picture [1/1]
a father remembers. [giovanni, madame boss, silver]
pokemon; family; pg; 800 words
“Mother?”
She pauses midsentence, and glances down at him with eyes like chips of black ice.
“Pardon me for a moment,” she murmurs, with a sickly sweet smile. The grunt she had been speaking with looks astounded to have been addressed so formally by the Madame.
She grips her son by the arm, long fingernails digging into his skin, and drags him into a dark corner of the room.
“What is it, boy?” she hisses. “Can’t you see that I’m busy?”
He falters. Perhaps this had not been a wise idea after all - she looks especially dangerous today, with her dark hair in wild disarray and her blood red lipstick smudged just a bit on one side. There is a certain manic gleam in her eyes that does not bode well, and yet…
“I… I drew you a picture, mother,” he says quietly, and holds it up for her to see.
Silence. He’s staring intently at the floor, avoiding her piercing gaze. Is she angry? Is she pleased? Maybe she’ll hate it, and tear it to shreds before his very eyes. Maybe she’ll love it, and hang it on the wall like a real work of art -
She snatches the drawing from his hand and crumples it up it one deft movement. His eyes are still on the floor, but he can feel her contemptuous scowl without seeing it.
“What the hell is this nonsense, boy!?” she demands, and he can’t help but flinch at the venom in her tone. “I pay top dollar for the finest education in the world, and yet you’re still dwelling on these childish fantasies? You’re a disgrace.”
She tosses the crumpled paper to the ground and stalks away without a backwards glance. He can hear her muttering words like “pathetic” and “shameful” under her breath.
Giovanni bends down and picks up his drawing, eyes prickling with hot tears. He smoothes it out and presses it tightly to his chest, as if he’s trying to keep himself from falling apart.
Maybe someday, he thinks.
But he doesn’t really believe it.
--
--
“… Daddy?”
He feels a light tug on his pant leg, and looks down into a pair of dark, owlish eyes. He and Apollo exchange a quick glance, but his subordinate looks as surprised and perplexed as he does. There is another tug on his pant leg, more insistent now, as if the boy is worried about being forgotten.
“… Pardon me for a moment,” Giovanni says to Apollo. He clears his throat, slightly embarrassed to have to act the parent during business hours, and ushers his son into the corner of the room.
“What is it, son?” he asks, with a hint of impatience. “I’m busy right now. You know that.”
Silver holds up a piece of paper for him to see. “I drew you a picture,” he says, more calm and serious than a six-year-old has any right to be.
Giovanni falters, taking the drawing with hesitant hands. Silver is no artistic prodigy, that’s for sure - the picture is drawn in scribbled crayon, complete with a smiley-face sun and M-shaped birds. The kind of drawing that most every child does at one point or another, when they’re just learning how to capture their thoughts and feelings on an empty page. Amidst the puffy clouds and green grass and bright blue flowers are two poorly-drawn stick figures. One has short dark hair and seems to be wearing some kind of suit, though it’s difficult to tell for sure. The other is significantly shorter, with a mess of brilliant red hair. Both of the stick figures have broad smiles on their faces, and they appear to be holding hands.
Giovanni stares at the drawing for what feels like an eternity, his heart aching from wounds long forgotten. When he glances back at Silver, the boy is staring at him intently with those unnerving dark eyes.
“Do you like it?” he asks, and though his voice is cool and composed Giovanni can detect a hint of fear trembling beneath the surface.
Giovanni stares at the drawing for another long moment.
What the hell is this nonsense, boy!?
You’re a disgrace.
Uselesspitifulshamefulpatheticworthlessweak -
“Yes, son,” he says quietly. “I like it very much.”
Giovanni is not sure what comes over him right then and there. Later, when Athena accuses him of becoming too “soft”, saying that he ought to be harsher with the boy, he will blame it on a lapse in judgment (nothing more). But in the moment, as he reaches over and ruffles Silver’s messy red hair affectionately, he thinks only of how right it feels.
