a father's love never fades

<3 my bbs

POSTED: Tue Jan 08, 2019 10:27 pm

The sky was still dark when he opened his eyes, suddenly and with a jolt that dislodged the woman beside him. Atalanta stirred and opened her soft blue eyes only to close them again when she realized nothing was amiss. She turned, murmuring something along the lines of, 'it's too early,' or 'go back to sleep,' and removed her arm from his chest to cradle her head. Alistair settled onto his back and forced his eyes to close. He shifted a little and furrowed his brow then laid his head to the side, peeking up at the still dark sky. Sighing he shifted again and laid it on the other side and fell back into a light sleep, shifting at every sound, tossing and turning.

Waking a couple hours later he squinted his eyes open and spied the first blush of dawn. Wasting no time the tawny wolfdog sat up, stretched, and found his feet. Ata, too roused herself, bleary-eyed but awake.

The air was thick but cold with clouds rolling in. Slowly, the world around them began to wake. Atalanta started a fire while Alistair took a bucket and went to fetch water. When he returned a while later the bucket was full and his pelt was a little damp, but pristine. His hair was clean and artfully tousled, his silver temples sleek and gleaming. Were his hair a little longer he might attempt to hide the graying streaks, but Ata insisted he looked "distinguished." She was graying too, and he adored hers the same way. He understood. Not that they were old or anything...

Atalanta suggested they cook the remaining fish for Guinevere and Tristan and Alistair- fussing over the positioning of bed rolls and blankets- agreed. He worked on the logs next, pushing them closer to the fire- unless that was too hot- then he moved them back, but not too far. It was cold, he had to make sure they were warm, but not too warm. Everything had to be perfect.

Noticing his distress, the tension in his athletic body and disquiet of his thoughts Atalanta took one of his hands. While she'd been teasing him about the placement of the blankets and cleanliness of his fur- 'you missed a spot.' She reassured him now with soothing words. Her voice was like honey, a balm for his uncertainty and he relaxed. A little. Then she reached up and tucked a stray hair back into place. He sighed and looked her in the eye, I love you. It felt good to say that, and hear the words in return.

He stopped his fussing and sat down. Atalanta sat beside him, hand still within his, and took up her bow in the other. She checked the string while Alistair kept his eyes on the horizon looking for a spot of grey or soft russet as a gentle snow began to fall.


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ooc: Present-day
Alistair Callow

User avatar
Stormie
Luperci SoSuWriMo 2013 Champ! have you ever licked a lamppost in winter...?
I am the Sword
the Light
and the Shield

POSTED: Sat Jan 12, 2019 4:39 pm

OOC - <3 684 words

Like the man who made him, Tristan also awoke far too early. He'd startled out of bed, distressed by a nightmare. He couldn't remember what it was about. Losing his mother, losing Vinatta, Harmonia, the poison, they all mingled into one big horror now. The nightmare was lost like a cloud of smoke in the wind the moment Tristan woke up, which meant for once he wasn't left in a state of fear and panic. The man sucked in hungry breaths of cold air, his hazel eye looking around the dark interior of the hut for any sign of danger before settling back down. He didn't sleep, didn't want to risk another nightmare and the chance of a fit, so instead Tristan thought of the day ahead.

Luca had found him and Guinevere to tell them the news. Their father was in the area. The moment he took that information in, Tristan's head felt heavy with emotions that for once didn't stem from his broken mind. He felt joy, shock, longing, happiness and dread all at once. No doubt Guin also felt some combination of emotions when she heard the news. Any family was good surely, and the pair had been without their father for far too long. But then, gods, Tristan realised he couldn't even remember the last time he'd seen Alistair. He and the other Callow man had always had a few strains, but there was no doubt that Tristan loved his father. For a time he'd blamed the man for pushing their mother away, breaking the family up, but about a year later Tristan himself had done just the same. He'd abandoned all of them to go be a hero and it had done nothing but ruin things further.

Tristan wondered if their father would be ashamed of what Tristan had done. He'd left both Guinevere and Izrian behind to go find his mother, only to fail and never come back. The man had paced, wondering what Alistair would think when Tristan told him that Lola was gone, kidnapped and taken far away from them. Would the man even care? He and Lola were something of the past, the only things left to prove they were once a unit were the siblings, so maybe he wouldn't be phased by the loss. That had angered Tristan for a short while before he buried the thought under his layers of anxiety, and decided he'd stop thinking what might happen until it actually happened.

