How random and how frail seemed their lives,
and yet how they persisted, refugees,
saving energy by keeping still
and hiding in the grass and in the trees.
And then one day they vanished overnight.
Clouds gathered, storm exploded, weather cleared.
And all the wishes that we might have had
in such abundance simply disappeared.
Summer of the Ladybirds (Vivian Smith)
ONE MONTH LATER…
Perhaps, the young man found himself thinking as he waited in the queue, I was never meant to be a civilian.
The sun beat down over his dark head and his broad and scarred shoulders, its radiant heat penetrating through the stifling material of his jacket. The telltale sweat pattern was making its way down his back and through his thin shirt and if he moved even an inch, the entire sheet would run down his back in a torrent of pleasant cold. It was not as if his body needed any more encouragement in the matter- the length of the line was within the hundreds, and the straps of his canvas bag had the tendency of digging into his shoulder.
Now, as ever, what bothered the young man was not the physicality of his pain, nor the discomfort that having a heavy rucksack gave him. No, what bothered him were his thoughts- those bothersome, tenacious and incessant thoughts of his current predicament and on his depressing memories.
Maybe, the string of words passed through his subconscious mind again, if I knew how others lived, I would have left on better terms.
Better terms. His pragmatism snorted at that. 'Better terms' was a questionable concept at best, left to the subjectivity of the human mind and its caprices. After all, all he had to gauge on what 'better terms' were was his brother's word- and after all he had seen in the past four weeks, he was not quite sure that he had done anything that could possibly go towards a better relationship with his brother.
It was not as if he had not tried. It simply was because life had no intentions of proceeding down the way he had planned it.
Since he had returned, he had done what he had planned to do: he saw to Draven's education again, ensured that his younger brother was eating properly and looked to making his life easier. The role of guardian was already something he had resigned himself to- since the death of his parents he had largely passed a year without complaint- the incident when he punched Draven in the face notwithstanding. Years since then, his duties were the same as ever, but it was clear- painfully so- that neither of them were.
He knew a fair bit of what Draven had gone through- his brother had never been one to keep things inside of him. When he had been washing the cookware, Draven had joined him at the sink, and that was when the younger man had seen fit to tell him what had occurred thus far.
"I guess," Draven had begun hesitantly as Darius had kept his head down and focused on the metal pot. "You could say my life's been shitty too."
"Do tell." He had muttered dryly.
"How the fuck am I going to be sure that you're going to listen if you're washing dishes?" Draven had retorted.
Darius had made a noise inside his throat- derogatory, but amused nonetheless. "Are you implying that I am incapable of doing two activities at the same time, Draven?"
He had felt his brother's glare on his face and let it sit for a few seconds more before he finally lifted his head and stared back at the younger man, his hands soaking in soap and water. "… Well?"
"Y'know the money ran out." Draven had waved his hand about, seemingly satisfied that his brother had chosen to pay attention to him only. "And… well, I was really fucked up then-"
He had not been able to resist. He had felt that his brother had been stating an unquestionable truth that did not truly need to be voiced.
"You still are." Darius had chosen to interject then. Draven had given him a flat stare.
At that point, it had all been too amusing to him. His brother was so easy to annoy now. The younger man had always been so much more emotional but only now did Draven truly have the self-confidence within himself to react with fiery retribution on the smallest of indignities.
Darius made the same noise in his throat- he never saw fit to laugh openly now, not when it had been such an disturbing action in Boram's Point that could have gotten his nose hammered into his skull. "… Do continue."
"Fucking let me finish for one minute, why don't you?" Draven had snarled.
"Anger certainly does not seem to be a stranger for you, that much is absolutely clear." Darius had seen fit to say then.
"Fucking smartass." Draven had crossed his arms over his chest, sulking as he used to do four years ago, and Darius had shaken his head and pulled his hands out of the sink. He had dried his hands on a nearby towel before he assumed his brother's posture- but unlike the younger man, his posture was confident and secure.
"You have my full attention now," Darius had replied frankly. "And I will remain quiet- you seem to have a lot on your mind."
"Well, it was a long fucking four years." Draven had shot back. "Anyway, where the fuck was I?"
"You were informing me that you were… not quite as responsible two years ago." Darius had supplied helpfully.
"Yeah, whatever." Draven had drummed his fingers on his forearm. "Yeah. The money ran out. I got fucking hungry 'cause there wasn't anything to eat here. I… I guess I just went out and did what I wanted. Stole stuff and sold or ate it- whichever suited me at the fucking time. It was pretty fun. Never got caught."
To Darius, a person who had been raised to obey, who knew nothing but the cold hard truth of law and the cruelty that it gave to those who defied it, the concept of being able to evade justice was utterly inconceivable. He found that he had a difficult time wrapping his head about the matter, and when his temples began to hurt he reached up to massage his face.
"Breaking a set of established norms and evading the law tends to do that to a person." Darius had said from around his hand.
"I know it was wrong." Draven had stared at him then, his eyes betraying minute traces of concern. "But I didn't fucking have a choice, Dar. It was either I do the shit Mom told us never to do or I fucking starve. There was no other fucking choice. If I did, I would've done that." Draven had retorted. "So- think what you want but I'm fucking glad I'm alive. I don't fucking regret anything."
Darius' pragmatism encouraged the choice, nigh praised his younger sibling on his resourcefulness and resolution to endure- but the rest of him, the parts of him that still felt guilty at night for killing his parents however indirect it was, found the concept utterly repugnant. He had never thought that he would find the concept of surviving as distasteful, but here was his brother proving him wrong.
Darius' thoughts had risen against him then- here he was, a man who had to kill countless others in order to rise to the top, a man who had faced the unthinkable at his age, blanching at the thought of breaking rules and societal norms. Who was he to judge? Who was he to feel offended? Given all that he had done with his life thus far, given every single inch of pain he had to endure in order to survive to this point- why should he expect more?
