xavier_institute_logs | A Belated Delivery and Perhaps a Chat (CLOSED)

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A Belated Delivery and Perhaps a Chat (CLOSED)

WHO: Alric and Tiamaris
WHAT: Alric has a rather late Christmas present to deliver, and a talk to have about a certain recent event.
WHERE: Tiamaris' room (at least for starters)
WHEN: After the Hellfire Club event, in the evening
WARNING(S): None anticipated

Alric stepped up to Tiamaris' door and knocked--although he couldn't be sure that was the place to find him, he'd seemed somewhat reclusive bordering on antisocial, so it seemed like a good first guess. He carried with him a parcel with a somewhat nebulous shape, but fairly large, and likely a bit heavy by the way he supported it. Perhaps it was two relatively large flat-screen monitors bundled together with a bottle of soda? ...probably not.

Of course, it would be a bit awkward to deliver something on the heavy and bulky side if Tiamaris wasn't actually in his room, but judging by their first encounter, awkwardness was likely to figure heavily anyway.

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"...at the risk of stoking your ire..."

Alric stared at Tiamaris for a long few seconds.

"Is every infant whose mother dies in childbirth to be regarded as a murderer, by your reasoning? Consider, for a moment, a newborn infant's frailty, lack of a concept of right and wrong--lack even of a concept of its ability to affect its environment, or the lives of those around it. If such a child can be held responsible for murder, then should not everyone who causes a death, even unwillingly, unwittingly, and indirectly, be at least as condemned? Indeed, if an event over which you had as little control as your own birth is to be held against you, we had best condemn all recipients of organs--after all, there surely is someone farther down the list, and by receiving a transplant before someone else, each of those recipients may well cause the death of the one who goes without. Shall we say that seeking an organ transplant is tantamount to attempted murder, then, and deny all such requests--but then in causing the deaths of those denied their transplants, I suppose everyone throughout society becomes complicit."

He crossed his arms. He spoke even and coolly, but with a degree of tension in his voice.

"If that sounds preposterous to you, as I can only pray that it does, then I hope you begin to see the utter impossibility of what you seem to suggest. To the contrary. I would suggest, if you would pardon my overstepping once again, that the only evil I have heard in this tragic story is the evil that whispered continually to a child that he was to blame for the mournful complications accompanying his birth."

As Alric spoke, the words made less and less sense. The words slammed at him like blows, until he felt the tone of voice, felt the weight of the memories they stirred viscerally.

He had been stupid to think that things were different here. Could be different anywhere. He was stupid.

Once again that was being hammered home, as it had been every day of his life until he fled the barrel of his father's shotgun.

What he thought was wrong. What he knew was wrong. What he felt was wrong. He was not allowed to have these thoughts, these feelings. He was wrong.

And the one person he had started to think, in the whole world, might actually like him... was like his father.

His eyes darkened and darkened until the red was almost black. He swallowed hard and fled for the closet. He climbed in and closed the door, curling into a ball on the floor of the closet, clutching his knees tightly.

The closet was always the closest thing he had to a safe space.

He couldn't cry any more. Ever since the mutation... the tears, the shuddering sobs, the shaking breaths that rocked his frame.... they never came. Which meant there was no physical release for the pain. It just built and built. He pressed his mouth into his knee to stop himself from keening.

Noise always made his father angrier. He didn't have a right to sound when his father was like this.

He killed his mother. He didn't have a right to anything. Anything.

Alric stared after Tiamaris as he abruptly turned away, climbed in his closet, and shut the door--and for a long several seconds afterward.

He'd really thought, for a little while, that he might actually be getting through to the fellow--he's listened quietly, at least, rather than openly scoffing or with the mockery of attentiveness he'd have reasonably expected from his brother. That had seemed luck such a good sign. But perhaps the subject had struck a little too close to home: Alric knew very well the kind of harm unreasoning rejection and resentment could cause, especially to a child, and he had far more anger than forgiveness for those who exhibited such behavior.

