( she's learned to listen to sanji when he speaks, to take his word for gospel, because he doesn't like to repeat himself and bee likes the praise for a job well done. thoughtful. dreams can't hurt you, perhaps even when they're true and awful, because they only show what is destined to be, already written in the fabric of the universe. bee gets impressions sometimes, of a dream that is sure to happen versus a dream that is only likely to happen — and sometimes too, a dream so farfetched it seems as impossible as all the rest. what does it mean for a prophet to see the future? a good, potential ending. the steps unfolded to make it come true. being one step away from not being real, means they're also one step away from being the truth.
but, she does like the sentiment. they're only exactly what you want them to be. sanji is very wise, which isn't surprising. )
Mm. ( she shakes her head no, a little happy to be babied but not shameless enough to admit it. leaning forward, she bites off the offering bit of cake with a contemplative air, before shrugging her shoulders, unsure. ) Well, maybe. There is much that pisses you off.
( scooching down the bench with a few effort-ridden tugs, bee fits herself under sanji's spread arm, leaning into his side. she keeps her eyes focused on the table, where she places the pointer fingers of each hand along the rough edge. )
Most people have this many parents. I have this many. ( one of her middle fingers joins the count. wolf father painfully nips at her soul, and she figures telling sanji she has a fourth parent who is a wolf who is a ghost who lives inside her mind might be a bridge too far. the hand with only the pointer finger bends and unfurls repeatedly, to draw attention. ) My mother, Molly, the most wonderful and beautiful woman who ever lived. And my father, FitzChivalry Farseer. ( her other pointer finger scrunches, up and down. he doesn't get as lofty an introduction, because bee is usually quite angry with him and also a little guilty, for starting to think of both shanks and sanji as more parental figures for her. ) They are Buck, through and through. Dark skin and dark hair and dark eyes, tall and built. When I was born, many assumed I was a bastard, that my mother was unfaithful, because I look so very unlike my father, Fitz. I look almost nothing like him.
( mostly, her curls are their only connected feature. her middle finger catches on the edge of the table, the last in the trio. ) My second father, though. I look exactly like him, as he is a White, like me. My two fathers ... ( she stretches her fingers out, before they twist together, the motion of a lying child tucking their hand behind their back. ) Mixed, soulwise. As if my father Fitz was blue, and my father Fool was red, and they became purple together. When it came time to put a baby in my mother, there was only Fitz. In fact, I have only barely met the other man, and he never met my mother.
( she looks up to sanji, her earlike wings flicking back, as if dejected. )
I hope the point of the story is, sometimes children are born in strange circumstances beyond understanding. But they ...
( could be like bee? she's not sure it's a good thing, if sanji will think it's a good thing. forgetting to end the sentence, she tosses her head into him, puppyish and boneless, slumping against his side. glad he isn't angry with her. glad he likes the cake. glad to not feel so alone, sitting beside him, the kitchen smelling like baked cake and the scent of sanji's clove cigarettes. )
no subject
but, she does like the sentiment. they're only exactly what you want them to be. sanji is very wise, which isn't surprising. )
Mm. ( she shakes her head no, a little happy to be babied but not shameless enough to admit it. leaning forward, she bites off the offering bit of cake with a contemplative air, before shrugging her shoulders, unsure. ) Well, maybe. There is much that pisses you off.
( scooching down the bench with a few effort-ridden tugs, bee fits herself under sanji's spread arm, leaning into his side. she keeps her eyes focused on the table, where she places the pointer fingers of each hand along the rough edge. )
Most people have this many parents. I have this many. ( one of her middle fingers joins the count. wolf father painfully nips at her soul, and she figures telling sanji she has a fourth parent who is a wolf who is a ghost who lives inside her mind might be a bridge too far. the hand with only the pointer finger bends and unfurls repeatedly, to draw attention. ) My mother, Molly, the most wonderful and beautiful woman who ever lived. And my father, FitzChivalry Farseer. ( her other pointer finger scrunches, up and down. he doesn't get as lofty an introduction, because bee is usually quite angry with him and also a little guilty, for starting to think of both shanks and sanji as more parental figures for her. ) They are Buck, through and through. Dark skin and dark hair and dark eyes, tall and built. When I was born, many assumed I was a bastard, that my mother was unfaithful, because I look so very unlike my father, Fitz. I look almost nothing like him.
( mostly, her curls are their only connected feature. her middle finger catches on the edge of the table, the last in the trio. ) My second father, though. I look exactly like him, as he is a White, like me. My two fathers ... ( she stretches her fingers out, before they twist together, the motion of a lying child tucking their hand behind their back. ) Mixed, soulwise. As if my father Fitz was blue, and my father Fool was red, and they became purple together. When it came time to put a baby in my mother, there was only Fitz. In fact, I have only barely met the other man, and he never met my mother.
( she looks up to sanji, her earlike wings flicking back, as if dejected. )
I hope the point of the story is, sometimes children are born in strange circumstances beyond understanding. But they ...
( could be like bee? she's not sure it's a good thing, if sanji will think it's a good thing. forgetting to end the sentence, she tosses her head into him, puppyish and boneless, slumping against his side. glad he isn't angry with her. glad he likes the cake. glad to not feel so alone, sitting beside him, the kitchen smelling like baked cake and the scent of sanji's clove cigarettes. )