There is no real point then. He had found himself thinking at that moment, even as the ache in his temples ceased to subside. There is no real point in obeying the law when the ultimate priority is to survive and to dominate all others. That is what they taught you; what they carved into your jaw and burnt into your mind. Why you chose to imagine something else, why you chose to entertain pitiful thoughts of justice and righteousness... there is no point in all of those without survival. Morals are worthless.
"Hey, Lieutenant Fuckhead, do you fucking want to hear what happened or are you going to keep looking like your world fucking exploded in your face?" Draven's voice had interrupted his musings.
Darius had raised his head then, stared at his brother for a moment as he blinked several times and tried to regain his composure. "… Yes of course." His voice then had but a shadow of its former confidence. "… Go on."
"So, my life was pretty shitty then. It… it just came to that point, y'know, when I realized I could be doing more useful shit than just… stealing and living." Draven had bit at his lip for a moment before he added. "That life- it's not really what Mom would've wanted."
The mention of their mother had made Darius sigh. Given what he had been told by his Chief Instructor then, he appreciated her and missed her all the more now- she had been so wise, to have raised them so. He found his heart bleeding anew though he had been through enough pain by now to successfully hide his guilt underneath a thick mask.
"…Mother had high hopes for the both of us." He had felt it proper to say that then- Draven could have known it as well by now, but he honestly had felt that the time was appropriate. "… And she raised us to be more than what we were born into. She wanted more."
Draven's face erupted into a slow smile. It was unsteady, as far as his smiles went. It was almost as if the younger man was searching for something with it, using the expression on his face as a tool to gauge for something hidden deep within his older brother. After a pause, Draven had reached out and playfully slapped his brother on the shoulder. "Look at us now, huh? You're a soldier- just like Dad would've wanted and I'm… well, a 'street performer' with a shit ton of confidence and a lot of adoring fans. Mom would've been proud."
His brother seemed to have become more than him at that point and Darius only realized it hours later as he watched his brother perform in the Fleshing Arena. Never one to go back on his word, Darius had gone to watch Draven work. He saw the way his brother played the crowd with his daredevil acts and companionable air and found himself feeling… proud.
Pride was a questionable emotion, something construed as both good and bad. It was a quality best kept in moderation and not in excess, an emotion that could empower or deteriorate a man in a single stroke. At that moment, when he saw his brother and what the young man had been able to do- dashing through flaming hoops and juggling the sharpest and most wicked looking throwing axes he had ever seen in his entire life, his time in Boram's Point included- he had found himself smiling, even for just a moment.
As much as he had demeaned his brother's newfound occupation beforehand, as much as he had teased the younger man into a tightly-wound defensive little ball of aggression, he still felt eerily proud of him. It was a living, and while it was not as constant as he felt his father would have wanted for him, the show of skill and dexterity was still something worth talking about.
They were both very different now; the four years apart had changed them both to the point that they had clashed like two total strangers from the moment they saw each other again. Still, given all the pain and misery that time had dealt to them both, the changes had been… good.
Draven no longer cried at night, no longer thrived on what comfort and reassurance his admittedly emotionally-deadened older brother could possibly provide with any degree of honesty. Indeed, the four years spent in total isolation from each other seemed to have spurred the younger man into heights far greater than his own. It seemed to Darius then that Draven had come to a realization on his own terms- if his brother was not there, if his brother was not able to offer him what he wished to have, he would make the rest of the world bend to his every whim and the world would love him for it. In realizing that fundamental truth and in playing his strengths to the very fullest, his younger sibling seemed to have found true peace.
Though his brother certainly had picked up less-than-desirable habits in the time Darius had spent away. Draven had a way with women. In Noxus, where a 'relationship' was best used to the benefit of only one person, the more carnal side of things brought about a new set of problems. Draven enjoyed taking women home and judging from the noises on the other side of the wall, both of them were having the time of their lives. Quite honestly, Darius had never felt anything during those nights except perhaps a mounting sense of awkwardness and exhaustion.
He had never found women attractive, had never felt anything towards women other than an innate sense of respect. Perhaps it was because his mother had raised him to think of nothing else but, or perhaps he was broken in some way so as to not feel anything at all. When Cassandra de Sable had displayed herself to him so boldly all those nights ago, he had felt nothing but a sense of pity for how she was laying herself about.
He knew about sex. In the last days that he spent within the Academy's walls, the graduates had been free to do as they pleased prior to the commencement ceremony. Needless to say, it was a co-educational school and all of the students had largely gone through four years without copulating. It was no surprise then for them to engage in relations even in the face of others.
Aside from walking into wholesale orgies entirely by accident, Darius had heard stories from other candidates and had even been targeted by a few hungry women himself. He didn't know what to do to them- the women who seemed to know what they wanted from him, the women who seemed to derive pleasure from using him. He didn't know how to react, how to move and strategize appropriately. He had largely existed in a state of constant hardship that made sex undesirable or detrimental and what happened to him in that final week had made it even more impractical.
By pure biological virtue of his exit medical exam, he had managed to escape the roaming hands and roaming mouths of hungry female officer-candidates. It had not been a pleasant day when Conrad had told him that he had to be circumcised.
"… Does it even matter? "Darius had asked him with a scowl.
"The sausage needs a snip because it's not really healthy to keep that thing in a wrapper. Don't look at me like that; I'm not really the one who made that silly rule." Conrad had shrugged his shoulders at him as he washed his hands. "So as much as I want to say that I want to torture you by cutting into your meat, really, I don't find it amusing either."
With his regions feeling absolutely balls deep in hell, he had felt nothing in that entire week but an immense disdain for anything and anyone and the final term had largely passed with him spitting venom at others who tried to take advantage of him.
Whenever Draven took his toys home then, it was largely up to Darius to see to the woman invariably left alone.
