eachdraidh | Video - Seelie/Unseelie (Memory)

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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.]

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[ they had spoken before about family. oh-so-briefly. and only in the abstract. but sansa knows enough about the rawness of kinship that she very nearly snaps the locket shut when the scene plays out before her eyes. curiousity compels her to stay. to listen. to watch. she wonders if it's a betrayal of their fledgling friendship that she doesn't respect his privacy and avoid this memory as she's been avoiding the memories of others.

sansa winds the locket chain around her fingers. she feels an ache deep in her bones. she misses her family: the dead; the distant; the broken. her and stiles's light conversation about those left behind seems almost crass, now.

in the morning, it takes her a long time to gather courage. a long time to speak up: ] I don't think so. I take it was not intentional, Stiles?

[ her voice is quiet. even-toned. perhaps even a little hollow. she has allowed herself to care a little too much about a stranger's poignant memories. she's allowed herself to be moved by someone else's past. lord baelish would not be pleased. ]

What was that?

I doubt there would be so many of them if there was.

Edited 2014-07-16 04:14 (UTC)

Um, if you'll excuse me for saying - it was really beautiful. Especially compared to so much of what is... being shown, lately.

So, thank you, sir.

[ peter knows that sort of red eyes. you don't cry after remembering something happy unless you've lost part of what made it that way in the first place. ]

[ he swallows. ] Since it's a broadcast, we should be able to make it retroactively private. [ but that doesn't stop the initial views. ]

Edited 2014-07-16 22:27 (UTC)

( Lydia frowns deeply, because she knows Stiles's mom is dead, and she knows it has to be hard to relive that, knowing that as a fact. But her smile replaces the frown, because she doesn't want to bring him down if he's not upset by it. )

She was really beautiful. And you were really cute.

[Oh. Many of the sights Jon sees in this particular vision are strange, but there are some things he is familiar with as well - one in particular that always makes his stomach twist with a sort of want, a dull and covetous envy. The Lady Catelyn had always been cold to him, but there was no man or woman in Westeros capable of greater warmth than she had always shown for her own children, and it had been impossible not to witness growing up in his lord father's house. It's what he sees in the oddly dressed man and woman, and the familiar little boy.

When Stiles shows up in the morning, Jon debates ignoring the whole thing entirely (doing so might even be a kindness), but he finds that somewhere along the line he has accidentally come to view the strange lad as something of a friend, so he can't.]

Stiles?

Practically all grown up.

[ Rachel's grinning when her feed clicks on, and it's totally genuine. it's a tiny bit weird, feeling emotionally mushy over a home video of someone she doesn't really know, but that's alright. she's okay with being weird. ]

You were a sweet kid.

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