Chores Need Doing

[p] - John

POSTED: Tue Jun 30, 2020 5:38 pm

OOC: Gaucho prep thread


Remy started as uncle John barked his name.

”Sorry.” Remy said vacantly, his eyes looking back they way they’d come, and the youth doing his best to remember anything about the journey.

The pair were near John’s house. His uncle had told Remy he needed his help for something, but what it was Remy couldn’t quite remember.

Luciana was gone. The three words had dropped a block of ice into his stomach, which had spread tendrils into his brain, numbing everything. Remy had lost track of the days, sleeping in spurts and eating when he had to. He’d done his best to remain unaffected around his parents, supporting them and doing whatever they needed of him, but it had been hard. The house felt, different, and all his chores seemed unimportant or pointless.

Uncle John’s appearance at the house had been a surprise, and he’d insisted that he needed Remy’s help. Remy, not being a social raconteur, had done his best to protest and turn away his uncle, but the older male had been insistent, wither ever losing his good humour. Finally Remy had the choice of telling his uncle to go away, or accompanying him, and the youth quailed at the thought of driving a family member away right then.

He should be helping to search for Luciana, but instructions had been firm and repeated, he had to stay within the territory. He was a grownup right? He could do what he wanted? So why was he standing in front of his uncle’s house?

”Uncle John, listen I-“ he tried, his attempted smiled away by John as the other kept talking and moved to where he kept his own mount. Remy closed his mouth, took another glance in the direction he’d come, but followed John into the gloom. It smelt of leather, of hay and the fragrance that was so quintessentially horse. The fragrances were familiar, and it made Remy blink, as though fluttering on the edge of consciousness.

”I ain’ sure I can do this right now uncle John, I don’ know how much good I am t’ y’.”

Even as he spoke, he saw the muddy piece of cloth and broken basket. Seeing Santiago so devastated had been an additional shock. His parents weren’t supposed to act like that, they were strong, there was nothing they couldn’t fix. What was happening to the world? Where was his sister?

Remy felt his uncles grip around his wrist and his own fingers being curled around a brush. Remy was gently, but insistently tugged forwards, the brush being placed against the mount. Almost instinctively, Remy began to brush, the memory of it ingrained.

WC: 443
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