kindling old [e m b e r s] // Eagle

semper
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kindling old [e m b e r s] // Eagle Apr 11, 2013 12:40:26 GMT -5

Post by semper on Apr 11, 2013 12:40:26 GMT -5

I’d rather live with broken bones
than lay here all on my own
like a lovesick fool

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Standing in front of the old house you spent so many years in, it feels odd being on the outside and about to request permission to enter. So many things happened behind those splintery walls, both good and bad; often you passed through the door and the thought crossed your mind that you very well may never return to the little rundown house – specifically on reaping days. There had been times where you never saw the house in daylight, and other times where you didn’t have enough money to keep the electricity flowing so all you could do was use candles to navigate the short halls and not trip over anything.

That was all after your father’s mental state pretty much fell through the floor. You really couldn’t blame him – taking care of six children would be stressful, no doubt, and from your own personal experience it was extremely difficult to take care of your five siblings and your father. There were times where I wondered if it was really even worth it. All the tireless hours, working your fingers to the bone, bringing in nothing more than mere morsels for a while. Sometimes you grew angry at your father for having “abandoned” you and your siblings, wishing he would either just get his act together to help or leave altogether so it’d be one less mouth to feed, but then guilt gnawed at you. You’re not supposed to wish harmful things onto your own parents.

But standing there, looking at the old house, you don’t understand the growing anxiety that you feel. He’s your father, so why are you nervous? You haven’t seen his scraggly face ever since Klaus had won the games (which reminds me of things that I will never tell Dad); but still, aside from the previous anxiety, you are more worried about how the old man was holding up. Part of you feels bad that he wasn’t allowed to move into the victor’s house but it’s Klaus’s house, so therefore it’s his rules. But your father is family, so you should at least still keep him informed of things.

You take a deep breath and venture up the familiar steps, hesitantly reaching out for the doorknob. Should I knock? Technically it isn’t your house anymore – it is solely your father’s, and none of your siblings ever return here to your knowledge. He isn’t expecting you since you hadn’t alerted him to your coming, but would he even bother coming to the door if you knock?

You twist the knob, slowly pushing the door open. ”Dad?” You call out, stepping over the threshold and closing the door behind you. ”Are you here? It’s me, Hop.”

((Ahck I’m sorry this is so short D: I’m awful at starter posts. Also I'm sorry that it took me so long to put the thread up </3 ))

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i hear the mountains calling me home

charade
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kindling old [e m b e r s] // Eagle Apr 22, 2013 18:58:49 GMT -5

Post by charade on Apr 22, 2013 18:58:49 GMT -5

It's quiet now.

But it's always quiet when the only sound that reaches your ears is the maddening dripdripdrip of a leaky faucet that you've spent too much time trying not to fix. Just like everything else in the house. The real problem is that if you keep convincing yourself that you'll fix one problem once you've gotten to a different one, because then nothing really gets done. I've sat in this chair for more days than I care to remember, subsisting on meager meals whenever I can force myself to leave the comfort of my bedroom. Things just don't seem to line up anymore, not since the light went out of my life. And even with all the years that have passed I've never been able to bring myself to say her name out loud.

But she's still around. I see her in Lyana's smile, and in the way Klaus scrunches up his face when he's mad. She stares at me from Tacara's eyes and beckons to me with Marina's voice. The tone of that voice is more evident whenever Hopper scolds me or when Jamarion has something to say, but I suppose that's all in the past now. I don't even have them around to remind me of her. And I don't know if that's a good thing or the worst thing possible. I tried y'know? I made sure there was always a roof over their heads, clothes on their backs and food on the table. But like that leaky faucet, the cracked window upstairs and the dysfunctional lock on the front door, I've never taken the time to try and fix myself.

And if I'm broke, how could I have ever been working correctly?

There is a squeak from the door; at first I assume that its the wind, but then I hear the voice calling for me. Hop. Hop has come to visit me for who knows what reason. I shift slightly in my chair, but continue looking straight ahead. The window in the living room affords me a nice view of the backyard as long as I'm facing away from the front door. It takes more than a minute to find my words. Words are something that have grown rusty from disuse, sticking to my throat like pollen floating down the wind from a dying tree.

"I'm in here Hopper." I finally say. My voice sounds strange and faint in my own ears, like a childish music box in need of grease. I guess that's all I really am now. Like the rest of my children's things I've been locked away in a dusty toybox while they go and live their lives. Which begs the question. Why is hopper here? I lean on my cane to sit up in my chair, hoping that it won't look like I've been sitting here all day, slowly wasting any to nothing. I suspect that I'll have to talk more. but I wonder if i'll just disappoint him.

