[008]

[bloodsugar]

A): phone - mid-morning.

[OPEN;]

[one hazard of spending a good deal of your time lurking on the phone lines is that one might become prone to forgetting that people can HEAR you while you listen. so, it's entirely innocent, of course, when the half-absent and somewhat petulant mumble comes across the phone lines sometime this morning.]

...all this talk of Valentines Day... honestly! As if they're rubbing it in some of us are destined to be forever alone. 'Vow of celibacy'? More like vow of perpetual and ongoing boredom.

[...a pause.]

It's not like I wanted to find out what a romantic holiday with another human being is like, regardless... eh? I'm sure edible underwear isn't all it's cracked up to be, anywa--

[...]

Eh? [wait for it.]

AH--

[...there's a rather flustered squawk, and a hasty CLICK of the phone into the cradle.]

[filter to Charles Fei-Ong]

Alright, so maybe I'm a little late in checking in. You'll forgive me, right? After all, I'm sure you've been busy collecting recipes and taste testing! [no really are you okay... :| last time he saw you, after all, was... uh, colorful, to say the least.]

...I don't suppose you'd be up for a cup of tea, Charles? [he has a feeling you'll just bs him even if you weren't alright over the phone, anyway. CLEARLY HE MUST BE NOSY IN PERSON.]

[filter to Esther Blanchett]

Esther-- do you have a minute? There's... ah, something I wanted to ask you. [AND IT DOESN'T HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH EDIBLE UNDERWEAR HE SWEARS DEAR GOD.]

[filter to Django]

How are you holding up, partner? I hope the radio silence is because you've been gloriously enjoying the sunshine, hm? Making up for lost time and all that...! [are you okay partner? :(]

B): action; 1648 Albright Lane - lunchtime.

[there's the smell of something burning, late in the morning approaching lunchtime -- and if Rachel or Cain follows their nose, they might find the source in the form of one (1) Abel Nightroad with his drone wife's FRILLY PINK APRON several sizes too small draped around his neck and haphazardly tied back in the process of butchering... grilled cheese. yes, he is a total failure.

...somehow, he's gotten butter all over the counter and is trying to catch an overturned bottle of orange juice that is apparently spilling its contents over and onto the floor. the pan is burning and he's jostling cups and plates, trying not to drop EVERYTHING EVER as he fumbles to cease the spill of juice fruitlessly.

NO ONE SAID YOUR DAD WAS GOOD AT BEING DOMESTIC. this is why.]

C): action; around town - afternoon.

[the tall, lanky, and often times clumsy priest is among your streets today, Mayfield! anyone similarly prone to hitting up the bakery quite often might recognize his face, or simply wish to gape at the way he's leaving cheerily with a bag under his arm and so engrossed in the effort of inhaling the vanilla frosted doughnut in his hand he is clearly not paying attention to anything else. ...like the sidewalk. which, he may or may not inevitably trip over at an uneven crack and WOEFULLY lose his doubtlessly precious bounty as the bag tumbles to spill the fruits of his labor everywhere...

...and maybe his doughnut might happen to ah. misplace... itself from his hand and end up on your face. WHAT DO?]

D): action; church - evening.

[Abel's day eventually brings him to someplace to seek solace, to rest a weary soul... or something of that effect. one who enters might be hard pressed to FIND said priest who should be more or less easy to spot on the regular, right? how many 6'4 lanky bastards in cassock ARE there in here?

...but if one is apt enough, they might notice that the Father's side of the confessional is occupied. do you care to confess? ...or notice that said Father might just be lightly snoring if you listen hard enough...]

Comments

[kinship]

[He nods. It's... not enough, but he knows it's all anyone can do, he'll claw his way back to Abel.]

I'm really tired.

[Not sleepy, he's slept enough. Tired of this, of being scared, of having nightmares when he sleeps and--]

[bloodsugar]

I know.

[he never thought he would see the day he thought his brother was safe in the hands of the scientists.

...but he does...]

[kinship]

I keep... dreaming of being there.

[Awake but paralysed as she stood over him, lucky that it was just an injection and nothing more invasive. Of the recovery room and the other people, and his reality slowly warping.]

[bloodsugar]

You can talk to me... you... know that, don't you, Cain?

[when he has bad dreams, when he's scared... when an idle unhappy thought crosses his mind. he can tell him.]

[kinship]

[No, no, no. That's the whole point, he can't talk to anyone, not even Abel. If he lets the barriers down and things spill out, what if he can't put them back up in time when he needs to?]

...I know.

[bloodsugar]

Do you?

[he is looking down on his little brother with worry. then why don't you, Cain...?]

[kinship]

I know.

[He knows he COULD, he has no doubt Abel would listen, and it isn't a matter of trust. But he also knows he can't, because of his own cowardice.]

