06-28-2017, 06:59 PM
I was a bit more observant, I think, due to who my Father was. Not that hers was any less of a father, but Pazuzu had many people that might have not been particularly fond of him. Others that he had hurt or family members of those he had raped, those that he had terrorized until they had went insane. His past was not a typical one. He had always been the monster hiding under your bed, or the one that was face to face with you when you opened your eyes. He hadn’t been pleasant. He hadn’t been courteous and nice and gallant. No, my Father had been a straight up asshole to everyone.
Hell, even to my Mom. He had once upon a time been a stallion named Jack. Nothing special, just a simple brown and white stallion, except, he wasn’t. He was normally a oily black or a dull black. Nothing especially flashy or brilliant until he wanted to be. And his eyes, his eyes had always been the same black. He was black, inside and out.
So, it was because of his past, the things that he had done (that he never really especially felt bad for) that we had to be more vigilant as children, until we were grown and strong and ready. We never told anyone who our parents were. I don’t really know if that is because it never really came up, or if because someone Father had always subtly trained us not too.
So I know that it’s not that I was especially quiet. The flapping of my wings would have given me away to anyone that was paying attention. And then the stumbling of my hooves over the small rocks and the huffing of my breath as it whooshed from my lungs while I caught my breath. Small things, but things others would have noticed if they had been paying attention.
I just smile a bit, my teeth scratching against her neck. I stretched my wing out and settled it lightly over her back as she leaned her head against my neck. “Hey Roma,” she says, tilting her face up to look at mine. I meet her gaze with a smile and stretch the other one out and about. “Brand new. I’m still trying to get used to them.” I pause, settling it back against my side. “I’m surprised you didn’t hear me. I wasn’t very quiet as I landed.” A smile that makes fun of my own inability to land quietly yet, all in teasing as I worked on easing her into talking about whatever had her brow all scrunched in thought. “You want to talk about whatever it is that is making your face all squishy?” I decided that more open and face to face about it was going to be the best way.
She was too much like her Father to want it any other way and maybe I didn’t want to disrespect either of them, even a tad bit, by insinuating that she wasn’t smart enough or big enough to handle whatever she was feeling by herself. I just wanted to help. I just wanted there to always be someone for her to talk to if she needed it. Someone that wasn’t blood.
Hell, even to my Mom. He had once upon a time been a stallion named Jack. Nothing special, just a simple brown and white stallion, except, he wasn’t. He was normally a oily black or a dull black. Nothing especially flashy or brilliant until he wanted to be. And his eyes, his eyes had always been the same black. He was black, inside and out.
So, it was because of his past, the things that he had done (that he never really especially felt bad for) that we had to be more vigilant as children, until we were grown and strong and ready. We never told anyone who our parents were. I don’t really know if that is because it never really came up, or if because someone Father had always subtly trained us not too.
So I know that it’s not that I was especially quiet. The flapping of my wings would have given me away to anyone that was paying attention. And then the stumbling of my hooves over the small rocks and the huffing of my breath as it whooshed from my lungs while I caught my breath. Small things, but things others would have noticed if they had been paying attention.
I just smile a bit, my teeth scratching against her neck. I stretched my wing out and settled it lightly over her back as she leaned her head against my neck. “Hey Roma,” she says, tilting her face up to look at mine. I meet her gaze with a smile and stretch the other one out and about. “Brand new. I’m still trying to get used to them.” I pause, settling it back against my side. “I’m surprised you didn’t hear me. I wasn’t very quiet as I landed.” A smile that makes fun of my own inability to land quietly yet, all in teasing as I worked on easing her into talking about whatever had her brow all scrunched in thought. “You want to talk about whatever it is that is making your face all squishy?” I decided that more open and face to face about it was going to be the best way.
She was too much like her Father to want it any other way and maybe I didn’t want to disrespect either of them, even a tad bit, by insinuating that she wasn’t smart enough or big enough to handle whatever she was feeling by herself. I just wanted to help. I just wanted there to always be someone for her to talk to if she needed it. Someone that wasn’t blood.