[A crumbled cookie, he says, and yet... Pavlova really doesn't buy that. Not when he's so gentle, and calls him his little cherub just like he used to. Yes Shadow Milk looks different to what he remembers his father looking like, namely the hair and the dullness to his eyes, but... it's not so much that he can't tell. Can't see that he's much like his mother in that they're still... in there somewhere, but something had just... dragged them so far down they lost themselves in it.
Pavlova wasn't told much of anything about the other four and how they fell. Once he was old enough to comprehend what was going on, his mother was already limiting his outside contact. His entire world had been limited to the Garden for as long as he could remember. All he knew was that they fell, and what their new titles were. He could hardly comprehend Mystic Flour's apathy thing, let alone the atrocities he's sure came along with each one.
Master of Deceit...
Well, he's been lying to survive for a long time now, he can't say that he isn't sympathetic.]
... Funny, 'cause I don't see any crumbs.
[It's not a straightforward answer, but Pavlova quietly shifted from his spot on the floor to get back on his feet. He pauses for a moment. There's always a touch of anxiety that he feels when peering into the heart of someone he knows could hurt him for it, but he wants to understand how many bridges his father burned. The Fount of Knowledge- his father- was someone who was loved and highly regarded across the land. A deeply kind person, a playful soul and someone who looked for understanding even in little things. Even if he could never tell what his father felt about him it always showed in how he acted. His father had a very loving heart. So had his mother. It's part of why he took so much pride in spreading love and joy, it felt like he was holding that mantle, even after theirs had collapsed under the weight...
And so he looked. He gazed quietly at his father, and at all the frayed and strained threads around his cracked and bleeding heart.
For all the pain it seems he's caused, it looked like he hurt himself just as much. Nothing really seemed gone to him. Changed, but not gone. Pavlova let out a breath and decided to take a risk. He shuffled forward, careful not to tip his staff out of his lap as he took his dad's hand's and pressed their foreheads together.]
... You can call yourself a shadow if you want, but you never stopped being my dad.
no subject
Pavlova wasn't told much of anything about the other four and how they fell. Once he was old enough to comprehend what was going on, his mother was already limiting his outside contact. His entire world had been limited to the Garden for as long as he could remember. All he knew was that they fell, and what their new titles were. He could hardly comprehend Mystic Flour's apathy thing, let alone the atrocities he's sure came along with each one.
Master of Deceit...
Well, he's been lying to survive for a long time now, he can't say that he isn't sympathetic.]
... Funny, 'cause I don't see any crumbs.
[It's not a straightforward answer, but Pavlova quietly shifted from his spot on the floor to get back on his feet. He pauses for a moment. There's always a touch of anxiety that he feels when peering into the heart of someone he knows could hurt him for it, but he wants to understand how many bridges his father burned. The Fount of Knowledge- his father- was someone who was loved and highly regarded across the land. A deeply kind person, a playful soul and someone who looked for understanding even in little things. Even if he could never tell what his father felt about him it always showed in how he acted. His father had a very loving heart. So had his mother. It's part of why he took so much pride in spreading love and joy, it felt like he was holding that mantle, even after theirs had collapsed under the weight...
And so he looked. He gazed quietly at his father, and at all the frayed and strained threads around his cracked and bleeding heart.
For all the pain it seems he's caused, it looked like he hurt himself just as much. Nothing really seemed gone to him. Changed, but not gone. Pavlova let out a breath and decided to take a risk. He shuffled forward, careful not to tip his staff out of his lap as he took his dad's hand's and pressed their foreheads together.]
... You can call yourself a shadow if you want, but you never stopped being my dad.