(no subject)
WHO: Just old Captain Ruffles here
WHERE: Bedroom (Moonybase)
WHEN: The wee hours of Monday morning, Nov. 22
SUMMARY: Miles is prone to fits of moodiness, so now he's going to have one
WARNINGS: IDK?
FORMAT: Solo
The problem, he is certain, has to do with the issue of finding fault in things.
Remus simply could not help being what he was, and Edgeworth had eventually come to accept that, after the first few months during which he'd struggled both not to be afraid of every touch and to stop inwardly blaming the man for his failure to either prevent or fix it (which was really only an expression of his own uselessness in changing the matter turned around to hide the source).
He knows some of the story--more, now, than he did before--and has seen a year and a half's worth of clockwork changes, and that is all well and good. He's become accustomed to the regular appearances of the wolf, as strange as that sounds, and it is oddly comforting to know that he will be on the living room sofa listening to the sounds of snarling and banging about coming from the basement at two in the morning during every full moon (the dates of which he has memorized through the next three years, just in case, though if asked he would of course deny that it's any sort of commitment and insist that he is merely being prepared for every possibility).
There is also nothing that Edgeworth can do to help, really, and he knows that, too. He is no werewolf himself, which is a notion he doesn't care to entertain very often, as doing so inevitably leads him to one particularly unpleasant conclusion. His powers will never be enough to control the raging beast when it breaks free, short of killing it, which he can not do, and the only time he has ever been in possession of some kind of animal's body as an alternate to his own was a freak accident that just wasn't looking like it would be repeating itself any time soon... not that the house could really withstand a second rampaging polar bear.
Black and the elder Potter are also not to blame, as much as he would like to get away with trying to do exactly that. Their world is one of wand-waving and impossible magic and theories around which his often coldly logical and always well-ordered mind will never really completely wrap itself. He knows the spells and the accompanying movements to perfection, and has had some of the concepts behind them explained to him time and time again, as Remus has often had to reassure him of the safety involved in taking such shortcuts, but somewhere along the way his brain fails to bridge that mysterious final gap. Even were they to give him an exact guide on how one might become an animal more suited to handling the wild life with his partner once a month, no attempt ever made would come to any kind of fruition.
And that is even before taking into consideration the fact that even at the age they were, they'd already known Remus three years longer than he had--and in his youth, to boot, which meant that they were privy to secrets and truths that it would be impossible for Edgeworth to even conceive of, much less ask about or discover. They know the location of every pushable button Remus has kept well-covered up until then, and never seem to have to try very hard to make him smile or join in on some form of joke, and most important of all? They aren't afraid that the self-washing dishes won't fly across the room and embed themselves in the wall. Their first reaction when he hugs them isn't to panic because it's a display of affection or someone too close, both physically and emotionally, and it definitely isn't the occasional single terrfied heartbeat during which he remembers what having a broken arm looks like. The three of them laugh, and love, and have private jokes, and never have to work at doing any of it right.
While he sometimes resents them for what they can do, and who they are to Remus, he knows he's not supposed to feel that way. He shouldn't be jealous of the fact that they call him 'Moony' as if the nearly twenty years had never passed between them. It shouldn't bother him when they wastefully mash a pie into the floor and the only thing that comes of it as a result is a fruit-smelling carpet for a few days. Being able to make comfort Remus the morning after he tears himself half to pieces is something he ought to be thankful they can do, and more so again that it isn't half as necessary as it was before since their presence means he is more focused while taken over by the wolf and doesn't try to hunt down and proceed to kill anyone else (or himself). Even Lily and Harry make him feel like the odd man out at times, though he would fight to protect them both without hesitation simply because they are people Remus considers family.
In truth, he likes having both boys around in the house, no matter how hard he and Black butt heads sometimes because of their respective ego and stubbornness, or how completely unlike himself Potter is. When nobody is looking, he can admit that they amuse him, too, and that his deeply-buried playful and ultra-smarmy side enjoys the freedom it's been seeing a little more of since their arrival.
