HEIRS //THE RIPLEYS

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“And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good.” - steinbeck

HEIRS //THE RIPLEYS Apr 16, 2013 1:28:09 GMT -5

Post by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ on Apr 16, 2013 1:28:09 GMT -5

He who
wishes to
wear the crown
must endure
it's weight.

It's been this way since the reaping. When the body that was Jude Ripley opened his eyes, it wasn't Jude doing the work. Guilty as charged. Jude went away, he vanished, shut down completely. He's still gone, and doesn't show a sign of coming back at all either. It's alright with me. Smirking, he rose from his perch on the gravestone, sweeping back his hair with long fingers, stained with ink. Like Jude, Gaspard liked to write on any available space with a pen, and currently, he held an image of Nessie Libertine on the palm of his hand. I'm self named of course, Jude never bothered to give me one, and that wasn't very nice. He would help himself to the Libertine with Jude gone, of course. She was a sweet little treat. He stretched arms up to the sky, as if he had been sitting cramped in a room instead of underneath the night sky. Of course that was not the case.

Jude was gone. Not entirely gone, gone, but for the moment he wasn't coming back. At first, Gaspard for all his talk was almost hesitant about taking the reins. He'd come to hold a soft spot for the kid, oh gods no, it wasn't that. He just hadn't wanted to see him die, y'know? He'd figured Jude was coming back any day now, to shove Gaspard out and take the wheel again. But it had been days since the reaping, and days since Jude had made one peep. Gaspard wondered if it was possible, this thing. He knew that honsetly, he was still Jude, just as Jude had always been Gaspard, but there was something missing. An important piece that made Jude, Jude. One could say it was the Judeness. Of course Gaspard had feelings, loves, and cares, but none of them were the same as Jude's. Oh sure, he had a soft spot for whatsisface, the brother that wasn't dead yet, but honestly, he didn't see this as anything to cry over. We're being set free.

Jude had spent so much of his young life worrying about his brothers, and one by one, they were leaving him. He was supposed to be the one to take the fall for them. (bad idea in my opinion because I like living.) So really, if Jude was going to blame anyone, then he should go ahead and blame Gaspard. Gaspard was the root of what was the survivor in Jude Ripley, and long after he had given up, Gaspard would be there. Which is why, he supposed that he was here now, enjoying the fine spring day. It wasn't that warm, but there was sunlight happening, and Gaspard could actually feel the sun on his cheeks. It had been years since this had happened. Jude's father had died or something and for a moment, Gaspard had felt the rain on his face and it had been glorious.

At first Jude had clung on, if only by his nails, but now that 'the one that started with an N, but wasn't Nino' was dead, all bets were off. Gaspard hadn't been able to feel his scrabbling for purchase for hours and hours. To Gaspard, it felt like he had won. There was no more Jude Ripley, and Gaspard would have sex, eat cake, and live without a care. Oh god, caring is such boring business. Jude had shown him that, with his panic attacks, and his constant feeling things. Oh god, that was heavy. Gaspard had felt the tides of Jude's emotions so fiercely, and it wasn't fair. Now that he was running the show, he wouldn't let Jude make him feel anything again.

Waking up, that had been odd. There had been tubes, and a bed, and stark walls. There had been nurses, and a boy in the corner, the one that wasn't dead yet. Gaspard had put on a pretty face, said he was Jude, done the dance, and had been out of there at first light/ He'd grabbed Jude's old hat from the bedside table, and hopped out the window, quick as you please. At the time, he hadn't thought to worry about Jude, or where he was. He'd simply been triumphant, and he wanted to see the sunrise for himself.Now though, now he wasn't so sure.

A part of him, a minuscule part, had begun to miss that other guy, Jude Ripley. He'd loved poking fun at him for all those years, watching him slowly crumble. He didn't think that he'd enjoy the game more than being in control. Because now, this was boring, redundant. He'd been working for so hard, and for so long to get Jude to relinquish control. The kingdom is conquered, what's left to do? He'd begun searching for Jude again. For example, he was at the grave yard now, sitting on Fitz' body, kicking at some wilted stems beside the stone. He'd hoped Jude would come up to mope at least, but no dice. He'd been to the Libertine shop, to call on Nessie, and to see the baby. He remembered that Jude had like babies. His mother hen mode kicked in, and he'd know just how to hold them. The guy was made to be the perfect dad. Gaspard's father hadn't been that great. Neither had Jude's.

