Ha. Stress makes me productive?
I guess when I'm stressed I write. Or something. Because it's definitely not the heat here that's adding to my creativity. I've had a rough couple of days (or weeks), so after doing some Irksome Nature, in which chapter eight is at 3,139 words at the moment, I wrote a Mokuba-centric piece. It's not finished yet; I just have a little bit to go, but as per usual, it's angst and drama and all sorts. I can never get away from the angst.
There's yelling in the background. Isn't there always?
Mokuba knows it's something he isn't supposed to hear; he knows it's something Seto would never, ever let him hear in a million years, but he can't help himself. He wants to know, so bad, and Seto never lets him know anyway, so he decides to find out himself.
He feigns sleep like a professional. It's not as hard as he would have thought back when they were still in the orphanage, when Mokuba wasn't really that good with lies and games of pretend-not like he's beginning to be now-and it's so easy to wait until one of Gozaburo's servant (he can't remember his name, no matter how hard he tries) leaves. Gozaburo has too many employees anyway. It doesn't matter if Mokuba remembers their names or not since they don't pay him the same amount of attention and scrutiny as they do with his big brother, and as long as Mokuba recognises them, he doesn't care if they were called Greasly or Iago.
There's not much he cares about in their new home. It's large and roomy and Mokuba has everything he ever needs, but it's not home, even though Seto keeps saying it is. Mokuba knows it will never be home, and it hurts him when he can't make himself believe in Seto's words. Seto had tried so hard, had given up so much to get them where they are now that Mokuba mourns for what could have been. He mourns, but he also makes certain to show his joy around Seto, just so Seto could see that he hadn't sacrificed himself for nothing. That's probably why he's improved a lot at lying and pretending and imagining. It's easy when his life is basically centred around one person, one illusion, one objective.
There's yelling in the background. Isn't there always?
Mokuba knows it's something he isn't supposed to hear; he knows it's something Seto would never, ever let him hear in a million years, but he can't help himself. He wants to know, so bad, and Seto never lets him know anyway, so he decides to find out himself.
He feigns sleep like a professional. It's not as hard as he would have thought back when they were still in the orphanage, when Mokuba wasn't really that good with lies and games of pretend-not like he's beginning to be now-and it's so easy to wait until one of Gozaburo's servant (he can't remember his name, no matter how hard he tries) leaves. Gozaburo has too many employees anyway. It doesn't matter if Mokuba remembers their names or not since they don't pay him the same amount of attention and scrutiny as they do with his big brother, and as long as Mokuba recognises them, he doesn't care if they were called Greasly or Iago.
There's not much he cares about in their new home. It's large and roomy and Mokuba has everything he ever needs, but it's not home, even though Seto keeps saying it is. Mokuba knows it will never be home, and it hurts him when he can't make himself believe in Seto's words. Seto had tried so hard, had given up so much to get them where they are now that Mokuba mourns for what could have been. He mourns, but he also makes certain to show his joy around Seto, just so Seto could see that he hadn't sacrificed himself for nothing. That's probably why he's improved a lot at lying and pretending and imagining. It's easy when his life is basically centred around one person, one illusion, one objective.