Post by Everett Price on Feb 12, 2016 20:53:11 GMT -5
The sound of Klaus' boots was ricocheting across the room, the only noise his scraping heels and the crackling of the fire in the hearth; but still it sounded in Everett's ears, only serving to tighten the vice he felt upon his temples -- squeezing, tighter and tighter.
"He can't do this. What right has he?"
Tighter, and tighter. Where Everett sat on the edge of his bed, his elbows on his knees, his head between his hands, he tried to breath slowly -- in through his nose, out through his mouth. The throbbing had begun the night before, and only intensified with each new development of the last day -- and now, as Klaus' angry words darted across Everett's bedchamber, the youngest Price son tried his best to keep his teeth gritted, resisting the urge to lose his sparse evening meal.
Tysen had announced Anne's cloistering that afternoon as if it were a mere observation; done in passing, said to the open air, as if lacking the requirement of a response. As simple as spotting an interesting tree or remarking on a recent snowfall. And his own reaction to the obvious turmoil it threw his younger half-siblings into served even less -- he was a man immovable, and of no particular answer as to why. Of course, in so many ways, this ultimate clash between the widow Price and her eldest stepson was decades in the making -- and yet this...
This. This was unexpected.
The youngest Price siblings -- Anne's legitimate children -- had now found themselves, after hours, holed up in Everett's chamber; somehow the natural meeting point between older and younger. He had always been neutral ground. And Klaus had kept talking all this time -- what was he saying? -- just barely keeping himself from shouting, as Everett tried to sift through the words as they came; and then suddenly, Klaus was in Everett's face, snapping again.
"Gods above, say something, Everett! By Revanine, she's your mother, too --"
Everett kept his dark eyes closed, exhaling through his mouth; one hand drifting to rub against the leather token hanging from his neck.
Why was he so incapable?
@emelineprice
"He can't do this. What right has he?"
Tighter, and tighter. Where Everett sat on the edge of his bed, his elbows on his knees, his head between his hands, he tried to breath slowly -- in through his nose, out through his mouth. The throbbing had begun the night before, and only intensified with each new development of the last day -- and now, as Klaus' angry words darted across Everett's bedchamber, the youngest Price son tried his best to keep his teeth gritted, resisting the urge to lose his sparse evening meal.
Tysen had announced Anne's cloistering that afternoon as if it were a mere observation; done in passing, said to the open air, as if lacking the requirement of a response. As simple as spotting an interesting tree or remarking on a recent snowfall. And his own reaction to the obvious turmoil it threw his younger half-siblings into served even less -- he was a man immovable, and of no particular answer as to why. Of course, in so many ways, this ultimate clash between the widow Price and her eldest stepson was decades in the making -- and yet this...
This. This was unexpected.
The youngest Price siblings -- Anne's legitimate children -- had now found themselves, after hours, holed up in Everett's chamber; somehow the natural meeting point between older and younger. He had always been neutral ground. And Klaus had kept talking all this time -- what was he saying? -- just barely keeping himself from shouting, as Everett tried to sift through the words as they came; and then suddenly, Klaus was in Everett's face, snapping again.
"Gods above, say something, Everett! By Revanine, she's your mother, too --"
Everett kept his dark eyes closed, exhaling through his mouth; one hand drifting to rub against the leather token hanging from his neck.
Why was he so incapable?
@emelineprice