- Location
- Spain
A rather simple entropy rote can guarantee a chance meeting tho.
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Advance Australia Fair [Old World of Darkness]
A rather simple entropy rote can guarantee a chance meeting tho.
TenfoldShields
Lounging on a Hoard of Words
- Pronouns
- He/Him
His home's not unused, just clean and not even, like, freakishly clean either. And Dad didn't "randomly" decide to call, he and we had a pretty big argument, we got out of the car and started walking off, Dad's probably worried so he called one of his friends in the neighborhood (y'know, the kind of people you talk to when you need your dog sat or you go BBQ with or whatever) and asked them to keep an eye out. And it's a pretty upper-class, nicer neighborhood, and so his friend does.
And 'lo and behold Meghanada walks home on what's basically the most direct route (real shocker huh?) which carries him past said friend. It's probably not a gigantic neighborhood either so, like, it's not like this is some huge fucking coincidence. And yeah we might not remember him well but we do know him more or less. At least enough that it's clicking.
Like sure, vote for being closed off if you want the dude to be closed off, but voting for it because maybe this dude's just waiting to toss us into his secret sex dungeon is pretty thick.
Or. Y'know. Probable outcomes are probable. Not everything has to be "secretly a mage" ffs. Like it's two posts in and it's already pretty established that there's a not insignificant distance between us and our Dad. "Family friend we haven't really met for awhile" isn't exactly "hey kids want some candy" levels of sketch.
LupineVolt
Now with 200% more Puns
- Location
- Michigan
Yeah, I think that y'all are sort of jumping a bit ahead of yourselves with Entropic Encounters and Mystery Men. I mean, this still feels like the Character Generation portion of this quest. I mean, we don't know all the details about ourselves or our circumstances, but those may just be a perfectly normal backdrop for this quest before things change.
This is "Without having to worry about the baggage this might bring, unload on one of the major issues that has been bothering you." Because if we did this while speaking with mom or dad or our sister, our behavior might change. This man is a blank slate for us to be honest with.
This is "Without having to worry about the baggage this might bring, unload on one of the major issues that has been bothering you." Because if we did this while speaking with mom or dad or our sister, our behavior might change. This man is a blank slate for us to be honest with.
- Location
- Mountains and rivers
I don't.
That's the info we got from a 13 y/o perspective.
I'm sorry, did I fucking stutter? What's so hard to understand that my random bout of paranoia doesn't trust a guy named Rob who's hitting all the ROB buttons for Worm CYOAs? Yes, it's unreasonable and unlikely to happen, which is why I said I was super paranoid, not running off of 10/10 reasoning.
- Location
- Canadia
[X] It's you. You feel like you're in this transparent bubble that's keeping you just that little bit apart from everyone you know. Like you're a puzzle piece with all these weird rounded edges that just don't seem to fit. You don't really feel Indian and you don't really feel Australian. Sometimes you just feel like the second half of a two-for-one deal that nobody actually wanted, but they just make the most of with.
Yeah, this neatly sums it all up and falls in with stereotypical teenage angst, makes the most sense to me.
On another note, absolutely loving this so far! I think the fact I have no clue as to anything about the setting is a boon, keeps me on the edge of my seat cuz I don't have any idea what'll happen next!
Yeah, this neatly sums it all up and falls in with stereotypical teenage angst, makes the most sense to me.
On another note, absolutely loving this so far! I think the fact I have no clue as to anything about the setting is a boon, keeps me on the edge of my seat cuz I don't have any idea what'll happen next!
Lexica
Persevere
- Pronouns
- She/Her
[X] It's you. You feel like you're in this transparent bubble that's keeping you just that little bit apart from everyone you know. Like you're a puzzle piece with all these weird rounded edges that just don't seem to fit. You don't really feel Indian and you don't really feel Australian. Sometimes you just feel like the second half of a two-for-one deal that nobody actually wanted, but they just make the most of with.
10:1 this entire character gen portion is going to end with Meg dead and it all being a red herring for Lakshmi quest.
10:1 this entire character gen portion is going to end with Meg dead and it all being a red herring for Lakshmi quest.
LaRed
Are you stupid or something
- Location
- Mou Ikkai hell
I don't think fakeouts are Zerban's thing tho. Shocking TwistsTM about the MCs sure, but not "I was taking you all for a rusecruise!" *obnoxious fiddle playing*
Lexica
Persevere
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Ah, but the whole thing is really symbolic about the nature of humanity and how you effect people around you and-
Yeah okay probably not. But when I saw twins it was basically my first thought.
Ridiculously Average Guy
I'm you, but stronger
- Location
-
[X] It's you. You feel like you're in this transparent bubble that's keeping you just that little bit apart from everyone you know. Like you're a puzzle piece with all these weird rounded edges that just don't seem to fit. You don't really feel Indian and you don't really feel Australian. Sometimes you just feel like the second half of a two-for-one deal that nobody actually wanted, but they just make the most of with.
"Sometimes I just want to fly away."
"Sometimes I just want to fly away."
[X] It's you. You feel like you're in this transparent bubble that's keeping you just that little bit apart from everyone you know. Like you're a puzzle piece with all these weird rounded edges that just don't seem to fit. You don't really feel Indian and you don't really feel Australian. Sometimes you just feel like the second half of a two-for-one deal that nobody actually wanted, but they just make the most of with.
Excalibur
Sword of Promised Victory
[X] It's you. You feel like you're in this transparent bubble that's keeping you just that little bit apart from everyone you know. Like you're a puzzle piece with all these weird rounded edges that just don't seem to fit. You don't really feel Indian and you don't really feel Australian. Sometimes you just feel like the second half of a two-for-one deal that nobody actually wanted, but they just make the most of with.
will408914
(slouching towards bethlehem)
- Location
- California
[X] It's you. You feel like you're in this transparent bubble that's keeping you just that little bit apart from everyone you know. Like you're a puzzle piece with all these weird rounded edges that just don't seem to fit. You don't really feel Indian and you don't really feel Australian. Sometimes you just feel like the second half of a two-for-one deal that nobody actually wanted, but they just make the most of with.
