chikaidestroyer | ∞ 30: A foolish child | record unhackable after the fact

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∞ 30: A foolish child | record unhackable after the fact

[There's a little redheaded boy, about eight years old, standing outside house #42. He's loosely holding his journal as he looks around Luceti with wide, wide eyes. He also looks on edge.]

This isn't ... Gregminster...

Mother...? Father...?

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Heh, I guess I was foolish to think there was a human being at the core of you. I suppose that's one of several things you share with your older self.

[Oooh, that he recognizes. And he'll respond instinctively with cool disdain, though it might sound rather forced.]

Oh, you think it was that easy, do you? This is my fault? I didn't ask to be born, much less to that dysfunctional mess we call a family. Are you jealous of the "childhood" I had? Hours and hours studying strategy, going through the same motions, constantly living in the shadow of the perfect brother I could never live up to?

Life as a back-up plan, Al, that's all it was. My only reprieve was the fact that they had what they wanted in you. You had a choice -- don't you dare blame me for it.

[ooc: Hey, it's a long time coming. These two can -- probably -- get along better now that Albert can't hide behind vague childhood remarks.]

Apparently, for all the growing up I do, it's not enough. Look at you, sniping at kids for fun. You're ... so stupid.

What are you talking about?! What choice do I have? Turn away? Run away and become Mathiu? What kind of choice is that?

Then I'd be throwing you out there in my place.

Martyrdom has never suited a Silverberg, Al. Certainly not you, of all people.

At least it would have been your choice, dammit.

It's not martyrdom to protect a baby. And unless you haven't noticed... Failed martyrdom seems to run in the Silverberg blood. Elenor. Odessa.

Oh please. Grandfather and Father wouldn't allow it. It was that bleeding heart paradigm that got Mathiu and Odessa killed. They weren't going to see me go through that.

But ... why go so far to protect something you hate? Exactly -- it's a failure, every time. There's no business for us to do it.

[There's silence on the other end. A long one.]

...You're still my baby brother.

And... And watching you grow up -- that's worth staying alive. Believing in.

[ooc: These are bitter, bitter tears I weep. These two are so messed up. ♥]

It's hard to believe, isn't it?

[There's a weak attempt at laughter.]

It's going to be so hard to give up loving you.

[ooc: A-- at least you'll be in good company? I'm gonna be staring at the ceiling at work tomorrow. :\]

[Albert sighs deeply at the sound, then walks back into the house he had woken up in. He's looking carefully at everything he had hurried past on his way out of the house before.]

Caesar.

[Unsurprisingly, Caesar has retreated to the spare room in their house, sitting on the cot in the corner with his back against the wall. He's not wearing a happy face. Also, buried in his thoughts (and not particularly wanting to see the kid), and won't be answering those summons.]

[Also unsurprisingly, Albert is unrelenting in his searching. Sorry, Caesar, but he's going to eventually find you. Where you're concerned, there are no such things as manners. He opens the door.]

Stupid.

[Quite unsurprising. Caesar doesn't bother looking up; rather, he seems to be studying the hands folded in his lap with fierce intent. His voice, when he finally gets around to speaking, is detached and fragile, little more than a whisper.]

Your offensives have always been harsher, you know.

All right then. You bleeding-heart idiot. You disgrace to the family name.

[The insults aren't very fiercely said at all.]

You're nothing like me.

[That'll only make him laugh.]

Heard 'em before, more than once, and far more succinctly.

[And then a smile, bitter and twisted.]

That's a fact. Most of the time, I'm grateful.

I'm eight years old. I think I'm quite advanced for my age.

And most of the time, it sounds like you're angry.

Of course you are; how could you not be? A regular genius, heh. But just think of what you can do in sixteen years.

Oh, there's plenty of anger, Al. Just ... not at our dissimilarities.

At war in the far north of the continent, against whatever forces you're with.

I'm sure. You seem to deride me at any opportunity.

Something like that.

Is that what it seems like? Well then, take a good look at what your personal training created. Count it among father and grandfather's personal successes -- heh, even your own if you like. A note from the future; your little trick worked. I can't stand the sight of you, you stupid, selfish jerk.

...You're doing what you want to do, aren't you? I don't see why you can be so bitter.

[Nothing but bitter laughter in response to that, not for a small eternity.]

Is that what it looks like to you?

Yes. [Quite bluntly for a child.]

[The laughter abruptly ends, then, punctuated by absolute silence.]

You've still got a lot to learn, Al.

[Albert frowns, but it's an awkward silence for him.]

What are you talking about, Caesar?

[Caesar just shrugs, sighing.]

That, you cannot understand. Nor do I have any desire to explain the course of our lives, warped and tangled as they are, to you now.

This ... this is not freedom, Albert. More a mockery of it. Hatred and jealousy may be comforting to you -- but it is a bitter, pointless thing.

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