Again.

16 Jul 12, 23:43
GB: I bet you just sit at your computer with a tea cup and a monocle

semper
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kindling old [e m b e r s] // Eagle Apr 27, 2013 17:08:03 GMT -5

Post by semper on Apr 27, 2013 17:08:03 GMT -5

I’d rather live with broken bones
than lay here all on my own
like a lovesick fool

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Everything is just as you remember: the little shelf in the hall, that small table off in the corner that you fell onto when Jamar slugged you across the jaw, and a few other little items here and there. Not much has changed other than a thick collection of dust.

You stand quietly in the foyer, listening for any sign of life in the old house. At first you don’t hear a response and you figure that your father has just gone out, but then he calls from another room, his voice sounding just as scratchy and exhausted as you recall it to be. He hasn’t changed at all either. You follow the sound of his voice, entering into the occupied room.

He looks weak – that’s the first thing to come to your mind. Hardly a year has passed since the six of you moved out and while you all have become stronger and sturdier, he appears to have regressed. You bite your lip, standing silently in the doorway.

You want to speak kindly to him (he’s my dad, afterall) but your words die in your throat. In the years before Klaus won, you frequently scolded the weathered man in front of you for nearly bailing out on the six of you. You tried reasoning with yourself, forgiving him simply because you’ve experienced how hard it is to care for a multitude of other people, but still the lingering bitterness remains nagging at the back of your mind. No, I’m not here to yell at him. That’d be a low blow. Things are supposed to be “better” now – that’s what the life of a victor’s family is all about, right? The only “better” thing about a life of luxury that you can think of is never having to worry about scraping up enough coins for just a few slices of bread and cheese to share amongst six people. Food is now never in short supply and your soft belly was proof of that. But in terms of family, that’s where things aren’t “better.” More fights, more absences, and frankly you just feel very distant from everyone, including the grizzled man seated before you.

Moving away from the doorway you reach out and drag a wooden chair closer to him, sitting down in it and struggling to look at your father, much less make eye contact with him.

Many things passed quickly through your mind. So many things I could say but what can I put out there without ruining anything? That narrows the list down drastically. You shift somewhat uncomfortably on the chair as if you’re on pins and needles, sucking in a quick breath.

”I just came to see how you were doing.” An easy start – hopefully enough to break the ice between almost a year of no communication. You cast a small glance up at him. ”And to see if there’s anything I can get or do for you.”

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i hear the mountains calling me home

charade
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kindling old [e m b e r s] // Eagle May 15, 2013 1:17:55 GMT -5

Post by charade on May 15, 2013 1:17:55 GMT -5

I never saw this one coming
As this winter gets colder
It will all blow over on this perfect day
You can cry wolf but stop running

There isn't much for me to say. There never has been. While I want to commend Hopper for choosing to seek me out, I can't think of a single reason that he should have. Shouldn't he have outgrown me by now? Like all the rest of them? Its hard for me to look at him looking at me. I see that he's grown some since I saw him last. Or maybe I've just gotten more decrepit. "I just came to see how you were doing.” The way he glances at me hurts because there is a glimmer of hope dancing at the back of his emerald irises, as if asking if something has changed. If I can be a father again. "And to see if there’s anything I can get or do for you.” Hopper has always been the mortar holding the family together, and while I know that living in the past does nothing to help my situation, its hard not to want to reminisce about happier times.

My eldest sons lips are as bloodless as ever, something I'm sure is a side effect of stress; and I know all about that. The scar on his neck is glaringly obvious and my eyes drop to my walking stick in shame. If I was more of a parent, then Hopper wouldn't have had to grow up so fast. He's muscular, more than I was at the age, and the whole time I've left those words hanging in the air, I get the uncomfortable feeling that he hasn't taken his eyes off of me for a single second. "I...I've been doing alright for myself Hopper. You needn't worry." The words taste fake and plastic in my mouth; sticking to the sides of my teeth like a cavity that won't go away. I cough without meaning to and look away from my son. I know who he wants me to be. But I'm afraid that that man died twenty years ago.

Look deep into your mind and see
everything that you didn't want to be
Because time waits for no man
Where do you go
When your home is not a home?