With a sigh, he placed his hat on his head, picking it up from Penelope's Libertine's gravestone. On the other side of Fitz's was Noah's freshly turned grave. The body had only just arrived. It had been a great funeral. They'd had those little sandwiches that you eat with tea. Jude hadn't even come back for that. Not that Gaspard couldn't handle it all. He could, you know. It was just that, Nino. Gaspard wasn't worried, but he knew Jude would be, and that wasn't right. Jude had to come back and deal with Nino. Gaspard could, but he wasn't a big brother, he wasn't anyone's. He was Gaspard, completely different, and not as panic attacky or talented with a pen. Sizing up Nino's grave stone, he climbed it, and balanced rather steadily upon the arched top. Surprisingly good, it was an A+ balancing act.

Frustrations peaking, Gaspard angrily punched the air, sending him dangerously off balance, and said, "Oh come of it Jude Ripley, you won't even come back to kick me of yer brother's gravestone? Where the hell have ye gone, ye little bitch?"

ooc: Oh god, I am sorry what the actual butts is this.

Last Edit: Apr 16, 2013 1:30:18 GMT -5 by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

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HEIRS //THE RIPLEYS Apr 20, 2013 10:18:22 GMT -5

Post by L△LIA on Apr 20, 2013 10:18:22 GMT -5

[bg=D2CFBB][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,400,true][atrb=style,width: 400px; background-image: url(http://i46.tinypic.com/33kbzfk.png); background-repeat: no-repeat; padding-left:40px; padding-right:40px; padding-top:40px; border-left:1px solid #000000; border-right:1px solid #000000; border-top:1px solid #000000; -moz-border-radius-topright: 25px; border-radius-topright: 25px; -moz-border-radius-topleft: 25px; border-radius-topleft: 25px;opacity: 1;]

Being alone is the worst part. I hadn't really thought about it when Fitz or Pen or Learna died, maybe not even because of Noah, but it's this haunting idea of how I might become the final remainder that is the most painful part of these Death Years. I named them like a subject in history class, because it feels more distant this way. The Dark Days; The Death Years. The way everyone I care about keeps disappearing from my life, as if I was never supposed to have their smiles in my memory to begin with, and I can't —

Jude tried to kill himself after Noah died. That's when I knew I'd be the last one left carrying all this awfulness within me, while everyone else steps into the Aether. Maybe they're happier now, not so burdened as those of us they've left behind, but the idea of crossing into the aftermath of life isn't so easy for me. Despite the horrors of what my life has become, I'm still afraid of things. I thought my fears might slowly disappear with their souls, because what is a person supposed to worry about when they have nothing left? I'm not so sure anymore, but I know one thing. Until the end, I will still have myself and maybe that's enough. These days it seems like it'll have to be.

I'm still supposed to have Jude though. The two of us and the remaining Libertines all have our place in Death's line and he's not supposed to cut ahead like that. I don't like hospitals any more than I enjoy trips to the morgue to confirm the faces of my bygone brothers and I could hate all of them for it if I didn't love them so goddamned much. Ghosts and all. Still, there's the inevitable and then there are the choices we make and if Jude wants to die, then cross my soul, he'll have to go through me first. Dragging his limp body into the emergency room, where they wired him up until he was at least half-mechanical and breathing against his will, this was clearly not what either of us wanted for him, but maybe we can call it a compromise.

When he took off after coming to, they had to sedate me to stop my screaming. Those doctors, they hauled me right up into my brother's abandoned hospital bed and knocked me out while Jude was surely running off to god-knows-where to try and kill himself again... or so I thought. Struggling against the descending haze, I nearly turned myself inside-out trying to fight the drugs off so I could chase after him. From the looks of things when I regained consciousness a few hours later, I'd nearly puked myself to death, but Jude wasn't around to know that.

