Pascal Averill D2 (Done)

A name is what makes a man worthy of bringing honor to it. A name is all it takes to become famous in a world built around being monsters and deadly killers. Honor is what the Averill's wanted and yet it's not what he wants. The gift of a boy with dark hair and blue eyes. As he stands in front of the highly expensive mirror, fixing his hair and outfit, his half brother stands waiting in the room. Blonde hair, green eyes, watching him move. The brown hair is styled much more neatly than the blondes. His eyes a clear blue that was vibrant with every scene before him. His hands that were smooth from lack of work all the time, unlike the blonde in his room, gently rub his rather average nose and his long face. His half brother speaks out, "We better head out and train now before your mother sees us. Or else I'll have to be stuck inside doing all of the housework again."

A laugh leaves Pascal's lips. His mother and father always knew how to ruin a good day. Reminders of the promise that he made to them, only haunts his mind as he gets dressed in front of his half brother. His body is toned to perfection as that's the only thing that pleases his father. Perfection is the quality he most looks for within his children and life. Pascal had learned that long ago. The tall form that was known as Pascal stood shirtless, a scar from an accident, or that's what he had told Iden, but in reality it had been his own father. His hands grab the black shirt and pull it over his body. His teeth clench in memory of his one act of greatness in the world. Perfection was only a fantasy, no one could truly obtain it. Only the smart could hide their imperfections, like Pascal did with everything.

As Iden's blade clashes against his own, a weak swing, but he kept his mouth shut, as it always made Iden pissed off. Whore was attached to Iden's name. What did Pascal have, a name that carried disappointment with his father. Misguided youth is what his father had called him last time he listened in to talks with career trainers. It had all started the day he fought for the right of his half brother to live a life and not die as a kid. Pascal had stood in the room when they were discussing what to do with the blonde haired, green eyed kid that had Averill attached to him. "Just lock him up. Let him die of starvation. No one would care." The words upon his mother's lips stung like a smack to the face. Pascal had been fond of having a little brother and the first one that he got was being threatened to starve to death, based on what, a mistaken night and a whore of a mother. It hadn't seemed right to him. The little boy that had known nothing in the world fought for his brother's life, flinging himself in the spotlight to be seen as a child just as bad as a bastard.

"He deserves to live too! Give my brother a chance mother!" The questioning look that he had gotten stuck with him into adulthood, the look of his mother who thought he had been the world's greatest gift, shattered his heart with only four words. "He's not your brother." The words still follow him to sleep at night. Nightmares of his mother's form standing over Iden's dead body. That's one of the reason's Pascal set up the training sessions with his brother. The other was the reason he got his scar in the first place, a scar that would stick with him until his death. A reminder to never stick his head into his father's business, even though it had been his business too.

It started with his mother and his argument over whether Iden should get a chance to live a life, like any other kid. The stern look of his father shut him up for only a day. The next day, Pascal had followed his father, begging and pleading for his half brother's right to live. His father just ignored him as long as he could, until the words sank into his father like a sponge soaking up water. That's when his father snapped on him. A hand, a smack, reddened cheek, and the stinging pain of being slapped upon his cheek. The vase behind him on the decorative table falls with a crash. As Pascal stands before his father, pleading. The man he had known to be the most influential person in his life, speaks of a challenge.

"Beat me in a sparring match and I'll let you speak your mind about the matter."

With words of a match that will put the life of another in his hands, Pascal heads outside. The swords had been readied already for Pascal's spar with his father. As his father smirks the same one that he grew up to learn, Pascal stands firm, hands on the handle of the sword. As soon as the match starts, he can feel his heart pounding. Young Pascal rushes forward trying to get the jump on his father, but a foot flies up and knocks him over. His father's sword slashes forward cutting into his chest a deep cut, but nothing too harmful, it'll scar. That's all he had known. His father's sword sits with blood on the blade, pointed at his throat. No mercy. That's what his father had, but as soon as he was going to lodge the blade into twelve year old Pascal, his voice rings out. Mercy with every inch of his voice. "Iden can live on one condition. He will learn about how to be like a butler or maid and that will be his job. Upon his seventeenth birthday, you will train him and he will be reaped, or else. That'll be his chance at a life. If he isn't reaped, you and him both die. You're a disgrace. Now go to the healer and get fixed up. I don't want to see you anymore." And his father walked away, an eye never seeing his face ever again.

As he grew up, he watched his brother who was going to be murdered in cold blood grow into a kind and gentle soul. Too kind and gentle for what his father had wanted. That's when he hit the age Seventeen and Pascal offered to help him. "Iden, you bastard! Join me today? Learn how to fight with me, just in case for the games?" Iden had looked at him with a questioning look, only further making him want to force the boy to train. Both of their lives were on the line and he wasn't going to take no for an answer, but Iden surprised him like he always did. The blonde bastard's lips moved slowly, but confidently.

"Yes, asshole, only if you learn how to take care of yourself?"

A laugh falls out from his lips, as his brother smiles at him. The two walk outside where they would begin training each other for whatever came. His father's eyes never once land on him. All he wanted to do was make his father proud, but he wanted his brother to live. Live a life fully and with no one like their father to control them both. Freedom was something neither of them truly had. Their father and mother always had someone watching and that what made him bringing home a different boy every night had been thrilling and a act of his rebellion towards his parents. Every now and then he would get a look of disgust and he thrived on it, just as much as he thrived on Iden's perfect smile.

As their blades clash, he truly remembers seeing his brother for the first time. It had been in a sparring match. Pascal had been impressed with everything he had done. Iden was a slow beginner, but every day he got better and better, making Pascal feel better, but the deal still laid fresh in the air. Terror of what would happen if Iden grew too old. This had been his father's plan. Make it too late to train him and either watch him die in the games or become to old to kill them both. Either way Pascal would die, his brother was too important to him. After all they were family. A name brought honor to a family. A family brings honor and trust to each other. Pascal wanted honor for his name, but he wanted family more than honor. Even if that meant he would have to kill his father. Iden meant too much.

The days went on like this. Every morning, Iden and Pascal ate dinner with the whole big family. Then they would spend most of the day doing the daily chores that seemed to ironically build up more and more over time. Then lunch would come by with an eerie silence in the house as everyone did their own thing. Once Lunch was over, the two would go outside and train for the day. And then at night, he would lay restless in his bed trying not to imagine what his father could have done or is going to do. This was Pascal's daily life. A constant sense of worry. Every day was a nightmare, but every night was a reality. Pascal was living in his own form of hell, but he wouldn't give up. Iden never did either, as the two part ways for the night. Pascal's voice is only a whisper, "Sweet dreams, Iden." The doors close and all Pascal can do is stare into the sky, wishing only that the nasty people known as his father and mother disappeared, so Iden and him can live a good life, but that's all it was, dreams and wishes. As he closes his eyes, the night halts, dreams and wishes a forgotten memory with the restless sleep.