"Hello, Mother."
English is harder for him to speak with each passing year - he is falling out of practice. Eyes kneels in front of a tombstone and brushes away the snow with one gloved hand, the other gently placing a bouquet of roses (white, as always, her favorite) on the powder-covered grass. It is December and England is freezing - no surprise. He has not been here for at least a year, caught up in the endless cycle of piano recitals, attempts on his life, and keeping the other Blade Children in line.
He has missed her, as always.
Eyes does not speak to his mother's grave - he does not fool himself with ideas of her being able to "hear" him, nor does he fancy the thought that she is watching him from some heavenly vantage point, always smiling and approving of him. Surely she would not approve of his murderous intentions, and the way that he has fought for his life. Surely she would not approve of his lifestyle, would only chide him for not playing the piano enough and go back to whichever post-life location she has been occupying.
Instead of speaking to her grave, he simply places a dozen rozes on the snow, wipes clean her tombstone, and kneels there, quietly, for a moment. He has done this as often as possible, always alone; he does not seem to believe in grief and sadness, but at the very least considers there to be some importance in honoring the memory of his mother.
A small part of him may resent her, but he does - genuinely - miss her.
"Raza-kun."
He sighs, rising to his feet. "Yes?"
"We have a flight to catch." Kirie is even less practiced in her English than him, and she has probably forgotten, after a week in England, that he is able to understand her native tongue. "So if you're done..."
"No."
He expects a growl and a nasty remark, but it never comes. After a moment the Watcher is standing beside him, a lit cigarette burning slowly away in her mouth, her pink hair tossed about by the snow and the wind. "How ol - " She realizes what she is doing and switches back to Japanese, clearing her throat. "How old were you when she died?"
"Seven."
"Most of the others didn't have parents that long."
"I know." He reads the text on his mother's gravestone, as he has done dozens of times before, the words burning themselves back into his memory. Beloved mother, cherished friend... He wishes to add many things to that, none of them good. He misses her, but he cannot help but hate what she was, what she did. "Perhaps that was for the better."
"They might disagree."
"They might."
Kirie blows a ring of smoke into the air. "Whenever you're ready to go..."
He turns his back on the grave, abruptly. "I'm ready."
"Sure? We have a few - "
"Yes."
They walk together out of the tiny graveyard, towards his waiting car, and Eyes doesn't look back.
