This started out as a piece on Emotional Abuse. (Sorry Ru I was using you as an example,) but it...Morphed? I like the way it turned out, No denying that. Sort of a Backstory of my own creation for Rupert. Now some things because, I admit to going poof. Bone Cancer mostly beat! (Yay go me,) still have some doctors appointments and such, but for the most part, I'm in the clear. Heart problems sorted themselves out for now, so again, YAY. All in all: Poop ton of Physical health problems, Sorted or being sorted! Mental is still being difficult, but...Mental. Those scar's aren't going to go away.
Working on a revamp of my FFC replay, planning on finishing Captive, and such. Check my profile for links to my Tumblr and DeviantArt, were updates actually get posted. And now, Enjoy!
He wouldn't deny that he was busy, busier than most Dad's. But even running a well-known company in the ever-growing world of Vivosaurs, an admittedly full time job, wasn't a cause to fester regret.
Regret for not spending time with his son, regret for not taking the role of father, a well-known full time job, as strictly as he took Fossil Dig.
Fossil Dig was a full time job, yes.
But so was being there for his son.
His bright, amazing little boy. At only four years old, he was already learning and mastering the ways of Vivosaur fighting. Well on his way to reading, and writing becoming less shaky with each practice session, Rupert's academic skills weren't lacking in development in any way either.
Other things could be said about his emotional development. With his father constantly away, and his mother receiving top-of-the-line cancer treatment hours away, most days it was just him and his nanny.
And while his nanny was great at her job—There are some things that she has no power to control, or to change. If his father decreed it, there was no getting around it.
And no matter how hard a nanny can try, there are many things only a father can provide. Many things only a mother can provide.
He regretted it, often times. How often he was away, how any free time he managed was spent with his wife.
He knew she regretted only having phone calls and the occasional video chat with her boy, knew she regretted having her husband spend all his time with her.
But he also knew that their regrets had never changed anything. And that was just another regret.
He was six now.
"All grown up, Daddy!" Was what he'd said proudly on the morning of his birthday.
He was six now, and they were still festering regrets.
Vivosaurs were bigger than ever, entire islands being created for the sole reason of being fighter hotspots. Dinosaur bones had to be discovered, cataloged, re-sized, and re-buried on the these islands, and to complete such an extensive process required many different robotics. Business was booming, but time for his son was near nonexistent.
One year into remission, and back to her flute and her tours. The sweetest melodies would waft through speakers, every night before the nanny put him to bed. She loved her flute, and she loved her tours, but she sometimes wondered why they seemed to be given greater love than her son.
Sometimes she wondered why, every night without fail, she would lovingly clean and pack away her flute, and all she had to offer her son was a phone call from half the world away.
No one judged them, no one threatened to take away their little boy and place him in a home where he'd be given the time of day.
No one forced festering regrets to be acted upon, because as far as everyone was concerned, the child of a famous musician and a busy CEO was not as needing of their time as they.
They'd decided to gift him a hobby, to build up his own fame so that they wouldn't drown in their own regrets every night.
A vivosaur, they'd decided, would be perfect. For until now, he'd only ever used the vivosaurs belonging to his Father.
At only six years and six months old, it wouldn't be all that right to send him out with a pick ax bigger than he with a cheery, "Have fun, dear!"
No, instead they deemed it appropriate to fly in the head scientist of one of the more well-known Fighter Islands, having them bring with them many freshly revived vivosaurs suitable for starting out.
She expected him to pick a smaller, more agile little thing, probably an air type.
He expected him to pick a stocky, more defense beast, most likely an earth type.
Neither of them expected him to find the one medal accidentally included, of a large monster of water affinity.
Neither of them expected him to find the one medal not of fresh revival.
"Turned into the center," the scientist explained, "Fighter said he didn't want such an unruly thing on his team."
And while that may seem bad enough, they most definitely did not expect him to loudly proclaim,
"No!" When told he may not have that particular one.
It'd started as a hobby.
It'd ended with a dangerous medal lying inconspicuously on their sons bedside table as he slept.
He'd long since made a name for himself, traveling the world winning tournaments as the representative for Fossil Dig.
There were seldom times when all three of them were at the house, and on the rare occasions they were, the atmosphere was stiff and most words exchanged were between He and She.
They'd often cast looks across the table to their now-teenaged son, watch him sit with his back straight and his shoulders back.
Any attempt at conversation was met with short answers and formality.
"Yes, Father."
"No, Mother."
"May I please be excused, Father?"
"I would simply like to look over my team for the next competition, Mother."
His once bright and lively golden cat-like eyes, inherited from his father, now seemed dull and strictly professional.
There was no time to be a child, after all.
He had to put Fossil Dig into the front of everyone's minds, had to test new devices in the field and pray they worked as well as the lab tests said they did or risk letting his father down.
After all, there was no time or place for lose or fun.
It had just been another competition. There wasn't supposed to be anything special about this one, this one out of the hundreds he'd attended.
He hadn't expected those two imbeciles to dare to challenge him.
He hadn't expected the grand prize to be the entire park and all the islands that made it up.
He hadn't expected those two imbeciles to insist on becoming his friends.
He sometimes has to sit back and laugh. Friends. He couldn't remember a time when such a thing was his forefront in his mind.
And friends did they become, even if he took an abnormally long time to grasp the concept. It only took chasing after a rouge robot, battling wrongdoers, and things he couldn't even have begun to dream up.
Friends. Such an interesting feeling that word brought about.
He'd lost sight of his task. So caught up in the mystery of friends, he'd forgotten about continuing his winning streak.
His father's brief visits and phone calls set him back on track.
But he hadn't realized just how lonely he'd been.
Mapo was always there, yes. But even they'd gotten tired of endless battles, endless nights in unfamiliar places with an unhappy fighter. He could feel the aggravated pulsing of the medal in his hand, feel the anger at having his taste of happiness and vanished weight of responsibility snatched away before it had truly even settled.
It had been a long time since either side of this long-together pair had felt a joy in battling.
It had been an even longer time since either had felt that peculiar feeling those two-now three- imbeciles brought about.
Happiness.
That's all any of their little family wanted for each other.
Good Intentions abound, and Regret still festering.
Success is not as needed as they had all thought to achieve such.