Turns out, for all the desperation of my worrying, he was gallivanting. Fucking asshole. As if nothing had ever happened — and I mean nothing; not Fitz or Pen or Learna or Noah — he was skipping around town with a smile on his face. When I found out where he'd gone, I punched a brick wall so hard my knuckles were nearly smashed into my wrist. Now the cast on my hand is like a club and it's all I can do not to beat the sense back into him with it, because in the days since, nothing has changed. He's cooing at babies and holding Nessie Libertine's hand like this is all he has to worry about in the world.

Honestly, I can't tell if there's something wrong with him or me anymore. Maybe I've got it wrong, maybe almost dying reminded him what living was for and I'm the messed up one for picking fights with strangers in an effort to vent how pissed off I am at the unfairness of everything. So far, this is all I can think to do: duke it out with my frustrations and follow Jude around like a second shadow, trying to make sure his smiles aren't just as dangerously fake as mine. However, after trailing him to the cemetery only to find him standing on top of Noah's all too recent gravestone, there's no need for me to be worried about a follow-up suicide attempt, because I'm about to kill him myself. With my cast-armored arm held out like a battering ram, I can't stop myself from walking right up and clotheslining the backs of his knees until his balance is completely knocked out from under him. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Jude?"

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HEIRS //THE RIPLEYS Apr 30, 2013 21:42:45 GMT -5

Post by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ on Apr 30, 2013 21:42:45 GMT -5

He who
wishes to
wear the crown
must endure
it's weight.

The air seems to leave his lungs all at once as his body hits the ground with surprising force. For a small moment, he can almost understand what Jude was after, when he tried to let his failure's blood leave him for good. For just a spark of an instant, there is nothing, just a flash of light as gravity works it's laws on him. There is no air, nothing but stars and white light. Then, in rapid succession the flash of pain, and the storm of swear words escaping his lips in automatic response. For that small instant though, Gaspard felt Jude smiling somewhere from deep inside his abdomen. In the painful beating of his heart, Jude Ripley waited for relief from his post. Gaspard longed to give it to him.

With a low grown as the air made it's way back into his lungs, Gaspard winced and rubbed the back of his head. Carefully picking himself up, he straightened the sleeves of his shirt, letting the long sleeves cover the bandages on his wrists. Mmm, bit of a mess there. Still, just because Atlas carried the weight of the world on his shoulders didn't mean every man could. The problem was, they'd given a weak man the task of a lifetime and had expected him to succeed. Jude had always wanted to, but he had never been as strong as the Greek myth and it had crushed him. Not Gaspard though. Gaspard wasn't the type to let people walk all over him, lighting his inside on fire with the shame of it. Jude had been easy, and that's why he was crushed. In this instance, Jude would probably apologize or give some excuse. Gaspard, thank heavens, was not the same type.

Mildly, he leaned against the gravestone of the dearly departed and said, "Well, before yer went off and interrupted, I was clearly looking fer someone." The body had never been so calm before. Everything about him looked relaxed from the slope of his shoulders, to the soft smirk resting on his lips. It was hard to believe that this was even the same guy as before. Of course, Gaspard differentiated himself. It didn't mean he wasn't Jude. Still, as he looked into Nino's raging face, he couldn't help feeling slightly uneasy, like he had been the cause of this rage. It hadn't been Gaspard though. Maybe he'd egged him on a bit, but in the end, Jude had made the decision to use the pen knife in the corpse's pocket and then shut the lid over himself. That hadn't been on Gaspard.

After a moment, he looked away, eyes burning. Gaspard felt a twinge of that old Judey guilt. Nothing but a phantom memory tugging at the lining of his stomach, is all. He hadn't really lied. He was looking for someone important to the both of them. Jude's favourite hat was on the ground, the top punched in, probably by the fall. Gaspard hadn't ever really liked it that much, but there it was. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to bother to take it up again. In fact, there was a lot of Judey things he forgot how to do. He'd tried drawing earlier, and the ink had come out blotchy, the trees looked like ungodly fire hydrants. Jude had slowly slipped away, as easily as a summer breeze, and all that was left was the icey clutch of Gaspard and winter. Now, somewhere, deep down, Gaspard knew this was a problem. Jude was nuts, and Gaspard was.....well. Was he really Gaspard? Does that matter?

Atlas shrugged.