The sort of person who turns that resentment on children--on his own child--that was Alric's definition of a monster, not whatever Tiamaris had internalized, and to see such a victim so intent on accepting his tormentor's accusations...

It shouldn't have been a surprise, perhaps. Whenever he let his guard down, got emotionally invested, sloppy-... a leader of men, indeed. His brother would surely be gleeful, seeing this mess, for a dozen reasons.

Alric paced a moment longer to collect himself before cautiously approaching the closet. He didn't knock, but rather, cleared his throat, to draw Tiamaris' attention with the least jarring sound he could.

"...I apologize for speaking so....... fervently. It is not my place to... tell you how to feel about your family. I can only say that.. it seems to me that you have been done a great, lasting injustice... and it is perhaps a character flaw that I cannot simply turn away from that. ......however. ...as I seem to be doing more.. harm than good, here, I will go, if you wish."

It was a long time before there was an answer. The words made so little sense that he couldn't figure them out at first. He had to keep replying them in his head. Again. Again. Again.

The part that kept getting stuck was the apology. It... didn't fit with everything else, with the way his world had shifted under him. He didn't know what to do with that, how to handle that.

And so it was a good long while before her finally opened the door the smallest crack, and peered out, his dark eyes so close to the ground that he looks much younger than he was. The small voice added to the illusion. It would clearly show what he had been like as a kid, even with the mask like face.

"Did... are you going to hit me now?" he asked in a small weak whisper. He didn't know what to think, he didn't know what he wanted, he didn't quite dare to really want anything. He had started to want... to want what he had read in books, what he had been told was not for him... but now... Now he wasn't sure what the world was... he just knew that Alric was angry now... maybe hated him the way his father did...

And he wasn't sure what to do with that....

Alric waited quietly--he owed that much, at least--pondering his next steps. Whatever failings he had, he was determined at least to do better, even if it wasn't good enough, and one critical feature of good leadership was to know one's limits. He would definitely need to get help from someone more capable than himself--advice, at the very least, although it was probably best, the way things were going, if he removed himself from the picture entirely.

He glanced over once again, when Tiamaris peeked out of the closet, his expression pensive, but relatively calm. Not angry, at any rate. It took him a couple seconds to even process that question without responding incredulously, although he did look a little puzzled, and then exasperated, at it. He raised a hand, but merely rubbed his forehead.

"...I-... ...no, of course not. I have no intention to hit you or otherwise harm you at all. Quite the contrary, actually, I would like to help, if I can... although I fear I've consistently done more harm than good."

"Wa.... want to help me...?" he asked quietly, confused. He was confused, so.... very confused, by all this. "But... you were so mad at me, so angry..."

He risked standing up a bit more, though he still clung to the frame of the door, looking out at him. He was still unsure, still confused. He wasn't used to people wanting to help. And this back and forth, wanting to help, then being mad then wanting to help...

"I don't understand," he admitted quietly. He watched him carefully, trying to figure out what was going on, what was expected of him, what he should do...

Alric let out a breath, shaking his head slowly.

"...no. I am... frustrated, that I've... mishandled speaking to you so gravely, at our.. failures of communication. If I am angry, that is expressly reserved for your father, for the treatment to which you were subjected, the injustices on which you were raised. You-.."

He pauses a moment, glancing off with a scowl and something of an intense look, his tension growing as he speaks--but this time, deliberately directing it away from Tiamaris.

"...there were those who resented and hated me as a child, as well, for things that were just as much outside my control as the circumstances of your birth were outside of your control. ......I, however, had the advantage of a father who protected me from them, as best he could, and... a step-mother who treated me as her own, where another might have seen a weakness of which she could take advantage. My anger is for the people who have tormented my family out of their resentment and fear of me, and for the man who should have protected you from scorn, not bathed you in it from birth."

He paused again to collect himself. He'd always had a fiery temper, intense and lionhearted, and only with great difficulty had learned caution and restraint.