Chapter Four: At Its Corps
ZerbanDaGreat
Daemon Noble of D E M O G R A P H I C S
- Pronouns
- They/them
"It's..."
It's Dad. He doesn't respect you. It's Mum. She doesn't care about you. It's Lakshmi. She's just so perfect and holier-than-thou.
"It's me, heh."
Rob doesn't comment. He just slowly takes another sip of his tea. You take the opportunity to down the rest of yours. The sweet, milky warmth does a little to make you feel better. A small, fortifying heat in your stomach. You cradle the still-warm mug, feeling the leftover warmth bleed into your palms. Stare into the last dregs collecting at the bottom.
"It's like I don't know who I am any more," you mumble. "Like I don't belong in my own family. Like I don't even know them. Like I'm this weird... hanger-on. Honestly the minute it occurred to me that I might be adopted I jumped on it so quickly 'cause... 'cause it just makes the most sense to me."
"Why do you think that is?" Rob asks diplomatically. You scoff.
"Look at me, heh. I've got an excuse not to have noticed for so long, I'm a stupid kid. Everyone else's probably known my whole life. Just not said anything 'cause they didn't want to hurt my feelings. I may kinda look like Lakshmi and I may be the same age as her but... but come on!"
Rob nods. "I'd say this is something you should discuss with your Dad but from the sounds of it you already did."
"For all the good that did," you say glumly.
"Yeah." Rob leans forward and sets his still-steaming mug down on the coffee table. "I'll be honest with you, Meghanada. I can't empathise with you as much as I'd like. I have no idea what it'd be like to be in your position. Can't imagine how hard it would be not even being able to trust my place in my own family. But if it's any consolation... everyone feels a little out-of-place sometimes. Outgrowing what used to be familiar and finding your new niche is something everyone goes through. You're thirteen, after all. The teens are when that all starts."
"Yay," you say, unenthused.
He scratches the back of his neck. "So... family's out of the picture. For now. Any friends you can talk to?"
You scoff. "Friends don't talk about stuff like that." You pause. "... not my friends, anyway."
"Try the school counsellor." You look at him. He shrugs. "They're not top-of-the-line but they're there for a reason, y'know? If nothing else, he can help make school a bit easier while you try to sort things out. I think you should at least try it, for what it's worth."
"I guess."
Silence falls. It feels thick, choking. A tie that's way too tight, compressing your throat. You want to say something just to break it, but you have no idea what. You move to pick up your mug and take it into the kitchen. Rob beats you there with a quiet thanks for the thought, finishing off the rest of his own mug and taking the two to the sink to be rinsed. The rush of water is something to fill the space, at least.
"... so what should I do now?" you ask, somewhat stupidly.
"Like, 'right now tonight' now?" Rob asks. You nod. "Go home, I'd say. Just get a good night's sleep and try to tackle all this fresh in the morning. I'm sure your Dad'll give you some time to settle your thoughts."
"I guess," you say, unconvinced. "I can walk. Don't have to drop me off-"
"Drop you off?" Rob grins. "Mate, we're backyard-to-backyard. I boost you over the fence and you're home already."
"... oh." You feel very stupid now.
"Come on." Rob pats you on the shoulder. "Let's get you home. And not a word to your dad, promise."
He smiles at you. You smile back, a little weakly but it's there. You force yourself to stand, the couch creaking as it slowly erases your ass-print. Rob opens the back door for you, flicking on the backyard lights. Crickets chirp softly in the distance as you walk across the springy grass, your shadow stretching out long and dark before you. You pass by the pool, covered and unused. The night chill comes back in full force. You shiver, hug yourself. When you get to the back 'fence' you're greeted by an impossibly high, impregnable wall of hedges.
"This doesn't seem-"
"C'mon, I'll boost you up." Rob ducks down, offering you his cupped hands. You shrug, decide to try it out. Not like you'll break your neck if you fall. You step up into his offered hands, only to immediately cry out in surprise as you seem to shoot up into the air. You wobble, windmilling your arms, and before you know it you're on top of the hedge. The shrubbery's so thick that it supports you like slightly springy rock. You lie flat across the surface, on your stomach, clinging to it like a surprised beetle. You hear Rob chuckle.
"There's a bit of a hill on your side. The drop's fine, you can make it!"
You force yourself to swing your legs over the side and let go. There's a brief moment of the terrifying rush of falling before your legs crumple and you lie in a stunned heap on the grass. After a minute of feeling like you just died, you rise to discover that you're completely unhurt, and feel a little silly. You go to thank Rob, only to remember that he's quite out of sight now.
"If you need a chat, you know where to find me!" he says through the hedge.
"See you," you say.
You sleep okay that night. Not great, but not terrible. In the morning, nobody wants to talk about it. Dad doesn't bring it up. You don't want to either. You know it's not going to solve anything. You're not in the mood for a repeat of yesterday. You just silently put up with Lakshmi talking about just how much all the aunties adored her and how there's a million grandsons that want to meet her. You just silently put up with a lot until you get back to school.
You see the counsellor like Rob said. First appointment doesn't really get much done. But you don't want to feel like you pussed out on it at the first opportunity. So you go again. And again. And again. Each time mumbling out a little bit more about yourself. It's the fourth visit when the counsellor finally has an idea. You like being at Mum's place, seeing the hints of her culture - hell, even like Uncle Val hanging around. You want something to bond with Dad over. He said he converted, so why not go to the temple for a while?
