ᴄʟᴀʀʏ "ᴅᴏᴇsɴ'ᴛ ᴇxᴘʟᴀɪɴ ɪᴛ ᴀʟʟ" ғʀᴀʏ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cupio) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
poly_chromatic2013-10-06 04:42 pm
cupio) wrote in poly_chromatic2013-10-06 04:42 pm
→ sixteenth rune ←
You didn't feel pity. You didn't feel anything.
[ The voice in the memory is Clary's, angry and hurt and confused all at once. It blurs and shifts around her as though she's tried to block it out but the more time goes, the more solid the details become. They are in a room that comes straight out of a museum. Panneled walls and torches, an endlessly long dining table, mirrors that caught fire and glittered. It's old fashioned and old money and Clary looks out of place within it, dirty as she is. ]
That's enough, Clary! [ This time the voice is Jace's and Clary shifts enough to stare at him, horror clear on her features. As though a contrast to her, he is clean and healthy looking in his white shirt and pants, his gold hair scrubbed clean of the usual demon blood. ] Don't talk about my father like that.
He's not your father!
[ The outburst makes Jace look as though he's been slapped, disbelief filtering through his voice. ] Why are you so determined not to believe us?
Because she loves you. [ The new voice is smooth, empowered. The man who speaks has silver hair that gleams like a steel helmet and a mouth that is settled in a hard line. The sword at his waist is long and imposing. He looks every inch the law. Or whatever brand of law can be found in a place like this. ] She fears I am taking advantage of you. That I have brainwashed you. It isn't so, of course. If you looked into your own memories, Clary, you would know it. Sit down, Jonathan. Let her come to it on her own.
Jonathan? Did you lie about that too?
No. Jace is a nickname. It's my initials. J.C.
[ When she speaks, Clary sounds frightened and though she is ill. ] Jonathan. Jonathan Christopher.
[ When Jace moves to speak, to ask her how she knows that, he is cut off once more by Valentine. ]
Jace, I had thought to spare you. I thought a story of a mother who died would hurt you less than the story of a mother who abandoned you before your first birthday.
My mother is alive?
She is. Alive, and asleep in one of the downstairs rooms at this very moment. Yes. Jocelyn is your mother, Jonathan. And Clary - Clary is your sister.
( ooc: m-m-memory theatre. this goes up sometime sunday morning and stays up. all font in red is clary, green is jace, and silver isshadowhunter hitler valentine. um, warnings for accidental incest? )
[ The voice in the memory is Clary's, angry and hurt and confused all at once. It blurs and shifts around her as though she's tried to block it out but the more time goes, the more solid the details become. They are in a room that comes straight out of a museum. Panneled walls and torches, an endlessly long dining table, mirrors that caught fire and glittered. It's old fashioned and old money and Clary looks out of place within it, dirty as she is. ]
That's enough, Clary! [ This time the voice is Jace's and Clary shifts enough to stare at him, horror clear on her features. As though a contrast to her, he is clean and healthy looking in his white shirt and pants, his gold hair scrubbed clean of the usual demon blood. ] Don't talk about my father like that.
He's not your father!
[ The outburst makes Jace look as though he's been slapped, disbelief filtering through his voice. ] Why are you so determined not to believe us?
Because she loves you. [ The new voice is smooth, empowered. The man who speaks has silver hair that gleams like a steel helmet and a mouth that is settled in a hard line. The sword at his waist is long and imposing. He looks every inch the law. Or whatever brand of law can be found in a place like this. ] She fears I am taking advantage of you. That I have brainwashed you. It isn't so, of course. If you looked into your own memories, Clary, you would know it. Sit down, Jonathan. Let her come to it on her own.
Jonathan? Did you lie about that too?
No. Jace is a nickname. It's my initials. J.C.
[ When she speaks, Clary sounds frightened and though she is ill. ] Jonathan. Jonathan Christopher.
[ When Jace moves to speak, to ask her how she knows that, he is cut off once more by Valentine. ]
Jace, I had thought to spare you. I thought a story of a mother who died would hurt you less than the story of a mother who abandoned you before your first birthday.
My mother is alive?
She is. Alive, and asleep in one of the downstairs rooms at this very moment. Yes. Jocelyn is your mother, Jonathan. And Clary - Clary is your sister.
( ooc: m-m-memory theatre. this goes up sometime sunday morning and stays up. all font in red is clary, green is jace, and silver is
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What a dick.
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There was a point where I didn't care. [ The City could bring it up at any time, the Mansion burning and Jace pressing her into the grass. She wants to tell Mae before it happens. ] I loved him, I loved him so much that I couldn't ignore it or avoid it, I would have run away with him before we knew. What Valentine did couldn't change anything.
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Because, ultimately, damaged trainwreck of a relationship or not, if she loved Jace that much, then Mae knows she must still be aching. Worse now, that the City is bringing back the memories.]
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And yet she wasn't sure he felt the same way. Better to not kid herself. ] My family's kind of fucked up. [ Valentine with his experiments, Sebastian with his demon blood.
Clary. ] I just hope they never show up here.
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So...[That tone in her voice speaks volumes of how she's going to try and deflect the situation with some humour.] If I ever tell you that I think of you as the sister I've never had, will that lead to kissing?
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No, but only because by this point it would be the third time and I don't want a reputation. [ A quiet pause. ] Sebastian, my actual brother, he kissed me before. Before I knew who he was. He knew who I was though. Like I said, fucked up family. [ Sighing as she runs a hand through her messy hair. ] Maybe I'm broken too. I hate not being able to fight back.
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Oh my god, I would like to kick them all in their privates. But for your sake I hope I never get to, they sound like terrible people and worse even to have in the City.
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[ It's firm but maybe only so to convince herself. ] Not for good.
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I thought being a teenager would mean worrying about boys and dresses and dancing. It sounded scary enough without the monsters attached.
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