Most importantly, he can rely on them to protect the two people he holds dearest to what little heart he allows himself to have in the City; with them around, he is certain that Ruka will also remain in safe hands--and Rua, too, if he were to ever return--should he happen to find himself unwillingly exPorted some distant day in the future.
But it's hard for someone who often refuses to see himself in the wrong to acknowledge that these are his problems, and harder still for someone who never claims--inward or outward--to love anyone at all in any way whatsoever to accept a Truth that directly implies he does, no matter how devoted to that particular meaningfully-capitalized abstract he truly happens to be.
Because of all these things, Edgeworth is alone in the bed at three-thirty in the morning on the Monday after the full moon, waiting for the three to come home from their trip upstate, when he comes to the uncomfortable conclusion that he no longer knows how to sleep without either a familiar and unusually warm body nearby or the muffled but angry howls filling the house in its absence.
And so, blaming everything and everyone but himself for not having either one, he gets up, makes the bed, and takes a shower, after which he gets dressed and arranges all of his work for the day; once he has done that, he silently checks in on Ruka. Satisfied, he heads downstairs to cook.
After putting the food away and the rest of everything in the rarely-used dishwasher because the thought of one of the wizards doing it their way is one he can't handle just then, and setting it on, Miles finishes cleaning up, takes his briefcase from its resting spot in the front hallway, pulls his long, purple coat on over his suit, straightens his jabot, and leaves to go to work early.
It is only 5:45.
There is a note under Ruka's door detailing both the breakfast and lunch he has made and left in the (thankfully, magically-expanded) refrigerator for her (and everyone else), and instructing her to have a good day, as he will be coming home very late from work that night, with only his first name signed underneath--he'd stopped adding his last name after the adoption passed through, in an unknowing display of closeness.
At the bottom of the page, which is a piece of yellow paper carefully torn from one of his legal pads and folded over twice, there is a strange series of tiny blots of ink, as if he was tapping the paper while trying to think of how to word something--but no more than that. Even after two years, he still can't quite bring himself to manage; it had previously taken him an unbearably long time as it was just to learn to hug her without hesitating more than a second.
But it is still the closest he's ever come to telling her the truth.
...He has left no such thing for Remus.
WHERE: Bedroom (Moonybase)
WHEN: The wee hours of Monday morning, Nov. 22
SUMMARY: Miles is prone to fits of moodiness, so now he's going to have one
WARNINGS: IDK?
FORMAT: Solo
The problem, he is certain, has to do with the issue of finding fault in things.
Remus simply could not help being what he was, and Edgeworth had eventually come to accept that, after the first few months during which he'd struggled both not to be afraid of every touch and to stop inwardly blaming the man for his failure to either prevent or fix it (which was really only an expression of his own uselessness in changing the matter turned around to hide the source).
He knows some of the story--more, now, than he did before--and has seen a year and a half's worth of clockwork changes, and that is all well and good. He's become accustomed to the regular appearances of the wolf, as strange as that sounds, and it is oddly comforting to know that he will be on the living room sofa listening to the sounds of snarling and banging about coming from the basement at two in the morning during every full moon (the dates of which he has memorized through the next three years, just in case, though if asked he would of course deny that it's any sort of commitment and insist that he is merely being prepared for every possibility).
There is also nothing that Edgeworth can do to help, really, and he knows that, too. He is no werewolf himself, which is a notion he doesn't care to entertain very often, as doing so inevitably leads him to one particularly unpleasant conclusion. His powers will never be enough to control the raging beast when it breaks free, short of killing it, which he can not do, and the only time he has ever been in possession of some kind of animal's body as an alternate to his own was a freak accident that just wasn't looking like it would be repeating itself any time soon... not that the house could really withstand a second rampaging polar bear.
Black and the elder Potter are also not to blame, as much as he would like to get away with trying to do exactly that. Their world is one of wand-waving and impossible magic and theories around which his often coldly logical and always well-ordered mind will never really completely wrap itself. He knows the spells and the accompanying movements to perfection, and has had some of the concepts behind them explained to him time and time again, as Remus has often had to reassure him of the safety involved in taking such shortcuts, but somewhere along the way his brain fails to bridge that mysterious final gap. Even were they to give him an exact guide on how one might become an animal more suited to handling the wild life with his partner once a month, no attempt ever made would come to any kind of fruition.
