Mithos watches Lloyd sit down, feeling Lloyd's exhaustion as much as he can see it, written in Lloyd's shoulders and the dreamspace both. The fire is barely breathing. The sky presses down from above, oppresive, stars blotted out by clouds. Some of that might be Mithos' doing, he knows, but he feels-- bad, he realizes. Guilty in ways he isn't sure how to deal with, other than to be mad about, because why should he care what Lloyd thinks? Why should he care--
Lloyd isn't just any other human, though. He's Kratos' son. From another universe. And Kratos--
Mithos swallows, tight. He keeps watching Lloyd, his stomach tied in knots, hands clenched so tight that his nails are probably leaving marks on his palms. It doesn't matter. He can choose not to feel physical pain in the dreamspace. Unfortunately there's nothing he can do about emotional turmoil.
"That's," he says, feeling incredibly ineloquent, right now. "I mean, that's." Kratos, working against Lloyd? Mithos knows Kratos loves his son, loves his family, more than anything else. Even if it was eventually for the greater good, why would-- "That's still really fucked up, though. That's- that's really--" Mithos can't get his voice to work properly, which he hates. He needs to. Stop thinking about Kratos, probably. Needs to stop thinking about seeing Kratos like that.
"Sorry," he says, instead, and normally he wouldn't but he feels like shit right now in general so it slips out. "I'll-- make sure the dream port stays closed, from here on. So we can't uh. So you won't have to." Normally his thoughts-to-mouth filter works better than this, too. "So that doesn't happen again. And you can have your dreams to yourself. It's- I mean it's fun sharing them, sometimes, but not when this happens..."
He wishes he could stop feeling so shaken up, but he cannot fathom Kratos wanting to hurt him, choosing to hurt him, so confronting that knowledge is more than he's able to stomach. It's all he can think about. He wants to stop thinking about it.
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Lloyd isn't just any other human, though. He's Kratos' son. From another universe. And Kratos--
Mithos swallows, tight. He keeps watching Lloyd, his stomach tied in knots, hands clenched so tight that his nails are probably leaving marks on his palms. It doesn't matter. He can choose not to feel physical pain in the dreamspace. Unfortunately there's nothing he can do about emotional turmoil.
"That's," he says, feeling incredibly ineloquent, right now. "I mean, that's." Kratos, working against Lloyd? Mithos knows Kratos loves his son, loves his family, more than anything else. Even if it was eventually for the greater good, why would-- "That's still really fucked up, though. That's- that's really--" Mithos can't get his voice to work properly, which he hates. He needs to. Stop thinking about Kratos, probably. Needs to stop thinking about seeing Kratos like that.
"Sorry," he says, instead, and normally he wouldn't but he feels like shit right now in general so it slips out. "I'll-- make sure the dream port stays closed, from here on. So we can't uh. So you won't have to." Normally his thoughts-to-mouth filter works better than this, too. "So that doesn't happen again. And you can have your dreams to yourself. It's- I mean it's fun sharing them, sometimes, but not when this happens..."
He wishes he could stop feeling so shaken up, but he cannot fathom Kratos wanting to hurt him, choosing to hurt him, so confronting that knowledge is more than he's able to stomach. It's all he can think about. He wants to stop thinking about it.