The first time that a woman had been left behind, Darius had been forced, by pure virtue of his mother's lessons on women and respect, to sit across her and listen to her tale of woe. As the number of females piled up- ten according to his latest count prior to his departure- he had grown to know the story like the back of his scarred hand: she would find herself 'enchanted' or 'charmed' by the 'handsome performer' within the Arena. After some time spent 'seducing' her, this performer would then take her to his 'love nest' and then 'leave her behind in a cold bed'.
Of course, once in a while he would have a woman who was used to the treatment and then he would be spared the societal agony of seeing her clothed and fed before he sent them out the door but the women largely were of the doe-eyed innocent persuasion thoroughly sold on the spew that Draven fed to his adoring public.
"You're a fucked up judgmental prick, y'know that?" His brother had shaken his head at him when Darius had broached the option of taking responsibility for what he had brought home.
"... I fail to see where my fault lies in this matter." Darius had stated in a thoroughly humorless tone of voice. "Your treatment of them is not how our Mother would have wanted you to act towards them."
"Well, you're not a shining example of goodness either." Draven had retorted over his shoulder. "Just fuck off Dar. Give them food and clothes and send them on their way. You're not going to be here forever."
"You fail to see my point." Darius had pushed his cup aside. "My point in the matter is that you are responsible for what you do. I cannot be here forever- yes- so how will you take care of yourself when I am gone?"
"They just walk out." Draven had replied with a sneer. "Honestly, Dar, it's not fucking hard."
"What if they wish to kill you?" Darius had growled out as his mind spilled out ugly visions of his brother's negligence. "What if they wish to blackmail you? Will you care then?"
Draven's response then had been to laugh. Darius found himself gritting his teeth and curling his fist at the younger man's sheer arrogance. "Blackmail the great Draaaaaven- yeah, that'll work."
"Draven-" Darius had hissed out- but his brother had chosen the moment to raise his hand and interrupt him.
"Look Dar, let me worry about the women, huh?" The younger man had flashed him a smile and while the younger man may have thought himself in the right that time, Darius had felt all the more concerned.
"You are not worrying enough." Darius had said with a shake of his head. Athenais had taught them better, and even Hystaspes had reinforced her lessons with his own example. There was no real reason to simply leave women to their own devices like that- it was nothing but a show of carelessness and it kept one open to underhanded schemes.
Darius knew his brother was even more hardheaded than he was and pressed on accordingly, but in the end he was forced to drop the subject when Draven stormed out.
With self-confidence came hubris, of course, and that brought Darius' musings back to the center of the matter, to the real reason why he honestly felt that he no longer understood and could possibly never fully comprehend his civilian brother: the four years had given Draven enough time to develop himself as his own person, but with his return into the younger man's life came the inevitable comparisons.
It's a pity that you only brought him more grief. Darius' pessimism bit at his heels as he shifted from one foot to the other under the sun's sweltering heat. He always wanted to be recognized for what he was and your arrival did nothing but undermine him. In the end you cut down what he carefully cultivated for himself.
It was with both delight and anguish that Darius realized Commander de Montfort had not been lying during his final speech on the merits of having attended Boram's Point.
"The scar on your neck," The dignified man had said to them all from the grandstand's podium. His impossibly deep voice had seemed to resonate inside their chests. "-will open doors for you that Noxus would not even think of parting for normal men. With your four years here, you have secured a position for yourself that none may take away from you. With your blood, you have forged a key to everything that she holds apart from the disgusting norm."
The grizzled warrior had scanned their faces then and despite the stifling heat, they had stared back at him with all the confidence of equals. No longer did they have to avert their eyes. No longer did they have to cower beneath the iron stares. They were all graduates of Boram's Point at that exact moment. "By sheer virtue of surviving, you are already a cut above the rest, the best and the brightest, the purest from the most vicious Crucible ever conceived in the history of Valoran- you will never, ever be normal."
"Most of you will go on to become able commanders," He had continued. "Some of you will move on to earning your House names. A few of you will go on to truly change our exalted nation's history. Regardless of what you may become once you leave the walls of Boram's Point, know this: you are now part of a brotherhood, and it watches after its own. Show the proof of your indomitable spirit to those who may know of it. They will acknowledge you as their better and will accord to you all that is rightfully yours."
There had been a pregnant pause as his mouth set in a thin, merciless line.
"However, there are those who seek to undermine us, those who try to obtain reward without prior hardship, without due toil. They have not felt the flames of the Crucible. Be sober, be vigilant- and if asked for proof of your determination, give it to them in force and let them drown in their own blood. Never forget what we have taught you: force begets force. Determination breeds determination. Your spirit will spread to those you command. Officers, I ask you thusly, what is our creed?"
"Strength above all! Exploit every weakness! Defeat your foes with overwhelming force! Fight to the last man! Never surrender!" The overwhelming roar emerged from the mouths of the thirty or so graduates as they threw their gloved hands onto their chests in a burst of fervor. "True warriors of Noxus will never falter- even in the face of certain death!"
"Strength above all, officers!" Commander de Montfort had roared back with a mirror thump of his fist over his beating heart. "May you take our Noxus to the heights that she well and truly deserves!"
Darius had never truly understood that part of the man's long speech until the first night that he had tried to reap the benefits of his education. It had been during another one of Draven's Fleshing Arena displays, and he had- by sheer misfortune- lost the ticket that he had paid for. No doubt the work of some street urchin; he had been forced to consider other possibilities. He had never truly broken the rules since he had killed Adrian de Croix, and at that point in time he had found himself weighing Draven's self-esteem to that of his own principles. There was no doubt in his mind that his brother would come looking for him. There was also no doubt in his mind that he had the will within himself to sneak into the Fleshing Arena. What really mattered and what really put him into a conundrum were the means- he was too big a man to not be noticed, especially in his relatively new clothes and with the mark of his loyalty on his face.
