dirt_heart: (007)

[personal profile] dirt_heart 2025-05-20 09:56 pm (UTC)(link)
[A long beat of silence, swallowing down the gutpunch reaction of the meaning strung between her words.]

Give me the name. I'll find a way to you.
dirt_heart: (004)

[personal profile] dirt_heart 2025-05-21 09:33 pm (UTC)(link)
[Dead. Dead dead dead. It's an echo that rattles around his head with the same razor-edges as hearing his daughter crying and being unable to pull her close and hold her tight.]

Alright. [Pressing his forehead hard against the door he'd been about to walk out of, taking a breath. There aren't any answers on the other side. Not yet.] It's alright, baby, just explain it to me. I'm listening.
dirt_heart: (010)

[personal profile] dirt_heart 2025-06-07 12:31 am (UTC)(link)
You're not stupid, baby. You've never been stupid.

[Immediate, instinctive reassurance. But the truth, too. Both the girls, smarter than him in a lot of ways - an irony, to feel it now, trying to digest what she's telling him and make it make sense. To shove down all his questions and anger and grief, give her something, anything at all.]

What are his standards? For "better"?
dirt_heart: (004)

[personal profile] dirt_heart 2025-06-07 11:38 pm (UTC)(link)
[She says already lost me once and he feels his body start to seize, lungs locking, vision narrowing. It's an old curse, older even than the slackened strings around his heart, but its hauntings have returned in frequency since the day they fell loose. He lets himself slide to the floor, back against the door, counting out slow inhale after slow exhale. Listening to Qetzi's voice without really hearing the words.

He can't find steadiness quickly enough to reply as soon as she's finished, but he manages to leave only a short space of silence. Hopefully enough that she'll think him only deliberating, taking care in his answer.]


Your mo-- [It cuts, his chest hitching. He swallows, tries again.] Your mom was my friend.