Return to your roots.

Pripyat Soul · 04-07-2011, 06:58 PM

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Assume whatever date works best for you Lin!

He couldn’t stay away forever.

Pripyat Soul’s four legs carried him with purpose back towards his home, the only home he knew or cared for. Yet for nearly the past month he had absent, lingering outside the borders maybe, but never bringing himself to come inside. After the pack meeting he had watched his father slowly heal, his mother slowly fall apart and the rest of the pack try to rebuild. Ocean eyes had watched this all, but if ever they were to turn to him the boy would turn away, divert his eyes to the sky and pretend that none of it was really happening. Pretending could last only so long, and the only other option that made any sense to him at all was to run away from it. And so he had. And away the silver boy had stayed, for probably far too long.

Hesitant steps brought him up to the church that his father stayed in and he entered it, unannounced. Whether this too was his home or not he was unsure of. Geneva had made the move with Jefferson, but increasingly after the storm Pripyat had spent more and more nights away from them. Until he had ceased to come back at all. And now he was uncertain if the two of them would welcome him in with open arms (arm) or hold against him his recent absence. Their feelings seemed not to matter just them as neither were home and Pripyat wandered the building by himself.

Idly he touched the walls, felt his footsteps heavy on the wooden floor and breathed in the silence and emptiness that seemed to bounce from every solid surface in the chapel. As he moved around he tried to take in every detail, and was disappointed in finding few. Geneva’s scent was faint and fading, and Pripyat could not explain this, whereas Jefferson’s was stronger but also seemed as if this was no longer his centralized location. Frustrated the boy flung the doors open to the outside and stepped out, making it only as far as a few feet from the front door before he sank down into himself, knees and hands against the cool dirt of the earth.

Jefferson Soul · 04-19-2011, 04:50 PM

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Sorry it took so long for me to get to this!

What he had been experiencing far surpassed taxing; stress, anger and frustration built up on his shoulders like weights. His health had plummeted some, unbeknownst to any others, for Jefferson was not one to expose his shortcomings or statuses when they shifted from the norm. He would not have others worry for him, not when his own concern lay in everything but himself: Geneva's health had made for a steady decline, while Dawali's had remained the same in his slow process of healing. Pripyat had been a ghost for a son since the accident, surely plagued with a guilt that could not be dispersed without his father's permission, but such permissions were difficult to come by when the boy made himself scarce. Jefferson balanced AniWaya and Phoenix Valley now in his only hand, his duties doubled since Tala had begun shrinking away. He feared the worst, that the responsibility would drive her away, but the brute never seemed to be able to catch her to discuss it.

Two packs and all he loved remained in his hand, in his grasp, and yet it all flowed through his fingers like water. A grip on it all was impossible, and yet still he worked to sustain the world around him. When had so much depended on an idiot like he? Jefferson had never forseen such dependence, such ultimate responsibility when he collapsed on Valley borders so many years ago simply wishing to fill his stomach. He had never seen himself caring for the pack leader and taking her place, nor ruling alone and with actual capability. He had never seen himself falling in love or even coming to understand it. He had never seen himself as a father.

And as he moved through the villa, feet dragging and shoulders hanging in exhaustion, such thoughts still plagued him. Even the bags beneath his eyes or the illness in his stomach could fend off his worries and responsibilities. When would it end?

As he drew near to the church, hoping Geneva lurked within, his weary, one-eyed gaze fell on the gray boy he called his son, at his knees before the great steps. "Pripyat," he said, no immediacy in his tone; exhaustion dampened all other emotions, though honest curiosity and worry did blossom silently within his chest. He breathed a moment, thoughts drawing focus, addressing the situation at hand. Tattered ears flicked back, and slowly the scarred man approached. "It's not your fault, Pripyat." Flat. Tired.

Pripyat Soul · 04-22-2011, 04:03 PM

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Tis okay. Prip is such a butt lately XD Jefferson needs to smack him!

His head, which felt heavier than he remembered it being ever in his life, jerk up. It had been bowed down low, chin resting on his chest and his eyes squeezed tight as he fingered the earth beneath him. Yet he could not continue in this state and found himself embarrassed even to be caught at such a moment, lowered down upon his knees as if he was praying to some god or another, beings he didn’t know or care if they existed. Even if they did, they couldn’t undo everything that had gone wrong, and it surely felt like everything had gone wrong. Brilliantly blue eyes rested upon his father, and at the mere sight of the missing arm Pripyat had to struggle with himself not to vomit.

