[Here arises a series of complicated feelings, accompanied by thoughts he'd simply rather not have. Resting his hand loosely over his mouth, Benedict scowls at the ceiling and contemplates for several moments before answering.]
I think... [haltingly,] ...Mother is angry with me.
[Benedict has to think on it for a moment. He can't recall his mother ever being openly angry with him, just as he can't recall her ever being openly pleased with him-- fond of him, interested in him at all. To be treated like an associate who has displeased her is the logical explanation, but that only makes things harder.]
...I don't know why. [He knits his brow unhappily.] I don't know what I can do about it.
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[A long pause, and then,] they've sold my... [it sounds stupid for a grown man to say 'nanny'] ...the woman who raised me.
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ah. He can appreciate that, at least; he saw less and less of his father and more of servants as he grew older. ]
Do you blame yourself?
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[Here arises a series of complicated feelings, accompanied by thoughts he'd simply rather not have. Resting his hand loosely over his mouth, Benedict scowls at the ceiling and contemplates for several moments before answering.]
I think... [haltingly,] ...Mother is angry with me.
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[ Hanzo reaches up, absently, covering Benedict's hand with his own lightly. ]
Mothers are often irritated with their children. I remember mine being much the same.
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...I don't know why. [He knits his brow unhappily.] I don't know what I can do about it.
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What would you like to do about it?
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...I... have to get her back.
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