Dad really likes the idea. He's intensely apologetic about his schedule as always, but soon enough you find time on the weekend. You go to a different temple from the one where the wedding was - a fresh start for the both of you. Something about the temple's atmosphere soothes you, grinds down the sharp edges of the problems slowly sawing away at you. You listen in on a couple of the group prayers, but you don't participate. Instead you wander the halls, listening as Dad explains the various gods as best he can. Explains what he learned from Mum about prayer. You pray to Ganesh for the wisdom to navigate through the confusing mire your life has become. You pray to Hanuman for protection, albeit with some persuading from Dad. Dad prays to Lakshmi, though you don't think he really needs help on the wealth and prosperity front. And lastly you pray to Vishnu, that no more of what you cherish can slip away from you.
You go every week for the rest of the school year. More when you can swing it. Then work gets in the way again. Some new project or another, even less free time than he usually has. You try not to mind too much. You ask if you can start a prayer-corner in your room instead. He helps you pick things out for your little shrine with all the time he has left. You trawl the Internet looking for new gods to learn about and add to the shrine. It feels... you're not sure really. Comforting, in a way. Like Mum's life isn't just a once-a-year treat any more.
You see Rob every week or two. Sometimes he's just going for a run and passes you while you're taking a walk. Sometimes you drop by. He doesn't keep his door locked - it's a good neighbourhood like that. You talk, about all the stuff you have no one else for. Or about nothing in particular. He says he's an artist, the detailed sketch kind that doesn't exactly line the walls in the Louvre but pays the bills. He must be really good to afford a place right behind Dad's. Rob's a bit odd but you don't mind. He likes his quiet and so do you. He likes his space and so do you. It's surprisingly easy to get your schoolwork done at his place, with no Lakshmi or Ms. Jenkins hovering around. Dad says Ms. Jenkins probably appreciates the break. You don't find it as funny as he does.
It's October again. Your second fifteenth birthday. You and Lakshmi show up at Mum's house to see an unexpected addition. A brand new archery range, a rectangular block of bush cleared away with all the proper top-of-the-line accoutrements present and accounted for. Mum says that archery's very big in Hindu history, that she always loved it as a kid. Uncle Val says that teaches one to centre themselves, to shut out outside distractions and focus. Dad just says that it's pretty fun, and hands you your brand new bows to see for yourselves. You can't lie. It is fun. You're a first-timer and you suck, obviously, but Uncle Val and Mum help you and Lakshmi out loads. And there's something just viscerally satisfying about it. Feeling the bowstring creak as you draw it back, feeling the tension, the weight of the draw. Letting the arrow loose in one explosive movement and watching it shoot off with a fwip. Sometimes even into the target.
When you get back, Ms. Jenkins tells you there's an archery club not 20 minutes' drive from home. You and Lakshmi sign up immediately. You start going every weekend, sometimes more when it's school holidays. It's funny - you were starting to think that you and Lakshmi had nothing it common. Still feel like you have no idea what's going through her head or what she does all day sometimes. But when you head over to the club and set up side-by-side on the range, it feels just like old times. The two of you shoot in pristine silence until all your arrows are gone, then chat about anything and nothing as you trudge over to retrieve them. On-off, a curious rhythm. You've been shooting a couple of times too, but it was never the same. Guns are all well and good in videogames and movies but they're a bit... boring in real life. Your bow feels better. You feel like you're in control of every part of it. Like your entire body is engaged, pulled as taut as your bowstring. There's something about that feeling just before you loose. Something about refining your technique, every fractional stage of the draw and release. Uncle Val's right. It does teach you focus. It does teach you patience.
Not enough.
Cadet Corps is possibly the worst idea in the history of man. It's the idea of having every boy from Year 9 to Year 12 join - attendance compulsory - a mockup of the Australian Army and have to stay after school every Monday for drills and shit. And the 17 and 18 year olds are COs, trying to control 15 and 16 year olds. It's exactly as genius as it sounds. And it's not enough that complete cockheads have been instated as your superior officers for the next four years, and many weeks Corps goes on and on in the simmering heat until that one 'tard in the squad (and there is always at least one) understands the concept of "left right left" and "right turn". It's not enough that it's only for the guys, so Lakshmi gets to swan on home and laugh off your complaints as idle bitching. No, then you have to go to camp.
Cramped busfuls of sweaty teenage boys trundle off to the middle of the bush right in the middle of Summer. You don't have any friends in your squad, of course. Figures. Crowds by the buses as everyone waits to haul their shit into base camp. The sun beats down angrily, with a vengeance. Your feet sweat in your big stupid boots and thick socks. Somehow the evolutionary advantages of your darker skin aren't much comfort.
It's not as bad at first. The first two days you're at base camp, eating fairly okay food (holy shit the rat-packs have Smarties) and sleeping in cabins with real bunk beds. Snoring roommates notwithstanding. It's not fun doing drills in the sweltering 30+ degree heat and most of the theory work goes in one ear and out the other, but it's not awful. The next two days it's even hotter, and you have to shift to the next camp in the rotation. Facilities are worse, but at least there's still plenty of taps around. Abseiling's pretty cool, you can't be shitty about that unless you tried. And even though they only let you shoot piddly-ass single-shot bolt-action .22 rifles that kick like an old man coughing, shooting's an okay change of pace. You don't like it as much as archery, but the basic principles are there. Keep calm, stay patient, focus, and judge your distance.