It was when he was contemplating on how to best hide the scar over his jaw that he remembered Ignatius de Montfort's words, and it was with a brief moment of hesitation that he simply marched up to the door warden and pulled his collar down.
The man had stared at the scar over his throat- about as wide as a matchstick and as long as a pencil- and at the mark of his loyalty on his jaw for a full two seconds before he gestured for Darius to enter a particular door. This door, the lieutenant soon discovered, led to the field box- the most expensive and sought-after seats in the entirety of Noxus.
Needless to say, when Draven had seen him there- the seats were right next to the field after all and it was not at all hard to find him given the telltale patch of white and already intimidating height and build- the younger brother had been beside himself with utter glee.
"You paid for that!?" Draven had practically shouted at him when the show had ended.
"… In a way." Darius had been forced to say. He had not been, and still was not, entirely sure if what he had done was something to never be spoken of.
"We're not eating dinner then!" Draven had said with a disappointed air. "Or do you have some sort of plan? Hells, Dar, if you love me that much, you could at least have fed me first before you fucking spent all our money on the field box!"
He had stared at the younger man, affronted, before he had swallowed nervously. Thanks in part to his training, however, the emotion had never made it on his face.
"… I have a plan." He had replied slowly. He then tried the technique at a restaurant that he had heard of while he had fallen in line for a ticket- he knew full well that the reservations were all closed and the place was occupied to the very roof.
Still he had persisted in his attempt. With Draven occupied in seducing a nearby waitress, he had talked about obtaining a seat for two inside the hectic place to the maître d' all the while tilting his head to the right slightly- just enough for the other man to see the scar but not enough to be construed as a strange gesture.
The man had taken one look at it before he had taken two copies of the menu off the rack and babbled at them to follow him inside. Needless to say, their table was somewhere very private, and in the end there was no need to pay for the dinner at all- his attempts at leaving money on the table were met with apologetic bows and flustered but respectful words.
"… Well, I knew you had a plan." Draven had mused out loud as they walked into the night. "But hell I didn't think it would be that good a plan. What'd you do, promise to fuck him under the counter?"
Darius had stared at his brother in absolute, speechless horror.
"… Hey, don't mind me; I was just voicing out a theory here, bro." Draven had replied with a helpless shrug. "Ain't every day that the entire place just suddenly decides to give you free food and a nice pair of seats."
"What are you implying, Draven?" Darius had asked him with a raised eyebrow.
"I spoke to the waitress, bro." His brother stopped in his tracks then. Darius had decided then to mirror the movement and turned to face him. It was a good thing they had been in a side alley at the time- no one had been about. "Hells, she said they were fucking full to the roof and even sex with the Glorious Draaaaaven wouldn't make her budge. Y'know me-"
"Yes, I do know you." Darius had responded irritably- he did not want to be reminded of all those women and all those nights spent being kept awake by noises that came across as annoying. "What is your point?"
"My point is, dearest brother," Draven had tilted his head then. "What did you do that made them all just decide to give you the best seat in the house? I mean- I know you graduated from that fancy school- West Point or whatever…"
"Boram's Point." Darius had interjected- more out of habit than out of an actual urge to defend his alma mater.
"Yeah, Borat's Plow." Draven had finished for him then with a frown. "Whatever. Are you getting me?"
Darius had crossed his arms then, had put his hand over his mouth in thought as he furrowed his brow. It took some time, perhaps more than a minute of weighing through his options, before he determined in the end that it was best to not say anything at all on the specifics of the matter.
"It is a right," He had said slowly. "Reserved to officers who graduate from Boram's Point. Nothing more, nothing less."
"Oh wow, really?" Draven had stared at him, his eyes as wide as saucers. "So you just do something and everyone fucking rolls out the welcome mat for you? Man, that's great shit."
Draven's words were, at best, a gross oversimplification of what had just occurred and Darius found at that moment that his head was starting to hurt again.
"It came with a price." He had grunted out.
"That you paid already, huh?" Draven had responded with a measure of amusement.
"… Yes." Darius had replied, not knowing full well the magnitude of the trap that he was falling into. He had thought that instilling some sort of positive experience with a person who had military training would eventually give his brother incentive to serve as well.
It was, in his mind at the time, the correct thing to do.
He would be proven wrong- repeatedly. Draven, if anything, knew how to play people. Apparently, he also knew how to play his own brother faster than his brother could comprehend him.
Over the next few nights, under the excuse of 'sibling outings', Draven had brought him along to brothels and smoking dens, to restaurants surrounded by beautiful women and to raucous halls filled with dancers and an overabundance of alcohol. Each and every time, he would nudge his brother forward, and Darius would sheepishly show his scar in order to have nothing but the very best treatment delivered to them both.
"What does one do in a brothel?" He had asked his brother once as the madam for that particular establishment led them deeper inside.
"Well, you fuck." Draven had told him amusedly. "It's really not that hard a concept to grasp, Dar."
Darius had tried to think then. Perhaps he shouldn't have placed so much of a premium on thought then. It would have made everything less difficult.
Owing to his status as a graduate of Boram's Point, the girl given to him that night was very expensive according to Noxian brothel standards- she had a very beautiful face and had a voluptuous body blessed in both the front and in the rear. Her hair was long and dark, and she wore it in braids encrusted with pearls and little silver chains. Her body was tantalizingly clad in elaborate Ionian silk and her cultured voice was kept at a bedroom low. All in all, she was worth the money he would have paid for- if he had been interested in sex at all.
Darius had looked at her and felt nothing. She had looked back at him and had waited for him to do something. Needless to say, neither of them did and the awkwardness was extremely palpable for her until she had cleared her throat.
"Do I displease you, my lord?" She had asked him softly as her hands wrung nervously in front of her.
"Should I?" Darius had asked with a bemused look on his face.