With a certain lack of the usual Jude care, he smiled knowingly and tapped the side of his nose. "What, yer gonna tell me about how worried y've been? That's a laugh." Something bitter and old bit at his insides, and for a moment, Jude slipped back in, making his smile turn into a worried frown, a hand nervously running it's self through his hair. Jude would never have voiced that thought out loud, but as long as he could remember, he had been the one doing the caring. The people who had been supposed to care for him had abandoned him, and he'd had to become a father when he was just a kid. Gaspard grinned. Could be that just being near Jude's last remaining brother would get the job done.

Last Edit: Apr 30, 2013 22:09:17 GMT -5 by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

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HEIRS //THE RIPLEYS May 6, 2013 22:37:21 GMT -5

Post by L△LIA on May 6, 2013 22:37:21 GMT -5

[bg=FCFCFC][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,400,true][atrb=style,width: 400px; background-image: url(http://i46.tinypic.com/33kbzfk.png); background-repeat: no-repeat; padding-left:40px; padding-right:40px; padding-top:40px; border-left:1px solid #000000; border-right:1px solid #000000; border-top:1px solid #000000; -moz-border-radius-topright: 25px; border-radius-topright: 25px; -moz-border-radius-topleft: 25px; border-radius-topleft: 25px;opacity: 1;]

Honesty has never really been my strong suit. I'm the one who plays at the edges of fact and fiction, blurring them together until I've invented a prettier kind of truth. It's not so much that I want to wrap reality up with a tidy little bow as it is an impulse to avoid the messy entanglements of human nature. There's something too sharp about a screaming voice and an ache too raw in a sob for me to cope with.

Sure, I was the mediator of the family feuds between my brothers over the years, the one who wrangled Noah's temper, coaxed Fitz into a smile when he was struck with reluctance, and high-fived Jude when he was down until he remembered that he's a champion, but I never fixed anything. I smoothed things out just enough that a casual glance would overlook the cracks between the four of us, patching us up with emotional duct tape until we were distracted by how shiny and silver we were. Little boys playing grown up robots. After Fitz, those half-assed Nino fix-its started to peel away and what used to be small chips in our histories were proven to have spread into canyon-worthy cracks. Then when Noah —

"Well, before yer went off and interrupted, I was clearly looking fer someone." Jude's voice is so flippant in his reply that I can hear my breath as I suck it through my teeth in a swallowed-up, backwards hiss. "What, yer gonna tell me about how worried y've been? That's a laugh."

— when Noah was killed... we broke into pieces, both Jude and I even less whole than our chopped up, slaughtered brothers. I don't know how to put us back together again; you can't duct tape dust into a human heart.

With his words echoing in my chest, implying harsher confessions than I've ever known how to deal with, I set my jaw and glare up at the sky. The clouds shift in the afternoon breeze, pushing their way into one another and splitting apart again on the other side of the great blue beyond. I try to breathe their soft cotton comfort in, nostrils flaring as the sun numbs my face. The time we spent pretending everything's okay is behind us, but I miss our willful ignorance. I guess I'd rather be fake-happy than real-miserable, but that's not what this is anymore. Jude's awful smiles are something else entirely and I can't find my footing in his presence lately, unsteady against his too-easy gaze.

The clouded haze above us starts to seep into me, until I'm adrift in numbness. Leaning against Noah's headstone for support, I find myself sliding down the smooth granite until I'm slumped into the ground, knees buckled and splayed as I loll my head to stare back at Jude. Silence maims my tongue until my throat is ravaged with nothingness and I have to sigh in order to remember how my lungs work. "Why should I be worried about you?" It's a snap so sudden that I can hear my teeth smack together in the aftermath. "You're not worried about anything, running around eating fucking cake after you tried to —"

Blood. My mouth burns with the taste of salted iron as I literally bite my tongue to hold the words back. After you tried to kill yourself, Jude. Spitting out the evidence of what I almost said, the watered-down proof of my stubborn life staining the soil red, I try to rein myself in, but can't find the forgiveness in me. "If one of us gets to gripe about the other not giving a damn right now, I'm not about to pretend it's you. But go ahead," kicking at the still too-freshly dug earth, I send a spray of dirt flying toward the last of my breathing brothers, "tell me more about how I'm the one who doesn't care." Swinging my casted arm back, it thunks into Noah's headstone so hard my bones rattle. The dull sound is lost on the breeze, but I can't help hoping that maybe I'm not the only one who feels the pain of it. One thing, however, is certain as a grimace of regret contorts my face: I'm finally past the point of pretending to cope.