Then it's day 5. Time to trek to the third camp. A long, long, long, long trek over hill and dale and then up a fucking mountain. You don't exactly have your thermometer with you but it feels like the hottest day of the week so far, and your canteen isn't bottomless. But for extra irony, you have to cross a river about fifteen minutes into the hike. Everyone's boots get soaked. It's an auspicious start. No one wants to waste breath chatting so it's nothing but a silent, puffing slog as sweat pours from every pore. Your kit only seems to get heavier and heavier with every step you drag it through the bush. At some point during the climb, with seemingly no rhyme or reason, you feel something start to squirm under your shirt. You contort and flail, shaking it wildly, and see something long with too many legs fly out. Too late. The bite swells and stings the rest of the way there. Your mood only gets fouler.
You finally make it to the midway camp as the sun mercifully begins to set. There's a bunch of old spent shell casings lying around that under no circumstances are to be picked up as souvenirs, so of course everyone has a couple in their pocket by the time the entire squad's settled. You stampede for the river and drink until the water gurgles and sloshes in your stomach, then finally refill your bone-dry canteen. Your stomach growls anyway as you shamble back to camp. A couple guys get the fire going while a few bright sparks whip out the portable stoves and pans they brought in their kit bags. The assorted camo-clad teenagers all rummage around in the remnants of their 24-hour rat-packs, hunting for their dinners. You paw through yours. Breakfast muesli with milk powder's gone of course. Instant noodles were for lunch, eaten dry and chased with water. Tea was for lunch, to make the last of your water count - shit's cash when you use condensed milk. Any other various odds and ends long-since consumed. Just your main-meal sachet left. You blindly tear open the brown plastic and-
Wait. That smell.
You check the front. Printed in cramped little text is the nature of your repast. BBQ beef.
Shit.
"So uh, what's everyone got?" you ask as casually as possible. Doesn't seem like many people hear you. Or care. The ones that do reply still have beef meals, either exactly the same as yours or with veggies. Shit shit shit. You try to act casual - as casual as one can be, holding an opened MRE sachet at arm's length like a snooty food critic. Ugh. Shit. You'll just have to own up to it.
"Look, has anyone got something that isn't beef?"
"Yeah, I got chicken italiano. Why?"
You recognise the voice. You look. It's the corporal. Shit. Name's David Baker or something. Dave-o to his friends, of course. His idea of leadership is encouraging mockery, and he never helps out with the actual heavy lifting. Blonde and blue-eyed, perhaps a carrier for the superior Aryan asshole genes. You steel yourself and try to speak as evenly as possible.
"Can we swap?"
"Nah. I like chicken. Besides, looks like most of the unit got the same thing." He shrugs. "You get shit rat-packs once you're out of base camp."
"Look... please." You can practically feel your balls ache with the effort to be polite.
"What's up, got a lust for cock-meat in the evening, mate?" he chuckles. "Seriously though, fuck off and eat. Or get working on your tent."
"Sir." You're fine with calling every adult male on campus 'sir' but you draw the line a guy barely over a year older than you. "I... can't eat beef. Ok? I need your chicken ration."
"Why?" He folds his arms, the sachet tucked under his arm. You purse your lips so tight they vanish completely. All the good private schools in town are some denomination of Christian. Dad had to search high and low for a nondenominational one. When he finally found it it was so far away that Ms. Jenkins chauffeuring you and Lakshmi was practically mandatory. And yet despite his best efforts over the years you still felt this growing... unease. Of not fitting in right. After all Hindus are, what, 1% of the population? Statistically speaking you're a unicorn. It's always just seemed easer to keep it under wraps. Safer. Maybe just paranoia but- shit you've been quiet too long, say something.
"Because I'm Hindu," you force out. "I can't eat it."
He raises his eyebrows and leans back a little. "That right? Yeah you guys like, worship cows or some shit?"
"Hhhaaaaa. No, we don't worship them now can I just have the chicken please." You make to reach out for the sachet. David flicks it away from you, held at head-height.
"Hey hey hey, hang on. Don't snatch." There's that shit-eating grin. "If you don't pray to cows, what's the problem with eating 'em?"
Ugh, shit. Praying. You couldn't exactly pack your shrine in your kit bag. And trying to do it au naturale just felt so... hollow. So you stopped. It hasn't improved your mood. You take a slow, deep breath. It's okay. You don't have to give him a theological lecture. Bare essentials.
"They aren't worshipped but they're sacred," you explain evenly. "Traditionally they're seen as motherly, part of the family-"
"So your mum's sacred too, then?"
CRUNCH
It's not something you think about. Not a neuron sparks in your conscious mind. Your nerves spark to life and your fist just goes sailing forward. No thought. David can't see it coming. Couldn't react even if he did. The sensation feels oddly like punching a bag of chips, feeling it all crunch and crumble beneath the plastic skin. His head snaps back and he just crumples like a ragdoll, hitting the dirt hard. Your knuckles sting. It takes a bit for everyone else to realise what you just did. For David to react. There's a moment of what seems like perfect silence.
David doesn't make a noise. He's out cold. Everyone else makes plenty of noise. It all washes over you at once in one big wave, trying to drown out your thoughts. The veins in your forehead pulse. Your brain seems too big, pressing painfully against the inside of your skull. It aches behind your eyes. Someone's grabbing at your shoulder.
You scoop up the fallen MRE packet, walk away from the campsite, and start to eat it cold.
The night passes in a whirl. They have to radio base camp and mention David's injuries. They treat him as best they can. The other two officers scream at you but it just... rolls off. You pitch your tent far away from everyone else that night. In the morning you set off early, barely time for breakfast. A handful of guys take off their belts and lash them together in a makeshift stretcher, just like they taught you. You have to carry all their kit. By the time you all reach the forward camp you're about ready to collapse. The medics waiting there take David away. The teachers take you away, too.
You get sent home early, of course. After a forced march back to base camp, Ms. Jenkins is waiting out front to take you home. She doesn't say a word in all the hours and hours of driving. Nobody else is home when you get back. You don't eat. You just go to bed. You don't leave the house for a couple of days.