And that is even before taking into consideration the fact that even at the age they were, they'd already known Remus three years longer than he had--and in his youth, to boot, which meant that they were privy to secrets and truths that it would be impossible for Edgeworth to even conceive of, much less ask about or discover. They know the location of every pushable button Remus has kept well-covered up until then, and never seem to have to try very hard to make him smile or join in on some form of joke, and most important of all? They aren't afraid that the self-washing dishes won't fly across the room and embed themselves in the wall. Their first reaction when he hugs them isn't to panic because it's a display of affection or someone too close, both physically and emotionally, and it definitely isn't the occasional single terrfied heartbeat during which he remembers what having a broken arm looks like. The three of them laugh, and love, and have private jokes, and never have to work at doing any of it right.
While he sometimes resents them for what they can do, and who they are to Remus, he knows he's not supposed to feel that way. He shouldn't be jealous of the fact that they call him 'Moony' as if the nearly twenty years had never passed between them. It shouldn't bother him when they wastefully mash a pie into the floor and the only thing that comes of it as a result is a fruit-smelling carpet for a few days. Being able to make comfort Remus the morning after he tears himself half to pieces is something he ought to be thankful they can do, and more so again that it isn't half as necessary as it was before since their presence means he is more focused while taken over by the wolf and doesn't try to hunt down and proceed to kill anyone else (or himself). Even Lily and Harry make him feel like the odd man out at times, though he would fight to protect them both without hesitation simply because they are people Remus considers family.
In truth, he likes having both boys around in the house, no matter how hard he and Black butt heads sometimes because of their respective ego and stubbornness, or how completely unlike himself Potter is. When nobody is looking, he can admit that they amuse him, too, and that his deeply-buried playful and ultra-smarmy side enjoys the freedom it's been seeing a little more of since their arrival.
Most importantly, he can rely on them to protect the two people he holds dearest to what little heart he allows himself to have in the City; with them around, he is certain that Ruka will also remain in safe hands--and Rua, too, if he were to ever return--should he happen to find himself unwillingly exPorted some distant day in the future.
But it's hard for someone who often refuses to see himself in the wrong to acknowledge that these are his problems, and harder still for someone who never claims--inward or outward--to love anyone at all in any way whatsoever to accept a Truth that directly implies he does, no matter how devoted to that particular meaningfully-capitalized abstract he truly happens to be.
Because of all these things, Edgeworth is alone in the bed at three-thirty in the morning on the Monday after the full moon, waiting for the three to come home from their trip upstate, when he comes to the uncomfortable conclusion that he no longer knows how to sleep without either a familiar and unusually warm body nearby or the muffled but angry howls filling the house in its absence.
And so, blaming everything and everyone but himself for not having either one, he gets up, makes the bed, and takes a shower, after which he gets dressed and arranges all of his work for the day; once he has done that, he silently checks in on Ruka. Satisfied, he heads downstairs to cook.
After putting the food away and the rest of everything in the rarely-used dishwasher because the thought of one of the wizards doing it their way is one he can't handle just then, and setting it on, Miles finishes cleaning up, takes his briefcase from its resting spot in the front hallway, pulls his long, purple coat on over his suit, straightens his jabot, and leaves to go to work early.
It is only 5:45.
There is a note under Ruka's door detailing both the breakfast and lunch he has made and left in the (thankfully, magically-expanded) refrigerator for her (and everyone else), and instructing her to have a good day, as he will be coming home very late from work that night, with only his first name signed underneath--he'd stopped adding his last name after the adoption passed through, in an unknowing display of closeness.
At the bottom of the page, which is a piece of yellow paper carefully torn from one of his legal pads and folded over twice, there is a strange series of tiny blots of ink, as if he was tapping the paper while trying to think of how to word something--but no more than that. Even after two years, he still can't quite bring himself to manage; it had previously taken him an unbearably long time as it was just to learn to hug her without hesitating more than a second.
But it is still the closest he's ever come to telling her the truth.
...He has left no such thing for Remus.