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HEIRS //THE RIPLEYS May 6, 2013 23:53:35 GMT -5

Post by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ on May 6, 2013 23:53:35 GMT -5

He who
wishes to
wear the crown
must endure
it's weight.

"Why should I be worried about you?"

The soft smile remained in place, but internally something began to loosen. It felt like a door unsealing, or cracking the lid off a coffin. It felt funny, like a worm wiggling inside of him. Gaspard hadn't felt it before, he left all that business to Jude and his 'feelings'. Yet this, it felt like a seed of something almost like indignation, like that statement had personally offended him. Not Jude, not anyone else, him, Gaspard. It almost annoyed him more that it annoyed him. Opening his mouth, he shut it just as fast, and stared up into the sky, at a loss for words. What is the correct thing to say here? If Jude hadn't been so careful, maybe his brothers would have noticed all the things that were wrong with their dear older brother. What was happening to him, why he always had those bags on him.

....f..or...ar...t... Shutup Jude, don't lie to yourself.

Gaspard could feel the hurt piling up inside, and even if it didn't belo- hold on....Jude? He waited, and no further reply came. Telling him to shutup was not so good. Even more annoyed then just seconds ago, he laughed bitterly and turned away, so his brother wouldn't see his grimace of confusion. Resting a hand over his eyes, his laughter dissolved into a tired chuckle. His bones sunk into the earth, and he could feel his chest concaving, he was beginning to rot. Which is good news I suppose. Maybe all he had to do was pull a Jude and let go. Yet, Gaspard had always been the selfish one, the one that didn't give a damn about anyone else, let alone Jude. Jude had always been the one that put his brothers first. He'd been kept up till early hours in the morning, suffering through Jude's endless worrying about how he could get his brothers more food. Jude hadn't ever been a brother, he'd been a father. Maybe that was why he'd begun to sink.

Yeah, why should Nino worry about his cool, collected older brother? Jude had always played the part so well. He'd acted like nothing ever phased him, and his brothers chose to believe that. Just like they'd believed their father before him. idiots.

"That's right, I'm sorry," he said, turning back to look at Nino Ripley. Something inside him flinched away at the sight of his brother looking so defeated. He could feel a slight, insistent tugging at his arms, to reach out and comfort Jude's brother. "There yer were, all worried about yer brot- me, and there I went, out the window, just like that. There couldn't possibly be anything wrong there, yer know? Shall I apologize, tell yer sorry, it won't happen again?" He didn't skitter away from the fact that there was some suicidal things happening there. To Gaspard, it wasn't so much a suicide as a surrender. This wasn't an ending, a beginning, so why not celebrate? Besides, I love cake.

He watched as the younger boy seemed to have a temper tantrum, using their brother's graves as a tool. He could feel a twinging in his bones, and Gaspard almost shouted in excitement. Yes, yes, make him angry! His grin widening, he stepped forwards, towards Nino. Pulling back his foot, he brought it forward again in a kick, aimed right at his brother's head. H....e....y..... Carelessly, he ended it right beside Nino's head, hitting the stone, the echoing thud seeming to fill the yard. Cocking his head to the side, he laughed and said, "Yer think throwing your arms around is gonna bother me? Sorry, should I be more sensitive to yer feelings, am I a bad older brother?"

Yet, suddenly, he felt his smile turn into a grimace, felt his shoulders slump, could feel his mouth open. He stumbled backwards, as if he had been hit, "Why didn't you notice?!" Jude shouted, staring down at his brother. Gaspard floundered in open water, he could feel himself drowning in Jude's sudden rush of anger. Trying to find something to hold onto, he gripped the emotion that was Jude's love, and tugged, hard. It was almost like watching an actor get back into character, watching Gaspard take the reigns again. His mouth set once again, and he straightened. His brow smoothed, and something changed in his gaze, the easiness crept back in like it had never left.

