Mocha 12, CCM 28
Author: Casey
Story: Nothing is Ever Easy (NIEE) universe, pre-NIEE (synopsis and directory now up)
Challenge, Toppings, Extras: Mocha 12 (what I wouldn’t give…), CCM 28 (lumpy), Whipped Cream (Sorin’s somewhere between 8 and 10 in this), Hot Fudge (He might be a little kid, but he still is officially a ‘bad guy’)
Word Count: 1,042
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Sorin turns to carving to get away from it all, but his ‘father’ ruins even that.
Notes: Sorin is, in fact, not Edward’s child, for reasons that will be explained at a later date. The three siblings (Ani doesn't appear in this one) share a mother.
The feel of wood clasped tightly in one hand and the handle of his old blunted knife in the other was a familiar and comforting feeling usually. Today, he went at the wood, tearing long strips from the block, having no distinct shape in mind, just needing to do something. He continued to gouge at the wood, before pausing and holding it up, realizing he actually did have something in mind - the distinctive statue that sat in the courtyard of his boarding school, despite the wood’s inauspicious start.
Sorin finally stopped his frenzied attack on the wood and stared at it and then let out a quiet, wet laugh, rubbing at his eyes. Then, he slowly began to flesh out the statue, taking his time now, working on the details.
At the rustle, he paused, glancing over at the other bed in the room where his brother, who was two years older, slept. Vlad had rolled over and his eyes glinted in the candlelight as he watched Sorin. “What are you doing?”
“Carving,” Sorin said, returning his focus to the small wooden figurine.
“You’re making a mess.”
“I’ll clean it up before morning,” Sorin said, pausing for a moment, tightening his grip on the statue.
“It’s late.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“You should sleep. It’s only the beginning of summer.”
“Like that matters,” Sorin muttered.
“What?”
“Go back to sleep, Vlad.”
He could feel Vlad’s eyes on him before the rustling of cloth told him that he had rolled away from the light again and gone back to sleep.
Sorin looked over, watching his back until Vlad’s breath had evened out, signaling that he’d fallen back asleep, before going to work on the statuette’s arms. So engrossed on making the small figurine as perfect as possible, he never heard the warning creak of the boards just outside their room.
It was impossible, however, to not notice when the door was flung open with enough force to send it smashing off the back wall. Vlad shot bolt upright in bed. Sorin’s concentration slipped and so did his knife, cutting his finger, no matter how dulled it was. He barely noticed the pain, looking up with panic at his father.
“And what do you think you’re doing?” The calm was dangerous in Edward’s voice.
“I’m c-carving,” Sorin stuttered, voice barely audible.
Vlad scrambled out of bed, but didn’t come any closer to Sorin as Edward stalked forward and ripped the statuette out of Sorin’s hand. “What is this?”
“It’s the statue. From school.”
In the dim candlelight, Sorin didn’t have any warning as Edward’s fist arced in, catching him hard in the cheek. It had enough force behind it to knock Sorin into the wall and he cradled his cheek, staring at his bed, trying hard not to cry - something he found became easier with each passing day.
“You have made a mess.”
“I’m going to clean it up,” Sorin said through teeth clenched against the pain and the tears.
Edward snapped the figurine in two and threw the pieces at Sorin, who ducked away. “You know that is no excuse. Give me that knife and hold out your hand.”
Sorin glanced past him at Vlad, who looked away as soon as they made eye contact, tears in his brother’s eyes as well. Swallowing, Sorin silently passed over the knife, forcing his hand to unfold as he presented it to his father. Pain blossomed across his palm a moment later and then Edward had grabbed him by the collar and thrust him off the bed, where Sorin fell hard to his knees, not expecting it.
“Where are the others?”
Silently, Sorin went over to his dresser, opening the top drawer and pulling out a half dozen small figurines from where he’d been hiding them, which he then handed over to Edward.
“Is this all of them?”
“Yes, sir,” Sorin whispered, injured hand clenched tightly in a fist.