You go to the principal's office. Dad's there too. Had to come home early from a business trip. You're told, in no uncertain terms, just how badly you fucked up. David's family is screaming bloody murder about what you did to his face, wants to bring you up on charges. They're a family with a long history of ties to the school. Generations of rowers and rugby players and top-scoring students. The school doesn't have the will or the inclination to silence them. Neither, you realise, does Dad. He doesn't say a word in your defence during the entire appointment. He just nods and agrees when the principal recommends expulsion.
He doesn't speak to you the whole car ride home. You can see his clenched jaw working, the tendons shifting in his neck. He's angry. Furious. Doesn't know where to direct it. You almost wish he'd yell at you. You try to think of something, anything to say. Find nothing. The gulf between you is too wide. Instead you say nothing. When you get home, only you get out of the car. Dad says something tersely about needing to head right back to the office to make sure his work doesn't collapse. You walk up the path and into the house all alone.
Lakshmi's waiting for you.
"What the fuck's wrong with you!?" she shouts as she springs up from the couch. "Everything's going just fine then out of the blue I hear you went psycho!? The entire school knows about it, Meg! David's face swelled up like you beat him with a shovel! He can barely breathe! He sure as hell can't play Rugby until he heals! And Dad was freaking about having to come home and deal with the school kicking you out! What could he have done that was so bad you had to turn into a caveman and assault him? God, did you ever stop and think about how this would affect dad, or me? Now I'm just going to be the sister of the psycho who assaulted someone on camp for like three years!"
Your jaw goes tight. Your fist clenches. You breathe, slowly, in and out.
[ ] Say nothing. There's nothing more to say. Nothing that'd change anything or make it better. Just let it wash over you and go to bed.
[ ] Tell Lakshmi that you're glad she knows where her priorities are.
[ ] Tell Lakshmi exactly what the fuck's wrong with you.
It's Dad. He doesn't respect you. It's Mum. She doesn't care about you. It's Lakshmi. She's just so perfect and holier-than-thou.
"It's me, heh."
Rob doesn't comment. He just slowly takes another sip of his tea. You take the opportunity to down the rest of yours. The sweet, milky warmth does a little to make you feel better. A small, fortifying heat in your stomach. You cradle the still-warm mug, feeling the leftover warmth bleed into your palms. Stare into the last dregs collecting at the bottom.
"It's like I don't know who I am any more," you mumble. "Like I don't belong in my own family. Like I don't even know them. Like I'm this weird... hanger-on. Honestly the minute it occurred to me that I might be adopted I jumped on it so quickly 'cause... 'cause it just makes the most sense to me."
"Why do you think that is?" Rob asks diplomatically. You scoff.
"Look at me, heh. I've got an excuse not to have noticed for so long, I'm a stupid kid. Everyone else's probably known my whole life. Just not said anything 'cause they didn't want to hurt my feelings. I may kinda look like Lakshmi and I may be the same age as her but... but come on!"
Rob nods. "I'd say this is something you should discuss with your Dad but from the sounds of it you already did."
"For all the good that did," you say glumly.
"Yeah." Rob leans forward and sets his still-steaming mug down on the coffee table. "I'll be honest with you, Meghanada. I can't empathise with you as much as I'd like. I have no idea what it'd be like to be in your position. Can't imagine how hard it would be not even being able to trust my place in my own family. But if it's any consolation... everyone feels a little out-of-place sometimes. Outgrowing what used to be familiar and finding your new niche is something everyone goes through. You're thirteen, after all. The teens are when that all starts."
"Yay," you say, unenthused.
He scratches the back of his neck. "So... family's out of the picture. For now. Any friends you can talk to?"
You scoff. "Friends don't talk about stuff like that." You pause. "... not my friends, anyway."
"Try the school counsellor." You look at him. He shrugs. "They're not top-of-the-line but they're there for a reason, y'know? If nothing else, he can help make school a bit easier while you try to sort things out. I think you should at least try it, for what it's worth."
"I guess."
Silence falls. It feels thick, choking. A tie that's way too tight, compressing your throat. You want to say something just to break it, but you have no idea what. You move to pick up your mug and take it into the kitchen. Rob beats you there with a quiet thanks for the thought, finishing off the rest of his own mug and taking the two to the sink to be rinsed. The rush of water is something to fill the space, at least.
"... so what should I do now?" you ask, somewhat stupidly.
"Like, 'right now tonight' now?" Rob asks. You nod. "Go home, I'd say. Just get a good night's sleep and try to tackle all this fresh in the morning. I'm sure your Dad'll give you some time to settle your thoughts."
"I guess," you say, unconvinced. "I can walk. Don't have to drop me off-"
"Drop you off?" Rob grins. "Mate, we're backyard-to-backyard. I boost you over the fence and you're home already."
"... oh." You feel very stupid now.
"Come on." Rob pats you on the shoulder. "Let's get you home. And not a word to your dad, promise."
He smiles at you. You smile back, a little weakly but it's there. You force yourself to stand, the couch creaking as it slowly erases your ass-print. Rob opens the back door for you, flicking on the backyard lights. Crickets chirp softly in the distance as you walk across the springy grass, your shadow stretching out long and dark before you. You pass by the pool, covered and unused. The night chill comes back in full force. You shiver, hug yourself. When you get to the back 'fence' you're greeted by an impossibly high, impregnable wall of hedges.
"This doesn't seem-"
"C'mon, I'll boost you up." Rob ducks down, offering you his cupped hands. You shrug, decide to try it out. Not like you'll break your neck if you fall. You step up into his offered hands, only to immediately cry out in surprise as you seem to shoot up into the air. You wobble, windmilling your arms, and before you know it you're on top of the hedge. The shrubbery's so thick that it supports you like slightly springy rock. You lie flat across the surface, on your stomach, clinging to it like a surprised beetle. You hear Rob chuckle.
