You deserve more than I've given

Mojito's stance was stiff and the look of anxiousness in the pale blue eyes that she also wore was a near mirror of her own. Satira really was her father's daughter in many regards. Though she tried to be the picture of coolness and play things off as detached and impassive, it was hard to sit there with him so close, yet feeling like he was miles away. She didn't know how long it would be until he vanished again, like a ghost that haunted her intermittently. Her aching heart wanted nothing more than to just run to him and be surrounded in his embrace so she could feel like everything was okay again. Her brain refused to let her though, denying her the opportunity to get hurt when he inevitably disappeared again. At what point would her just stop coming back? At what point would she finally stop mattering enough for him to make the effort? The thought that he might have moved on, forgotten her, started a life elsewhere without her, it hurt more than she tried to let on—and though her expression remained stoic, the hurt in her eyes shone through. But would he even notice...?

Mojito greeted her back in much the same way she had greeted him, both awkwardly sitting just on opposite sides of Elysium's borders as if there were a physical force field keeping them apart. He sighed and her sire apologized for disappearing again. Tira only gave him a small nod in reply; how many times had he apologized for disappearing from her life now? She'd stopped keeping count. To be fair to him, she hadn't exactly made much effort towards looking for him either, but she hadn't been allowed to venture far from her mother's group. Her father declared that she was owed more apologies and explanations, but Tira didn't want more apologies. Explanations, maybe, but apologies? No. She was tired of hearing how sorry both of her parents were that they were too busy doing other things to focus on her.

He asked after a moment if they could talk. He'd do all the talking, she just needed to listen. Satira rolled her shoulders in a shrug, her ears bobbing slightly with the movement. "Sure. What do you want to talk about?" The yearling's response was short and dispassionate, but thankfully she'd had enough control over herself to keep the emotional quiver out of her voice. She'd hear Mojito out. He was her dad and she wanted to hear his side of things too. It would give Tira the chance to ask him the things weighing on her mind in turn.

"Satira"