Edward looked dispassionately at the small pile, before handing them to Vlad, who almost dropped them in his surprise, and started to unbuckle his belt. “I told you to go to bed.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Were you sleeping?”
“No, sir.”
“Shirt off.”
Sorin reached up to tug his shirt over his head, mind unable to think about anything but the pain. “Father,” he started, trying to speak around the lump in his throat, but the belt just fell for the first time.
“I am not your father, you ungrateful little bastard. I only kept you because it was your mother’s last damn wish. All I ask from you in return is a little obedience,” Edward snarled.
Sorin winced at each of the words - familiar ones, although that didn’t make them hurt any less - even when they weren’t accompanied by a lash. “Yes, sir,” Sorin managed, tears running freely but silently down his face as Edward finished, stepping back.
“I so much as see you with another piece of wood and this will seem like a pleasant dream, Sorin, do you understand me?”
Sorin nodded hastily, but Edward grabbed his chin, forcing Sorin to look up in his eyes.
“I didn’t hear you,” he said dangerously.
“Yes, sir, I understand you, sir,” Sorin said and didn’t fight it when Edward shoved him to the ground.
“Good,” Edward growled, turning abruptly, scooping the carvings from Vlad’s arms and exited the room, slamming the door behind him.
The moment the door was shut, Vlad skidded across the room to drop at Sorin’s side. “Sorin?”
Sorin shook his head. “S’my own fault,” he muttered, reaching past his brother to snatch his shirt and pulled it back over his head. “Go to bed, Vlad,” he added, stiffly getting up to clean up the wood scraps.
“Sorin,” Vlad started again.
“Shut up and go to bed,” Sorin snapped. “It’s my own fault. No reason for you to get in the middle of it.”
“I’m sorry.”
That froze Sorin for a minute and he abruptly realized he was still crying.
Vlad very carefully wrapped his arms around him. “Let me at least bandage your hand.”
“Father won’t like it.”
“I don’t care.”
Sorin looked up at him and then nodded. The punishment for a bandage would be nothing. Just another one in a never ending line.
Story: Nothing is Ever Easy (NIEE) universe, pre-NIEE (synopsis and directory now up)
Challenge, Toppings, Extras: Mocha 12 (what I wouldn’t give…), CCM 28 (lumpy), Whipped Cream (Sorin’s somewhere between 8 and 10 in this), Hot Fudge (He might be a little kid, but he still is officially a ‘bad guy’)
Word Count: 1,042
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Sorin turns to carving to get away from it all, but his ‘father’ ruins even that.
Notes: Sorin is, in fact, not Edward’s child, for reasons that will be explained at a later date. The three siblings (Ani doesn't appear in this one) share a mother.
The feel of wood clasped tightly in one hand and the handle of his old blunted knife in the other was a familiar and comforting feeling usually. Today, he went at the wood, tearing long strips from the block, having no distinct shape in mind, just needing to do something. He continued to gouge at the wood, before pausing and holding it up, realizing he actually did have something in mind - the distinctive statue that sat in the courtyard of his boarding school, despite the wood’s inauspicious start.
Sorin finally stopped his frenzied attack on the wood and stared at it and then let out a quiet, wet laugh, rubbing at his eyes. Then, he slowly began to flesh out the statue, taking his time now, working on the details.
At the rustle, he paused, glancing over at the other bed in the room where his brother, who was two years older, slept. Vlad had rolled over and his eyes glinted in the candlelight as he watched Sorin. “What are you doing?”
“Carving,” Sorin said, returning his focus to the small wooden figurine.
“You’re making a mess.”
“I’ll clean it up before morning,” Sorin said, pausing for a moment, tightening his grip on the statue.
“It’s late.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“You should sleep. It’s only the beginning of summer.”
“Like that matters,” Sorin muttered.
“What?”
“Go back to sleep, Vlad.”
He could feel Vlad’s eyes on him before the rustling of cloth told him that he had rolled away from the light again and gone back to sleep.
