.:Cacophony In Blue:. [Cass]
May 21, 2013 23:43:22 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on May 21, 2013 23:43:22 GMT -5
Absalom Ottrel---
Will you still love me
When I got nothing but my aching soul?
I know you will, I know you will
I know that you will
---
He was afraid of the dark.
But sometimes hiding was a better solution than the light.
Tonight was a celebration of Sarkine. Another birthday come and gone, she was all of sixteen but lightyears away from Absalom. The girl with the curls and sharp nose, the one gifted with brains and a tongue enough to talk out of both sides of her mouth, she was never on the losing end of a debate (or shy of suitors). Sarkie—a pet name from her parents—was to have the extravagance not afforded to Absalom’s abysmal sixteen birthday. Where his had been a stoic affair of grey and white, attended only by his mother, father, sister, and the sickly ginger boy Abbie had quietly befriended (who summarily stopped showing up at their home or speaking to Absalom after Sarkine had threatened him with a switchblade), Sarkine would be yet another Summer gala attended by the elite of the district.
Balloons of Pink and streamers of gold dotted the rooms, now hazy with glitter. Their home near the top of a long hill in the fancier part of the district—their parents Goldsmiths and adventurous entrepreneurs—they’d made certain to spare no expense for their one and only daughter. The food came fresh from the lower districts: succulent duck, green beans, soufflés, fruits, crudité, and caviar. Enough of it to feed half of the Seam for a day had been the explanation given by their father. And the champagne—though still underage, his father couldn’t help but believe his daughter approached adulthood, just two years shy from her last reaping. And to hell if he would let her be reaped without tasting champagne.[/color] There would be nothing plebian about an Ottrel affair. Best of which had been their father’s procurement of one of the most talented piano players in the district.
Absalom would have nothing to do with the crowds. They itched as his skin. They made him tumbled over his words. Worst of all they brought about the stern talking to—or talking over—by his mother and father. He was better a shadow than to cast one; he could nod and bow with the best of them. He could even put a palm up and dance in the fashion of the time. For all of the unkindness in the air, however, he couldn’t shy away from the happiness over his sister’s party. She was growing older, turning into something different that even Absalom could recognize. Pretty,[/color] he told her of her shimmering blue and orange dress that ran up and down her body like fire. He stood in her doorway as she readied herself, face suddenly shocked as though a bride had seen her groom. But it was only Absalom. And her face changed from a grimace to a grin. A galloped hug faced by a kiss on the cheek, Sarkine could love her brother then, if just for the moment in which he found her beautiful. There wasn’t more than a moment shared between the two that evening, she too busy with the world to guide him by hand around the party.
He had the benefit of her as an interpreter. She would read between lines and interject at questions that turned his head sideways. They had their own language, not of words but of feeling, that had led Absalom this far. But on a night that was just for her—she forgot about the need for translation. There was no Absalom, no help, no desire for anything but herself. And for a moment, the hallway now empty save for the hulking form of Absalom, he felt a twinge of sadness. Was this the future, her disappearing into the party, galloping off like the rest of them, him clouded by dust? But it was her party. [/color]It was a place for the world to recognize his sister, and not the lump of Absalom.
He stood on the patio, out through a set of French doors that led into a garden. The party was in full swing. He could hear the resplendent chords of music cry throughout the air. It made him shiver; it made him stop in his place to listen. Stolen away under stars, Absalom thought the night was—his words—very pretty.[/color] He should have been happier for his sister, now closer to escaping the reaping. And while she would undoubtedly make a good tribute, he loved the idea of the both of them escaping the clutches of the capital. He could live with her forever (as though some sort of fairytale[/color]) and they’d never have to worry about a bloody death after all. A few voices chattered in the distance, and Absalom drifted back into the world. The music had stopped, but he’d wanted more. He pressed long the edge of patio, toward a window of the conservatory. He pressed his face to the glass, peering toward the space with the piano. If he could find a way to make such beautiful music—such talent as to make his mind drift—he’d be happy.
“Hello?” He whispered through the glass to a nearly empty room. [/justify][/blockquote][/size]