That idea hadn't lasted long, and the worries dug deep into Tristan's mind at every possible moment.

He and Guinevere decided on a day to go and visit, and today was that day. Waiting for sunlight to finally filter in, Tristan rolled himself off his bed and got changed. He'd made an effort, although admittedly cleaning his clothes and cutting his unruly hair short had been mostly done to keep his mind occupied, and Tristan hoped it would make his skinny and scarred body seem less obvious. There was no way to hide the missing eye though, so Tristan just accepted that it would be addressed at some stage.

With his preparation done, Tristan put on a grin as he went to meet Guinevere by the borders. His eye shone with the anxiety that hid behind his smile and the man was sure his sister was aware of his fears. Even so they both moved off towards the camp, directions relayed to them by the Lune. Snow began to fall around them, tapping the siblings with soft, cold touches, and Tristan could feel the tremors in his hands worsen as they moved. He focused ahead, searching for signs of a camp whilst reminding himself over and over that this was to be happy reunion, not a terrifying one.

One hazel eye spotted the camp the same moment Guin's ghost green ones did. A small fire burned bright around two individuals. One was unknown to Tristan, but there was no mistaking the other.
Avatar by Gen <3

POSTED: Sat Jan 12, 2019 7:47 pm

If you could see me now,
Would you be proud?

WC 856 :: OOC *rapid squeeing noises* <3 Also, Guin's corset/pauldron armor, cloth and leather reinforced pants, and leather bracers.

At first, as soon as Luca had passed on the news, Guinevere wanted nothing more than to take Cecil out of the stables, grab her brother, and ride out to find that secluded camp immediately. That only lasted for as long as it took for the Lune to take his leave, and then her elated exitement drained away to make room for an anger she hadn't felt in moons.

Guin spent the remainder of the evening pacing her shop - his old shop - torn between joy and resentment. Honrin had been home when she'd stormed inside, and he'd only watched in patience fascination until she'd finally confided in him why she'd become so incensed, only because she trusted her lover explicitly to keep the whereabouts of her sire to himself, and not spread it amongst the pack. If she'd been forced to keep it to herself, she wasn't sure if some of her projects would have survived the onslaught of her ire.

He'd soothed the anger away for her, not with honeyed words but with logic, facts: she only lashed out with anger because she'd been so hurt, and still retained some of that hurt. And damn, but he was right, even if she didn't like admitting to carrying the pain within her after so long had passed. He advised her to go, to see her father, and find out how she truly felt about him being (temporarily) back.

So she'd made plans with Tristan on a day to go. Suddenly, the night before, it hit her just what was about to happen, and the nervousness set in low in her belly. What should she wear? Should she bring her weapons? A horse? Would wearing her necklaces be appropriate?

It was late into the night when she made her decisions, as back and forth as they might have been at the time, before she finally retired to her bed. Her dreams were fraught with different scenarios, fears she would not acknowledge in her waking hours. Guin barely remembered them when she rose before dawn to prepare.

Corset, pants, bracers, both weapon belts crisscrossed over her hips, wine tresses braided over one shoulder, all three precious necklaces adorning her neck, and fox mantled cloak of the Brotherhood weighing on her shoulders, Guin was ready to head out and face her father. She took heart in the fact she would not be alone, but with Tristan once again at her side, thank Fenris.

In a leather bag she packed a skin full of Honrin's moonshine, a hunk of wood, and a couple carving tools, just in case she ended up staying long enough to need self entertainment.

Like this, with the bag clutched in one hand, the Blade's Master left the shop on her journey to meet Tristan at the border of Casa. When they crossed paths, Guinevere could tell by a quick glance into his eye that he felt as nervous as she, if not more so. They turned to walk together, a silence between them that only siblings would be able to understand. Words didn't need to be communicated to let the other know how they felt.

During their trek snow began to fall in gentle tufts, alighting on the shoulders of her cloak and dusting the mane of red down her neck. It was tranquil, though neither of the siblings could probably feel it, too wound up from other emotions to notice.

