Laura Moon (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} spitandviolets) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} vas_captio_rpg, |
When L described his mother, she couldn't help but notice that Sophie, the half-Japanese, half-Parisian woman sounded somewhat like herself in appearance. Porcelain skin? Well, maybe not porcelain, but paler. Alabaster, wasn't that a form of porcelain? Dark hair? Yes, she had that. It had been a glossy chestnut color in life, but it had gotten darker more recently, possibly because it wasn't growing, wasn't changing. As for eyes that kept secrets, she wasn't sure what that meant, but her own eyes were dark. Maybe that was what he meant? A pause. Why was she drawing parallels between L's mother and herself? That was insane. She'd never thought like that before. Why start now? Still, when he shared that his father had decided to leave him and Sophie she felt a strange sort of pain inside. Why had he left? It seemed unfair. Unfair? Hadn't she been the one claiming that there was no such thing?
Autism. Laura knew about autism. Because she hadn't worked hard enough in school, because teachers knew that she would never care to apply herself, Laura had been placed in special needs classes. She had been with some of the brightest of the slow, and those were the autistic kids. It started to make sense to her now, that she seemed to not even notice that there was anything amiss with him while the rest of the world seemed to think that he was abrasive or good for exploitation. Her mouth opened, but it shut a moment later. There was nothing that she had to say, nothing that she had to offer.
When he went on, she was glad that she hadn't said anything. Her vineyard comment had seemed utterly inappropriate, as did her parallels, yet she could not deny that she and Sophie were any less similar. Laura had been sad in life, and perhaps she was still sad, even in death; at least now she did not know it now. But for Sophie to have tried to kill her own son? As if on cue, however, Laura's mind began to go fuzzy. Her eyes widened, and her own memories began slipping away. It was funny how the dead sometimes leaked through to each other. Memories, thoughts that were not her own seemed to seep in around the edges. It echoed through time and space. Unable to block it out, Laura listened to it, and she understood. In a moment, she understood why Sophie had tried to kill her son.
"It would have been easier for you."
Her words echoed in the quiet drug store. Eyes wide, she looked up at him. Her form had been shaking a little bit against him. The otherworldly consciousness was there, just beyond reach, and she felt that she could tap it at will. Yet she knew that she could not allow herself to do so. She could not become a vessel for L's long deceased mother. "At least, that must have been her rationale. I cannot believe that she was correct in such a thought, but it seems that she was a very sick woman." Yes, she knew for certain that Sophie was a very sick woman. She could feel it just like she could feel the stagnant chemicals in her own veins. She had nothing else to say, really, for saying anything would be saying too much. "I'm glad that you woke up."
Her favorite book. That was a very easy question, for Laura had not read many books without pictures in her life. "Mother Night," she replied, "by Kurt Vonnegut. Howard Campbell was the first man that I ever loved." She looked up at him. "He hanged himself not for crimes against humanity but for crimes against himself." Shadow. This day was haunted by Shadow. "He...never asked me... Shadow, that is. He never asked me what my favorite book was. And I don't think that he would have cared."