The anxiety and fear and everything else he could vaguely remember feeling that day came rushing back to him. Aided by an unhealthy amount of guilt, these emotions tore loose through his entire being, draining him of what little motivation and will power he could muster now and then. It seemed to always whenever he was around his father and so, especially lately, his solution had simply just been to not be around his father. This would only work for so long, unless he fled Phoenix Valley all together and as cowardly and useless as he felt then, even that idea was too daunting for him. This was his home, for better or for worse, and this was his family, or the pieces of what they were once.

“Dad.” The boy swallowed hard, hoping for any words except the ones Jefferson spoke next, and although he knew the man did not mean them as such, they felt like a sucker punch to the younger one’s stomach. He closed his eyes, as if doing so could will away the words, and he did not wish to disrespect or hurt his father any more than he believed he already had, but he couldn’t bear to acknowledge the lack of Jefferson’s arm. Instead, almost as flatly and in such a similar tone one could almost imagine it was the old man speaking in the young boy’s body, Pripyat Soul tried his best to dodge around the subject, hoping his father would agree to ignore it. “Where’s mom?”

Jefferson Soul · 05-08-2011, 10:14 PM

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HARGH I was on absence, sorry!

They needed to discuss it, discuss the accident and the events that had led up to it; Jefferson had moved to gather wood to keep he and his son warm, and the roof and suddenly collapsed on the two of them. It was not Pripyat's fault it had fallen, nor was it the boy's fault so much had collapsed on his father and trapped him beneath. The slice that had severed flesh and bone from body had been a deliberate one, a set decision: An arm for the life of his son. He did not regret it. He lived on without it, pretending as much as possible that nothing had ever happened in the first place.

But would Pripyat ever forgive himself for something that wasn't his fault? Jefferson did not know. The Patriarch would not allow his son to live in regret forever.

The question he posed, however, reigned more important. The father's stomach sunk at Pripyat's query, and Jefferson quickly looked away with narrowed eyes. He breathed, calming the storm in his gut, before inhaling deep and holding the air within. "She's gone," he said finally, green eye closing, his face a perfect expression of grave stoniness. "She was sick, and..." Should he say it? Pripyat was old enough. "She didn't want to die here, Pripyat. She's gone."

For a few moments he grew pained, then restored to a stolid indifference once more. He had to be strong... if not for Pripyat, then for the boy's mother that had left them behind.

Pripyat Soul · 05-11-2011, 11:51 AM

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Tis okay. Prip is such a butt lately XD Jefferson needs to smack him!

Whatever demons Pripyat fled from every time he avoided the subject of Jefferson's arm was nothing compared to the monsters of emotions that caught up to him just then. Gone? Sick? Die? The words made no sense at all, and this was evident by the disbelief plastered on the boy's face. For the first time in a long time he caught his father's eye dead on, or as much as Jefferson allowed. First it was just confusion, an overwhelming mess of confusion. So intense Pripyat for a moment forgot what they were doing here, why he had come in the first place. That subsided quickly, not because the situation made any more sense just then but because his confusion quickly seemed irrelevant when the fear and anger broke through his barrier, coated with a heavy dose of denial.

"Gone? What do you mean she is gone? Gone where? Gone why?" The questions came too quickly to be answered in succession. There were too many holes, too much he didn't understand and had every right to. Why hadn't they told him? Why hadn’t she told him? "When did she leave?" His voice rose, sharp with all the unpleasant feelings that flooded him just then. "Where's my mother?" And yet something in him hung back as he asked his first question again. Perhaps this time Jefferson would have a different answer. This time it would make sense. Geneva wasn't sick, she wasn't dying, she wasn't gone. None of that could be true, simply because Pripyat wanted for it so very badly not to be.

Jefferson Soul · 05-11-2011, 01:30 PM

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A barrage of heated, desperate questions met him, more emotions than the scarred male had seen in his son in far too long. The boy had his mother's nature, quiet and withdrawn for as long as it could take; he lashed out much like Geneva had in the face of Jefferson's stubbornness, and it was how she broke through his walls and taught him to feel more than anguish and regret. The cyclops preferred Pripyat to resemble Geneva more than he — the world, let alone the Valley, could not take another Jefferson Soul in their midst — but naturally, his mother's departure would consequently break his heart.

"I don't know, Pripyat!" he shouted in conclusion, splaying the boy's questions into a mess of things he would hardly remember to address. Green eye burning and pelt flaring, the scarred man turned a wicked, relentless gaze to his son. "You think I want her gone?! She was sick, she didn't want to die here. She was sick for a long time. There's nothing you and I can fucking do about it!"