"There's a bit of a hill on your side. The drop's fine, you can make it!"
You force yourself to swing your legs over the side and let go. There's a brief moment of the terrifying rush of falling before your legs crumple and you lie in a stunned heap on the grass. After a minute of feeling like you just died, you rise to discover that you're completely unhurt, and feel a little silly. You go to thank Rob, only to remember that he's quite out of sight now.
"If you need a chat, you know where to find me!" he says through the hedge.
"See you," you say.
You sleep okay that night. Not great, but not terrible. In the morning, nobody wants to talk about it. Dad doesn't bring it up. You don't want to either. You know it's not going to solve anything. You're not in the mood for a repeat of yesterday. You just silently put up with Lakshmi talking about just how much all the aunties adored her and how there's a million grandsons that want to meet her. You just silently put up with a lot until you get back to school.
You see the counsellor like Rob said. First appointment doesn't really get much done. But you don't want to feel like you pussed out on it at the first opportunity. So you go again. And again. And again. Each time mumbling out a little bit more about yourself. It's the fourth visit when the counsellor finally has an idea. You like being at Mum's place, seeing the hints of her culture - hell, even like Uncle Val hanging around. You want something to bond with Dad over. He said he converted, so why not go to the temple for a while?
Dad really likes the idea. He's intensely apologetic about his schedule as always, but soon enough you find time on the weekend. You go to a different temple from the one where the wedding was - a fresh start for the both of you. Something about the temple's atmosphere soothes you, grinds down the sharp edges of the problems slowly sawing away at you. You listen in on a couple of the group prayers, but you don't participate. Instead you wander the halls, listening as Dad explains the various gods as best he can. Explains what he learned from Mum about prayer. You pray to Ganesh for the wisdom to navigate through the confusing mire your life has become. You pray to Hanuman for protection, albeit with some persuading from Dad. Dad prays to Lakshmi, though you don't think he really needs help on the wealth and prosperity front. And lastly you pray to Vishnu, that no more of what you cherish can slip away from you.
You go every week for the rest of the school year. More when you can swing it. Then work gets in the way again. Some new project or another, even less free time than he usually has. You try not to mind too much. You ask if you can start a prayer-corner in your room instead. He helps you pick things out for your little shrine with all the time he has left. You trawl the Internet looking for new gods to learn about and add to the shrine. It feels... you're not sure really. Comforting, in a way. Like Mum's life isn't just a once-a-year treat any more.
You see Rob every week or two. Sometimes he's just going for a run and passes you while you're taking a walk. Sometimes you drop by. He doesn't keep his door locked - it's a good neighbourhood like that. You talk, about all the stuff you have no one else for. Or about nothing in particular. He says he's an artist, the detailed sketch kind that doesn't exactly line the walls in the Louvre but pays the bills. He must be really good to afford a place right behind Dad's. Rob's a bit odd but you don't mind. He likes his quiet and so do you. He likes his space and so do you. It's surprisingly easy to get your schoolwork done at his place, with no Lakshmi or Ms. Jenkins hovering around. Dad says Ms. Jenkins probably appreciates the break. You don't find it as funny as he does.
It's October again. Your second fifteenth birthday. You and Lakshmi show up at Mum's house to see an unexpected addition. A brand new archery range, a rectangular block of bush cleared away with all the proper top-of-the-line accoutrements present and accounted for. Mum says that archery's very big in Hindu history, that she always loved it as a kid. Uncle Val says that teaches one to centre themselves, to shut out outside distractions and focus. Dad just says that it's pretty fun, and hands you your brand new bows to see for yourselves. You can't lie. It is fun. You're a first-timer and you suck, obviously, but Uncle Val and Mum help you and Lakshmi out loads. And there's something just viscerally satisfying about it. Feeling the bowstring creak as you draw it back, feeling the tension, the weight of the draw. Letting the arrow loose in one explosive movement and watching it shoot off with a fwip. Sometimes even into the target.
When you get back, Ms. Jenkins tells you there's an archery club not 20 minutes' drive from home. You and Lakshmi sign up immediately. You start going every weekend, sometimes more when it's school holidays. It's funny - you were starting to think that you and Lakshmi had nothing it common. Still feel like you have no idea what's going through her head or what she does all day sometimes. But when you head over to the club and set up side-by-side on the range, it feels just like old times. The two of you shoot in pristine silence until all your arrows are gone, then chat about anything and nothing as you trudge over to retrieve them. On-off, a curious rhythm. You've been shooting a couple of times too, but it was never the same. Guns are all well and good in videogames and movies but they're a bit... boring in real life. Your bow feels better. You feel like you're in control of every part of it. Like your entire body is engaged, pulled as taut as your bowstring. There's something about that feeling just before you loose. Something about refining your technique, every fractional stage of the draw and release. Uncle Val's right. It does teach you focus. It does teach you patience.
Not enough.
Cadet Corps is possibly the worst idea in the history of man. It's the idea of having every boy from Year 9 to Year 12 join - attendance compulsory - a mockup of the Australian Army and have to stay after school every Monday for drills and shit. And the 17 and 18 year olds are COs, trying to control 15 and 16 year olds. It's exactly as genius as it sounds. And it's not enough that complete cockheads have been instated as your superior officers for the next four years, and many weeks Corps goes on and on in the simmering heat until that one 'tard in the squad (and there is always at least one) understands the concept of "left right left" and "right turn". It's not enough that it's only for the guys, so Lakshmi gets to swan on home and laugh off your complaints as idle bitching. No, then you have to go to camp.
