['Someone else made the choices, and we live with the consequence.' It shouldn't make it easier to accept, and yet Nico finds the rage burning out of him. (Or at least, it dissipates for now, collecting deep inside of him where he can't see it or feel it for the time being.) It's familiar is the thing. Easy to understand. That is what it means to be a demigod. To pick up the messes of the people with the power—to have no say and suffer for the gods' choices and fight their wars. To suffer their losses. Mal's story is every demigod's story.
The tightness drains out of Nico's shoulders and the fists he hadn't realized he'd been clenching loosen at his sides. He sighs, dropping his gaze and then closing his eyes.]
Isn't that always the way it is? [It's rhetorical, the quiet resigned tone not really asking.]
no subject
The tightness drains out of Nico's shoulders and the fists he hadn't realized he'd been clenching loosen at his sides. He sighs, dropping his gaze and then closing his eyes.]
Isn't that always the way it is? [It's rhetorical, the quiet resigned tone not really asking.]
How did you get out?