Sorin looked over, watching his back until Vlad’s breath had evened out, signaling that he’d fallen back asleep, before going to work on the statuette’s arms. So engrossed on making the small figurine as perfect as possible, he never heard the warning creak of the boards just outside their room.
It was impossible, however, to not notice when the door was flung open with enough force to send it smashing off the back wall. Vlad shot bolt upright in bed. Sorin’s concentration slipped and so did his knife, cutting his finger, no matter how dulled it was. He barely noticed the pain, looking up with panic at his father.
“And what do you think you’re doing?” The calm was dangerous in Edward’s voice.
“I’m c-carving,” Sorin stuttered, voice barely audible.
Vlad scrambled out of bed, but didn’t come any closer to Sorin as Edward stalked forward and ripped the statuette out of Sorin’s hand. “What is this?”
“It’s the statue. From school.”
In the dim candlelight, Sorin didn’t have any warning as Edward’s fist arced in, catching him hard in the cheek. It had enough force behind it to knock Sorin into the wall and he cradled his cheek, staring at his bed, trying hard not to cry - something he found became easier with each passing day.
“You have made a mess.”
“I’m going to clean it up,” Sorin said through teeth clenched against the pain and the tears.
Edward snapped the figurine in two and threw the pieces at Sorin, who ducked away. “You know that is no excuse. Give me that knife and hold out your hand.”
Sorin glanced past him at Vlad, who looked away as soon as they made eye contact, tears in his brother’s eyes as well. Swallowing, Sorin silently passed over the knife, forcing his hand to unfold as he presented it to his father. Pain blossomed across his palm a moment later and then Edward had grabbed him by the collar and thrust him off the bed, where Sorin fell hard to his knees, not expecting it.
“Where are the others?”
Silently, Sorin went over to his dresser, opening the top drawer and pulling out a half dozen small figurines from where he’d been hiding them, which he then handed over to Edward.
“Is this all of them?”
“Yes, sir,” Sorin whispered, injured hand clenched tightly in a fist.
Edward looked dispassionately at the small pile, before handing them to Vlad, who almost dropped them in his surprise, and started to unbuckle his belt. “I told you to go to bed.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Were you sleeping?”
“No, sir.”
“Shirt off.”
Sorin reached up to tug his shirt over his head, mind unable to think about anything but the pain. “Father,” he started, trying to speak around the lump in his throat, but the belt just fell for the first time.
“I am not your father, you ungrateful little bastard. I only kept you because it was your mother’s last damn wish. All I ask from you in return is a little obedience,” Edward snarled.
Sorin winced at each of the words - familiar ones, although that didn’t make them hurt any less - even when they weren’t accompanied by a lash. “Yes, sir,” Sorin managed, tears running freely but silently down his face as Edward finished, stepping back.
“I so much as see you with another piece of wood and this will seem like a pleasant dream, Sorin, do you understand me?”
Sorin nodded hastily, but Edward grabbed his chin, forcing Sorin to look up in his eyes.
“I didn’t hear you,” he said dangerously.
“Yes, sir, I understand you, sir,” Sorin said and didn’t fight it when Edward shoved him to the ground.
“Good,” Edward growled, turning abruptly, scooping the carvings from Vlad’s arms and exited the room, slamming the door behind him.
The moment the door was shut, Vlad skidded across the room to drop at Sorin’s side. “Sorin?”
Sorin shook his head. “S’my own fault,” he muttered, reaching past his brother to snatch his shirt and pulled it back over his head. “Go to bed, Vlad,” he added, stiffly getting up to clean up the wood scraps.
“Sorin,” Vlad started again.
“Shut up and go to bed,” Sorin snapped. “It’s my own fault. No reason for you to get in the middle of it.”
“I’m sorry.”
That froze Sorin for a minute and he abruptly realized he was still crying.
Vlad very carefully wrapped his arms around him. “Let me at least bandage your hand.”
“Father won’t like it.”
“I don’t care.”
Sorin looked up at him and then nodded. The punishment for a bandage would be nothing. Just another one in a never ending line.