the androgynous keeper of plushfrogs (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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rainbowfic2015-01-05 04:19 pm
crossfortune) wrote in rainbowfic2015-01-05 04:19 pm
Entry tags:
had sons one, two, three
Name: Mischa
Story: i never promised you a rose garden
Colors: dove grey (The family exists for many reasons, but its most basic function may be to draw together after a member dies.)
Supplies and Styles: canvas, seed beads
Word Count: 700
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: familial strife (brothers being assholes). infidelity.
Summary: Mihai is tired of this argument, truly he is. Hope often deceives the foolish man, he knows, and perhaps his brother is not the only fool.
Two brothers discuss their half-brother and his place in the family. It's not a productive discussion.
Notes: I finally crawled out of my hole where I've been in for months. Hooray for writing.
.
Mihai is tired of this argument, truly he is: a thousand times gone around in circles, and his brother will no sooner listen to sense than he would be able to move the sea. And at this point, he’s much more inclined to let Ioan rant and rave, scream at the top of his lungs, get his anger out that way, scream uselessly into thin air rather than scream at a child who doesn’t deserve any of that vitriol. It’s not as though he can do anything about it - Ioan seems determined to hate Mircea for simply existing, for being the child of their mother’s favorite maid. It’s not a thing that the boy could have helped, really - and blood is thicker than water, after all. Ioan should remember that. Family is family, no matter where they came from.
“Why is he allowed to remain here?” Ioan spits, stalking up and down the room like some caged, wild cat that the sultana of Cezayir would keep in her garden: stripes, Mihai thinks he read once, in a book too precious for him to have touched as a child. A large cat with stripes, far larger than a catfolk’s cat form: yes, that description suits his brother perfectly. Ioan paces no matter the room he’s in, always in motion, stalking - and of course, Mihai thinks with a sigh, his study happens to be perfect to pace in.
“Because he’s our brother,” Mihai says, long-sufferingly, as though they haven’t had this argument three dozen times before, as if neither of them don’t have better things to be doing. They do, of course, and if Ioan has so much energy to burn, then he should just go to the training yard: he could always practice swordplay. “Family is family, and you know that.”
“He’s nothing of the sort!” Ioan spits his words like he’s holding that unfortunate fish that the Romnians cook with lye in his mouth. “He’s a maid’s bastard, nothing of ours-”
“Hold your tongue,” Mihai stands from behind his desk, throwing down his pen: the ink splatters bold and dark across the birchbark parchment, but he doesn’t notice or care right now. “Father acknowledges him as our brother, and he bears the same blood, even if it is from a different mother.” they both resent how their father treated their mother, especially while she was dying, taking advantage of her maids while she was sick and fragile in bed and couldn’t come to his, but unlike Ioan, Mihai doesn’t resent Mircea, who was born from one of those affairs. The boy hadn’t chosen to be a bastard, after all: unlike Ioan, who could at least try not to be a fool, he couldn’t change his blood. “Shouldn’t that be enough for you? Blood is thicker than water,”
Ioan’s face darkens, sudden as a stormcloud in high summer coming down from the mountains. “Never,” he says, hissing. “He’ll never be a brother of mine.”
There’s jealousy in his eyes, in his voice, and Mihai knows the bridge that can never be built: Mircea is young but he’s clever and intelligent, more gifted than Ioan already by all the reports of his tutors, and bastard or not, Ioan is jealous. Someday, if Mircea lives to grow up - doesn’t die of any of the illnesses that might bear him back to the Threefold Lady, or the ghosts, or all the things that could possibly kill him as a child - he’ll be a better man than Ioan ever will, and Mihai is certain that his brother knows it. He’d almost feel sorry, but Ioan is spiteful and wouldn’t want an ounce of his pity.
“Ioan-” he begins to call out after his brother, but the younger man turns, eyes harder than flint as he storms out, and Mihai sighs. He doesn’t even know why he tries, and yet he continues to try - hope often deceives the foolish man, he knows, and perhaps his brother is not the only fool.
Story: i never promised you a rose garden
Colors: dove grey (The family exists for many reasons, but its most basic function may be to draw together after a member dies.)
