Perfidious Albion, Chapter Eight
Sunday, June 10th, 2018 03:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
challis_2070 posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
mindcrackloveLink to Chapter Seven- https://mindcracklove.dreamwidth.org/1181918.html#cutid1
Pyro sighed. They had gone out to lunch, and while that had went entirely fine, they were now back at the house and planning what they wanted to make for dinner.
This, of course, meant they were probably going to try to talk more. Talking more was terrible. Entirely and utterly terrible in every way. Why yes, he was being overly dramatic, but he was a not quite 15 year old boy, he could be melodramatic if he wanted to be, so he could. It wasn’t like it would be unusual, after all. All teenagers were melodramtic, even when they recognized they were being so.
Talking, talking was loathsome. While he could objectively realize that it was a good thing, that didn’t mean he had to like it. At all. And he didn’t. He didn’t like going over what had happened in the past. It was frustrating, hurt, didn’t change anything, and made him upset, generally. And usually in that order.
Of course, they had a right to know things, but then that just made him wonder why they didn’t ask at the time. He knew the reasons, of course. There wasn’t always time when things happened, and sometimes, when too much times passes, you just don’t want to unearth things. Like now. He didn’t want to get into a discussion of that protest, or, god forbid, the time he had been interned when he was twelve. That…oh man though, that would be far far worse to talk about. He assumed his father knew what had happened then, but maybe only that he had been held there? Had they even told him when he had been brought in? He wasn’t sure anymore!
It seemed to him that his parents barely talked at all to each other. Oh. No. He heard them talking at night, but he didn’t think that was the same kind of talking. Or at least, not a useful kind of communication in this case. Grimacing, he shoved that thought out of his head. He really didn’t want to think about his parents that way, even though (or maybe particularly because) he knew how he was made. He still thought it was a bad idea on his father’s part.
Self-loathing was not, all told, a good feeling. You can’t change how you were made. You just have to live with it. If she had not wanted you, she could have done something for it. If she had not wanted da to be around, she, likewise, could have done something for it. If da hadn’t wanted to be around, he could have done something for it. Something could have been done. But they wanted him, and so, they had him and kept and stayed with each other for, what he could tell, was his sake. There was the surprise that he had no siblings, however. He knew mother had wanted more children than just one…
Also a thought he didn’t want. What was it about today that was bringing all these terrible images to mind? Oh right. Thinking about the past tends to do that, indeed.
“Pól, please go get washed up before dinner.” Lasairfhíona hobbled into the living room where Pyro had been reading some comic books. She wiped her free hand on her apron before leaning against the door frame.
“Oh. Do you want me to help with dinner?” He closed his book and started to stand up.
“Not tonight, thanks. I think you might have time to take a shower, even.” She smiled at him softly.
“Okay mamaí, I’ll go do that.” He sighed softly and headed off to the bathroom to get neatened up before dinner. If she suggested taking a shower, he probably oughta, if only so she didn’t try to poke his hair again. His hair wasn’t that bad, was it? Oh. Yes, yes it was. It really really was.
-----
Lasairfhíona wasn’t looking terribly forward to dinner. She and Tom had been talking all afternoon, and now they’d be talking with Pól as well. She didn’t like discussing things one couldn’t change. What good could it do? Well, perhaps, you could avoid doing the same things in the future. That was the only real benefit that she could see to it.
“Tom, honey, Pól has gone to take a shower before dinner.” She shrugged as she helped set out the table as he worked on making dinner.
“Because you asked him to?” He might have gone for a shower on his own, but remembering back to when he was fourteen…probably not so much. Only when it became uncomfortable to not shower.
“Well, yea. Teenage boys never seem to know when to get clean.” Given her experiences with her brothers, at least, that was true. She had avoided learning how her old…colleagues…had dealt with showering. Or not showering.
“No, I guess not. Do teenage girls know any better?” He doubted it.
“…No, not really. But we don’t have a teenage girl. Then at least I could teach someone about makeup and explain why all clothes should have pockets and why our clothes are made by evil people who hate women and don’t want them to have pockets.” She waved her hand slightly as she sat down and sighed, thinking about having had another child.
“I…I didn’t think you wanted another child?” She had told him before that it was a bad idea. He had almost, when she was pregnant, offered to take her to England, but he had only started the sentence when she had glared at him with a deathly look. Her response was that she had wanted a baby, and even though it wasn’t ideal, it was probably the best she was going to get.
