quietmounds | (no subject)

(no subject)

WHAT Christmas in July
WHERE Every-fucking-where
WHEN Day 141 & 142

[IT'S THAT TIME OF YEAR. It's . . . well, time doesn't really work well here anyway, but it's been 'a while' since the last 'festive activities' so that's what's happening, right here, right now.

It's still warm enough for shorts and t-shirts, but there's also big fat snowflakes falling from the sunny sky, making piles of it that are pleasantly cool and don't seem to melt. Skating rinks! Palm trees and cacti decorated with pretty sparkly lights! Do we even have those? We do today.

Besides that, you can do whatever you want to, to get into the #mood:

Mistletoe? Mistletoe for kissing, for cuddling, for whatever?
Mysterious gifts with your name on them that turn out to be a long-lost item from your childhood?
Blankets that you get trapped under until someone joins you in there to cuddle?
[insert your fun here]

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...it's not fair.

[her tone is quiet and steely, but it still seems like that just slipped out, from the way she makes a little face after at how pointless and childish the words sound]

No.

[short laugh that ends up sounding pained]

Your brother tried to say your mom would have treated me like her own son. Got mad when I said I had my own. [shaking his head] The two of them should be remembered in Wakanda, mean something.

[serious]

They won't be erased.

[but then kinda, glances over at him, puzzled]

...he got mad about that? That doesn't sound like him.

Sure were until I turned up.

[sighs, mostly taking in air] Don't know, probably thought I was talking shit on your mom. I mean, she was stone cold, but I wasn't expecting anything from her, either. She knew, she didn't know, whatever. Her son was going six feet under and wasn't a thing she could do about it.

[gives him an APPALLED LOOK but like, honestly it's practically the same kind of appalled look that she gives him when he doesn't put on gloves before doing electrical work.]

Yes, weird how none of us were friendly. All right, that makes... more sense.

[also... sighs...]

[glancing at her, evaluating, before finishing up his bandages, cold]

Y'all had over twenty years to turn up on my door step. And I knew you wouldn't like me on yours.

I mean, come on. Of course we didn't like it. We had no idea about you, and suddenly we had to realize baba and Zuri had been lying for my whole life, and we thought you killed T'Challa in front of us, and still, I can't be sorry that you came. Because even if I will never agree with you about how to address the problems, you were completely right about what was wrong with Wakanda.

[offers the photo back once he's finished with his bandages]

[taking it back without eye contact, picking through the corners of pages to find the right spot to slot it in]

Dad was right. Just the messenger here.

...as I said. We won't allow N'Jobu's fight to be erased any longer. But—that makes you sound awfully uninvolved in your whole life mission if you put it like that.

[the tiniest heart pat because she said his name, pausing for a beat then putting the book away in his bag]

We thought about it differently. Planned it differently.