Loss is but a {Word} | Tobias x Kronos
Jun 16, 2014 22:06:48 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Jun 16, 2014 22:06:48 GMT -5
K R O N O S P I N E At one point or another, his mind had taken it upon itself to create a never ending argument as to whether or not it was a good thing Ares had been killed so quickly. Of course, for people like Arianna, who did not stand firm on the line of neutrality he had drawn up with shaky fingers and bitten-through fingernails, it would have probably been a good thing. Because, of course, no one wants to see a person whom they love dearly die painfully and slowly and, as he assumed, Arianna was no different. Even his own brother, the socially outcasted Phyneas Pine (who apparently he shared blood with, although somewhere deep down he never trusted that fact), who's view of Ares slowly went from neutrality to an inferior admiration as time flew by (and fly by it did- for he had kept track of it all that time), the death of Ares, with a blood-stained pole sword and a touch of disturbing precision sent ripples through him. And then there was him, Kronos Pine, neutrality expert and clock worker. The connections between him and Ares were there, had always been there. The strong facial structure, the height, the build, everything that had been glued to the outside of his body could be drawn to him being related to Ares in some way. But what disturbed the natural born bond between brothers was what one found when they looked at just what Kronos thought of his own brother, a person with whom he shared blood. Whereas Arianna and Phyneas saw brotherly admiration, brotherly love, even, and as they cringed at his death and put heads to their knees and summoned tears out of their eyes, he had not. There was nothing that had happened to him that could deeply affect him on an emotional level. There had been no anguish, no deep, twisted, horrifying feeling of loss, as if a piece of his heart, himself had been torn loose from his body and tossed to the side. No, rather, it was as if he had lost a training partner, one who could wield a sword just like he could and one who could throw a knife just as good as him. He had lost the bets, the competitions that had built up between them, and through his eyes he had not lost a brother (no- such pitiful things like that could be left to Arianna), but he had lost a rival, someone to compete with, not someone to love. And so, as Ares' body was lowered beneath the ground and tear-infused dirt was hastily thrown over the District Two male's coffin, Kronos had taken the time to truly decide whether the death of his former rival had really been a bad thing or a good thing. His mind wrestled for a bit, like that. All through the hour and thirty-two minute procession (the time is true, as he counted with a stopwatch), both sides of the argument performing tumbles and flips just to prove to him that they were the correct choice. And, as family members turned with tear stained faces and put their arms around each other's shoulders (no one put theirs around his, partly because he was far taller than most of them, and partly because he would not let them), he finally made his choice, a drawn out decision. In the end, the quick death of Ares had proved itself to be a bad thing. Not because of the gore that had resulted from it, or the apparently entertaining twitches of Ares' body after he collapsed, but because he really, really would have liked if Ares' last words were one last issued bet between the two. Oh, the joy he would have felt at being issued just one last bet from his brother, through gargled words and a bloody voice. Perhaps, in some odd way he would have felt something for the family member who had so long ago established himself as a training partner, a certain sense of happiness, joy that his rival's last words had been issued directly to him and him only. But alas, his imagination served it's purpose, and instead of saying last goodbyes he found himself thinking of all the bets that could have been made in those last few moments before Ares choked to death on his own blood, perhaps one on how long the other could make it through the Games for, measured in increments of minutes and hours (he could be the judge, he would have been such a good judge). But no, instead Ares had chosen nothing of the sort, no shout out to the person who had spent time trying to beat him in something (so many hours, arguably wasted). But instead the eighteen year old male had chosen to keep his mouth sewed shut with bloody thread. And yes, perhaps as they all shuffled out of the funeral procession and back to his own home, he had been a bit angry at his sparring partner for not considering him in his last moments. After all, if it had not been for him Ares would have never gotten to be as strong as he had been, right? It was his own selfishness coming into play, one that did not become awakened very often, and when it did it brought forth all the disturbingly weird wants that he had. A last bet, one final challenge, that's all he wanted. The amount of bodies that crammed into his household disturbed him, and as his eyes twitched with annoyance every time one would bump into him, blank blue stare raining down on them, the digits that were his fingers would tighten ever so slightly around the watch he had pulled out of his pocket, thumb running itself along the buttons on the plastic thing. Even at a young age he had never seen the point of meeting at someone's household after a funeral, and what plagued him with an even worse confusion was the fact that these people were smiling. It did not make him angry like Ares' unspoken last words had, no, but instead it just made him hopelessly and utterly confused. After all, merely minutes ago these people had let tears fall off their cheeks, let their heads bow down as they watched a member of their family lowered into the ground, hopefully never to be unearthed again. And now, with alcohol in hand and small food snacks in stomach they laughed and shared all the good times they had had with Ares, even though they were few and far in between. A part of him, just like always yearns to slink into his bedroom, back to the clock filled makeshift factory he had made through years of collecting the broken things. And, although he went unnoticed in this crowd, a quiet attitude and weird personality serving as a way to push people away from him, a part of him yearns for them to leave, to all be gone. Because, of course, he could never focus on rebuilding a clock with this much noise in his household. His eyes look for nothing in particular, as they always do. And the same emptiness that burrows itself into his stare is still there. However, as they sweep across the crowd of family and few friends, they eventually rest on a boy who has made the couch his own personal sitting space. He is tall, just like him, and his face and body type is similar to his rival's, and as he makes his way over to the boy he deduces that this person must be related to him in some way. When he finally pushes through a sea of half-sad and far too happy family, the amount of personal space that is left for the boy he is greeting is nearly non-existent, and it is only made smaller as Kronos leans perhaps too close to the boy, blue eyes giving a meaningless stare before his mouth parts and words spill out. "I'm sorry for your loss" He says simply, before taking a seat next to the boy and fiddling with the stopwatch that is in his hand. Because after all, it is his loss. Kronos could live with Ares being gone, but others perhaps couldn't. template by chelsey |
