to be spoiled.

I am not. I'm almost seven. That's practically all grown up.

See, mom? Practically a man already.

[The man laughed and set up the coffee maker before coming over and sitting heavily in a chair.]

Well, go on, then. It's two against one. Majority rules.

[The boy grinned, coming over and giving his dad a thankful hug before he went over to the tree, picking out one of the medium packages because he wanted to build up anticipation for that big one in the corner.

There were flickers of how that morning continued; paper everywhere, ribbons tied in hair both long and short, happy smiles as socks were oohed and ahhed over, gifts made by small hands fussed over and elated squeals of glee over the large box, which turned out to be a Star Wars compilation present with Lego sets and a pair of light sabers that would be used the next day with Scott. They'd both be broken in four months. The image flickered and faded with the three of them on the couch, the boy sitting on the woman's lap, playing with a strand of hair as the man sat beside them, showing them something in a book he'd gotten from his wife.]

IN THE MORNING
[With eyes a little red, he addressed the network.]

So... guess there's nothing we can do to stop that, huh?

[What he really wanted to ask is if there was a way to save it.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[God, you were going to make him say it? What an asshole, Jon.]

Back when my mom was alive. Before she got sick.

[Wow excuse him, Mr. Everybody Lives Past Sixty.]

... Oh. [Now when he watches the memory it's cast in an entirely different light.] I am sorry, Stiles.

[Everyone without a brain disorder. God, Jon. Way to be insensitive. Dick.]

Don't be. This is... I mean, it's...

[He sighed.]

It hurts. But in a good kind of way. We don't have many videos of her, so this is... it's a nice reminder.

It must be. [World's tiniest violin plays for Jon Snow, who doesn't even know if his mother is alive or dead.] You will be... alright, then?

Wait, is this you checking up on me? I'm touched, buddy. Or is this just your way of trying to wheedle some 'let's pretend everything's happy' pizza out of me?

[Smirk.]

I am a two week's ride from any pizza you could offer.

[But he's definitely not admitting to any checking up happening.]

I could always give some to one of the pixies and have them bring you out a care package bundle. They seem to be able to get around a lot more quickly than we can.

[Speaking of checking up on...]

You okay? I mean, where you are?

I am uncertain how the lord here might take to Pixies in his home, but the offer is kind.

[And he is super tempted because pizza.]

Aye, it is a fearsomely defensible castle, at the least. [Built right into rock as it is. Though Jon's still not excited about the news of the war about to arrive at their doorstep...] Near the edge of the fairy's territory. My father and Ser Gendry and I were asked along by some others to better ourselves with swords and... a certain kind of magic, I suppose.

You, uh... need any help? I mean, if you need some more magic stuff, I can find a way to get there. If there's any of those rings nearby, I might be able to use them. Or convince someone here to take me via some weird shadowy magic. Then I could bring it myself.

[The care package, Jon. He'd bring the care package.]

Best not. [They'd already accidentally brought Arya along and that was probably rude enough. He raises both eyebrows, though.] Does this mean you've an interest in trying the sword again? [Because that's the kind of magic they're doing. Swordsmen magic.]

What? Ha, ha, no. Not unless you feel like carrying me to whatever kind of infirmary there is where you are. I meant for like... magic-magic. I'm getting a bit better. I even have a bit more control with the fire now.

"A bit." [That's so not comforting, Stiles.] Perhaps when I return - I do not think I will be here much longer. [haha he has no idea]

Look, just... if you get into trouble, let me know. I don't know exactly what I can do, but I'll try something. I have a pretty amazing witch as a friend and I think the two of us can come up with something.

... Aye. Might be I would. I doubt it will be necessary, though.

[He says that now but when shit hits the fan on the 25th, calls will probably be happening. Prepare yourself, Stiles.]

[His loins will be so girded, Jon.]

Just keep it in mind. Remember, I'm only a locket-call away. Try not to get dead. I don't have that many friends here.

[Try not to get dead wow sweep him right off his feet why don't you?]

You do the same. It is Caer Glaem at war right now, not this place.

[Would you prefer "I wish I could quit you"?]

Then maybe I should be more concerned about my scrawny ass.

Surely your bubbles will suffice to keep you safe.

Oh, wow. Look at the funny man. I'm laughing so hard. That's a good one.

[Said with a totally blank tone and an eyeroll. You suck, Jon.]

You're the one who yet refuses to take up sword.

[Come on bro, Jon will only kick minimal shit out of you during training!]

That's because I'm a smart man, Jon. I know my strengths. Swords aren't one of them.

Swords aren't any man's strength without practice. With it, they can be anyone's. [Except like... Gendry-sized people. They can pretty much wreck shit with a tree branch.]

Says you. There are some people that are born athletes. Then there are people like me. We're book people, Jon. Book and magic people.

[He's like a super skinny and slightly less skittish Sam Tarly, gods help him.]

Oh, do as you like. Just... be careful.

And do not set the castle on fire.

[RUDE, JON. He's thrown himself into danger plenty. He just prefers a bat, not a sword.]

You take all the fun out of being a mage.

(no subject)

baseborne - 2014-07-20 07:59 (UTC) - Expand

teenyoda - 2014-07-20 08:00 (UTC) - Expand