⇒ Be the Crying burnet haired Boy
You cannot currently be the crying seven year old burnet haired boy running towards concrete stairs with a metal pole usable for holding onto as you walk down them or as a skidding ramp for skate boarding teenagers enjoyment, but wait a moment for him to stop moving around and you will be able to be him. He is emotionally unstable and freaking out about his older brother, Mituna Captor. His vision is blurred about the surroundings that seem to be spinning from tears streaming down from his hetero colored blue and hazel brown eyes, glasses askew on his scrunched up face. His hearing is shot from his mind replaying of the first sickening crack of skull against jagged pavement stairs, and the tumbling body of his seventeen year old brother echoing a similar sound down every step playing in his head. The world that seems unreal as the resounding of his heavy pants and sole focused movements block out the voices screaming and wailing around him from the current incident as he rushes to his brother's side.
Mituna's blood is settling into your bumblebee designed clothes as you settle beside him in the forming puddle. Oozing out of your brother in a thick pool beside his head and leg, it sticks warmly to your skin and drips back to the ground from where your skin comes into contact with it. Mituna's eyes are closed and you don't see him moving at all. You're frozen with fear as you sit beside your brother. Helpless at what to do other than be alongside him, your vision slinks slowly down over him seeing the white and red bone sticking out from his jeans. The sight makes you want to vomit. You have not seen something as horrific as this before in your entire seven years of life.
The closest thing you have experienced to knowing what death is, is that your favorite animal, the bee, dies with qualified easiness from information about your family's personal owned bee farm facility. You are stunned, frozen in fear as the situation finally sets into your mind of what could be happening to your brother right now. Your trembling is fixed to inaccurate paces sent out from within your body and shudders violently shaking you. The engaging off-rhythm beat of your breathing is making your head start to feel light and black dots appearing in your vision.
This wasn't part of the plan! This shouldn't be happening! You didn't mean for this to happen!
This place scares you. You don't want to be here anymore.
⇒ Be the Crying auburn-chestnut haired Boy
You cannot currently be the irate, crying boy with auburn-chestnut hair, running down a brightly lighted hallway, but wait a moment and you will be. He is an emotionally unstable, young child with blurred red vision of frustration. He is rapidly dashing across the usually fascinating black marble floors, which colors converge with the beautiful magenta shaded curtains' and walls'. This, he would normally stop to admire. He passes the distinguishable forced-memorized, framed pictures of the historical figures of his family lineage. They hang on the stretching surface of the walls and he doesn't sparing them a glance as his blue and black striped scarf ends flow after him.
Avoiding the black turtle-neck, long-sleeved shirt, gray pants wearing boy when he becomes like this, is usually the best solution to follow when possible. Though right now the bundle of rage has acquired a target and he is a deadly time bomb being delivered to detonate in front of his Father, in his father's personal office quarters at the end of the hall. You are quite safe to be the boy wearing thick black glasses with his scarf majestically wrapped around his neck, although it's the middle of summer and kind of ridiculous to strut around in, he does it anyway. You sure you really want to be this weird little boy?
⇒Be the weird wearing scarf boy
A few minutes ago you had been walking into the dining room to eat dinner, when informed by your elegantly stylish Nanny Maryam, the infuriating, tragic news. Nanny Maryam has been your second most trusted, choppy short-haired, nursemaid, adviser with a loving motherly touch that has taken care of all your needs to the best of her ability for as long as you can remember. The news that your father has decided you will no longer be able to see or associate with your first most trusted, "swwag" older brother, Cronus Ampora, has sent you on a rampant rage from the dining hall. Your Father is doing this because as he would put it, your brother is an "ill fortune swwept upon the family title and future", and wishes you to avoid going down that same path for your own good.
Your Father, Dualscar Ampora, has made a life changing decision again for his youngest son, heir to the Wisconsin corporation, Empire Fish. You may be five years old, but you are certain that you know what you want or don't want at this age! You are not happy about knowingly being controlled by him, but usually follow his orders because he is your father. And you have never once stood up against his dark forceful image you see or the decisions he makes for you.
Or at least not by yourself, after he has declared it.
You think your brother is amazing for standing against your father alone and has supported your opinion time and time again! He has taught you lots of useful things, like how to tie your shoes, ride the tricycle he got you for your fourth birthday, or how to activate your cute charms to pull women towards you when he sneaks you out to watch newly released comedies at theaters downtown, when he notices one that seems to perk up your interest from a TV commercial when you are together. You never directly ask for anything when you're with your brother because he's already given everything you want! He's a mind reader you think and you've asked him before if he was one, but he just started laughing when you mentioned it.
