a.in't no rest for the wicke.d [OPEN]
Sept 12, 2009 21:57:52 GMT -5
Post by dEMO on Sept 12, 2009 21:57:52 GMT -5
"You're ruining him!"
Clavos crouched at the top of the stairs, hidden from view, was he listened to his parents fight. That's all they seemed to do, nowadays. Argue, argue, argue.
"How?" His mother asked, hands on her hips.
"You're weak! You're standing in the way of his training. He’s going to become a Hunger Games victor, and know the sweetest feeling of achievement that life can bring. Letting him play that... thing is in the way! All you’re doing towards that goal is fighting me at every turn. I can’t even remember why I married you!"
He felt his stomach drop. His mother had finally caved in and bought him his violin. His father had wanted him to buy weights, but his mother had said, 'No. When he's ready.' That was three years ago. His father had never gotten over it.
“He’s ten years old! Don’t let his life be consumed by the business of fighting and killing now, or he will become a monster when he is older! I just want him to do something for himself for a little bit!”
Clavos admired his mother, who was getting close to the end of her pregnancy, for standing up to his father. He loved his parents, but things were starting to get awkward. His father wanted him to begin training for the Games, but his mother wanted him to start when he was Twelve.
“My son is not growing up to become a sniveling coward like you! And if you continue to stand in my way, you’re going to regret it. Only the strong survive in this world, Capricia.”
Clavos stood, silently, and walked back back to the baby's new room. It was unoccupied and painted a delicate pink, with white furniture. He climbed up on a rocking chair, rocking back and forth, back and forth. He knew his father would win the arguement. He always did...
This event happened seven years ago. Clavos Hayden sat in his room, pulling the bow back and forth, back and forth on his violin, his fingers dancing across the strings. He had his eyes closed, drifting off into the music. He was at peace. The piece ended, and a pair of tiny hands began clapping.
He opened his eyes to see Laila smiling widely and applauding him. The seven-year-old was his biggest -and only- fan, and loved to sneak in whenever he was playing. He smiled, standing up and placing his violin in case, then walking over and ruffling his sister's hair. He crouched down for her to talk to him, face to face.
"Clavos, that was amazing! How do you play so well?" He smiled, patting her head and rising up to his full height. He scratched his head, thematically.
"I don't know, Laila. Maybe I'm just magic." He smiled as Laila made that face of hers. The one where she would ponder over what he'd said, then a look of recognition, as if she'd know the answer the whole time.
"Well, of course! How else could you be so great?" He smiled, then led her out of his room. He began to walk down the stairs when she grabbed his hand.
"Daddy is looking for you, by the way." Clavos put on a cheerful face, and patted her on the head, once more.
"Thanks, Kiddo." The little girl smiled brightly, then ran off to her room. Probably to play with something or pretend to play violin, like he did. That was one of her favorite games, though their father had told her never to let him see her play it.
Clavos reluctantly went downstairs to his father's study, where he usually was. He found his father sitting nonchalant in his easy chair, watching the current Games on the television. The man turned as his son approached.
"Son, I don't want you playing that bloody instrument any more, today! Go out, train, watch the games, do something! But, I don't want you inside, poisoning your sister's mind with that thing! Got it?" Clavos nodded solemnly.
"Yes, Sir." His father examined his son for any sign of disobedience, but found none.
"Good. Now go." Clavos retreated to his front door, where he tucked his feet into his shoes and slid his black jacket on, buttoning it up. He slammed the door behind him, to make sure his father heard his exit and proceeded to walk.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, he decided that he would do everything in his power not to train. He decided to go wherever his feet could take him, and ended up in the square, with the other crowds of people. Clavos frowned to himself, finding a seat on a bench as he watched the Tributes battle it out.
It would only be so long before his parents made him volunteer, and he would either not be chosen -and his parents would disown him-, or be sent into the arena -to kill or be killed. Either way, his option would not be good. He sighed, looking at the people surrounding him for someone to talk to. he had plenty of friends. One had to be around, somewhere.