He allowed the rage to subside then, emotions hollowed out once more into numbness. "I tried my best," he said, frame sagging. "My best wasn't good enough. I don't know where she's gone or if she's ... if she's even alive anymore."

Pripyat Soul · 05-13-2011, 03:40 PM

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Pripyat’s desperation broke the calm exterior, it seemed that if one hammered long enough and persistent enough they could break through any wall. The gruff gimp shouted with such strength that the boy was jolted into a quiet stare, looking up at the man with one eye. He felt four months old again, having lived the majority of his tiny life alongside Geneva, staring up at Jefferson then had been like staring up at a stranger. It seemed so now. And he felt tiny again, so tiny in comparison to his father, although their sizes were ever coming closer to one another.

The man spewed emotions and confessions the boy hadn’t expect, because if he expected anything it would have been Jefferson’s deflecting of Pripyat’s inquiries, or more likely answering them with a detached bitterness. No, this was better, although the boy didn’t know how to react. Partly it felt good to know his father hurt in very much the same ways he did. Partly it broke his heart to know that his father was pained even further. Whether to cling to the comfort this provided or the further anguish and guilt Pripyat could not decide, he wavered with both emotions stirring up his insides.

And then the man melted and Pripyat knew which emotion to cling onto. Guilt. That was ever the correct choice, though not one he made consciously. The stranger was again his father, and Pripyat no longer felt tiny but rather large. Like he could break the man before him, for Geneva had already put in fresh cracks when she left. How much more damage could one being bear? With a hesitant hand, as if physical contact with his own son might indeed be the last blow before the man crumpled, he reached out and touched his father’s shoulder. “I’m sorry Dad.” And it was so genuine that certainly Pripyat couldn’t be apologizing for less than everything.

Jefferson Soul · 05-17-2011, 02:06 PM

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He watched amidst his rage and frustration as Pripyat broke beneath the pressure, much unlike his mother for once. No, Jefferson knew that from experience: Geneva might have backed steps away in surprise at the cyclops' outrage, but only to progress even closer with her next words. Pripyat was his mother's child in his feelings and heart, but Jefferson had no doubt that at the boy's core lingered traces of his father, traces of a stubborn man who would stop at nothing. After all, it was not Geneva's emotional tendencies that made it unable for Pripyat to forgive himself for his mistakes — no, that was his sinner father's demeanor shining through in the gray-furred boy.

Once his father's rage subsided, however, Pripyat grew back to his usual size and confidence, though still shallow at best. With a certain daring Jefferson very rarely saw in him, the boy laid a hand on the man's scarred shoulder; ordinarily the Patriarch might have shrugged the touch away, but he instead turned a sympathetic and sorry gaze to his son and attempted a small smile at his lips.

"It's all right," he sighed, reaching his remaining arm over the boy's shoulders and for a rare, sympathetic moment, hugged him close. Once releasing him, the father brushed away and out of his reach, looking out into the villa as if the olive-eyed goddess he knew so well lurked somewhere in waiting. "We will keep looking for her... for better or worse, we'll keep looking."

A long pause. "You have to stop blaming yourself, Pripyat."

Pripyat Soul · 05-24-2011, 11:05 PM

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His hand remained on the man’s shoulder and no reprimand, verbal or otherwise, pushed it off. Unexpectedly the man pulled the boy closer even, and soon they were in an embrace that last longer than most that the two engaged in, but was still over before the boy really could comprehend the situation. Once again they were at arm’s length of one another and with a jolt the slate youth realized he had not touched his father or been touched by him for more than a quick pat on the back since the accident. They had been in such close contact them, Jefferson’s blood drying on Pripyat’s limp body, matting the fur as if they were melding into one unsightly creature. The idea churned Prip’s stomach once more, but he fought the anxiety this time, trying to focus on his father’s words.

“If it wasn’t for me you wouldn’t be like this…” He would even say out loud what he had done to his father. Even if Jefferson didn’t hold it directly over the boy, had his Mother? Did the others? They didn’t even know, and Pripyat Soul wasn’t sure if he was glad that his father kept the dirty truth a secret. What’s more, it wasn’t just his father he had ruined. Pripyat was sure that Geneva’s health had been declining because of all the stress and struggle. “If it hadn’t been for me she wouldn’t…” Eyes that matched neither father’s nor mother’s stared up at the man, still unable to finished sentences and then he turned away, ready to be done with it all. Ready to walk out on his father in mid-conversation, a feat he never dared before, simply so he didn’t have to talk about them or her anymore.

Jefferson Soul · 05-25-2011, 11:05 AM

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Slight PP.