Guin side glanced her brother, momentarily concerned if all this might be too much for him. She'd never think of him as incapable, but he was still too lean for her liking, and she'd noticed the tremors that took over his hands when he least wanted them to.

Surreptitiously, the Sworn reached out her free hand to grasp his, giving it a supportive squeeze, just as they crested a rise, and both of their respective orbs were drawn to an orangish glow cast off by a fire.

Ghost greens, echoes of her mother's, were immediately brought to rest on an achingly familiar face, one that stole into her heart and clenched it so tight, her eyes felt hot.

All breath escaped her in a single rush. Da, it came out a whisper, hardly believing.

Sincerely,
Guinevere Callow-Knight
Casa di Cavalieri
Sworn (NPC)
User avatar
Amoris
Luperci Carpenter Mate to Honrin The Brotherhood: Master of Bladed Weapons

POSTED: Wed Jan 16, 2019 6:33 pm

Alistair's calm did not last forever. Despite Atalanta's steady presence and the serene glow of the fire, the graying knight stood up...and promptly sat back down. He opened his mouth as if to say something, thought better of it, and got up- for real this time.

He paced once then crossed to his white-furred cloak where it hung from a branch. Inspecting it once for dirt he threw it over his shoulders and returned to his seat beside Atalanta. Her soft blue eyes peered up at him impishly.

"How very regal." She teased.

"What, this old thing?" He grinned back, throwing it across his arm to model it for her. She chuckled girlishly back and swatted his chest. Shaking her head, she averted her eyes and spotted two silhouettes on the horizon.

"Alistair."

"Hm?" He hummed, still smiling. And then he lifted his head and saw his children for the first time in years.

He stood up immediately, Ata did the same- she murmured something about going for a run but he didn't answer. He stood there, staring with hazel eyes. Another of the same hue looked back at him; why was there only one? And Guinevere's- just like her mother's- she was the first to speak. Of course she would be. It was only through her confidence he found his own voice.

"Hey, kiddos." His mouth felt suddenly dry and his fingers twitched, then beckoned slowly. His arms opened in a wordless, "come here." He wasn't sure they would, or if he even deserved it, but they were here. They'd come.
Alistair Callow

User avatar
Stormie
Luperci SoSuWriMo 2013 Champ! have you ever licked a lamppost in winter...?
I am the Sword
the Light
and the Shield

POSTED: Tue Jan 22, 2019 7:04 pm

OOC: 312 words

Watching his father spring up to life just at a glance would have made Tristan laugh before. Now, he just wanted to question how real this was. The boy who dreamed and laughed was hardened now, and reality had taught him so much about being sceptical. Tristan's hopes had been crushed before, multiple times, and for a split second as he looked towards the gold and brown figure of his father he questioned how real this all was.

Not long ago Tristan had nothing. He'd lost a family who'd saved him, a pack who'd embraced him, and a mother who'd loved him. Finding Guin had been so much of a blessing that Tristan didn't think he deserved another and yet, somehow whatever spirits watched from up in the skies remained in a giving mood. He couldn't understand why though, what compelled the world to suddenly be kind to him, the questioning in his mind threatened to overwhelm Tristan if not for the warmth of his sister's hand slipping into his. It was as if she held the key to his breath, the moment of support was enough to bring the man's shakes to a stop, and his mind to calm. Gods, he was so glad he still had Guin.

She muttered a single word, and their father spoke as well in the distance. Well-trained ears picked up the man's words, but his gesture gave it away. Tristan could scoff at the invitation, but he sealed his noises away and instead silently pressed on, moving with a hand still locked in Guin's. Tristan stopped when they reached the little camp, and he looked his father down with a hazel eye, before coughing into the silence. "Since when did you get so old?" Tristan asked, with a small smile on his lips.
Avatar by Gen <3

POSTED: Tue Jan 22, 2019 7:51 pm

If you could see me now,
Would you be proud?

WC 509 :: OOC here

It took only seconds for the tawny golden figure to notice there presence. Of the interlude before the siblings pressed on, Ghost greens shifted from father to the other woman, who'd discreetly melted away from the camp in what could have been a polite attempt to give the reunited family some privacy. She'd recognized them, vaguely; their identity tickled the back of her mind, but she didn't have time to think about it before Alistair spoke, and her gaze shot back onto him immediately.