"You are not touching me, sir." She had looked down then. "If so, then that means that I have displeased in some way, and that means I have done something wrong."
He had stared at her for another minute, had tried to feel something and failed.
"Why do you say that?" He had asked her- if anything, it seemed to him then that conversation seemed to make her less mortified at her circumstances.
She had stared at him as if he was the one out of place. "This is a brothel, sir." She had piped up helplessly. "You have to touch me. That is what the madam would want."
Darius had watched impassively as she stepped forward of her own accord, took his hands in hers and guided them to her breasts. Her skin was very soft, and at this distance he could smell the perfume that she had sprayed on herself prior to meeting him. He had absolutely no idea what to do then, and he had stared at her in mute askance until she had cocked her head to the side expectantly.
He had taken her breasts in his hands and had rolled them in his palms, had wondered at the sensation that he was feeling and at the reaction he was eliciting from her. It had felt nice, he supposed, but was there any real point to it?
Mostly out of a desire to explore, he had decided to play with her nipples, flicking his thumbs up and down the sensitive nubs. At that point she had giggled in his face. "Ah, sir." She had whispered. "I didn't think I would see someone more lost than I am."
His mind had been nothing but a storm of thoughts. Was he supposed to feel something now? He didn't know why he felt nothing when the expectation obviously pointed to some sort of emotion. He had cleared his throat, had stared at her and let his uncertainty show for only the briefest moment.
"If you would be so kind as to teach me then," He had tried to say softly. The words had emerged in a somewhat strangled fashion thanks to his attempt at discretion.
It was rather fortunate that she had taken his request literally. The rest of the night had been spent in a similar vein. When she realized that he needed a bit more of an education than her usual clientele, she had been patient enough to show him where and how to please her, and he had decided to humor her purely out of curiosity.
But did he ever feel anything, in that night and in the nights after that when Draven pulled him along to different brothels? He had found himself utterly consumed by boredom each and every night that he had to go with his brother to whorehouses. Unlike Draven, Darius had immense difficulty in comprehending sexual wants, and that left him largely unable to react to advances in the requisite manner. He never felt the supposedly animal need to claim others as his own, had never seen the point in putting himself inside of them and adamantly refused to do so when they pressed him because he had no desire to waste his time with monotonous movements.
He had largely felt lost and utterly bemused with what he was doing with his hands and his mouth during those trips. That is to say, he never saw any real good in thrusting in and out of a hole- at the time it seemed to him an activity much like sawing wood and pulling his pants down left him in an extremely vulnerable position that brought back feelings of helplessness and impotence that he felt during the Instigation.
For Darius then, copulation was highly illogical. Once he had learned what women liked, however, foreplay proved to be an exercise of control- one that he derived a great amount of pleasure from because he controlled where, when and how a woman would feel at a given point. One could say then that, in the end, the penultimate reason why Darius became very good at foreplay was because he was morbidly curious and because he felt empowered at whatever control he could glean.
Verily, those women did what they wished with his hands and guided him to the points that made their toes curl and gasped his name but ultimately he was the one that directed their pleasure- he controlled the level of their ecstasy with his hands and his mouth and the feeling that it gave him was what made foreplay a game. The kind of enjoyment that he derived from everything didn't lie in being stroked or licked or pleased, it was all about how he controlled them.
Still, the more times that he humored the women who threw themselves at him, the more he grew to understand that there was something innately wrong with himself. He didn't know why he found himself reflecting on their motives instead of their bodies as they reached their climax by his hands. He didn't know why he found their cries for 'more' and 'don't stop' to be more engaging than their faces and their breasts and whatever else they had that marked them as 'attractive'. He didn't know why he largely felt nothing even though his body was responding appropriately according to the biological books he had read through. He supposed in the end that their bodies never really mattered or perhaps he never did care.
But why was Darius putting himself through so much trouble? He had honestly wanted to understand why Draven found such activities as fun and had wished nothing more than to spend time with the younger man because he had given his word to do such. Naturally it came as a shock to the older man when he discovered a few of his schoolmates inside the aforementioned places as well. When those moments had occurred, it was only a matter of time before his brother discovered him enjoying comforts that went far over the younger man's head.
In a particularly horrible instance, Darius' scar had gotten them into a highly sought-after brothel, and Draven had been enjoying the auspices of a particularly beautiful woman when there was a loud commotion in a private lounge to his right and a booming voice practically let the rest of the building know what was happening.
"Oh man, I never thought I'd see the Baton in a dive like this! Fuck me! Or rather, fuck him. Where the hell is Sasha and Sanya? Where are my Freljordian twins? Ah, yes- there they are! Come 'ere. Only the very best for the Commander's Baton! Oh come on, Darius, the words are: 'you're most welcome!'"
"This isn't truly necessary, Bradston-" At that moment, Draven had spotted his brother being led away by a pair of ravishing, white-haired, blue-eyed twins in revealing outfits followed by another man with another pair of twins- black-haired and dark-skinned this time- curled about his hip.
Darius had seen him- it was evident in the way his eyes widened and how he craned his head back to speak to the man following him. "Quite frankly, Bradston, my brother would be more thankful for the… courtesy-"
"Come on, just fuck the whores already!" The other man had said with an encouraging slap on Darius' ass. If it wasn't for the fact that there were two women pulling him in the opposite direction, Hystaspes' eldest would've throttled the other graduate to death. "You were always the best at sticking your finger up really wet holes!"
"Bradston, you piece of-" Any other complaint he had was quickly drowned in his throat when Sanya- or was it Sasha, who could tell really- pressed her lips against his and stuck her tongue straight into his mouth.
Needless to say, Draven had ignored his brother for the rest of the night and when he had emerged from the building in the early hours of the morning, he found his brother in the process of pulling on his jacket- even from a distance he could see the bite marks and the bruises on his already scarred skin.
