Murrue always said she wasn't a picture worth keeping.
Someone to tuck away into the dusty corners of a desk and forget about for a long time, then rediscover during a spur of cleaning. She didn't enjoy cameras, spooked by the rumors of soul sucking. No, Murrue Ramius disliked frozen scenes, whether they were happy or not.
Which is why the fact that his room was covered in photos of her is so ironic.
Photographs here, photographs there, lining the shelves and shoved in books as lazy bookmarks. Ones of smiles, ones of glares and thumbs showing on some. She touched each one she found with disinterested affection. She was disinterested in the photo, the film, the device, but affectionate to the memory.
The memories of him catching her in the hallway, splurging about how it was neat he still had one of these so-called cameras, was full of hurting. He talked about how rare they were and how rare she was to him and laments only he would say. Then he caught her off guard, and snapped a photo, then hugged her around the waist and brushed it off as nothing happened.
She cried, out of irony and joy.
It was ironic once more that she didn't return the favor and keep him locked up forever. That she let him chain her, claim her, and then brilliantly leave her all at once. She was joyous for the memories she had left, or anything she could childishly cling to.
But she cried most of all for the fact that there were never any photographs of him.
oOoOo
Waterlilies: Wow, that compliment really hits home. That's the first time I've been told I can really write these, it just makes me burst out in a big ol' smile.
Cat: I was totally surprised at the start of the series when she pulled a gun on Kira. I didn't know she had it in her, really. Eh, I got mine at Barnes and Noble, but a Suncoast might work. Mine had a lot.. at least.