The Wartooth family had a firm belief that children should be neither seen nor heard. Children were simply meant to exist quietly until they reached adulthood, at which point they magically evolved into productive members of society. Toki had learned what was expected of him at a very early age, but as he aged he found it increasingly impossible to live up to their expectations. Sitting with the Bible open in front of him produced a number of leg-twitches, finger-taps, head-bobs, and throat-clearings, each of which grated on his parents nerves and ultimately resulted in a slap that brought tears to the boy's eyes.
The more energy Toki had, the less patience his parents had with him. The punishments grew closer together until Toki found it impossible to go a single day without physical reprimand. It wasn't that Reverend Aslaug and Anja Wartooth were abusive without cause: they viewed their actions with pride. The punishments were meant to mould Toki into a respectable young adult. One that they could be proud of.
Unfortunately for all three of them, Toki was blessed with extreme amounts of energy and nearly no outlet. As hard as he tried to be quiet, to sit still, and stay out of the way... he always found himself in trouble. His parents were unable to understand why he constantly refused to obey: hadn't they raised him correctly? Weren't the proper virtues instilled in him? It was a constant point of contention between the stony-faced couple, and though they didn't discuss it, their anxiety over the matter was apparent.
Toki wanted nothing more than to please them. He would sit at the table, hands clenched in a ball and pressed into his thighs, shoulders squared, back straight, chin down... His mouth would fold into a grimace, mimicking the expression his parents wore... But he found it difficult to remain serious for long. Five minutes and his eyes would be wandering; ten minutes and his feet would shift and start to bounce; fifteen minutes and he'd blurt something out, or otherwise bring attention to himself, and then he would get what he'd been dreading all along. That look of disapproval. The look that told him that he'd failed again.
Toki would never be the child that the Wartooth's wanted. He would never be the child that they deserved.
By the time Toki was nine he had learned not to show that he was upset by his parents' dismay with his character flaws. It became routine to let their criticism -- silent or otherwise -- roll off his shoulders. He had also learned to leash his energy, pulling it inward so that being around them turned him mute and unresponsive. The only time he flickered back to life was on the rare occasions when the Reverend would bring out his guitar, an old acoustic that had once been Toki's grandfather's.
It was meticulously cared for, and Toki would watch the Reverend's bony fingers move over the neck in rapt attention. He memorized the positioning of the older man's hands for each chord. When his parents left he would sneak the guitar out and mimic the movements, adjusting until he could produce the same sounds he had heard the Reverend make. It was an arduous process, trying to stretch his small hands across the strings, but by the time he turned 12 he could play several simple tunes.
It was in the same year that he visited (??? name of city) with the Reverend on a routine supply trip. While Reverend Wartooth stepped into a store he was directed to stay outside. It was then that he heard his first electric guitar.
The sound came from nearly a block and a half down, away from the main street. Toki's insatiable curiosity got the best of him: without the Reverend's presence to keep him in line his behavior suffered, allowing him enough leeway to inch away from the storefront. He crept along the block, gaining confidence as he broke away from the Reverend's invisible leash. As he rounded a corner he was nearly running, searching for the source of the music, so different from that which he had at home.
After several breathless moments he came upon a nondescript house. The music could be heard clearly through the open door. The loudness appealed to him. He had grown up in an environment of silence, and this noise broke through the dull noiselessness of the street with jarring clarity.
Toki could faintly hear one of the neighbors calling for silence, but the musician played on. Toki stood on the street with wide eyes, hands clenched at his sides as the owner of this spectacular noise leaned out the door, calling back to his neighbor with less than kind words. Strapped across his shoulders was a guitar unlike anything Toki had ever seen, and certainly nothing like his grandpa's guitar.
It was the most intriguing thing he had ever seen.
He was about to step forward to ask the man about his instrument when a hand came down hard on the side of his head, cuffing his ear. He made a noise between a yelp and a mewl, shrinking back as the Reverend reprimanded him with angry eyes. Toki knew what he had done wrong, there was no reason to vocalize it. He folded back into himself as he followed the Reverend away from the house, glancing back once over his shoulder to see the man and his guitar lighting up a cigarette and turning to go back inside.