Like trying to save an ice cube from the cold

Harlowe D'Angelo · 01-10-2011, 07:18 AM

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Word Count → 459 :: 8D

He should have known better. The pale-shaded man should have stayed out later or something -- now his tail ached and Scorpius was there, rapid-firing questions into an utterly stone-faced Harlowe, who peered down at Scorpius with a strange and seething rage brewing behind his olive-shaded eyes. This shadow-furred thing was the embodiment of all that was wrong with his life at the moment. There was something broken in Harlowe, and the chocolate-tipped boy knew it was the fault of this tiny thing. When Naniko had brought him in the world, she had given up part of her love for Harlowe. If she had not relinquished that little bit, maybe she would have had enough to love him when all his sins were laid out neatly before her.

Harlowe knew, he knew without so much as an inkling of doubt, that his mother would learn of Rio someday. She would learn of that other woman, half-black and half-white, and how he had desired her so upon thinking the stranger was Naniko herself. She'd learn how angry he became when he discovered the stranger was not, in fact, his beloved mother but an impostor of half-charcoaled fur. She would see these things in him -- he would not be able to keep them from her forever. And even knowing this innately, he stared at Scorpius, thinking this child was the answer to his problems. It was only logical that if Scorpius was not there there would be more time, more love, more Naniko for Harlowe to have. His shallow, sharp chest rose steadily now, his breathing calmed, and he started after Scorpius, an almost mechanical clunkiness to his movements.

“Come with me and we'll eat by the fire,” he said, awkward as ever in his speech. There was no automatic charm for Harlowe to turn on upon wishing to direct someone to his will. It would be by sheer luck alone he could ever manage to trick or manipulate; it was simply not a part of his social graces to be able to sweet-talk one even so simple-minded as a child. His intelligence might have been worlds beyond Scorpius, but the sad truth was, the younger of the pair likely could have easily outsmarted or even stumped Harlowe in any area which required actual social skill. Harlowe possessed none. He walked down and through the caves, passing by the artifacts and other decor beginning to cling to the walls, his olive-shaded eyes seeking the flickering orange that signified their nearness to fire. He did not know these caves well enough to navigate them naturally; he relied on landmarks and other clues to direct him. His pace quickened as they drew nearer, trying to draw Scorpius into running ahead of him.

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