Last Edit: May 6, 2013 23:58:25 GMT -5 by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

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HEIRS //THE RIPLEYS May 7, 2013 12:17:08 GMT -5

Post by L△LIA on May 7, 2013 12:17:08 GMT -5

[bg=D5D6D5][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,400,true][atrb=style,width: 400px; background-image: url(http://i46.tinypic.com/33kbzfk.png); background-repeat: no-repeat; padding-left:40px; padding-right:40px; padding-top:40px; border-left:1px solid #000000; border-right:1px solid #000000; border-top:1px solid #000000; -moz-border-radius-topright: 25px; border-radius-topright: 25px; -moz-border-radius-topleft: 25px; border-radius-topleft: 25px;opacity: 1;]

Apologies aren't always earned. When the word sorry spins its syllables from Jude's mouth, it feels more like an accusation than an acquiescence, a twist in my gut to rival the pain in my arm. "There yer were, all worried about yer brot- me, and there I went, out the window, just like that. There couldn't possibly be anything wrong there, yer know? Shall I apologize, tell yer sorry, it won't happen again?" I'm not the only one festering in the noontime sunshine, burnt sour beneath the rays.

Since the beginning, it was always Jude. When the house felt more empty than full, he was there to remind me of what we had left. There were ~~days~~, ~~weeks~~, ~~months~~, years when my brother's face was enough to get me through a bad day. When my stomach writhed with hunger and my memories of our parents started to become moth-eaten with holes devastatingly deeper than six feet, he became a magician, conjuring food and contentment in the same breath. If my young and feeble heart couldn't hold the tears in, his hand remained a steady comfort upon my shoulder until the idea of a smile felt easy again. So when his foot flies at the space beside my head, kicking into Noah's headstone with a thud to match my own, in the strangest of ways, it's more of a pat on the back than a threat. It's like he's saying: Hey! I know you're in a bad place, Nino, but I'm still here. Right next to you.

As his laugh scolds me for my tantrum, I find myself looking up at him with a nearly blank face. "Yer think throwing your arms around is gonna bother me?" Mouth hanging open slightly, my every edge is softened and impressionable, the beast of my anger retreating to the smoldering deep of me. "Sorry, should I be more sensitive to yer feelings —" I'm blinking at the sky like the sun is too bright; like I want to tuck myself into the cloudcover and pull its blanket up over my head; like I'm turning red from sunburn and not shame. "— am I a bad older brother?" Suddenly I am six-years-old and facing a corner, obediently sitting on my hands as I stare at the seam between walls like it's a mirror for what I've done wrong. Think about what you did. Do you feel regret, little Ripple?

I am stutter-stop gaping at his question, bits and pieces of almost-words slipping up useless into the air. It's not that I hate him for trying to leave everything behind; I get that. The two of us are all that's left and we're waiting to see who'll be the last one standing in this Finale, turning our weapons on ourselves because it hurts less than the idea of watching the other's end. Maybe I was the easy-going voice that broke any bouts of tension between the four of us, but he was always the one keeping me together. The father I lost; the brother I kept. I don't want to hate him and so long as he's here, I don't think I can, but if he were gone... who knows what I'd become then.

The atmosphere twists between us, knotting and snaring as the last dredges of my fit twitch through muscle and marrow. His own sarcastic smile falls away, shoulders slumping and face turned rough as he becomes possessed by his own ferocious honesty. "Why didn't you notice?!" It's a suckerpunch to my heart and I flinchjerkcringe away from him, cowering into the granite of our dead brother's final mark upon the world. The shadow-cold stone is not a comfort, but rather the opposite of the warm and reassuring touch I grew up with in awful moments like this. There's nowhere to hide when you're fighting with your emotional salvation.

Curling my knees up, I sink into my own hands, fingers tangled in my hair and forehead pressed into my palms as my breathing turns panic-ragged. In moments like this, when I could feel everything falling to pieces, Jude was always the one to convince me it'd be okay. Now that he's the one tearing away my false facades of feelings fix-its and little white lie smiles, I don't know how to pretend things back into better. Despite my closely-pressed limbs, I can feel a skitter-twitch shaking overtaking me. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry —" My voice begs until it's broken. I've done a bad thing and I'msosorry. I promise I won't do it again. I promise, I promise, I promise. Please just don't leave me alone in this corner any longer. Please.