His arms were opened, and the small part of her which remained daddy's little girl ached to leap into them and crush him to her chest, clutching with an adult strength she hadn't had when he'd left, and beg for him to never leave her, them, ever again.

Tristan's cool approach, however, brought her head out of such thoughts, and she stayed at his side, still hand in hand, while the siblings came closer. At the edge of the camp, mere feet from her father, they both stopped, and Guin could find no words to squeeze past the knot in her throat. She could only stare at Alistair in an outwardly impassive expression, looking him up and down and marveling at how much older he appeared since the last time she'd seen him.

Her brother, of course, commented as such, and this is what allowed a smile to finally break through the invisible ice that'd frozen her face. Well, less of a smile and more of a snort, accompanied by a roll of her eyes which she then leveled at Tristan.

Really? That's the first thing that comes to mind in a time like this? she teased him warmly, though secretly she squeezed his hand in silent gratitude for having the courage to be the first in breaking the silence.

Looking back at her father, she eyed his still spread arms and, with a discreet bite of her lip, and a last squeeze of Tristan's hand before reluctantly letting it go, the Blade's Master closed the remaining little distance between them with, she hoped, a confident stride.

Her gaze didn't waver from his face until she could almost reach out and touch him, where she hesitated for the briefest of moments before dropping her leather bag and taking the final step to slide her arms around his waist beneath the white furred cloak he wore.

It hurt to breathe in his scent again, though it also felt just as relieving to finally embrace him and know he was okay. Her eyes felt hot, and she could sense them watering a little, but she disrupted whatever emotional tears wanted to fall by blinking rapidly. Whether Alistair noticed or not from where she'd tucked her head didn't come to mind at the moment.

He's right though, she told her father in a steady voice, slightly muffled into his shoulder. Maybe she had a slight hint of a smile in her tone.

Sincerely,
Guinevere Callow-Knight
Casa di Cavalieri
Sworn (NPC)
User avatar
Amoris
Luperci Carpenter Mate to Honrin The Brotherhood: Master of Bladed Weapons

POSTED: Wed Jan 23, 2019 3:43 pm

ooc: Tristan is so much like his dad, I can't even. <3
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There was a pregnant pause as father, son, and daughter regarded one another. Time scarcely moved and the seconds dragged on while his arms remained open- coaxing and warm, then doubtful and strained. His heart with its share of scars began to sink as the lump in his throat rose. He lowered his arms. Maybe it was too much to hope for...

Maybe...

Then Tristan spoke, holding tight to his sister's hand in a rough voice that didn't suit him. It was the voice of a troubled man, a hollow man.
In a way it was like looking in a mirror, or a window from the past. "What happened, son?" Alistair wanted so desperately to ask, "what's wrong with your eye?" Instead, his brows furrowed, his eyes warmed, and he beckoned again.

"Back at you." The father said, with his classic Alistair grin. Though he tried not to be offended-- it was only a little gray-- he couldn't quite quell the blow to his vanity. Nor could he reconcile the distance between them. Time, he thought, they needed time.

Guinevere teased her brother and then their eyes met. They were so like her mother's...His son and daughter were just like him, but at two distinctly different times in his life. It both warmed and broke his heart. Until his daughter-- beautiful and powerful in her leather armor-- embraced him at last.

His arms wrapped around her and squeezed tight. He didn't want to let go, he never wanted to let go. "Not you, too." He chuckled quietly, forcing the words through a tight throat. He squeezed his eyes shut as he struggled to keep his composure. A gentle heat budded on the fur of his shoulder which went unnoticed as he breathed her in, burying his head in her russet pelt. Alistair couldn't believe his luck to be holding his daughter again, his son...

"Tristan." the veteran knight looked up and lifted a hand from Guinevere, once again- beckoning. His eyes burned and he swallowed, "son?"
Alistair Callow

User avatar
Stormie
Luperci SoSuWriMo 2013 Champ! have you ever licked a lamppost in winter...?
I am the Sword
the Light
and the Shield

POSTED: Tue Jan 29, 2019 3:38 pm

OOC: The Callow boys T_T - 479 words


There was a croak to Tristan's voice that hadn't been there the last time he and his father spoke, and by the glance of the other Callow's eye, he'd noticed it. With a cheeky smile pressed against his face, Tristan pretended not to care. When his father retorted, Tristan let himself chuckle freely, a hand coming up to brush back his scruffy hair. They might be lifetimes apart in age but the two men sported the same looking hair. Although the white speckles in Alistair's mop were purely age, Tristan's were from something much more unsavoury. The man blinked those memories away, instead looking to Guin with a warm gaze as she relented and moved in for a hug.

