"That's what I used to call it," Lark grimaces. "Only I would have taken the worst hangover I had when I was a drinker over this. I get that there are lessons you can take from them--for me, I've learned to be grateful I was never a simpering small town lawyer. But I don't think the lessons are useful."
"Not in this breach, no. Just like feel-good movies don't come with deep meanings." But there have certainly been others where he'd discovered something new. "Who were you in it? A visitor?"
"A visitor," he adds unhelpfully. "Well, I had been born in the town, moved to the city and was corrupted by power and money, and then came home and was transformed by love."
He rolls his eyes. "I jumped in the water. In a Givenchy."
"Oh god no!" he laughs. "Don't be so dramatic. It was a fun frolic while I was getting back to my small town roots. Shedding my propriety or something like that. Showing that I didn't care about material things."
He manages a smile. "It's the absurdity of it, Lark. That's all. You worry too much. It will pass, like I said. I just need to act out a bit. Shoot something. Hit something. And I intend on doing just that."
"How many have you even been through?" he wonders, standing up to pour another cup of the tea. He's glad he taught himself to perfect it; it's coming in handy now.
"Well, what's a more memorable one that doesn't come with a sob story I have to suffer through?"
"Twenty, maybe more. They aren't all memorable." It's one of the biggest reasons Lark no longer has a firm grasp of time or years. "But yeah, they usually have us all living sad lives. That last one was probably the softest one in a long time."
He looks over his shoulder. "I didn't mind the train one. Yunlan and I bashed a few guards' heads in. I learned how to be a proper government protester. It was great fun."
"It wasn't my government. It wasn't anything like my regime," he points out. This is a lie he has told himself that is so deeply entrenched, because it was his first breach, that he refuses to let it go.
"I was pissed at first, but the man on the train was nothing like the radicals in blue shooting up my palace."
Lark can hear the insistence, and he decides not to argue. This time. He'll wait for there to be a thread he can pick at stop Pagan can unravel it himself.
He struggles to think back that far. It was less than a year, but breaches are so vague, and those memories are tricky. He remembers the actions. The rush. The fury. "Friends," he decides. "We were angry together. Angry at the guards who mistreated the prisoners. That sort of thing."
He returns to the couch, settling down, legs crossed.
"It's the fake families that annoy me most." A small bit of contempt. "At least this time my family members were my actual pack members, but I've never been that lucky before. A lot of people here cling to those attachments after the breach... Which is odd. It's like being in a play, and then trying to drag those characters' fictional relationships into the real world."
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He leans forward. "Which I highly doubt."
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He rolls his eyes. "I jumped in the water. In a Givenchy."
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He rolls his eyes.
"Ridiculous."
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"Go ahead, go on. Laugh if you like. Laugh at my misery!"
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"Well, what's a more memorable one that doesn't come with a sob story I have to suffer through?"
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"I was pissed at first, but the man on the train was nothing like the radicals in blue shooting up my palace."
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"Who was Yunlan to you then?"
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He returns to the couch, settling down, legs crossed.
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