“It’s a bit late now. And medically, that’s a pretty bad idea. But I can still wish.” Oh lord how she could wish. If only she had gotten pregnant again right after he’d been born. But…that had been a miscarriage, she was pretty damn sure of it. She could have seen a doctor, but had not wanted to, not to leave Pól home with her family at the time.
“I do suppose so. I am sorry about that.” He was. He was sorry about a lot of things, but he never wanted to hurt her. He shouldn’t have gotten involved with her in the first place, but you can’t change the past. So.
“No you aren’t, but that’s okay.” She was never sure how much of the truth he was telling. How could he have gotten with her in the first place? He wasn’t stupid, he was really quite bright. But maybe naïve. Or he just didn’t care too much about it. She wasn’t sure if that was better or worse.
“No, I mean, I wouldn’t have liked it so much, but I don’t want to hurt you, after all.”
“I suppose I can accept that argument.”
-----
“Paul, dinner will be ready in a few minutes!” He shouted in the general direction of the room the Paul was in.
“Okay da, I’m almost ready!” Pyro shouted back from the bathroom.
He shoved aside the thoughts he was thinking and finished getting dried off before getting into some clean clothes. His mother had packed waaaaaay more clothes than they needed he thought, they had a washer and dryer here, of course.
Mumbling to himself as he got changed, he combed his hair and hurried off to the dining room.
“Hello da, hello mamaí. How are both of you?”
“About the same as before you took your shower.”
“I….sure, but things could have changed. I wasn’t sure. I know you were talking.”
“Oh. You really shouldn’t worry so much.”
“I don’t think that’s possible, but I’ll try to keep that in mind.”
“We’ve got chicken and rice for dinner. Well, a chicken and rice and mushroom thing that was baked in the oven.”
“Smelled nice.” He was terribly reticent to speak before they started well…grilling him. He was sure they were going to do so.
“Go on and sit down, your mother has already laid out the table.”
He shrugged slightly and entered the dining room proper and went to sit where he had before.
“I’ll sit where I did before, okay?” He nodded towards them as he went and did what he said.
“Certainly. Sounds good to me.”
Lasairfhíona nodded at him as he came over and sat down and joined her at the table.
“Thank you for making dinner, da.”
Notes, Translations, etc
No notes today. If I didn't explain anything, let me know!
Link to Chapter Nine- https://mindcracklove.dreamwidth.org/1182886.html#cutid1 (Yes, I know it's right after this one)
Pyro sighed. They had gone out to lunch, and while that had went entirely fine, they were now back at the house and planning what they wanted to make for dinner.
This, of course, meant they were probably going to try to talk more. Talking more was terrible. Entirely and utterly terrible in every way. Why yes, he was being overly dramatic, but he was a not quite 15 year old boy, he could be melodramatic if he wanted to be, so he could. It wasn’t like it would be unusual, after all. All teenagers were melodramtic, even when they recognized they were being so.
Talking, talking was loathsome. While he could objectively realize that it was a good thing, that didn’t mean he had to like it. At all. And he didn’t. He didn’t like going over what had happened in the past. It was frustrating, hurt, didn’t change anything, and made him upset, generally. And usually in that order.
Of course, they had a right to know things, but then that just made him wonder why they didn’t ask at the time. He knew the reasons, of course. There wasn’t always time when things happened, and sometimes, when too much times passes, you just don’t want to unearth things. Like now. He didn’t want to get into a discussion of that protest, or, god forbid, the time he had been interned when he was twelve. That…oh man though, that would be far far worse to talk about. He assumed his father knew what had happened then, but maybe only that he had been held there? Had they even told him when he had been brought in? He wasn’t sure anymore!
It seemed to him that his parents barely talked at all to each other. Oh. No. He heard them talking at night, but he didn’t think that was the same kind of talking. Or at least, not a useful kind of communication in this case. Grimacing, he shoved that thought out of his head. He really didn’t want to think about his parents that way, even though (or maybe particularly because) he knew how he was made. He still thought it was a bad idea on his father’s part.
Self-loathing was not, all told, a good feeling. You can’t change how you were made. You just have to live with it. If she had not wanted you, she could have done something for it. If she had not wanted da to be around, she, likewise, could have done something for it. If da hadn’t wanted to be around, he could have done something for it. Something could have been done. But they wanted him, and so, they had him and kept and stayed with each other for, what he could tell, was his sake. There was the surprise that he had no siblings, however. He knew mother had wanted more children than just one…
Also a thought he didn’t want. What was it about today that was bringing all these terrible images to mind? Oh right. Thinking about the past tends to do that, indeed.
