« Reply #2 on: October 17, 2021, 08:35:28 AM »
He was falling.
Falling and I could not stop him. I will never forget the look on his face.
I recall thinking it a stroke of luck from Ezra herself that I was let out of lessons early. My tutors would dote and crawl over Lambert and Rogier whilst I remained to the side of the room with no choice but to understand what was presented alone. But I was not new to this. It did not matter the topic; History, Literacy even the more physical practices of fencing, I knew I would need to fend for myself. It seemed even the tutors themselves could understand that worrying over me would not hasten them to favour with my father. Sycophantic insects. Bugs. Pathetic bottom feeders. Even then I could understand the divide between us and them. It was not that they were not borne of noble blood and we were, it was their lack of drive.. Ambition. Their eyes were as dull as that of a dead trouts it was any wonder they had managed to become any such form of tutor. I found myself excelling in our literacy lessons whilst my half-brothers would stumble over what seemed to be the most simple and basic of questions. I would twiddle my quill betwixt my fingers for a time, before I would let my mind wander, and draw.
"You see Basile? Even the simplest of strokes.. and you can create form from nothing."
The image of my mothers beaming smile. Ezra, how I missed that smile. Even at a young age, she saw I had an interest in art. She would regail me with the time she caught me pawing one of her unfinished artworks, staining paint all over my clothing. She took it upon herself to teach me how to see the world, and how to draw what I see, to match what is in my mind to what can be scrawled upon paper. Her attention to detail was flawless. I wonder now even if she took up the brush as I have, to forget what was required of her.. to forget, even for a moment the duty thrust upon her. My wandering mind was cut short at a sharp bark from the newest tutor. He demands I reveal my work if I have time to daydream. Buffoon. I was done twenty minutes ago. I displayed my work and took satisfaction in his chin's wobble in irritation. He sent me off, claiming my studies for the day were concluded. Perfect. I was done being cooped up in that room with my half-brothers the moment I set foot in it. I skipped down the carved stone steps of the estate and made for the worn trail that led to my little piece of quiet; the white cliffs.
To be true, they were little more than a steep hill that overlooked a beautifully blue pond. I had sat here before many times and sketched the surroundings. There was seemingly always something new to take in. A fallen tree to the side of the trail, strange rock formations that dotted the nearby rolling hills. I had brought Marco here before, though it was brief. Ever since his contract with father he has had to forgo our scenic walks in favour of his lessons. Following that his training, followed soon after by further study. At times he did not even seem to be the young joyful boy he was. At times he appeared far older than even I. One cannot help wonder at that still. I had been fortunate that neither Lambert nor Rogier had been much bothered with such scenic views. They would rather poke sticks at the local peasant boys or chase off stray cats. All the better for the peace and quiet however. Before he had shuffled off to his studies, I had seen Marco staring out at the tree by the pond with the yearning of a shackled child. It tore at my heart to see him be pulled away from it. I resolved that with this free time I had now, I would bring this tree to him in one form or another. It was the least I could do for my little brother. I settled above the cliffs that overlooked the pond, positioning myself to have the best vantage of the gnarled old oak tree that remained firmly planted beside the pond. It must have been the afternoon by the time my sketch was finished. Not perfect, no, but that would not matter once the oil paints replaced the lead outlines. I recall gazing out at the hills dreamily before my attention was caught by the unpleasant. Rogier.
What was he doing here!?
My mind worked over this problem even as the redheaded boy began wandering around the pond. He never came to this place. To my place. I spied a shaved stick in his grasp, clearly whittled by the oaf himself and my heart sunk. The previous day I had spent along with the rest of the children of the household. Ella and Marie, my elder half-sisters had established some form of guessing game whilst I played about in my sketchpad. I confess, they were the least terrible of all the first born children, but I had nothing in common with them from what I saw. I rarely saw them, their studies and duties wholly different to mine and my brother's. The time passed as the game changed. One that Rogier had demanded. Some ball game or another. I hadn't been paying much attention until he had decided my presence was too close to his drawn out lines. He marched over to me, snatching the pad from my grasp regardless of my shout of indignation. My sisters protested I recall, though their noise was little more than static as I faced down my brother. I remember him demanding I leave the area and be gone from his sight.
"Get out of here, little snake! We're playing here and the stench of you is an insult I will tolerate no longer!"
I balled my fists. It was the wrong move. I'd done exactly what Rogier was hoping I'd do. Stupid.
"Oh what's this? Going to attack me? Go on then, snake! Prove your nature!"
The fight barely lasted a second. I charged him and his leg extended forwards, boot slamming into my chest, winding me. He was taunting me, I knew that much but the ringing in my ears didn't allow me to hear it. A small mercy I suppose. He was on me in moments. I remember hazily the strikes went on for some time before the servants managed to dislodge him from me. My eyes tracked the red trickle that escaped from my lips onto the mosaic floor. In that moment I'd resolved to get him back, and I would. In the night I crept into their chambers and covered the floor surrounding his bed in a slippery substance I had bribed a servant to aquire before placing one of the training dummies he kept in his room right beside it, the wood structure exposed. It was my hope that upon leaving his bed, he'd slip into the puddle and slam into his wooden toy. Juvenile, yes, but what boy isn't at that age? I saw it as a fitting revenge and so it would do. The following morning, when I saw the pimply pale boy limp to the dinner table, I knew I had been successful. The glare the boy gave me told me it had been too successful. There would be a reckoning now, it would only be a matter of time. And now that time had come I suspected. I remained where I was, watching from the cliff edge as he began to croon my name. No, no not my name. My name is not Snake. His sinister tone made it all too clear his intent, if the stick did not.