It's... I know you're here for me.

[bloodsugar]

It's what?

[kinship]

...Too hard.

[bloodsugar]

...why...?

[kinship]

[He shakes his head. Brother, surely you know, surely you understand how frightening it is to even let those who you love inside.]

[bloodsugar]

[his reasons are much... different than yours, Cain. he can't begin to see why his brother would be afraid to come to him... why he'd find it hard. as far as he believes, that's... what he's here for. it should be, shouldn't it? :(]

Why, Cain...? [he's really worried.]

[kinship]

[How can he explain it's because he's too scared he'll break, or that he'll spill something to Abel he didn't want his brother to know?]

It's just hard.

[bloodsugar]

...

['it's just hard.']

You hate that I keep things from you, but you're... doing the very same thing, aren't you?

[kinship]

[Yes. If he's honest with himself then he has to say yes, but... he shakes his head a little desperately, don't chip at that doorway, bro.]

No, I just... it's hard.

[bloodsugar]

I'm not a child. And there's nothing to protect me from.

It's my job to protect you. [he rubs his back, tugging him closer to his chest and pressing a small hand to his heartbeat.]

...Don't you remember? I'm yours. And all of you is mine, too. Everything in you is mine, including that. Even if it's hard.

[kinship]

[Hypocritical, they're both so... they both want the other's all without giving it themselves. Perhaps they are the same deep down.]

Then... all of you is mine, everything.

[He can't give it all, not without getting it in return.]

[bloodsugar]

There is nothing to protect me from. [except he's not the child, Cain.]

[kinship]

I can't do it!

[A sharp unintended snap, looking slightly cornered.]

...What if it's too much?

[bloodsugar]

Keeping it inside... will only make it worse. Don't you see that?

The more you let it build up, the harder it will be to let it go. Hiding it away doesn't make it disappear, Cain...

[kinship]

[Hiding it away lets him carry on, it always has done, even back home.]

Abel... I don't want to. I'm too scared.

[bloodsugar]

Why are you scared?

[Abel cups his cheeks again, affection and concern and something reassuring in his eyes.]

...I'm right here with you. It's... just me.

Long as you're right here with me, there's nothing to be afraid of. You can tell me anything...

[kinship]

[Tell him anything..? He feels his heart beating abnormally fast, too hard to handle and that pressure rising up inside him again. Too much, too much, too much..!]

I don't want to die! I don't want to try and try for nothing, it hurts so much and I know it's worth it because we're going to be free one day. I don't care what they do, here or there, I don't care if they test us or work us until we're sick or-- as long as we're alive and together then we can be free. We're going to be free, we are, I know we are... this... this future can't come true. It just can't. I can't-- I can't die before we're free, I can't be a tool forever and never get to be free with you. I can't lose you... With your new life and your new friends, even if you miss me you're still... you still carry on. You're breathing and smiling and loving other people who don't even know I exist. You're not a pair any more, you're a one and you can still carry on. I thought... I thought we'd always be together.

When you... when you died, I couldn't breathe, I didn't want to breathe. You're me, you're my heart and soul and I can't live without you. But you can and... I'm scared it'll happen here. What if one of us dies or leaves and the other has to carry on and I don't know if I'm more scared of if I could or couldn't.

I don't want to go home where everybody looks at me like I'm sub-standard, not when people look at me here like I'm a person. But I'm lying to them and they don't know, they think I'm just a boy and... what if they found out? What if they hated us? I don't want to have friends based on a lie, but I don't... I hate this town, I hate it, I hate how unpredictable it is. What if... something happens and you're dead tomorrow? Or the town is rubble again? Or all I can see are shadows coming out of the walls with twisted faces and evil eyes that are trying to kill me?!

[His words are getting faster and faster, tripping over themselves in a frenzy as tears start streaming down his face. It's getting to the point that only certain words are audible past the thick hiccoughs - Abel's name, please, sorry, scared... He's shaking all over now, raw and damaged and so very frightened.]

1/2

[bloodsugar]

[there's a muted shock on his face mingling with stark concern as his brother goes on -- the spill of emotions and thoughts and fears he's been holding back has clearly broken the dam and Cain's lost control of it. he... needs to; it's true -- he needs to, or he can never really 'live' as much as simply trying to 'survive' as a person.

and that is no way for anyone... -anyone- to live.

...but this... this visceral and terrible confession is just...]

[bloodsugar]

[...

he doesn't say anything, just shifts so that he can properly cradle the sobbing boy in his lap and ducks his head so that he's huddled as close and tightly over him as he can be, rocking him gently. the only thing he can offer is a quiet murmur -- to keep crying even if it hurts. it's obvious that he's been punishing himself so cruelly, keeping this all inside... trying to deal with these horrible thoughts and desperate fears a ten year old has no right facing or dealing with...

...]