"Well, fuck me." Draven had said by way of greeting.
"Not a word." Darius had gritted out.
"I've got an idea for our next sibling outing-" Draven's voice had a cheeky tone to it before Darius had given him a level glare by way of reply.
"No," Darius had retorted with a nigh rabid snarl. "No, I will choose the next outing. I have been kind enough."
"Well, yeah." Draven had replied with his typical egotism. "But you still had more fun than I did though. Freljordian twins? Can I have them next time?"
His brother had made a disgruntled sound in his throat as he walked off.
The next few endeavors had been something like a soothing balm for Darius' fraying temper, but it had been Draven's turn then to chafe against what he saw. Instead of alcohol, company and comely women, Darius had taken him to concerto halls and to vaunted theaters, to the prestigious Greenvale Downs to watch the most critical leg in the Noxian Triple Crown.
In the same way that Darius had felt out of his element when he had accompanied Draven to his activities, the younger man felt utterly choked by his brother's choice of activities. He sulked outside the track during the Greenvale Derby, fell out of his chair while sleeping during the peak of the Blind Man's Opera and- as a final straw- shouted that the masterpiece of the most highly acclaimed playwright in the state was 'boring'.
On the final day before Darius had to report to fulfill his conscription, he had decided to take his brother to the theater, and in the end, what had made that night the final straw for Darius' already delicate temper was that the theater had been occupied with aristocrats that had recognized him.
Darius had worked for the House of Montpelier before- but never in his life did it occur to him that they would remember him. When he entered the balcony box with Draven in tow, he had been surprised to see a man struggle to push himself out of his chair at the sight of him.
"Darius! It is Darius, isn't it?"
Both brothers couldn't help but stare then as the man wobbled to his feet in a titanic effort to get up. In his haste to meet him, the rich man's mother-of-pearl and gold binoculars fell to the carpeted floor of the box with a thud and were promptly forgotten.
"Yes sir," Darius had tried to keep his composure then when he had fully realized who it was he was talking to- Jean de Montpelier, Head of House Montpelier, and the man he had worked for when he was younger all those years ago. Did he remember the forest fire then?
When the balding man took his hand and began to shake it furiously, openly beaming at him all the while, it sent nothing but more questions into the young man's mind. Wasn't he forced by the House of Croix to deny him? What had happened? Why was he openly associating with him now? Wasn't there something to all of this?
"Darius, my dear boy, it's a pleasure to finally see you in the flesh." Jean had been nothing but the picture of a grateful man.
"You grant me too much praise- The House of Montpelier stands much higher than I." Darius had tried to reply.
"Ah, but you deserve it so." Jean de Montpelier had not even pulled his hands from where they were curled about Darius' scarred palm. "What brings you to Kingston House?"
Pleasantries on pleasantries- Darius had tried to keep himself focused on de Montpelier's intentions. At that time, he could discern nothing.
"I must confess, sir, that I do find theatre quite compelling these days, Forgive me," And Darius had politely withdrawn his hand then, sweeping it towards him. "I never meant to be so rude- this is my brother, Draven."
To Darius' utter shame, Draven had puffed out his chest then, had tried to appear impressive and every bit as regal as his brother. Needless to say, he had failed miserably- he had neither the muscle nor the presence that his brother had.
The aristocrat had stared at his brother briefly- eyeing him like an offering to a particularly violent god. Darius had resisted the urge to blanch when Draven had begun to shirk away. The air in the box had seemed to grow heavier, staler as the aristocrat had extended his hand again.
With growing horror, Darius watched Draven withhold his hand, had stifled the urge to box the whelp on the ears as his younger brother had glared at the aristocrat with nothing but defiance in his dark eyes.
It wasn't until he had chosen to reach out and thump him smartly on his back with a silent, warning stare that Draven had limply shaken Jean's hand, mumbling a greeting out of the corner of his mouth before he had stormed away.
"What an impudent whelp." Jean de Montpelier had said with a curl of his lip when he had been certain Draven was gone.
"… Sir." Darius had replied helplessly. He hadn't known what he wanted to do- he had been torn between correcting Draven and throttling de Montpelier for insulting his younger brother. In the end, he had decided to do nothing.
"It truly is saddening to see that you're related to riffraff like him." Jean de Montpelier had stared up at him then. "How are you keeping, my boy?"
"… I am quite well, sir." Darius had replied stiffly.
"Good, good." The Head of House Montpelier had tilted his head at him then. "I have a proposition for you, that is, if you are looking for sponsors."
Darius had to literally stop himself from staring blankly at the other man. He had known the system well enough- what had made him so shocked was that Jean de Montpelier was willing to stick his political neck out for the guillotine that was the House of Croix to cut.
Prior to the ascension of Jericho Swain as Grand General, the purchase of officer commissions- essentially the purchase of officer positions using gold or a healthy application of influence- was considered to be common practice. When these commissions were paid by another, more influential person, they were called 'sponsorships'.
Within the entire spectrum of the Noxian military, only the Navy did not offer buyable commissions at all. The theory then was that advancement through naval ranks was based purely off merit and performance. In practice, however, it was a common saying in the day that naval officers made the best politicians.
In order to purchase a promotion, an officer had to pay for the difference between his rank and the next. What made the entire process so prone to corruption was that the provost marshals in charge of new commissions and promotions within corps possessed the right to refuse purchased commissions.
There are many things that could be said about Jericho Swain's new Noxus, but at the very least, no one could accuse it of being elitist and extremely biased towards those with current means. To have someone like Jean de Montpelier practically giving him a chance to serve within a real fighting unit- it was a wonder he hadn't openly gaped at the man yet.
"You are due to be assigned on the morrow, are you not?" A smile had played on the older man's lips then.