Clavos crouched at the top of the stairs, hidden from view, was he listened to his parents fight. That's all they seemed to do, nowadays. Argue, argue, argue.
"How?" His mother asked, hands on her hips.
"You're weak! You're standing in the way of his training. He’s going to become a Hunger Games victor, and know the sweetest feeling of achievement that life can bring. Letting him play that... thing is in the way! All you’re doing towards that goal is fighting me at every turn. I can’t even remember why I married you!"
He felt his stomach drop. His mother had finally caved in and bought him his violin. His father had wanted him to buy weights, but his mother had said, 'No. When he's ready.' That was three years ago. His father had never gotten over it.
“He’s ten years old! Don’t let his life be consumed by the business of fighting and killing now, or he will become a monster when he is older! I just want him to do something for himself for a little bit!”
Clavos admired his mother, who was getting close to the end of her pregnancy, for standing up to his father. He loved his parents, but things were starting to get awkward. His father wanted him to begin training for the Games, but his mother wanted him to start when he was Twelve.
“My son is not growing up to become a sniveling coward like you! And if you continue to stand in my way, you’re going to regret it. Only the strong survive in this world, Capricia.”
Clavos stood, silently, and walked back back to the baby's new room. It was unoccupied and painted a delicate pink, with white furniture. He climbed up on a rocking chair, rocking back and forth, back and forth. He knew his father would win the arguement. He always did...
This event happened seven years ago. Clavos Hayden sat in his room, pulling the bow back and forth, back and forth on his violin, his fingers dancing across the strings. He had his eyes closed, drifting off into the music. He was at peace. The piece ended, and a pair of tiny hands began clapping.
He opened his eyes to see Laila smiling widely and applauding him. The seven-year-old was his biggest -and only- fan, and loved to sneak in whenever he was playing. He smiled, standing up and placing his violin in case, then walking over and ruffling his sister's hair. He crouched down for her to talk to him, face to face.
"Clavos, that was amazing! How do you play so well?" He smiled, patting her head and rising up to his full height. He scratched his head, thematically.
"I don't know, Laila. Maybe I'm just magic." He smiled as Laila made that face of hers. The one where she would ponder over what he'd said, then a look of recognition, as if she'd know the answer the whole time.
"Well, of course! How else could you be so great?" He smiled, then led her out of his room. He began to walk down the stairs when she grabbed his hand.
"Daddy is looking for you, by the way." Clavos put on a cheerful face, and patted her on the head, once more.
"Thanks, Kiddo." The little girl smiled brightly, then ran off to her room. Probably to play with something or pretend to play violin, like he did. That was one of her favorite games, though their father had told her never to let him see her play it.
Clavos reluctantly went downstairs to his father's study, where he usually was. He found his father sitting nonchalant in his easy chair, watching the current Games on the television. The man turned as his son approached.
"Son, I don't want you playing that bloody instrument any more, today! Go out, train, watch the games, do something! But, I don't want you inside, poisoning your sister's mind with that thing! Got it?" Clavos nodded solemnly.
"Yes, Sir." His father examined his son for any sign of disobedience, but found none.
"Good. Now go." Clavos retreated to his front door, where he tucked his feet into his shoes and slid his black jacket on, buttoning it up. He slammed the door behind him, to make sure his father heard his exit and proceeded to walk.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, he decided that he would do everything in his power not to train. He decided to go wherever his feet could take him, and ended up in the square, with the other crowds of people. Clavos frowned to himself, finding a seat on a bench as he watched the Tributes battle it out.
It would only be so long before his parents made him volunteer, and he would either not be chosen -and his parents would disown him-, or be sent into the arena -to kill or be killed. Either way, his option would not be good. He sighed, looking at the people surrounding him for someone to talk to. he had plenty of friends. One had to be around, somewhere.
