He had held the desire to do many things when the officers of C-Sec had allowed them those minutes of privacy, all those weeks ago—to grab his son’s hand, or to embrace him, to try and bring himself to act like the man he should be, who he was capable of being long in the past, when Kolyat was young and his eidetic memory had not yet fully developed into what drell possess. Yet, such actions, actions that should be familiar and accepted between a father and his son, would be… unacceptable, under their conditions. He knew it to be unjust actions, insulting the struggle his son, the one he failed to cherish all those years, has endured.
It is due to him, a decade of insult, anguish and loneliness has past. Kolyat remembers every detail—Thane, remembers only the years prior to the overcast that had settled, but now seems to show signs of disperse, above the ‘Krios’ family name, when she lived, he lived, when all three of them felt alive. Exultant, blissful. With a docile movement, he lowers his head down, the vehicle he rides in motion as he stands in knee deep waters; memories that pool around him. His hands fold in his lap, awaiting the vehicle to lower itself down and for him to step out—their agreement, his suggestion, treated as an obligation rather than an offering, rather than something normal. He despises the broken glass that surrounds them, the many dangers one may not initially be aware of, should you not initiate an attempt, to observe.
It continues to circle back into his fault in this manner, yet the time to cancel plans is no longer offered—as it was not to begin with. When he suggested he and his son continue to acquaint (his heart shrinks in size) themselves on the Citadel, it was not a fit of certainty, a brief spark to fix the issue, only to fall back into the doubt, the undesirable anxiety. It is not his place.
“It is not his place” applies to many situations he has fallen, had fell, and will have fallen, into. Yet, he continues to create such a place for himself to intrude upon, for that is what he knows, and that is what he does.
Humans have the expression, “throat drying up”. He will look back upon this encounter much later, and perhaps regard the thought with a gentle sign of amusement, as well as a gentle plea for him to fall into such a condition. Yet, humans use the expression to refer to anxiety, or ugly anticipation—perhaps even nervous natures. When you lack the words you wish to use, and the thoughts won’t form and you cannot focus. Thane becomes overly aware of his tongue in his mouth, sitting uncomfortable as he steps from the vehicle and through the customs hallway. The drell cannot even spend these seconds of solitude observing the hallway, to critique, to commend, for the unexpectedly passive voice comes from the turian and opens the door Thane stands before.
It is there, he stands. Thane’s thoughts remain unclear, and can only think of the words, it is too late.
Too late to turn back, or too late to make this attempt, Thane never figures out which.
ellievsbear