Cramped busfuls of sweaty teenage boys trundle off to the middle of the bush right in the middle of Summer. You don't have any friends in your squad, of course. Figures. Crowds by the buses as everyone waits to haul their shit into base camp. The sun beats down angrily, with a vengeance. Your feet sweat in your big stupid boots and thick socks. Somehow the evolutionary advantages of your darker skin aren't much comfort.
It's not as bad at first. The first two days you're at base camp, eating fairly okay food (holy shit the rat-packs have Smarties) and sleeping in cabins with real bunk beds. Snoring roommates notwithstanding. It's not fun doing drills in the sweltering 30+ degree heat and most of the theory work goes in one ear and out the other, but it's not awful. The next two days it's even hotter, and you have to shift to the next camp in the rotation. Facilities are worse, but at least there's still plenty of taps around. Abseiling's pretty cool, you can't be shitty about that unless you tried. And even though they only let you shoot piddly-ass single-shot bolt-action .22 rifles that kick like an old man coughing, shooting's an okay change of pace. You don't like it as much as archery, but the basic principles are there. Keep calm, stay patient, focus, and judge your distance.
Then it's day 5. Time to trek to the third camp. A long, long, long, long trek over hill and dale and then up a fucking mountain. You don't exactly have your thermometer with you but it feels like the hottest day of the week so far, and your canteen isn't bottomless. But for extra irony, you have to cross a river about fifteen minutes into the hike. Everyone's boots get soaked. It's an auspicious start. No one wants to waste breath chatting so it's nothing but a silent, puffing slog as sweat pours from every pore. Your kit only seems to get heavier and heavier with every step you drag it through the bush. At some point during the climb, with seemingly no rhyme or reason, you feel something start to squirm under your shirt. You contort and flail, shaking it wildly, and see something long with too many legs fly out. Too late. The bite swells and stings the rest of the way there. Your mood only gets fouler.
You finally make it to the midway camp as the sun mercifully begins to set. There's a bunch of old spent shell casings lying around that under no circumstances are to be picked up as souvenirs, so of course everyone has a couple in their pocket by the time the entire squad's settled. You stampede for the river and drink until the water gurgles and sloshes in your stomach, then finally refill your bone-dry canteen. Your stomach growls anyway as you shamble back to camp. A couple guys get the fire going while a few bright sparks whip out the portable stoves and pans they brought in their kit bags. The assorted camo-clad teenagers all rummage around in the remnants of their 24-hour rat-packs, hunting for their dinners. You paw through yours. Breakfast muesli with milk powder's gone of course. Instant noodles were for lunch, eaten dry and chased with water. Tea was for lunch, to make the last of your water count - shit's cash when you use condensed milk. Any other various odds and ends long-since consumed. Just your main-meal sachet left. You blindly tear open the brown plastic and-
Wait. That smell.
You check the front. Printed in cramped little text is the nature of your repast. BBQ beef.
Shit.
"So uh, what's everyone got?" you ask as casually as possible. Doesn't seem like many people hear you. Or care. The ones that do reply still have beef meals, either exactly the same as yours or with veggies. Shit shit shit. You try to act casual - as casual as one can be, holding an opened MRE sachet at arm's length like a snooty food critic. Ugh. Shit. You'll just have to own up to it.
"Look, has anyone got something that isn't beef?"
"Yeah, I got chicken italiano. Why?"
You recognise the voice. You look. It's the corporal. Shit. Name's David Baker or something. Dave-o to his friends, of course. His idea of leadership is encouraging mockery, and he never helps out with the actual heavy lifting. Blonde and blue-eyed, perhaps a carrier for the superior Aryan asshole genes. You steel yourself and try to speak as evenly as possible.
"Can we swap?"
"Nah. I like chicken. Besides, looks like most of the unit got the same thing." He shrugs. "You get shit rat-packs once you're out of base camp."
"Look... please." You can practically feel your balls ache with the effort to be polite.
"What's up, got a lust for cock-meat in the evening, mate?" he chuckles. "Seriously though, fuck off and eat. Or get working on your tent."
"Sir." You're fine with calling every adult male on campus 'sir' but you draw the line a guy barely over a year older than you. "I... can't eat beef. Ok? I need your chicken ration."
"Why?" He folds his arms, the sachet tucked under his arm. You purse your lips so tight they vanish completely. All the good private schools in town are some denomination of Christian. Dad had to search high and low for a nondenominational one. When he finally found it it was so far away that Ms. Jenkins chauffeuring you and Lakshmi was practically mandatory. And yet despite his best efforts over the years you still felt this growing... unease. Of not fitting in right. After all Hindus are, what, 1% of the population? Statistically speaking you're a unicorn. It's always just seemed easer to keep it under wraps. Safer. Maybe just paranoia but- shit you've been quiet too long, say something.
"Because I'm Hindu," you force out. "I can't eat it."
He raises his eyebrows and leans back a little. "That right? Yeah you guys like, worship cows or some shit?"
"Hhhaaaaa. No, we don't worship them now can I just have the chicken please." You make to reach out for the sachet. David flicks it away from you, held at head-height.
"Hey hey hey, hang on. Don't snatch." There's that shit-eating grin. "If you don't pray to cows, what's the problem with eating 'em?"
Ugh, shit. Praying. You couldn't exactly pack your shrine in your kit bag. And trying to do it au naturale just felt so... hollow. So you stopped. It hasn't improved your mood. You take a slow, deep breath. It's okay. You don't have to give him a theological lecture. Bare essentials.
"They aren't worshipped but they're sacred," you explain evenly. "Traditionally they're seen as motherly, part of the family-"
"So your mum's sacred too, then?"