"Yes sir." Darius had responded slowly, somehow he had found his tongue again. Jean reached out and gave him a firm pat on the shoulder. Despite the discomfort that the invasion of personal space had given him, he merely stiffened underneath the older man's touch instead of smashing his face in.
"As the Commander's Baton, you were given your choice of units, hm?" There had been a light in de Montpelier's eyes and Darius had felt both apprehensive and excited for whatever proposition he had. "What was your first choice?"
"The Obsidian Hammer, out of the 56th." Darius had tilted his head then. The unit had its fair share of commendations and disciplinary citations. He had thought it an acceptable beginning. "With hope sir, if the provost marshal for the 56th would be willing to take me, that would be my posting. Otherwise, I would be delegated to the Ebon Hounds, out of the 34th. Failing that, the Crimson Storm, from the 98th."
"Reputable units, all of them, and I have no doubt that you deserve a commanding position within each of them." Jean had observed. "However, what if I gave you the leg-up you needed, hm? Everyone knows that the true warriors go with the Black Watch, out of the 101st."
Darius had stared at him cautiously. "… The Black Watch is indeed a fine fighting unit, sir." He had been unable to stop his voice from reflecting his hesitation then. He had heard of the Black Watch, had heard of what they did. He had no qualms with serving in such an elite unit- indeed, it was an honor to even be considered for a position within the company- but this seemed like an act of generosity that was highly uncharacteristic of what he had come to expect from Noxian aristocracy.
"But it is beyond your means as of the moment." Jean de Montpelier had finished for him. Darius had nodded mutely.
"I know of a certain provost marshal from the 101st," Jean's voice had changed into a lower, more conspiratorial tone. "If you would visit his office on the morrow, perhaps a posting into the Black Watch would not be too far out of your reach."
"I'm not quite certain how far my reach would extend in this case, sir." Darius had responded then. This entire thing had seemed to be too good to be true, and he had felt himself in the right to be cautious.
"There is no need to worry about that." De Montpelier had said with a laugh and a shrug of his portly shoulders. "I remember what you did for my family, and what you did for the farm. I hadn't been able to give you your reward then- consider this a gift past due."
"A posting into one of the finer companies costs about three gold pieces and a considerable deal of influence." Darius had voiced as he observed the man across him carefully.
"And what do I owe you, hm?" Jean de Montpelier had stared back at him, almost daring him to prove him false.
It was with difficulty then that Darius remembered exactly what he had been denied of. "… Three gold pieces." He had repeated hoarsely. "… Until-"
"We shan't speak of that here." Jean de Montpelier had said with an unnecessarily loud laugh as he had slapped at Darius' shoulder again. "I shan't keep you any longer- I do hope you enjoy the show, lieutenant."
Darius had watched him return to his seat before he had remembered that he still had to see to Draven. When he had found his younger brother later on, the younger man was sitting down with both feet up in the chair regardless of the theatre's other clientele, both knees tucked under his chin. The rest of the patrons near him had already taken out their binoculars and were pretending that the uneducated heathen in their midst didn't exist.
His shock then had been drowned under a sea of rage.
"Gods above, what are you doing?" Darius had hissed under his breath as he reached out and pushed Draven's limbs down. "Cease that infantile sulking at once- that behavior hardly befits a man."
Draven had made a noise under his breath as he straightened his posture.
"You should be thankful," Darius had rumbled as he passed him a pair of binoculars to him-it was made of cheaper pewter. "That Jean de Montpelier considers me as a friend. If I had not been there to come to your aid, you would have been evicted from your seat and from the theater for your blatant display of disrespect."
His brother had not chosen to answer him. Indeed, the younger man had held the tool in his hand and had watched the dimming lights of the runestone lanterns overhead play across the shining silvery surface.
"I never wanted to go here." The younger man had grumbled under his breath.
Darius had resisted the urge to scream.
"Why didn't you say such beforehand, then?" Darius' eyes had seemed to grow cold as the theater fell into absolute darkness. His voice grew deeper with veiled annoyance. "You could have spared me the indignation of apologizing to de Montpelier on your behalf."
"I didn't want to say no." Draven had mumbled as he shied away from his brother. "You seem to like being here."
"Fool." Darius had not been able to stop himself from snarling at him. Even with Montpelier's offer, he hadn't been able to stop himself from thinking that his brother had to stop being such a child.
"I can sit quie-" Draven had begun, but his brother's hand was already on his shoulder, nudging him out of the chair slowly.
"No, there is no point in sitting through this if you do not wish to." Darius had growled at him. "I will watch at another time."
"But you really wanted to-"
His brother's massive hand had nudged him again, and the tap was not at all gentle. "Get out."
Draven had remained quiet until they had made a fair bit of distance from the theater. His brother had abruptly stopped in his tracks.
"… What is it now?" Darius had growled at him.
"What was up with that?" Draven had turned his head to stare at him as his hands curled into fists.
"What was what?" Darius had retorted acidly. "Whatever business I had with de Montpelier is none of your concern."
"I think it should fucking concern me." Draven had spat back. "He totally fucking hates me and you stood by and didn't do anything!"
"Why would I?" Darius had raised an eyebrow then. Even though his brother's voice was starting to become louder, he had kept his at a lower tone. "You are old enough to determine for yourself what proper behavior should and shouldn't be."
"That fat bitch fucking hates me and you didn't fucking do anything! I'm your motherfucking brother!" Draven had shouted. "I did all that boring shit for you, and even then, you wouldn't even fucking lift a hand to help me? Not even to tell the fat fuck off for insulting me?"
"Did what?" Darius' voice had grown darker than before. "Embarrass me in front of a crowd numerous times? Insulted everything that I wanted to enjoy? What else have you not yet done?"
Draven had reeled back- for whatever reason Darius couldn't bring himself to particularly care. He was going to be deployed tomorrow- why was he even wasting his time with a pointless fight born from his brother's ego? "Who the fuck are you to talk about insults, huh?" Draven had screamed at him. "Who fucking outdid everything I tried to do? Who just had to do some magical military shit to get himself laid and fed for fucking free? I WORKED FOR WHAT I OWN!"