"Where are you Snaaake? Come out and plaay~"
I just wanted to work on my art for Marco. I didn't want this- No, I don't need this! He deserved what he got. And I would not go down without a fight. Even as those thoughts crossed my mind I heard the twig snap nearby to indicate his arrival.
"Found you."
That arrogant smirk on his face, the expression of a victory he hadn't even claimed yet. It made my blood boil. I placed my pad down, standing as tall as I could muster. If he wanted to beat me, he'd do it with me standing to face him. Another foolish mistake. Rogier was older than me and taller by a foot at least, and he had range on me thanks to that accursed stick. The sharp pain I felt in my stomach and then my back concluded my harsh lesson on fighting someone with a weapon barehanded. His boot came crashing onto my hand as I attempted to scrabble away, sending a white jolt of pain through my body. I watched as he swaggered around me. Damn that infuriating smirk of his.
"This is your little hideaway, huh? Quaint. How alike to a Snake you really are, hiding up here amongst the tall grass."
A shaft of pain as I feel his boot dig into my side. Rogier continued his circling of me, until he paused, his eyes lighting up on the pad. No..
"What have we here? Oh I know, it's that pad where you draw your silly little doodles. Plan to be an artist, Snake? Don't worry, when I come of age I'll be sure to see you and your ill-bred brother destitute enough to warrant such a job."
Anger rose in me, but upon watching him pick up the pad, I began to struggle up, and was afforded another kick to my side for the trouble.
"Mm, stupid. You call this art?"
He crowed, shaking the book. I shut my eyes, waiting for his torment to end, and then I heard it. The unmistakable sound of paper being torn.
"Stop it! That's for Marco! Stop it you son of a-"
Another grunt as pain reared in my shoulder.
"It's for that half-blood brother of yours? I should have known. Stupid little snake. Your brother probably hates these as much as I do."
The tearing continued, and I could tolerate it no longer. I screamed in anger as I lept to my feet before Rogier could deliver a kick. My eyes were wild with fury as they focused on Rogier. He had left his stick in the grass after he'd decidedly won. Now here he was, tearing my sketchings. Marco's sketches. I lept at him, delivering a punch to his nose, forcing the brutes eyes to close in pain as he cupped his nose. I took the opportunity to hurl a fist towards his stomach, but his hand batted it away. He delivered a punch to my side but I ignored the pain that shot through me. Anger had replaced the pain with a surge of adrenaline and I was not going to waste it. I pressed my attack, another cross to his face, one to the side, earning several punches to my stomach for my efforts. We couldn't have been fighting for longer than a few minutes, but we were tired, bloodied and fury was etched on our faces. Rogier's own pimply face was twisted with rage. That I, a lowly Half-breed, barely above a servant would dare to strike him? He could not fathom it. He wiped blood from his nose, shouting at me.
"You-You'll pay for that you half-breed mongrel slime! I'LL KILL YOU!"
I was tired. So tired. I could barely make out his shouted threats as I tried to fight to keep myself alert. We danced closer and closer to the cliffs edge as I saw him prepare to charge at me... But no charge came. His boot misplaced his footing, and he jerked his ankle to the side. His shout of pain cut off by the shock of his teetering frame. He'd drawn too close to the edge. I watched, in horrified fascination as his shout turned to a bloodcurdling scream.. and he fell. He was falling. Falling and I could not catch him. The scream cut short by a violent twist as his body collided with the rocks below.
I could not believe what had happened. Then again, neither could Father. His face had turned a sharp shade of crimson when I was brought before him, the mangled body to the far end covered by a white sheet. I could not help but stare at it in morbid curiosity. Did it all truly happen? Did he..
"-just how did Rogier fall, Basile!? Did you do this!? Did YOU push him down that Cliff!!?"
My thoughts were cut off from the whip within my fathers voice. I vaguely make out Lamberts decries of my guilt, silenced by a swift motion of his hand. The Gendarme that stood to the side, the one that had been called to the incident stared me down. My head swam as I turned back to my father.
"No father. I..I didn't do this. He.. fell. He fell off the ledge before I could stop him."
Blood trickled down my lip as the Gendarme approached my father, murmoring quietly to him. The intensity of Silvaines gaze was unmistakable. He was barely containing his fury, yet whatever was said by the Gendarme appeared to tame the wildfire that was brewing. He dismissed the rest of the family, and I was made to recount what had occured. By the end, the authorities concluded it had been a fight between boys and one had slipped, tragically losing his life. Silvaine retreated to his chambers not soon after seeing the Gendarme off his property. I could hear him weeping in his room, hear the muffled weeping that arose from my sisters rooms. I was given a wide berth, left to my thoughts.
I had spoken true, I had not pushed Rogier, nor had I killed him. but deep in my heart, I knew.
Had he not fallen down that cliff, I would have made certain he did.
« Last Edit: May 03, 2023, 06:53:09 AM by PrimetheGrime »
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