Heather Mason (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
foolishwren) wrote2014-06-08 03:36 pm
foolishwren) wrote2014-06-08 03:36 pm
115. [Text/Action for Mahogany]
General announcement here
I don't really know what kinds of contacts Dad kept here but for anyone who knew him, Harry Mason is gone. His stuff was mostly left to me and one other person so I guess that's really all there is to say about it.
Later.
-Heather
[Heather's always mostly let her Pokemon run free-- or at least the more reliable ones-- when the gang is bunkered down at a hotel somewhere. After all, not everybody gets to come along when they're between cities, so time spent outside of the box by default takes place mostly within walking distance of a Pokemon Center.]
[Today there can be a small cluster of Pokemon seen by the entrance of the Mahogany Inn. A Manectric, unusually subdued for anyone who knows her, gently licking the head of a Pikachu. The electric mouse has a slightly crumpled sheet of paper in her paws, and behind her, a Noctowl shelters a small, rotund Hoothoot with one wing while peering over the Pikachu's shoulder.]
[While it's little more than coos and soft canine whuffles to most ears, any Pokemon or person with a sensitive ear can probably pick up the quiet muttering coming from the group.]
It's okay, Hazel. My trainer went away too but New Trainer always takes good care of me. She even shares her lunches.
I-I know...
Just think though, now we can play all the time. I know we're sad, but that will be fun, right?
Now is not the time to be talking about playing, Tricia. Have some tact.
Okay, okay...
W-... where is Mr. Trainer's daughter, a-anyway? She just left after seeing the letter...
Up on the roof. Sunny is with her, so she will be fine... Probably. Come, we should go collect the others. She... will come down when she's ready.
[Tricia the Manectric, Hazel the Pikachu, Claudy the Noctowl]
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[It's been so long. Would he even recognize her? Especially in this form.]
It probably ain't what you want to hear, but you should consider yourself lucky. Not everypony gets closure. Try an' appreciate the times you had, rather than bein' sad that he's gone.
Besides, he might even come back one day. Y'never know.
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[It's largely due to the dead, wooden numbness she's been feeling ever since finding her father's goodbye note that she doesn't snarl something vicious back-- even in said numbness, the words kindle a flicker of bitter irritation in her chest.]
I know.
[She doesn't have enough energy for it to be a real snap, but her aggravation is probably still audible.]
Believe me, it's something I keep telling myself over and over. I got more chances than I could hope for. I was lucky.
But the luck ran out and no, he's not coming back.
He already came back once [Though that first time he'd been in Johto had been... nothing but a heartache, to be honest. But that was a story for another time, and one she doesn't want to remember at the moment. Because even now it brings back feelings she never wants to feel again.] and expecting lightning to strike twice is just naiive.
I know I'm lucky.
But that doesn't make it-- hurt-- any-- less.
If anything-- it-- it makes it worse.
[Because knowing that you're lucky and have no real right to be upset does sort of the exact opposite of make you feel better. It just makes you feel like shit for feeling bad in the first place.]
[Accordingly, her throat tightens as she talks, the frustration practically palpable in her voice.]
My luck ran out. And no matter how much I did with it while I had it, it doesn't feel like enough. I could never do enough with it.
And I hate myself for it.
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[There's a note of desperation in her voice now, mingling with the frustration.]
I know it's not my fault-- it's not anybody's fault.
It's just that if it was... there would be someone to be angry at. Someone to blame. But there's nobody. Not this time.
There's just nothing.
[There's a pause, and when she speaks again, her voice is a little bit choked.]
... At least at home... at least at home there was a body.
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An' what would you do with a body? Stare at it an' feel more sorry for yourself?
Y'don't need to do that to yourself. Find somethin' better t'put your anger into. Train, or fight, or cook, or sing, or make somethin'. Do somethin' t'let all that anger an' sadness out.
I know how you're feelin' right now, Sugarcube. Really, I do. That's why I know that sittin' around wallowin' in pity ain't gonna fix anything.
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[Not the part about doing something with her anger (although that smarts, too-- this is the very first time she hasn't done something with her anger after a loss, and it had never done her any real favors. She has the scars on her hands to prove it. This emptiness is awful and alien, but at least it's not hurting anybody)-- but the part about feeling sorry for herself over a body.]
[She hadn't felt sorry for herself when she found Harry Mason's body propped up in his chair, his chest cleaved open. She'd gotten pretty productive, actually. Slew his killer. Saved the world. Gone half-mad with pain. But still productive.]
[So how DARE you.]
[What she says next is needlessly cruel, even for her.]
Something better? You mean like stop sleeping so that I can exercise myself to death like it'll somehow get me back home to my little family? How's that sound?
Oh, wait.
I don't have a family back home.
My family's here.
And with every passing day, it gets a little smaller.
So how 'bout you go screw yourself, AJ. You don't have a clue how I feel.