And Silver’s face breaks into a heartwarming smile, because Giovanni loves his son.
pokemon; family; pg; 800 words
“Mother?”
She pauses midsentence, and glances down at him with eyes like chips of black ice.
“Pardon me for a moment,” she murmurs, with a sickly sweet smile. The grunt she had been speaking with looks astounded to have been addressed so formally by the Madame.
She grips her son by the arm, long fingernails digging into his skin, and drags him into a dark corner of the room.
“What is it, boy?” she hisses. “Can’t you see that I’m busy?”
He falters. Perhaps this had not been a wise idea after all - she looks especially dangerous today, with her dark hair in wild disarray and her blood red lipstick smudged just a bit on one side. There is a certain manic gleam in her eyes that does not bode well, and yet…
“I… I drew you a picture, mother,” he says quietly, and holds it up for her to see.
Silence. He’s staring intently at the floor, avoiding her piercing gaze. Is she angry? Is she pleased? Maybe she’ll hate it, and tear it to shreds before his very eyes. Maybe she’ll love it, and hang it on the wall like a real work of art -
She snatches the drawing from his hand and crumples it up it one deft movement. His eyes are still on the floor, but he can feel her contemptuous scowl without seeing it.
“What the hell is this nonsense, boy!?” she demands, and he can’t help but flinch at the venom in her tone. “I pay top dollar for the finest education in the world, and yet you’re still dwelling on these childish fantasies? You’re a disgrace.”
She tosses the crumpled paper to the ground and stalks away without a backwards glance. He can hear her muttering words like “pathetic” and “shameful” under her breath.
Giovanni bends down and picks up his drawing, eyes prickling with hot tears. He smoothes it out and presses it tightly to his chest, as if he’s trying to keep himself from falling apart.
Maybe someday, he thinks.
But he doesn’t really believe it.
--
--
“… Daddy?”
He feels a light tug on his pant leg, and looks down into a pair of dark, owlish eyes. He and Apollo exchange a quick glance, but his subordinate looks as surprised and perplexed as he does. There is another tug on his pant leg, more insistent now, as if the boy is worried about being forgotten.
“… Pardon me for a moment,” Giovanni says to Apollo. He clears his throat, slightly embarrassed to have to act the parent during business hours, and ushers his son into the corner of the room.
“What is it, son?” he asks, with a hint of impatience. “I’m busy right now. You know that.”
Silver holds up a piece of paper for him to see. “I drew you a picture,” he says, more calm and serious than a six-year-old has any right to be.
Giovanni falters, taking the drawing with hesitant hands. Silver is no artistic prodigy, that’s for sure - the picture is drawn in scribbled crayon, complete with a smiley-face sun and M-shaped birds. The kind of drawing that most every child does at one point or another, when they’re just learning how to capture their thoughts and feelings on an empty page. Amidst the puffy clouds and green grass and bright blue flowers are two poorly-drawn stick figures. One has short dark hair and seems to be wearing some kind of suit, though it’s difficult to tell for sure. The other is significantly shorter, with a mess of brilliant red hair. Both of the stick figures have broad smiles on their faces, and they appear to be holding hands.
Giovanni stares at the drawing for what feels like an eternity, his heart aching from wounds long forgotten. When he glances back at Silver, the boy is staring at him intently with those unnerving dark eyes.
“Do you like it?” he asks, and though his voice is cool and composed Giovanni can detect a hint of fear trembling beneath the surface.
Giovanni stares at the drawing for another long moment.
What the hell is this nonsense, boy!?
You’re a disgrace.
Uselesspitifulshamefulpatheticworthlessweak -
“Yes, son,” he says quietly. “I like it very much.”
Giovanni is not sure what comes over him right then and there. Later, when Athena accuses him of becoming too “soft”, saying that he ought to be harsher with the boy, he will blame it on a lapse in judgment (nothing more). But in the moment, as he reaches over and ruffles Silver’s messy red hair affectionately, he thinks only of how right it feels.
And Silver’s face breaks into a heartwarming smile, because Giovanni loves his son.