Unspoken Connections
Chapter One
"Welcome to Novelpad"
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The plaster walls in the office are nearly empty, like a blank slate, all but the one facing west. It is scattered with an array of medals, awards, and plaques. They all say one name on it: the name of his father, Poseidon Jackson.
On the opposite side of the office is a wall of glass. The seventeen year old finds the New York City skyscrapers much more aesthetically pleasing, in comparison to the other. His father was a successful man, that was for sure, but is it really necessary to have all your achievements up on a wall, so that if you glanced up from the desk, you'd catch a glimpse of all the awards? He shakes his head. No, it isn't.
He is sitting in one of the plush, single-seating, leather chairs that are set up directly across from the mahogany desk of his father. If it were a desk belonging to any other man, it would easily swallow up the occupier with its size; but, this desk is the property of his father, who effortlessly succeeds in dwarfing it. His father did that a lot - effortlessly succeeded in everything.
Poseidon Jackson is not yet in the office, and so the teenager slouches in the chair. His black shirt blends into the darkness of the chair, as if he doesn't want to be seen. His eyes, a deep sea-green, flicker around the room anxiously; a tell-tale sign for wanting to leave.
Although he doesn't turn around to see the wall of his father's fame, he can envision it if he only closes his eyes. He tries not to close his eyes for long periods of time, but it doesn't help; all the fancy certificates in intricate frames seem to leer down at him, mocking him. They all ask him one glaring question: would he be as successful as his father? And, as if that question places so much weight on his shoulders, he shrinks even lower into the seat.
His eyes move to the small picture, framed by faux-gold, and he scowls. It is Poseidon, him, and his step-brother, Triton. Triton stands proudly with his father, both wearing the same expressions that practically demand defeat from others. He, on the contrary, slumps to the side, his eyes not even looking at the camera.
The door opens and heavy, precise footsteps near the teenager, who slowly begins to regrow to his normal height. "Perseus." At the sound of his name, he averts his gaze from the other, flashy buildings and up to the towering figure of his father. He stands up from the chair, running his hands down the front of his jeans as he stares at Poseidon. He wants to lower his gaze, but he doesn't dare. Only when Poseidon nods he sits down again. "Welcome."
His father clears his throat, positioning himself - in an authoritative manner; the man does not squirm like his son does - at the head of the desk. "You are going into college after this year, and it is time to really clean up your act. You need to find your passion and pursue it, before you do something you will regret for the rest of your life." Perseus trains his eyes on the bridge of his father's nose as he talks, in order to avoid eye-contact.
Poseidon continues. "Is there anything you're interested in; anything you want to commit to a career in?" Perseus looks down for a moment, and his hands tangle together behind his back. He has to force them to remain limp at his sides. Unsaid words race through his head, and he fidgets under the intense stare of his father as he looks at the carpeted ground.
"You could always get a job here -" Perseus jerks his head up towards his father, "- although you'd start at the very bottom with an internship like your step-brother; I do not favor nepotism." There's a far off look in his father's eyes, and Perseus stands there uncomfortably. "You know, when I was your age, I had all these crazy dreams… I was an entrepreneur; and look where I am now."
His father does not mean to completely demolish him, but his words send a crashing torrent of disappointment through Perseus. Was there anything he could do to make his father proud of him? "I write." The words come out of his mouth abruptly, although his tone is timid, hesitant even.
Poseidon coughs, obviously startled. "What?"
Perseus fidgets more, not wanting to face his father's criticizing stare. "I write. It's my passion." He holds his breath, too self-conscious to breathe.
For once, he sees his father fumble with the words he wants to say; Poseidon is no longer the cool, collected business man he normally is. "With writing...what are the chances of making a job out of that? Of becoming successful?"
He has no answer, regretting he ever said anything at all. "It was dum-"
"Percy." Poseidon cuts off his words. "I did mean what I said before: find your passion and pursue it." His father hesitates, interlocking his hands on the top surface of the desk. "If writing is your passion, I will encourage it… but perhaps you will find something else that captures your attention."
Although Percy is shocked by his father's words, he doesn't show it and continues to stare at the ground. "Yessir."
"And Perseus, if you truly do want to become a writer, I suggest starting early." Poseidon nods, turning to some work on his desk. "That is it; you may leave now."
Without another word, Percy slips out of the stifling office, the heavy glass door swinging shut behind him.
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"Hello, brother." Percy turns his head to see the smirking face of his step-brother, Triton. His brother's expression is taunting; he is the predator and Percy is the prey. "Why are you here?"
Percy wants to leave and just ignore his step-brother, but he knows that will only make it worse. He takes a deep breath and fully turns his body to face the speaker. "Dad called me."
The look on Triton's face makes Percy want to scowl; it is an incredulous, disbelieving mien. "You, little brother?" he exclaims. "What would Dad want with a scrawny, gauche boy like yourself?"