Supplies and Styles: canvas, seed beads
Word Count: 700
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: familial strife (brothers being assholes). infidelity.
Summary: Mihai is tired of this argument, truly he is. Hope often deceives the foolish man, he knows, and perhaps his brother is not the only fool.
Two brothers discuss their half-brother and his place in the family. It's not a productive discussion.
Notes: I finally crawled out of my hole where I've been in for months. Hooray for writing.
.
Mihai is tired of this argument, truly he is: a thousand times gone around in circles, and his brother will no sooner listen to sense than he would be able to move the sea. And at this point, he’s much more inclined to let Ioan rant and rave, scream at the top of his lungs, get his anger out that way, scream uselessly into thin air rather than scream at a child who doesn’t deserve any of that vitriol. It’s not as though he can do anything about it - Ioan seems determined to hate Mircea for simply existing, for being the child of their mother’s favorite maid. It’s not a thing that the boy could have helped, really - and blood is thicker than water, after all. Ioan should remember that. Family is family, no matter where they came from.
“Why is he allowed to remain here?” Ioan spits, stalking up and down the room like some caged, wild cat that the sultana of Cezayir would keep in her garden: stripes, Mihai thinks he read once, in a book too precious for him to have touched as a child. A large cat with stripes, far larger than a catfolk’s cat form: yes, that description suits his brother perfectly. Ioan paces no matter the room he’s in, always in motion, stalking - and of course, Mihai thinks with a sigh, his study happens to be perfect to pace in.
“Because he’s our brother,” Mihai says, long-sufferingly, as though they haven’t had this argument three dozen times before, as if neither of them don’t have better things to be doing. They do, of course, and if Ioan has so much energy to burn, then he should just go to the training yard: he could always practice swordplay. “Family is family, and you know that.”
“He’s nothing of the sort!” Ioan spits his words like he’s holding that unfortunate fish that the Romnians cook with lye in his mouth. “He’s a maid’s bastard, nothing of ours-”
“Hold your tongue,” Mihai stands from behind his desk, throwing down his pen: the ink splatters bold and dark across the birchbark parchment, but he doesn’t notice or care right now. “Father acknowledges him as our brother, and he bears the same blood, even if it is from a different mother.” they both resent how their father treated their mother, especially while she was dying, taking advantage of her maids while she was sick and fragile in bed and couldn’t come to his, but unlike Ioan, Mihai doesn’t resent Mircea, who was born from one of those affairs. The boy hadn’t chosen to be a bastard, after all: unlike Ioan, who could at least try not to be a fool, he couldn’t change his blood. “Shouldn’t that be enough for you? Blood is thicker than water,”
Ioan’s face darkens, sudden as a stormcloud in high summer coming down from the mountains. “Never,” he says, hissing. “He’ll never be a brother of mine.”
There’s jealousy in his eyes, in his voice, and Mihai knows the bridge that can never be built: Mircea is young but he’s clever and intelligent, more gifted than Ioan already by all the reports of his tutors, and bastard or not, Ioan is jealous. Someday, if Mircea lives to grow up - doesn’t die of any of the illnesses that might bear him back to the Threefold Lady, or the ghosts, or all the things that could possibly kill him as a child - he’ll be a better man than Ioan ever will, and Mihai is certain that his brother knows it. He’d almost feel sorry, but Ioan is spiteful and wouldn’t want an ounce of his pity.
“Ioan-” he begins to call out after his brother, but the younger man turns, eyes harder than flint as he storms out, and Mihai sighs. He doesn’t even know why he tries, and yet he continues to try - hope often deceives the foolish man, he knows, and perhaps his brother is not the only fool.
no subject
I really like how much setting description and dialogue-personality you managed to stick into a short conversation.
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Yeah, that was the specific goal of this piece, to try to do stuff with that in a short piece, and I'm glad it worked.
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And I'm worried for Mircea. Someday Ioan may do more than just pace and argue with Mihai...
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That someday will be the subject of another story.
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I'm glad to be back as well, and I'm glad you enjoyed it.