the thing about nobility, about royalty, is that in every sense - somehow, someway, you end up trapped. if you are someone who doesn't fit into that system one way or another, you will be crushed under its wheel. for taair, it was the life of a pretty little songbird, a pet kept in a golden cage. and for claude...
for claude, it's the otherness - the chip on his shoulder, to have a right to simply exist. if taair was locked up and sheltered to the point of ridiculousness, then claude was left a target. it's a cruelty beyond cruelties, and it clearly taught him some fight.
the memory keeps going, and going, and when claude's older brother raises the axe high, high over his head, taair can't even help himself - he throws an arm out and half puts himself in front of the claude in standing next to him like he could protect that tiny child from the awful cruelty of difference, his breath catching in a full, sharp gasp. ]
-- Oh. [ oh, after a moment, because it is a memory, not the current moment. the adrenaline that squeezes hard loosens, a tiny bit, and he turns his head away from the mirrors to look back at claude now kind of behind him, surprised and then, searching his face, it turns to a frown. ]
[ The memories of this week, each one dredging up something unpleasant, elicit an array of emotions out of Claude. But usually he doesn't let it show on his face. These are old scars, still unpleasant to witness, but moments that he's grown past.
He doesn't like Taair to see it, but he won't cry over it either, a reassurance that he grew up and go out on his tongue.
But he's struck in surprise when that hand shoots out, not having expected someone to try and protect him from a threat long gone.
He doesn't even know what to say. ]
It's... well, it's not alright. But I got out of there.
[ taair says with almost immediately in agreement, brows furrowing with an unusual amount of intensity, long lingering. claude was a child who had no say in where he was born or the place he was raised, and the amount of cruelty faced from adults and children alike makes even taair, gentle soul to his core, rankle a little. it's not all that surprising, is the worst thing. it's nobility. politics. prejudice. some things are always the same.
the memory starts again - and without even really thinking about it, he closes a hand around claude's good wrist and starts to pull him away from the walls, walking with a sense of determination to try and find the exit. does he actually know where he's going? probably not, but the last thing they need to do is stand in the wake of cruelty relived, over and over and over again.
... eventually, after they've walked a few paces, his voice softens. ]
... I'm glad that you got out. And... I know you will say that it doesn't matter, or that it made you stronger, but - even if it did, it shouldn't have happened to you at all.
[ They can walk out, and Claude is still a little caught off guard. He's not really used to being protected... What is he supposed to do?
He smiles a little. ]
I know. Trust me, I know. [ He does, but it's still sweet to hear it validated from others. That he didn't deserve that. That he should've received something better than what he did.
He'll free his hand so that he can settle it on Taair's shoulder, squeezing gently. ]
[ he glances backwards - taair's brows are still knit together as the hand comes to his shoulders, but he exhales when it does, finally letting loose some of that immediate, instinctive protectiveness as the light at the end of the funhouse mirrors blinks through, the daylight shining into the darkened maze. ]
... you are a very strong person, but... just like you'd never tolerate it, I hope you know that you need not always fight for yourself unaided anymore, either.
[ to learn to survive like that is an impressive feat. to not crack under the pressure of hateful stares and assassination attempts, cruelties or pain takes a tremendous amount of independence, strength, and likely a spiteful streak a mile wide. to live when others didn't want you to. to still want better, too - he has not forgotten their early talks of dreams, no matter how difficult they were to achieve. ]
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[ Wowee. What a time for the mirrors to start acting up.
Gives you a memory at 9pm on Sunday, I'm sorry. ]
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the thing about nobility, about royalty, is that in every sense - somehow, someway, you end up trapped. if you are someone who doesn't fit into that system one way or another, you will be crushed under its wheel. for taair, it was the life of a pretty little songbird, a pet kept in a golden cage. and for claude...
for claude, it's the otherness - the chip on his shoulder, to have a right to simply exist. if taair was locked up and sheltered to the point of ridiculousness, then claude was left a target. it's a cruelty beyond cruelties, and it clearly taught him some fight.
the memory keeps going, and going, and when claude's older brother raises the axe high, high over his head, taair can't even help himself - he throws an arm out and half puts himself in front of the claude in standing next to him like he could protect that tiny child from the awful cruelty of difference, his breath catching in a full, sharp gasp. ]
-- Oh. [ oh, after a moment, because it is a memory, not the current moment. the adrenaline that squeezes hard loosens, a tiny bit, and he turns his head away from the mirrors to look back at claude now kind of behind him, surprised and then, searching his face, it turns to a frown. ]
... Awful - how awful.
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He doesn't like Taair to see it, but he won't cry over it either, a reassurance that he grew up and go out on his tongue.
But he's struck in surprise when that hand shoots out, not having expected someone to try and protect him from a threat long gone.
He doesn't even know what to say. ]
It's... well, it's not alright. But I got out of there.
no subject
[ taair says with almost immediately in agreement, brows furrowing with an unusual amount of intensity, long lingering. claude was a child who had no say in where he was born or the place he was raised, and the amount of cruelty faced from adults and children alike makes even taair, gentle soul to his core, rankle a little. it's not all that surprising, is the worst thing. it's nobility. politics. prejudice. some things are always the same.
the memory starts again - and without even really thinking about it, he closes a hand around claude's good wrist and starts to pull him away from the walls, walking with a sense of determination to try and find the exit. does he actually know where he's going? probably not, but the last thing they need to do is stand in the wake of cruelty relived, over and over and over again.
... eventually, after they've walked a few paces, his voice softens. ]
... I'm glad that you got out. And... I know you will say that it doesn't matter, or that it made you stronger, but - even if it did, it shouldn't have happened to you at all.
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He smiles a little. ]
I know. Trust me, I know. [ He does, but it's still sweet to hear it validated from others. That he didn't deserve that. That he should've received something better than what he did.
He'll free his hand so that he can settle it on Taair's shoulder, squeezing gently. ]
I'd never tolerate anything like that now.
no subject
[ he glances backwards - taair's brows are still knit together as the hand comes to his shoulders, but he exhales when it does, finally letting loose some of that immediate, instinctive protectiveness as the light at the end of the funhouse mirrors blinks through, the daylight shining into the darkened maze. ]
... you are a very strong person, but... just like you'd never tolerate it, I hope you know that you need not always fight for yourself unaided anymore, either.
[ to learn to survive like that is an impressive feat. to not crack under the pressure of hateful stares and assassination attempts, cruelties or pain takes a tremendous amount of independence, strength, and likely a spiteful streak a mile wide. to live when others didn't want you to. to still want better, too - he has not forgotten their early talks of dreams, no matter how difficult they were to achieve. ]