Although Percy knows his older brother is only jealous - after all, when was the last time Triton had been called to "step into The Office" - but he cannot help but feel subordinate and juvenile in comparison to him. Even if Triton was only three years older, he never let Percy forget who was the older, the better, and undoubtedly the more victorious one between the two of them.
He shrugs, controlling his facial muscles. "He wanted me to figure out my passion," Percy says as indifferently as he can. He stuffs his hands in the front of his pockets, shuffling his feet. When would Triton get back to heading whatever division of the company he directed?
Triton scoffs arrogantly, his head thrown back with an abnormally rigid gesture. "Your passion, huh? Let me guess, something soft, something that can baby you… painting? Photography? Modelling - wait, what am I saying, it's you, hah!" Percy digs his hands deeper into the burrows of his pockets.
"Oh, don't tell me… writing!" Percy shifts from foot to foot uncomfortably. "I'm right, aren't I? Oh boy, Perseus Jackson - the author. Nah, I can't see it," Triton sardonically mocks. "Might as well give up on it while you can; it won't get you places, and it definitely won't make Big Ol' Daddy proud of you. Now look at me, and you get a whole 'nother story: success, brains, looks, wealth - I have it all."
Percy's jaw clenches at Triton's words, but he doesn't say anything. Please let this be over soon, please let this be over soon, he thinks miserably. And as if his silent pleads are miraculously answered, Triton glances up at the clock hanging on the wall.
"My lunch break is over - unlike you little twerp, I actually have to work over the summer. See you at home, little brother," Triton calls out over his shoulder, as he finally makes his way out of the small corridor. "Have fun trying to be something in life!"
He is left alone in the hallway - at last! - but Triton's egotistical presence and hubris linger behind with him, sending a churning feeling through his stomach.
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Ever since he was younger, Percy had always had some kind of… unspoken connection with the beach. Maybe it was the sand that got him - it was like a large aggregation of problems, each grain being another concern that someone in the world contributed. Or maybe it was the ocean and the way it would periodically wash up upon the shore, sweeping away all the worries and insecurities…
Either way, after his encounter with Triton, he made his way to the sea-shore, right outside his house. (Luckily, they had a home that had a beach-front, and he could visit the ocean as he pleased.)
The familiar sound of waves crashing on the beach soothes the frustration bubbling within him, and he sits down on the sand. It is cold beneath his touch and slightly damp, although this does not faze Percy in the slightest. He breathes in the salty aroma of the air, watching the waves fall upon each other, again and again and again.
Random words flutter throughout his head, some filtering out, some being sorted further into mental file cabinets. Awards. Success. Passion. Triton. Writing. Author.
"Perseus Jackson - the author. Nah, I can't see it."
Triton's words in particular run over and over in his head, like a broken record. He can still imagine his step-brother's tone of complete incredulity as he discovered Percy's secret passion. Was it really so unbelievable that he enjoyed writing? That he honestly, truly, really found pleasure in it? Would anyone ever believe that he could actually become success and create a career out of it?
He usually wrote to express his feelings; Percy wasn't a big fan of "venting," a term he had heard many others use at school. In fact, he wasn't really big on talking at all. He couldn't voice his emotions orally, but around his sophomore year, he found he could easily put his words down on paper or on the computer. And it kind of just stuck.
Percy stands up, dusting the sand off the bottom of his pants. He would prove them all wrong - Triton, Poseidon, anyone else who doubted him. He was going to carve a place for himself in the world of writing, and he would convince them all to never doubt him again. He would start off small…
…but where exactly would he begin?
As he makes his way to his home, there's a website URL lingering on the tip of his tongue. He had come across it at one point, fooling around on and scoping out different writing sites. Was was it called again?
He is in his room now and on his laptop. His fingers are poised over the keyboard, ready to type in a web address into the URL bar. What was it….
Wattpad? Fanfiction? Fictionpress?
Ah, yes, of course: Novelpad.
Percy quickly enters that into the bar, waiting for the website to load. His fingers, used to furiously typing across the keyboard, drum anxiously on the surface of his desk. Once the somewhat familiar greenish webpage pops up on the screen, he immediately, almost instinctively, points his cursor to the upper right-hand corner and clicks.
He holds his breath for a moment, staring at the laptop screen. He can do it, he can show them all - after all, green is supposedly a lucky color, is it not? Letting out air, his fingers begin to fly across the keyboard, typing in basic information. Percy doesn't even hesitate to hit the enter key once he is done.
Another screen pops up, and he blinks. It isn't the bright green features of the page that cause him to stare - no, it is the words in the very center of the page. Black, fourteen-point, Times New Roman, just three little words that could potentially have so much impact:
Welcome to Novelpad.
Hello there! borderlies (previously fluffy bunnies are so cute) here! Well, this is a new collab-story by horse-crazy girl13 and I, since we both had this really weird and not-to-be-told bursts of inspiration, haha.
Anywho, we hope you enjoyed the first glimpse of this story ! Hopefully we'll be able to put out more chapters soon.
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