A bottle smashed with a high pitched keening against the wall, the young man ducked beneath it with practiced reflex. "You think you're going to marry that rich girl and move out of Blackchapel huh? You stupid little bastard!" The mans mustache shook with the force of his words, blue eyes wide with the heightened emotion. "She actually supports my painting father! She actually-" Another bottle exploded against the wall, the young man did not even bother to duck, he was not truly trying to strike the boy.
"Its a dream Theo! The painting? You're a bloody trashpicker! You've got a decent arm but no one wants a bloody painting from a trashpicker!" He stormed back and forth, till the fuming overwhelmed him, pudgy hand roughly shoved the old splintery table before him away. His jaw clenched, bright blue yes glowering at the boy intently. The subject of his ire moved to speak but was cutoff as the ranting began once more. "That stupid girl has no idea what it's like not to have money Theodore, and as soon as she does shes going to break your heart and leave you a lonely, stupid fool!"
"What? Like mother did to you!?" He snapped back with a clenching of bruised, shaking hands. The father stood for a time, silent. He turned quietly upon his large feet and stormed out of the small house in a quiet but terrible rage. Theodore rushed quickly into his fathers room, he needed money, enough money to leave this house and rush off with Connie. He pulled free the boxes of papers and slips of old diaries his father kept beneath his bed, until a wrapped object and letter attached caught his eye.
"To my son"
Within the package lay a knife, distinctly chipped from Obsidian, broken in pieces it had long ago been rendered unusable. A letter penned in a flowing delicate hand, he read with his heart risen up in his throat, eyes filled with rage and betrayal. When the letter was done, he packed away all he had found with a calculating cold efficiency, making a cursory effort to leave it as it had been before he looked. Only the broken tip of the obsidian knife tied as a pendant around his throat. And there it would remain onward.