CRUNCH
It's not something you think about. Not a neuron sparks in your conscious mind. Your nerves spark to life and your fist just goes sailing forward. No thought. David can't see it coming. Couldn't react even if he did. The sensation feels oddly like punching a bag of chips, feeling it all crunch and crumble beneath the plastic skin. His head snaps back and he just crumples like a ragdoll, hitting the dirt hard. Your knuckles sting. It takes a bit for everyone else to realise what you just did. For David to react. There's a moment of what seems like perfect silence.
David doesn't make a noise. He's out cold. Everyone else makes plenty of noise. It all washes over you at once in one big wave, trying to drown out your thoughts. The veins in your forehead pulse. Your brain seems too big, pressing painfully against the inside of your skull. It aches behind your eyes. Someone's grabbing at your shoulder.
You scoop up the fallen MRE packet, walk away from the campsite, and start to eat it cold.
The night passes in a whirl. They have to radio base camp and mention David's injuries. They treat him as best they can. The other two officers scream at you but it just... rolls off. You pitch your tent far away from everyone else that night. In the morning you set off early, barely time for breakfast. A handful of guys take off their belts and lash them together in a makeshift stretcher, just like they taught you. You have to carry all their kit. By the time you all reach the forward camp you're about ready to collapse. The medics waiting there take David away. The teachers take you away, too.
You get sent home early, of course. After a forced march back to base camp, Ms. Jenkins is waiting out front to take you home. She doesn't say a word in all the hours and hours of driving. Nobody else is home when you get back. You don't eat. You just go to bed. You don't leave the house for a couple of days.
You go to the principal's office. Dad's there too. Had to come home early from a business trip. You're told, in no uncertain terms, just how badly you fucked up. David's family is screaming bloody murder about what you did to his face, wants to bring you up on charges. They're a family with a long history of ties to the school. Generations of rowers and rugby players and top-scoring students. The school doesn't have the will or the inclination to silence them. Neither, you realise, does Dad. He doesn't say a word in your defence during the entire appointment. He just nods and agrees when the principal recommends expulsion.
He doesn't speak to you the whole car ride home. You can see his clenched jaw working, the tendons shifting in his neck. He's angry. Furious. Doesn't know where to direct it. You almost wish he'd yell at you. You try to think of something, anything to say. Find nothing. The gulf between you is too wide. Instead you say nothing. When you get home, only you get out of the car. Dad says something tersely about needing to head right back to the office to make sure his work doesn't collapse. You walk up the path and into the house all alone.
Lakshmi's waiting for you.
"What the fuck's wrong with you!?" she shouts as she springs up from the couch. "Everything's going just fine then out of the blue I hear you went psycho!? The entire school knows about it, Meg! David's face swelled up like you beat him with a shovel! He can barely breathe! He sure as hell can't play Rugby until he heals! And Dad was freaking about having to come home and deal with the school kicking you out! What could he have done that was so bad you had to turn into a caveman and assault him? God, did you ever stop and think about how this would affect dad, or me? Now I'm just going to be the sister of the psycho who assaulted someone on camp for like three years!"
Your jaw goes tight. Your fist clenches. You breathe, slowly, in and out.
[ ] Say nothing. There's nothing more to say. Nothing that'd change anything or make it better. Just let it wash over you and go to bed.
[ ] Tell Lakshmi that you're glad she knows where her priorities are.
[ ] Tell Lakshmi exactly what the fuck's wrong with you.
Omegahugger
Inattentive Idiot
[X] Tell Lakshmi that you're glad she knows where her priorities are.
Knowing your priorities is important. Just a shame they're screwed up.
Knowing your priorities is important. Just a shame they're screwed up.
TenfoldShields
Lounging on a Hoard of Words
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Nah man.
[X] Tell Lakshmi that you're glad she knows where her priorities are.
Because deep down it'll hurt her. It's the kind of shit that only two people who really know each other can dish out.
And, y'know.
Fuck her.
LupineVolt
Now with 200% more Puns
- Location
- Michigan
[X] Tell Lakshmi exactly what the fuck's wrong with you.
She's emotional, we're emotional, dad's emotional. We can ignore it, let it fester, we can seize the anger and ride that wave until it comes crashing down on us, or we bite the bullet. Snapping at someone feels fantastic for all of a second before reality comes and snatches that away, and maybe opening up to our twin will do something to actually bring us closer together instead of driving us apart.
She's emotional, we're emotional, dad's emotional. We can ignore it, let it fester, we can seize the anger and ride that wave until it comes crashing down on us, or we bite the bullet. Snapping at someone feels fantastic for all of a second before reality comes and snatches that away, and maybe opening up to our twin will do something to actually bring us closer together instead of driving us apart.
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Man, and here I hoped that maybe Lakshmi would be cool, or at least alright.
Instead she's ice-cold.
Instead she's ice-cold.
TenfoldShields
Lounging on a Hoard of Words
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Counterpoint:
We're fifteen.
We shall only make the best decisions.
(Also, y'know, fuck her. And I would legitimately rather have Meghanada lash out after all that.)
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Revlid
blob of bugs
- Location
- England
[X] Tell Lakshmi that you're glad she knows where her priorities are.
Neither our "officers", nor our teachers, nor our father, nor our fucking nanny appear to give two shits about our side of the story.
If our sister's so eager to add herself to that list, she's welcome to her place on it.
Neither our "officers", nor our teachers, nor our father, nor our fucking nanny appear to give two shits about our side of the story.
If our sister's so eager to add herself to that list, she's welcome to her place on it.
Omegahugger
Inattentive Idiot
There's one thing that has gotten lost in this discussion about treacherous siblings and insufficient fathers.
Namely just how magnificent that punch was.
I see that Meghanada has a bright future of casting fist ahead of him.
Namely just how magnificent that punch was.
I see that Meghanada has a bright future of casting fist ahead of him.
Look, I know that we're adopted and probably love our sister very much deep down, but that's still not koscher!