"...I apologize for my... outbursts, but in some ways, your story strikes close to home, as the saying goes."

"You're mad.... at my father?" he asked, even more confused. "Because... of me?" he asked, swallowing a bit.

He listened to the story, coming out enough to sit on the bed while Alric spoke. Finally he asked, softly, quietly, trying to see if he understood, "you're saying that... that you were angry because... we're so much the same....?" he asked softly.

He had never been like anyone else before. No one else had ever been mad for him... well... his uncle, but he had died when Tiamaris had been five... and he had so few memories of the man, mostly just his voice, his quiet words as he taught Tiamaris to read, told Tiamaris how much knowing how to read had meant to his mother.

He watched Alric carefully, his eyes sliding slowly closer to a dull bronze as he started to become more secure in the knowledge that he wasn't about to be hit.

Alric eased back to give Tiamaris some room, to make sure he didn't feel crowded. He rubbed his forehead a moment longer, then brushed his hair back, and slipped his hands into his pockets--he usually thought of exposed hands as the most reassuring posture, but perhaps reversing that would work better for Tiamaris, considering his particular concerns.

He listened, then nodded slightly.

"...yes. ...and... something like that, yes. Although I would..."

He smiled faintly, wryly, for a moment.

"...at least, I believe... I would feel that anger in response to anyone being so... grossly abused as you have been, whatever our similarities or differences. I have always felt acutely the importance of a clear sense of right and wrong--of a dedication to and passion for upholding justice. ...but I suppose that to see a... an echo of oneself in another person inspires a certain sense of... closeness."

He paused, glancing aside, toward the wrapped parcel sitting on the desk, then back to Tiamaris.

"...when I look at you, I do not see a 'monster,' as you say, but an angry, wounded young man, who, where I have enjoyed shelter and support, was burdened instead with still greater torments. I see also that you have considerable gifts, which I sincerely believe you could learn to use well... to help those who do not even have the good fortune of a place like this Institute to shelter them."

"You... you really think I could help people?" he asked softly, trying to process everything that had been said. It was a lot to take in, really but... something was settling inside him, stilling. It felt as though something brittle was beginning filled in, to be come something that might some day become strong.

He looked up at Alric, at this person who had gotten mad at how he had been treated... who said he wasn't a monster. Someone who thought he had value, who told him he could help people...

Who had loaned him two shirts, even after he had seen what had happened to his last shirt. The copper started a slow hesitant fade towards gold, in his eyes.

Alric sighed and smiled faintly, nodding.

"I believe that anyone who sincerely wishes to help people can find a way to do so... although it may entail hard work and the guidance of others."

He pauses a moment.

"...there have... certainly been times when I have needed every iota of support and guidance available to me, and there surely will be more such times. But I do believe that if you are committed to that objective, you will find a way, through whatever challenges and setbacks you may face. I hope you will come to see your abilities as a gift, if an occasionally inconvenient one."

He smiles a little more, glancing aside, perhaps a tough self-consciously.

"Perhaps I am slightly biased, of course... I confess, I've always been rather fond of the notion of dragons and the history of their symbolism since I was a child."

He listened quietly to everything that was said, and thought about it, before he could try and figure out how to respond.

Finally he said softly, "I... always liked dragons. In the books. I... I used to think that if I was ever as big and strong as a dragon, I wouldn't be afraid of anything..."

He looked down at his hands.

"And then... and then I was... but I was still scared. And... if I was wrong about that..."

She shook his head, eyes a miserable dull orange.

Alric grinned a little at Tiamaris' confession of that shared inclination.

"...as far as I am aware, Tiamaris, the only people who are truly never frightened are exceptionally foolish or afflicted with some manner of psychological or neurological pathology; at least, barring a mutation with the same effect, of course. Everyone is, at some time, frightened. And everyone, particularly as a child, has misconceptions about the world. These are challenges we face, not... irreparable character flaws, so long as we are willing to face them."