He bought you an ice cream afterwards because he could tell you were silently pouting.
You love and enjoy being with your big brother very much.
Your father has never done anything like that, which you can think of, that your brother has done for you. He may spend money on you for gifts and cards, but you hardly ever seen him happy and he has not once been seen by you on your birthday. You've heard your brother and father fight many times before, over what you presume is you and it makes you feel sad when you think about it. You secretly sometimes wish that your father could be a lot more like big brother, and hope someday he will be because brother is the best! But right now you're not sad though. You're the 'bad words' your father refers them to as and you've heard your brother use before, "Pissed the Hell Off!"
The rich old redwood colored double-doors fly easily open under the unmerciful force of your five year old boy rage strength, slamming into the walls their hinges are hanging onto with a harsh bang, ringing around the circular room of your father's office with similar colored curtains to the ones in the hall, closing out any possibility of light to wisp in and the floor is a cold blue that makes the magenta stand out. You had screamed out "FATHER!" with as much rage and bitterness you could sink into the name as you had dramatically slammed the office doors open. You don't actually know if he's here or not.
You take it into mind that your father is in the room.
He has seen your display of anger.
He does not look happy or impressed by it.
The darkness of his office is a blaring contrast to the lighted hallway and makes the room look more eerily despairing, as the light from the entrance creeps over his sharp cold magenta eyes glaring at you in the distance of the entrance to his desk. The same color decorates the house in a parade of shades, it is the same coloring of your own eyes, but is frighteningly more intense and terrifying to you.
You mentally flinch and feel sweat start to form on your forehead as your gaze sweeps across his posture and half hidden face. His stance frightens you as usual with him sitting in his desk that is as tall as you are, and the dark enshrouding around him like a powerful cape cascading off any vibe that he feels, and magnifying it by tenfold towards the people who see him. You are shivering a little as your previously wrathful fueled energy you had been storing was mainly descended upon your extravagant opening of the door, while whatever of it was left was slithering away from you, being replaced by the overgrowing urge to fold in upon yourself under your father gaze and vibes vibrating from him towards you.
Gaze and vibes directed only on you.
His back is postured to be bent over with stiffly, tense shoulders forming a sharp square shape over his desk, elbows placed on the dark ebony desk top, his left hand placed on top of his right hand, both glittered and flashing of the gold rings blessed on his hands, and the lower half of his face partially hidden from your view behind his hands. Though you wish he would be covering his whole face, so you wouldn't be caught stricken and stiff in fear as your eyes make contact.
Anger and pure rage are boiling in him from what you can read in his gaze directed at you and they have never been placed on you like this before.
You have never directly seen your brother and him fight, but you really glad you haven't.
Your brother must have been made out of the strongest metal in the world to withstand this crushing full forced gaze. You are to the point of trembling and shivering. You can feel the tears shaping on the ceases of your eyes. His deep, husky voice, asserting out his full authority dripped with ire as he spoke, "Why are you here. You should be eating dinner right now." This was a command, not a question.
This place scares you. You don't want to be here anymore.
⇒ Be the burnet haired boy again
This place scares you. You don't want to be here anymore.
Like your wish being granted by the cruel gods, you're being cradled from looking at the scene displayed in front of you with a single pair of arms and hands laced around from behind you, shielding your view from the now tainted world.
You attempt to struggle away from the arms as you realize their presence around you is lifting you away from your bleeding brother. You cease fighting as your last retained amount of energy slips away from your body and you become aware of the arms you once thought were suffocatingly strong were, are truly shaking, trembling, and weak with constant persistence to retreat from the scene. They have turned you around to face the winning owner against your break away endeavors of the irritating limbs.
A somewhat familiar face with two unique zinging scars lying on the right corner of his forehead snaps into view as your eyes refocus themselves from draining tears. The white guy in tight blue jeans and a white tank top with chestnut hair gelled back, Cronus Ampora, your brother's best friend.
His eyes are puffy red with tears streaming down his face and looks what you think is how you feel, but something seems to flicker of a deeper meaning and difference in emotions through his eyes for your brother. He looks sickly whiter than usual and is starting to talk to you in a voice that is a bit uptight and trying its best to keep the shaking and fear from leaking off of every word, but failing for most of it. "Sollux, vwe hawve to let the people in vwhite take Mituna. They can help him."
