That was not even close to the answer Mithos was expecting.
"K- Kratos?" he repeats, and he laughs, startled. "Th- that's absurd!" Mithos stammers out around hiccups of laughter. That's not just absurd, it's impossible. Lightning cracks offset to Mithos' laughter, rain falling from a black sky as the dream loses hold of any real shape in Mithos' horror. "That's-- That's--!"
But Mithos remembers the converastion he had with his father, just the other night. He remembers his father's eyes, red like Kratos', shaped like Kratos'. He remembers - now that he thinks about it, he remembers that that's not all his father shares with Kratos, is it? Sometimes the cadence of his voice, the downcast of his eyes, the simple little tics of his mannerisms. The way Kratos and his father both freeze up and go rigid when they have to talk about something they don't want to explain.
And the fact his father never once talked about his past, as if he had something to hide.
Of course he had something to hide, if he was this Lloyd's father. Of course he had something to hide if - as everyone has told Mithos - he ran away from his son, after he left it to his son to kill his brother, ran away into the cold
expanse
of space.
Mithos rakes his hands through his hair, slow and horrified. It fits. He hates that it fits.
He's furious, he hates it with every inch of his being. He tugs at his hair as the thunder rumbles around them, the dreamspace dark and cold, rain pouring even if it does not actually touch Mithos or Lloyd. Mithos tugs at his hair, choking down his loathing and trying to breathe around Lloyd's fury, and--
"Are you sure?" Mithos croaks, even though he's pretty sure. "Are you- that doesn't--" All the pieces line up, and he cannot deny them. But that doesn't mean he has to like them. And it certainly does not mean he understands them. "Why would he-- HOW did he--!?"
no subject
That was not even close to the answer Mithos was expecting.
"K- Kratos?" he repeats, and he laughs, startled. "Th- that's absurd!" Mithos stammers out around hiccups of laughter. That's not just absurd, it's impossible. Lightning cracks offset to Mithos' laughter, rain falling from a black sky as the dream loses hold of any real shape in Mithos' horror. "That's-- That's--!"
But Mithos remembers the converastion he had with his father, just the other night. He remembers his father's eyes, red like Kratos', shaped like Kratos'. He remembers - now that he thinks about it, he remembers that that's not all his father shares with Kratos, is it? Sometimes the cadence of his voice, the downcast of his eyes, the simple little tics of his mannerisms. The way Kratos and his father both freeze up and go rigid when they have to talk about something they don't want to explain.
And the fact his father never once talked about his past, as if he had something to hide.
Of course he had something to hide, if he was this Lloyd's father. Of course he had something to hide if - as everyone has told Mithos - he ran away from his son, after he left it to his son to kill his brother, ran away into the cold
expanse
of space.
Mithos rakes his hands through his hair, slow and horrified. It fits. He hates that it fits.
He's furious, he hates it with every inch of his being. He tugs at his hair as the thunder rumbles around them, the dreamspace dark and cold, rain pouring even if it does not actually touch Mithos or Lloyd. Mithos tugs at his hair, choking down his loathing and trying to breathe around Lloyd's fury, and--
"Are you sure?" Mithos croaks, even though he's pretty sure. "Are you- that doesn't--" All the pieces line up, and he cannot deny them. But that doesn't mean he has to like them. And it certainly does not mean he understands them. "Why would he-- HOW did he--!?"
He looks to Lloyd, helplessly.