"I.... I am trying to be less scared," he said softly. "It isn't working very well...."

He looked down at his hands. "I'm sorry I got you so upset before," he said softly.

Alric raised a hand in a soothing gesture and shook his head, smiling reassuringly.

"You have faced terrible things, which I've had the good fortune to avoid. I can hardly fault you for the trauma you suffered at the hands of others... and while my... difficulties have been somewhat different in tenor, if I can help you find the means, the techniques, to cope with your own, I would be most pleased."

He glances aside a moment, then back to Tiamaris.

"...and... there is still that gift, if you're interested."

He blinked, startled. He had forgotten all about the present. "Al...alright..." he said, looking up at him, cautiously.

Alric stepped aside, gesturing to the parcel.

"Feel free to open it. ...I only hope you'll not find it's in poor taste, and that you'll understand the intention."

He hesitated, then walked over and touched the package lightly, glancing back as if to be sure this really was for him, and not a mistake or something. Then he faced the gift again.

He had seen people get gifts on Tv, he had read about it in books, even if he hadn't had a gift himself since his uncle had died - if then. Cautiously he ripped the paper, knowing at least that much, trying to see what was inside. Curiosity beat fear back another few inches with every small rip and tear he made.

Under the paper, he finds a statue--the most obvious thing at first is that it's carved, somehow, from stone. On close inspection, it's hard to tell whether it was formed in a mold or cut, but is it even possible to form stone in a mold...? As he removes more paper, it becomes obviously something reptilian, until he at least reveals enough to see that it's a traditional European fantasy sort of dragon, rearing up on its hind legs, its wings thrust back as though in the process of propelling itself off the rock on which its hind talons still rest, supporting the figure's weight with the aid of the long tail. It seems to be carved from granite, although how exactly granite was carved in any appreciable detail, with such a serpentine neck in particular, is another question entirely.

Alric smiles to himself, just a touch sheepishly.

"...I'd hoped it would serve as a... symbol of something... majestic, and of the desire to rise above, if you'll pardon a bit of literalism. I fear it might have come out a touch delicate, mind you--stone can be a capricious medium, particularly the coarse-grained species."

He breathed, awed, his eyes pure lambent gold. He stared at it, seeming unable to look away from it. A tremulous finger reached to touch the wing, then he pulled back, afraid to break it. His strength was not a known quantity.

"It..." he just breathed out again. He was having trouble making sounds. He... had never seen something so beautiful. He was in awe at the statue and all it represented. At least, all of it that he could grasp at the moment.

Alric raised an eyebrow--it was always a little hard to gauge Tiamaris' reactions until they burst forth in all their extremity--then smirked a little, once he was reasonably sure it was at least a positive reaction. He paused a moment, allowing an opportunity to continue, before interjecting.

"......I do hope that means you like it."

His mouth opened, but no words came. Finally he just nodded mutely. He glanced back to him, his eyes bright, liquid, gold. He really had no words, no clue what to say. His face still expressed the emotion only in the color of his eyes, but the lack of words, his whole bearing told the story this time.

Alric raised a hand in a soothing gesture and shook his head lightly with a smile, although a somewhat rueful one.

"...nn. It's quite all right. I... handled our first meeting poorly, and caused you not a little distress. ......and this one scarcely better. I felt I owed you some... gesture, at least, to atone for that. I hope this will suffice, in that respect, and as a token--a reminder--of good will between us."

"You.... never owed me anything..." he said finally. He hesitated and then said softly. "We are... what is called... friends?" he asked softly. He was nervous, not sure what the answer would be... after everything. It was probably too much to hope for....

Alric paused, then grinned lightly, if just a bit lopsidedly. He couldn't help being a bit amused at the way Tiamaris answered, albeit good-naturedly so.

"..ah.. I'd certainly like to think so, at least--if that's how you feel, at any rate. I can't very well decide that without your approval, after all."

A Belated Delivery and Perhaps a Chat (CLOSED)

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