we are all broken
"I am sorry to hear that," Finn murmurs, his fingers growing still on the strings - the change in melody and mood has started to dim the sunshine, and fingers of cool air are beginning to wend their way through the warmth. "You should go and see your father," he says suddenly, glancing across at Tobi. Very rarely does Finn speak with so much conviction, but its a warm sort of resolve that vibrates through his words.
As for the colour of his eyes? He nods. "She did," he says. "They both died when I was about eight years old." Old enough to remember the colour. Too young to remember any specifics of his childhood, now that so much time has passed. Or perhaps he just doesn't want to remember the time before his parents' death, to feel that sting of loss afresh.
Trust Tobi to bring the mood back up, and Finn blinks and straightens in his seat. "Oh," he echoes, lending a little thought to the ridiculous question, and seeming put out that his logical answer doesn't count. "The scales?" he asks after a few moments.
As for the colour of his eyes? He nods. "She did," he says. "They both died when I was about eight years old." Old enough to remember the colour. Too young to remember any specifics of his childhood, now that so much time has passed. Or perhaps he just doesn't want to remember the time before his parents' death, to feel that sting of loss afresh.
Trust Tobi to bring the mood back up, and Finn blinks and straightens in his seat. "Oh," he echoes, lending a little thought to the ridiculous question, and seeming put out that his logical answer doesn't count. "The scales?" he asks after a few moments.
that’s how the light gets in