“Pól, please go get washed up before dinner.” Lasairfhíona hobbled into the living room where Pyro had been reading some comic books. She wiped her free hand on her apron before leaning against the door frame.
“Oh. Do you want me to help with dinner?” He closed his book and started to stand up.
“Not tonight, thanks. I think you might have time to take a shower, even.” She smiled at him softly.
“Okay mamaí, I’ll go do that.” He sighed softly and headed off to the bathroom to get neatened up before dinner. If she suggested taking a shower, he probably oughta, if only so she didn’t try to poke his hair again. His hair wasn’t that bad, was it? Oh. Yes, yes it was. It really really was.
-----
Lasairfhíona wasn’t looking terribly forward to dinner. She and Tom had been talking all afternoon, and now they’d be talking with Pól as well. She didn’t like discussing things one couldn’t change. What good could it do? Well, perhaps, you could avoid doing the same things in the future. That was the only real benefit that she could see to it.
“Tom, honey, Pól has gone to take a shower before dinner.” She shrugged as she helped set out the table as he worked on making dinner.
“Because you asked him to?” He might have gone for a shower on his own, but remembering back to when he was fourteen…probably not so much. Only when it became uncomfortable to not shower.
“Well, yea. Teenage boys never seem to know when to get clean.” Given her experiences with her brothers, at least, that was true. She had avoided learning how her old…colleagues…had dealt with showering. Or not showering.
“No, I guess not. Do teenage girls know any better?” He doubted it.
“…No, not really. But we don’t have a teenage girl. Then at least I could teach someone about makeup and explain why all clothes should have pockets and why our clothes are made by evil people who hate women and don’t want them to have pockets.” She waved her hand slightly as she sat down and sighed, thinking about having had another child.
“I…I didn’t think you wanted another child?” She had told him before that it was a bad idea. He had almost, when she was pregnant, offered to take her to England, but he had only started the sentence when she had glared at him with a deathly look. Her response was that she had wanted a baby, and even though it wasn’t ideal, it was probably the best she was going to get.
“It’s a bit late now. And medically, that’s a pretty bad idea. But I can still wish.” Oh lord how she could wish. If only she had gotten pregnant again right after he’d been born. But…that had been a miscarriage, she was pretty damn sure of it. She could have seen a doctor, but had not wanted to, not to leave Pól home with her family at the time.
“I do suppose so. I am sorry about that.” He was. He was sorry about a lot of things, but he never wanted to hurt her. He shouldn’t have gotten involved with her in the first place, but you can’t change the past. So.
“No you aren’t, but that’s okay.” She was never sure how much of the truth he was telling. How could he have gotten with her in the first place? He wasn’t stupid, he was really quite bright. But maybe naïve. Or he just didn’t care too much about it. She wasn’t sure if that was better or worse.
“No, I mean, I wouldn’t have liked it so much, but I don’t want to hurt you, after all.”
“I suppose I can accept that argument.”
-----
“Paul, dinner will be ready in a few minutes!” He shouted in the general direction of the room the Paul was in.
“Okay da, I’m almost ready!” Pyro shouted back from the bathroom.
He shoved aside the thoughts he was thinking and finished getting dried off before getting into some clean clothes. His mother had packed waaaaaay more clothes than they needed he thought, they had a washer and dryer here, of course.
Mumbling to himself as he got changed, he combed his hair and hurried off to the dining room.
“Hello da, hello mamaí. How are both of you?”
“About the same as before you took your shower.”
“I….sure, but things could have changed. I wasn’t sure. I know you were talking.”
“Oh. You really shouldn’t worry so much.”
“I don’t think that’s possible, but I’ll try to keep that in mind.”
“We’ve got chicken and rice for dinner. Well, a chicken and rice and mushroom thing that was baked in the oven.”
“Smelled nice.” He was terribly reticent to speak before they started well…grilling him. He was sure they were going to do so.
“Go on and sit down, your mother has already laid out the table.”
He shrugged slightly and entered the dining room proper and went to sit where he had before.
“I’ll sit where I did before, okay?” He nodded towards them as he went and did what he said.
“Certainly. Sounds good to me.”
Lasairfhíona nodded at him as he came over and sat down and joined her at the table.
“Thank you for making dinner, da.”
Notes, Translations, etc
No notes today. If I didn't explain anything, let me know!
Link to Chapter Nine- https://mindcracklove.dreamwidth.org/1182886.html#cutid1 (Yes, I know it's right after this one)