You finally take note of the white dressed people he's talking about as his sentence finishes. They are hurriedly, but steadily taking Mituna off the ground on a blue wheeled bed into a white, blue, and red squared shaped car behind Cronus with the flashing of red and blue with the screeching of an ear aching noise from a few vehicles surrounding you making the noise and colors expand and furiously more erratic.
"But-t–" your voice is a hoarse whimpering cry and stutter as tears start to pour a little heavier from your eyes, but Cronus interrupts you before you can ever really start sobbing heavier, "No, Sollux! Vwe must let him go... by himself… he'll be fine vwith the medics." He pauses a moment to abruptly move you both away from the white, red, and blue vehicle moving Mituna inside of its opened back compartment. You're both eyeing him, while they rush him in, but don't see much as Cronus moves both of you further away and catches a breath between his heaving panting and tears, "I need to get you to your parents and let them knovw vwhat's happened here… and that you are safe."
You realize you must have been screaming at some point during your time to and beside your brother, because your throat really hurts when you try to reply and nothing comes out. Cronus is trying to stop his heavy crying and hysteria, knowing you need to be safe with someone rational right now and crazy panicking isn't going to work well for the situation. The white, red, and blue vehicle closes its doors and drives quickly away with the ear splitting screech and colorful flashing lights repeatedly going on as you quickly reach out to grab out onto Cronus. You need something to hold on to.
NOW.
You feel like you'll roll into a little ball on the ground and won't be able to move ever again, if you don't grab onto something. You'll be alone in a pit of sorrow, of pain… of guilt. So, you grab onto Cronus. The only thing helping you now.
Cronus allows you to hug onto him with your small, shivering arms and legs wrapped around his neck and body, like your clinging onto a tree branch upside-down with a hundred yards of distance from a sure death-dropping fall and splat to the hard shattering ground below. He positions an arm under you to keep your weak trembling body in place and sets an arm on your back, making soothing slow circular patterns on it. You can feel slow steady tears falling onto your head, but he isn't making any whimpering or panting noises. He is silent.
You feel something a little different than your gut clenching in pain and self-loathing disgust for yourself, but ignore it.
He ignores the blood coming off of your soaked clothes on to his as you latch closely to his body and your head resting on his shoulder. Your quivers and shuddering have started to fade away. He walks slowly away from the cruel scene replaying in your mind as your sinking eyelids drift you into slumber from the extreme mental, emotional, and physical exhaustion taking over your small body.
You are Sollux Captor and you are at fault for all the mayhem and sadness that has occurred today.
⇒ Be the auburn-chestnut haired boy again. Angst
This place scares you. You don't want to be here anymore.
You want to abscond and be the sad-mad, little boy told by his father to clean his room even though you don't want to, but brace yourself and stand up a little straighter under his gaze as the memory of your brother's face pops into your head reminding you, 'you can be strong, if you hope and believe to be'. He has a wonderful saying you think, and try to follow it the best you can. You want to be like big brother.
With this thought, the anger you once had returns with quickening feet, pushing the fear holding you back out of mind and body. Your father seems to notice the change in your stance and mental front as his glare intensifies a little more on you and his eyebrows draw further down expressing his anger. You persist to challenge him by gracing him with the meanest glare you can spare right back at him.
After a minute or so of a silent glaring contest you speak still holding your glare out against him. Your voice comes out even and driven by an unnegotiable idea, "Father, you will not forbid me from associating with my brother." You hold back from presenting out your accent of doubling your w's and v's and dropping the g on your verbs to show him you are dead serious on following out with this decision and will not back down, even against him.
You were instantly expecting a reaction of anger from him by your invigorating and will-driven choice to oppose against him, but he just sits there silently, his glare still there, facial expression the same. Then his facial expression changes; it scrunches up and eyes close, tilts his head down and drastically sighs. You tense up, and are a little shocked. You don't know how to react to that! You don't know if you should be happy for thinking you won or scared stiff from the unknown reaction as the first warning sign to your wrath filled yelling you are about to be served.