Darius' fists had opened and closed and he had begun to grit on his teeth. Still, he hadn't wanted to strike, hadn't seen the point in any of this at all.
"Do you mean to tell me that I didn't work for this?" Darius had reached out and pulled down his collar, exposing the long scar that ran over one side of his throat. His voice had been shaking from his withheld rage. "That I didn't bleed for this? That I didn't just throw away my life for a few lap dances and a free keg of beer? What kind of shallow person are you?"
"You sure as hell didn't starve like I did." Draven had sneered back as placed his hands on his hips and parted his legs so as to stand defiant in Darius' eyes. "You sure as hell didn't have to fucking deal with other little shits like I did. I had to fucking do everything while you were gone!"
"What are you even trying to say?" Darius had shot back. "You're trying that argument with me? The person who babysat you until you could stand on your own two feet? Are you seriously contemplating arguing your case in front of me?"
Faced with mounting evidence against him, instead of admitting to his mistake, as he should have, Draven had shaken his head and had walked off, shouting over his shoulder. "Fuck this! Fuck you! I'm sick and tired of being second in line! I've already been there for most of my fucking life, I don't fucking need this!"
Darius had wanted nothing more than to throttle him to death then, but he had stayed his hand. Instead of running after his brother as he would have done all those years ago, he had watched him leave. Arguing with the other man,his pragmatic mind had told him then, was utterly pointless when he was going to be conscripted soon. He knew he was in the right with everything inside of him- why should Draven's opinion bother him?
Darius hadn't felt any particular inclination to return home soon after that. He had waited out the dawn at a nearby hostel, and then when he was absolutely certain that Draven would be asleep, he had returned to the apartment, gathered up his things in a single canvas bag and then had left.
I only wanted to understand him. The thought crossed his mind again. He shifted his grip on the bag from one arm to the other, looked down at his sweating palm and at the lines that crisscrossed his flesh. But… I don't think I can anymore.
His brother had grown into his own man- that was true enough, but what he did with himself, and what he found as satisfying- Darius suppressed the urge to sigh and felt the trail of sweat cascade down his back. In his mind, it wasn't what his parents would've wanted.
In fact, none of this was what his parents would've wanted, but he was here now, and he had to do something with what he had now. He could only hope that he had done enough. It was horrible to end things that way with Draven, but he found that it was immensely difficult for him to care for the other man at the moment.
Maybe I just can't see it anymore. Being a civilian is just… I don't know. He told himself as the line moved slowly forward. Draven has his own life, and I have mine. He's alive, he's… enjoying himself and he's… doing what he feels is best for himself, why should I let all of that bother me when I have my own affairs to look after? He's old enough. I did what I could. It's not my fault if he fucks up, it's…
He let out a breath and looked up at the cloudless blue sky. Despite himself, he wondered if his brother was awake and eating, if the younger man even ate anymore. The only thing Darius had learned was that his brother seemed to subsist purely on alcohol, the love of his 'fans' and the auspices of whores. It made his head hurt, just thinking of such an aimless and chaotic life.
I shouldn't even try anymore, not when I can't understand it.
Author's Note: ahmg well that took it's time. Yes, this is a chapter filled with awkwardness aplenty, but then again as with before, I can't just say 'hey he did so and so' and expect you to understand instantly. Nope. Gotta have all that hawkward.
Anyway, where was I- oh yes. There's a ton of foreshadowing here, as well as references to earlier chapters. Have fun.
I don't really have much to say, other than I honestly hope that Kitae won't mess up Noxus' lore too much.
addendum:
Q: Why does Draven feel so one-sided here? He's not just all about women.
Quite honestly, I'm not quite sure where I went wrong here.
It's not like Draven's not doing anything that he's not supposed to be doing as of the moment. He's nothing like his brother at this point in time- he's not conscripted yet, he's been left to his own devices and he's enjoying what he wants to enjoy. He's grown from this lanky little kid reliant on his brother to a guy who knows what he's worked for, who knows what he likes and does whatever he wants because he feels that he's rightfully earned it, so I don't really see where I went wrong with Draven.
This is his life as of the moment, yes. I never said that he wasn't strong here. He has a job, he has a home. He's been alpha dog for most of two years. He enjoys society for what it is because he feels himself entitled to take what he's worked for. It's also important to note that he's seventeen here- he's still riding out his puberty and the hike in hormones and sexual curiosity with it. Does it mean he'll stay that way? No, this isn't Draven's final form yet.
Q: Why does Darius suddenly enjoy theater?
He's been with aristocrats for most of his academic life and they rubbed off him in more ways than one. A way for people to improve their vocabulary and speech also is to go to the theater and to take note of how people speak. That is to say, he uses it mostly to improve himself. He's not in it for the drama, he's in it for the language and how exactly can you focus on speech when your brother likes to interrupt everyone and everything?
As for horse racing and the opera- he's always been a curious boy. He's always wanted to know what and how things are supposed to work.
Improvements in speech bring with it an improvement in bearing. At this point in time, most of the higher-ranked officers that Darius has a very high opinion of (Strongbow, di Castellamonte, de Montfort) have both a strong bearing and linguistic expertise on top of their already considerable skills as a warrior. Simply put- he's trying to emulate them.
Q: Why does Draven take Darius to brothels and why does Darius take Draven to the theater?
Draven takes him to brothels because that's something that he perceives as fun and he thought Darius would enjoy himself too. Darius took Draven to the theater because he wanted to improve his vocabulary, not necessarily because he wanted Draven to enjoy himself.
Essentially what you need to remember in this chapter is that these are two people who have not seen each other in four years and they're both just smashing their faces together and trying to get along and failing miserably.