(no subject)
Nostalgia isn't something Gauron feels very often, so he's taking the opportunity to enjoy it today. Stretched out on one of the Nexus's couches, he's looking at an old photograph that he stole from the archives at one of Cambodia's genocide museums barely three weeks ago, during his first return to the country in almost thirty years - though no one really needs to know about that last part. For those who actually manage to catch a glimpse of it, the photograph is of two teenage Khmer Rouge soldiers standing next to a pile of corpses, and one more, ten years old or so, perched atop it - even the black and white film captures the unusual lightness of the boy's eyes, and there's something in that smug smile that hasn't changed in thirty-five years.
After a moment, Gauron tucks the photograph away and sits back up, his gray-green eyes narrowing in amusement. "Have you ever returned to your childhood home years later, and found something of personal value that you'd completely forgotten about?"
After a moment, Gauron tucks the photograph away and sits back up, his gray-green eyes narrowing in amusement. "Have you ever returned to your childhood home years later, and found something of personal value that you'd completely forgotten about?"