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16 Jul 12, 23:43
GB: I bet you just sit at your computer with a tea cup and a monocle

semper
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kindling old [e m b e r s] // Eagle May 23, 2013 12:01:57 GMT -5

Post by semper on May 23, 2013 12:01:57 GMT -5

I’d rather live with broken bones
than lay here all on my own
like a lovesick fool

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If anything, Dad looks weak. Like all the life’s just been sucked right out of him. There are bags underneath his eyes and simply tell-tale signs that he’s been cracking under pressure for far too long. Too many fissures, too many fractures, and all under too much pressure.

I’ve been under nearly the same amount of pressure with having to take care of all my siblings at such a young age, but what I don’t know is what it’s like to lose someone like he did. Dad was always there but never properly there; a hollow body drained of its soul. Even his voice sounds void of any and all emotion. I don’t know what it’s like to have everyone in your life just suddenly leave you – that’s what Mom did when she died, and that’s what we did when Klaus won the games. We left him without very much warning and Mom, well, she had no choice.

The tension between us is edging to overwhelming. I look back down at the floorboards after he look away from me and heave a small sigh, unsure where to take this scanty conversation. Originally I was just coming to check up on him but something prevents me from leaving. Whatever’s stopping me, I don’t know. Dad seems to be hard pressed for words and I’m at a loss for things to say or ask. A stalemate. I was hoping things wouldn’t quickly turn awkward between us but that hope is smothered.

”Well… that’s good.” I try to sound even the least bit cheerful but my voice fails me. Dad suddenly coughs but I don’t think very much of it. There’s quite a bit of pollen in the air so I figure he’s just having a reaction to it; everything outside is in bloom and sometimes, when the sun is out, you can see all the little bits of pollen drifting on the wind currents. I don’t recall Dad having allergies, but then again when was I ever at home to be able to tell?

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i hear the mountains calling me home

charade
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kindling old [e m b e r s] // Eagle May 24, 2013 21:51:53 GMT -5

Post by charade on May 24, 2013 21:51:53 GMT -5

I never saw this one coming
As this winter gets colder
It will all blow over on this perfect day
You can cry wolf but stop running

Hopper seems confused, maybe even borderline hurt. I don't know what he expected, I mean, its not like I'm unpredictable. Some things never change. Change requires willpower and that's something that's been running on low, if not entirely empty for a long time now. I give him an apologetic look and rustle myself out of the chair. I stand, feeling the weight of my years and the weight on my chest. Leaning on the cane for support, I make my way to the kitchen, calling out behind me. "Would you like anything Hopper? I'm sure there's something around here. Wouldn't want you to go home on an empty stomach."

I have little to offer him as I've been living off of canned soups and water, but it helps to keep up the pretense of doing alright. I rummage through the cabinet half-heartedly before settling on a can of tomato soup. I'll be down to five cans after this but Hopper doesn't need to know that. The can opener is rough in my weak hands, fingers trying to grasp the handle and twist, but failing. The can and can opener fly out of my hands, falling to the ground with a clatter. "It's nothing!" I say involuntarily. I don't want Hopper to see this. But when I bend to grab the offending item my knee seizes up and then the tiled floor is rushing towards my face.

I catch myself before my head hits the tile, hands slapping the linoleum as one. I scramble to grab my cane and hoist myself up, hoping that Hopper hasn't left his chair.

Look deep into your mind and see
everything that you didn't want to be
Because time waits for no man
Where do you go
When your home is not a home?

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16 Jul 12, 23:43
GB: I bet you just sit at your computer with a tea cup and a monocle

semper
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kindling old [e m b e r s] // Eagle May 30, 2013 9:05:24 GMT -5

Post by semper on May 30, 2013 9:05:24 GMT -5

I’d rather live with broken bones
than lay here all on my own
like a lovesick fool

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A quiet moment hovers between us before Dad stands up, leaning on his cane and hobbling out of the living room. ”Would you like anything Hopper? I’m sure there’s something around here. Wouldn’t want you to go home on an empty stomach.”

Home. Frankly I’m not sure where that is. I feel like a stranger in the victor’s house, leeching off Klaus’s money and preparing things for people who never seem to be around, though I rarely stay put in that house, either. I know every single person that stays there but at the same time we’re drifting apart. Ever since a near 180 degree turnaround in my life in terms of finance and status, it seems that only more and more problems have arisen.

But this old house – is it still home? I spent the first eighteen years or so of my life inside this old rickety thing, with its walls too thin and the leaky roof and floorboards that never stopped squeaking. We were all closer together here, driven apart only by fickle matters like schoolwork. I was way better off here than I ever have been in the victor’s house. Here I was hidden, tucked safely away in my little niche of the world and taking care of my siblings. The long hours at the factory were strenuous but at the end of the day as I crawled into bed, bone-weary and exhausted, I don’t think I could’ve been happier.