Fragile damage turns into a wild flail as I kick my limbs out in a whirl of pathetic surrender and scream: "I'm sorry!" Not all apologies are earned, but the ones that are might not always be worth the price we paid to get them.

Last Edit: May 8, 2013 0:22:46 GMT -5 by L△LIA

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HEIRS //THE RIPLEYS May 8, 2013 3:07:01 GMT -5

Post by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ on May 8, 2013 3:07:01 GMT -5

He who
wishes to
wear the crown
must endure
it's weight.

In slight horror, he watched as Nino did exactly opposite of what Gaspard wanted. He'd wanted Nino to deny it, to stand up and yell that he'd noticed everything, that he was a terrible older brother, that he'd failed. He wanted Nino to be angry, to hate him, to hate Jude so Gaspard would have a reason to be angry too. The less anger filled him, the more guilt crept in. The more Jude returned. He'd been searching for him, but he didn't want him. He'd only done it out of respect. Not because he respected Jude, but because he knew he should, and here the bastard was coming back anyway.

He could feel himself crumbling away where Jude scrambled for purchase, and found himself knowing what he felt like all those years. It felt like his time was slowly ticking away, the master was coming home, it was time for Gaspard to hide. It felt like such doom, that for a moment he wondered if he'd stopped breathing. He could feel Jude's breath on his back, hear him in the distance, slowly getting closer. Did Jude always feel me coming too? Gaspard almost felt sorry, he would have felt sorry if he could. This was agonizing, like he was splitting into a thousand pieces just to get away from himself. I'm scared! He was so scared, and he could feel his world ending, he couldn't breathe, it was all too close. Is this what a panic attack feels like? It felt like someone was choking him. It felt like the sun was going out, it felt like living and dying and blooming all at once. It was terrible.

He'd always used to tell Jude just to get over it when it was happening, he hadn't known. He thought he'd been over reacting. Gaspard doubled over, face tightening, breathes coming in short gasps as everything overthrew him. He didn't even know what it had brought it on, but Nino looked like Jude had slapped him, and Gaspard could feel his hand stinging like he had. A phantom pain, starting in his fingers, and ending in his palm. He didn't want to see Nino's face like that, looking so sad. Jude had worked at keeping it a happy face all his life hadn't he? He'd never quite succeeded. He'd tried though, that was all he ever wanted. I failed them. Jude's voice rang through Gaspard's head, his own alley cat accent flipped for Jude's quiet one. He didn't have a response for Jude's quiet assurance. It had been simple sounding, soft and pleasant almost. Gaspard couldn't argue it either. Yeah, I guess we did, didn't we?

They looked up, together at Nino, huddled against the stone. They watched their little brother fighting for sanity against great odds, because sanity never did run smoothly through the Ripleys. Anyone could tell you that. Jude hadn't noticed either. How hard Nino was taking everything. Where Jude had always been the strength that held all the brothers together instead of thrown into an orphanage, Nino had been the one that always reminded Jude why it was worth it. Nino, who'd been Jude's best friend since they were young, the one he'd always trusted to get the job done. Nino had always been entrusted with the careful task of being happy so Jude could find his efforts to be worth it. How dare Jude think that Nino could be happy when Jude gave up on his end of the bargain. How could he even think of that? He could answer his question, without even hesitating.

Jude spoke, and it was Jude, not Gaspard speaking. "I really am a bad older brother. I didn't want you to worry about me, that isn't your fault." his voice was soft, almost inaudible. It was Jude who knelt down to embrace his brother, and it was Gaspard who got socked in the nose for his efforts of being all friendly like. He went reeling backwards, away from his brother's sudden spasm, one hand on his nose, the other balling into a fist. Where Jude might have chosen flight, Gaspard's automatic response was fight. In the sudden rush of adrenaline, Jude was tossed back like a wave, yet he could feel him inside, struggling to hang on. If this didn't get Jude back, Gaspard didn't know what would. He was done with all this emotional nonsense. he wanted to go have a rest. "Come out, come out, wherever yer are," he sang as he lept at Jude's younger brother.