After thinking about it with a little more thought, you can tell his sigh is being used to release out the building up aggravation in him and he moves to sit straight up in his leather rollie chair allowing view of his full facial expression. You don't flinch when you see the dull-pink, parallel zigzagging healed scars sited diagonally across his face. They lace from the top of his right cheek just below his eye as it slices over the ridge of his bridging out nose to the top left of his forehead. You don't know where your father recieved them, but your brother has told you time and time again not to stare at them. Instead you ask him how he got his scars on the right corner of his forehead. He avoids your gaze each time you speak about them and says "Someday, I'll tell ya' 'bout them…" ending the topic discussion.
Father is deeply frowning and the same glaring look replaces itself upon his face, his arms are now laid on the arms of the chair and hands are clenching the ends, while his nails and rings dig in imprints. You know you have not won yet, but you are shaken to the core when he says in a tone that sounds even more determined than yours a few seconds ago, "No, you will stop meeting and correlating with him. You are not being influenced by him in a positive way, and he is clearly not going to stop being a distracting menace to you or me."
The respect you hold for your brother rings out the rage, tears, and shoved away emotions you hide from your father as you scream at him the thoughts that make you feel the need to hide and avoid your father from self-shame for having ever thought them. "BROTHER IS NOT THE MENACE! HE HAS BEEN THERE IN A MORE POSITIVVE WWAY THAN YOU EVVER HAVVE! I HAVVE ALWAYS DONE EVVERYTHING YOU DEMAND BUT NOT THIS, NOT THIS TIME! I WWILL NOT LET YOU TAKE THIS AWWAY FROM ME! WWE WWILL STILL SPEND TIME WITH EACH OTHER WWHETHER YOU WWANT OR NOT!"
The lengthy, tall figure of your father lurks over you as he had apparently shifted from the rollie chair he had been sitting in behind his desk and walked over towards you during your crying rant. His fury is clearly displayed from the light shining into the room and you wish it was either completely dark or completely bright so his features wouldn't be as highlighted, exhibited and defined in the infinite amount of glowing light from the hallway being sucked into the endless void of darkness in the room.
You are panting for breath from your elongated speech and staring directly at him. The pain, the hurt, the anger caused by him clearly showing on your visage as he stands over you, looking down right back at you. You swear you might have seen a hint of regret and pain in his as your eyes make contact, but it doesn't last long as he bends over and roughly hugs you. He whispers, "I'm sorry son." guilt and pain riddling the three words as his scent washes over you. You are shocked stiff and the tears from your eyes seem to pause their constant stream down your face. It is a strong musky smell, but somehow calming as his strong long muscular arms wrap and surround your small stiff arms and body.
You are there for a moment, you try to relax and lean in to return the display of affection, but he quickly lets go and backs off, letting the smile that had been forming on your face fall to a despairing frown. He gets back up with the glaring expression restored to his face causing your heart to clench as he speaks, "But I cannot let you stay involved with your brother." You are shocked once again and your gut is a tight knotted mess filled with painful sharp jabs as you had for a moment believed that your father had magically changed himself and his mind to let you stay with your brother for opening up to him.
He continues to speak, his voice solemn and even as he slowly strides back to his desk, "And to be sure you stay focused, you're going to be sent to an Ireland bordering school for girls and boys." Pauses a moment as he shifts back into his seat and rolls his legs into the open compartment of the desk. Tears are rolling down your face again, head bent down towards the ground in loss and eyes glazed over, staring at really nothing, "I will be going with you to assure you stay focused and… be there for you, if that's what needs to be done." He pauses a moment again to glance over you then return to papers piled on his desk, "Now, go eat dinner Eridan."
You can't do anything other than this.
"Yes, father." Your voice is a flat dead tone as you answer. He seems pleased by your answer and waves you off with a hand then proceeds to clap his hands once, the lights in his office turn on. He's not as scary with the lights on.
You hate sound activated lights.
You turn around to go through the still hanging opened doors of the attempt to show off your power to your father. You slowly walk through the brightly lit hallway from the fake energy above your head. You know it's fake because you can see through the window that the sun is setting and leaving the dark to creep across the land. You are too tired emotionally, physically, and mentally to deal with this battle any longer. You pass the dining room, the pain in your stomach making you want to throw up at even thinking of food.
You retreat to your bedroom to flop onto your bed, to cry, to question why everything like this is happening to you, why dad can't be more understanding, why life is so hard on you, and where brother is when you needed him most. You fall asleep sobbing to yourself of all your miseries in life.
You are Eridan Ampora and you have just lost the first alone battle you have ever made with your father.