”No thanks, I’m fi-“ My answer is cut off by the sudden clang of metal against tile. I’m just about to call out and ask if things are alright when my dad says that it’s simply nothing. I look away from the door he disappeared through, clasping my hands together while I wait. There’s suddenly another thud but this time it doesn’t have the sharp sound of metal on tile; it’s more muffled, like a soft but sturdy thing hitting the floor, followed by a falling sound that I know is his cane.

I’m up and out of my seat, reaching quickly for the doorway and loosely grasping the wall as I turn into the kitchen, seeing Dad getting back up. A can and can opener are still lying on the ground so I retrieve those, setting them on the counter. ”Are you alright?” Ripred knows I’ve slipped and fallen on this tile far too many times and it can be quite a painful experience. He doesn’t appear injured but it doesn’t hurt to ask. While I wait for his answer, I take the can and latch on the opener, squeezing and twisting until it’s open, then use my finger to carefully pull open the jagged top. I set the open can down on the counter closer to where he his.

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i hear the mountains calling me home

charade
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kindling old [e m b e r s] // Eagle Jun 5, 2013 22:18:53 GMT -5

Post by charade on Jun 5, 2013 22:18:53 GMT -5

It doesn't take long to fall back into my way of doing things. My tongue finds the inside of cheek before I can stop it and I intake a sharp breath of air. Hobbling over to the can is a moot point as Hopper has already opened it and moved it next to me. "You should probably be getting back now. It's late. I'm sure they...miss you."If Hop thinks I'm trying to push him away, he'd be right. "Tell Klaus..." My sentence trails off like air gasping to come out of a punctured lung before ending in a dejected sigh. "Look Hopper.Its probably best if you didn't come around again. Nothing's changed here and none of you have a reason to visit me. When have I ever given you a reason to?" I shuffle awkwardly over to the stove with the can and dump the contents into a pot. I dare not look him in the face. I can't bear to see what I know will be written across it.

"Keep them out of trouble Hopper. You've always been good at that."

I have no fatherly advice for him, no words of wisdom. Some people weren't meant to be parents, and its the kids that pay the price. Maybe one day I'll dig myself out of the self loathing hellhole that is my life, but I doubt that today is that day. The best I can do is to tell Hopper to do what he's done since I gave up.

And that's be a better father than I.

Last Edit: Jun 5, 2013 22:19:44 GMT -5 by charade

16 Jul 12, 23:43
GB: I bet you just sit at your computer with a tea cup and a monocle

semper
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kindling old [e m b e r s] // Eagle Jun 6, 2013 11:05:34 GMT -5

Post by semper on Jun 6, 2013 11:05:34 GMT -5

I’d rather live with broken bones
than lay here all on my own
like a lovesick fool

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I’ve only just arrived and already he’s telling me that I should leave, trying to tell me that my siblings miss me. I’m not only taken aback but I’m reluctant as well. I’m pretty sure they don’t miss me; none of us are ever all in that house at once and so we hardly do anything together anymore. He continues, asking that I tell Klaus something but his voice trails off.

I haven’t spoken to Klaus very much since he’s come back. Jamar’s punch to my jaw certainly did much more than just hurt: it silenced me from ever speaking more than just a few words to my only other brother. The hulking idiot’s realistic view on my dark secret put things into perspective for me, showed me how wrong I was and how delusional. Somewhere along the lines of being forced to grow up so early something went awry in my head – some wires didn’t connect or something, making me believe in a feeling that others would grimace at. Frankly I don’t want to tell Klaus anything. I don’t want a reason to face both him and that grotesque feeling harbored inside me.

My brows furrow together as I try to decipher what he’s getting at. ”It’s probably best if you didn’t come around again.” I hesitate to ask if this is because of something I’ve done but I get the sneaking suspicion that that’d be a selfish thing to ask. I have no information that any of my siblings have come to visit him, so why, after just me, is he chasing me off?

I give a short and quiet snort. While I’ve tried to keep the rest of them out of trouble I’ve only managed to dig deeper into my own problems. Part of me wants to dig my heels in, resist his attempts at making me leave, but at the same time the subordinate part of me continues to nag, insisting that I just do what he says and leave.

”Not really.” I mutter under my breath. ”They have Klaus now.” They don’t need me dragging my heels to and from the factory; they don’t need me trying to pull together a minute meal from whatever scraps I can find. I’ve become as useless to them as Dad is.