His words were no different than before, leaking of guilt and frustration and despair, as if all and any arguments his father could pose to him would be of no use. Simple words of discouragement would not ease the guilt away — Jefferson knew that from experience — but Pripyat had hardly begun to know guilt, to know the unpredictable fashions life weaved itself through. Pripyat was not directly at fault, and as he blamed himself further and started away, the father suppressed a growl deep in his throat. In one quick motion, the cyclops stepped to catch him, seized the boy in his remaining, scarred fingers, and spun him to face the scarred man's horrible visage once more.

"You do not know guilt," Jefferson hissed, fires of auburn burning within his glowing green eye. Fingers clutched Pripyat's shoulder tightly, digging into his skin. "You have not committed real atrocities worth blaming yourself like this. When you have killed and assaulted you will know guilt — and I will not let you waste away with it like me until you've done something deserving of it!"

Pripyat Soul · 05-26-2011, 11:12 AM

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His two feet did not take him very far before he was swung around, facing down the one eye of Jefferson. For a moment he was both surprised and scared, not having expected his father to react so quickly and so forcefully. Pripyat tried to stumble backwards but was caught by the web of his own insecurities and his father’s digging fingers. It was if he was strung up by his father and their relationship a string and everything that was both wrong and right with it were tangled around his feet. The boy had no clue how to untangle himself, or just how he had gotten into this entrapment in the first place. He could only meet the hard glare of his parent with wide eyes as he struggled for words.

"I'm…" The memory of his half sister came then, and the reaction of his father. Jefferson had wrong them, he had said so himself. Yet Pripyat had never asked, and more than even he did not wish to. Whatever it had been it was worlds worse than a missing arm, an accidental missing arm at that. The shock of Jefferson's reaction was wearing off as the realization sunk in. Part of him wanted to break away and run from the hellish creature that was his father, and part of him was then just very sad. Sad for his father that he loved dearly and still believed he had hurt, sad for whatever sins the man carried with him, and sad that he himself added to his father's burdens, especially now.

"Okay." The word was clipped short as Pripyat pulled himself away from the man, freeing himself of the painful hold Jefferson had. If Jefferson didn't want to see such displays of guilt, the boy could hold them in. He could do that much for the man. Sucking in air, unconsciously Pripyat puffed out his chest, and though Jefferson still towered over the boy in personality, physically they were nearly on equal playing fields. Except that Pripyat Soul was whole and Jefferson was not. "Okay Dad. I'm not sorry." The words were so flat that they seemed almost not to come from Pripyat at all but from an outside source. Inside the emotions whirled inside of him, but outwardly he was a statue, waiting for his father to verbally release him from this conversation now that he had said what the man wanted.

Jefferson Soul · 05-26-2011, 10:13 PM

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At Pripyat's words, the cyclops released his shoulder and stepped back, for a moment searching with the glow of his eye. Sarcasm? No — the boy's eyes only read terror and confusion. "I'm not sorry." The words, though they did not convince him, still plunged the man's stomach, though it was what he had asked for and what he wanted. Pripyat would not waste away — no, he would not turn into his self-hating father, even if such tendencies were passed down to him.

Raising his head, Jefferson stepped back and stiffly turned away. "Go," he muttered, exhausted of emotions, of life, of leadership, of fatherhood. The one-eyed brute turned back to the church once more, climbed its steps, and without a glance back disappeared between its creaking doors — returning to the empty innards of a hollow and lonely sanctuary.

Pripyat Soul · 06-05-2011, 11:46 AM

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At the first sound of the single word Pripyat flicked an ear, almost hurt that so easily his father would release the slate colored boy. It had been what he wanted, what he waited for, and when it came it felt like a betrayal. There was no opportunity for argument however, for soon Pripyat was staring at the back of his father's head and soon enough that too had disappeared. Then there was only the church, it's doors swinging shut and it might as well have been empty for how welcome Pripyat felt inside its walls. Has Geneva been inside it might have been different, but had Geneva been inside Pripyat and Jefferson never would have dared to fight and carry on as they did now. And suddenly, Pripyat did not feel guilty at all.

"Farrrghk!" Almost the shout sounded like a word he often heard his father say, but his own lips refused to form the expletive. Without thinking the boys reached down and grabbed at whatever he could, which was only an already crumbling dirt clod. Quickly and as hard as he could he hurled the chunk of soil at the closed doors of the church, taking a strange satisfaction as the hard clump exploded and turned into only smaller pieces of earth. And after the release his eyes grew big and he felt neither anger nor guilt, but in fear of his father coming back to see what the sounds had been, he turned and ever the dutiful son, fled as his father had bid him.

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