He could see some of the tension leave her like steam, and for a moment it felt like Tristan was looking at his sister from years before. The young Princess that she was, dedicated to working hard and seeing this man who made them as an idol. Her whole family had left her not long after that, and Tristan was thankful to whatever spirits watched from above that Guinevere didn't crumble from the loss, but rise above it. He had to wonder, as Alistair embraced his daughter with a tight throat and shimmering eyes, if the man knew how far Guin had come. The purple gem around her neck, or the fox fur around her shoulders. Did their long lost father know just how proud he should be of his little girl?

Tristan was proud. The moment he'd noticed that necklace he'd broken down in joy. Guinevere was the shining light that put a good name to their small family. Amongst a lost mother, a fading father and a failure of a brother, at least Guin shone through as a knight of honour and virtue. The man swallowed with difficulty, thinking of how little he glowed in comparison to his sister's achievements, only to be broken from thought by a small voice and an offer.

An extended hand and an offered embrace. Tristan hesitated. His clothes hid his bony form well, but they wouldn't stop his father from feeling them in a hug. But to refuse would be far out of his character, Tristan, the man who would lunge at people just for the opportunity to embrace them. So, holding back his nerves, Tristan moved forwards, his neck following in parallel to his father's open arm until he was tucked loosely in the hug.

He broke out quickly enough, giving only enough time to feel a few of his father's breaths against his fur before wriggling out, looking anywhere else to distract him from unwelcome thoughts. Tristan's eye looked down to the camp. "So alright spill it old man, how have you been?" The Callow asked.
Avatar by Gen <3

POSTED: Sat Feb 09, 2019 6:48 pm

If you could see me now,
Would you be proud?

WC 509 :: OOC here

He squeezed, seemingly tighter and tighter, as though her form were smoke and he afraid of her escaping his embrace. It wasn't enough. Guin squeezed back for all her worth, tight about his waist, and her head stayed buried against his shoulder to hide the way her eyes went hot and dewy in emotion.

One arm released her, and momentarily she wanted to protest the loss until Alistair spoke and she realized he was bidding Tristan to come close. All at once it was like his hold didn't exist, her entire being refocused itself on her brother, who still stood some paces apart, and she knew why. It was hard to hide malnourishment, even under a cloak, if that cloak was proven ineffective by the brace of physical contact.

She could see the wheels in Tristan's head turning, debating a refusal, but in the end he gave in and shuffled closer, sliding into the hug with an on guard stiffness to him that she could only see because she looked for it. For a moment, their noses almost touched from they way their heads had tucked into the embrace. She could still faintly smell the sickness on his breath, and she was made hyper aware of the man enfolding them.

Guin's brother tactfully wriggled out after a few seconds, putting distance between father and son, and she could feel how uncomfortable he was, his gaze going anywhere but on them, and immediately she moved to compensate so he could have a moment.

The Blade's Master slid sideways out of the hug, grasping Alistair's hand as she went to tug on it gently so he'd be prompted to turn his back as she began heading closer to the fire. She didn't spare her brother a glance like she wanted to, wary of catching their father's attention to her ruse. minor as it was. Perhaps the whole motion would draw attention to the amethyst flourite at her throat, or the fox mantle of her purple cloak which swirled at the hem with each movement she took.

Guinevere had planned on punching Alistair after finishing the hug, on the chest or arm, with a short quip of 'That's for leaving,' before moving on to other conversation. Her brother took all precedence, however. She'd have time for her snarky comment later into the evening.

Let's go settle by the fire, get more comfortable for catching up? she suggested smoothly, smiling at her father.

Sincerely,
Guinevere Callow-Knight
Casa di Cavalieri
Sworn (NPC)
User avatar
Amoris
Luperci Carpenter Mate to Honrin The Brotherhood: Master of Bladed Weapons

Canon