Slowly but steadily, the scythe realized that there had to be some kind of retaliation to get what he wanted. There could be no more lie down and take it. It was time to assert himself. And if he was honest, it was long past time. After seeing how it wasn't just him, Wes and his mother had been imprisoned by their father's image of his family as well, he now understood he had to take action. Otherwise, it would be the same old shit, different day.
And his target for rebellion today was his piano practice.
His father had stuck to his word. Every practice since his recital and his practice before then, he had never been alone in the foyer with the piano. It was perfect.
Now that he knew the sheet music for a smaller recital, there was a pattern he was noticing. His father was avoiding the musical keys and literal keys on the piano that he had used in his prefered music, trying to avoid him playing that "god awful, horrifying" music again. It was sickening just how controlling their father was. The entire reason he wasn't allowed to play it was because it didn't fit the public image.
Be it at home, or at his own recital, he wasn't allowed to play what he wanted. But he would change that. After studying the sheet music and coming up with his gameplan, the door behind him was opened with a creak. Click, clack. Click. Clack.
Soul looked over to his right, and there was his father. He placed the sheet music on the piano, open and ready, waiting for his practice to begin proper.
"Did you follow my instructions and study your set for your recital?"
"Yes," Soul answered simply. The sorrowful and silenced look he normally had during his practices wasn't here today, unknownst to his old man. His father hummed and walked around the room. Click, clack. Click, clack. Was he using this to get under his skin or something? It wasn't going to work. He had already decided on his tactic to fight against the reign of his father, and he wasn't going to stop just because he was being walked around and tested for patience levels. In fact…
"And I had some ideas for the pieces. Particularly the first and second."
"Oh?" Spoke his father, his face twitching slightly in interest and the ghost of a smile that reeked of arrogance at the idea that he was getting his way. "And what would that be?"
The boy scooched forward on the piano stool, pulling the sheet music down and commentating on a few notes and areas he wanted rearranged. Naturally, most of the suggestions were turned down, but enough were agreed on unknowingly that his plan should still work well enough. The boy smiled at his father, and he turned back around and placed his hands on the keys.
"Well, son," His father spoke with a pat on Soul's shoulder, "let's hear your adjustments, shall we?"
The scythe simply nodded, keeping his smile on his face as he began playing. At the start, nothing seemed to have changed. The piece retained its relaxing yet not-too-dark atmosphere, and his father smiled approvingly with his eyes closed as he listened. Good. He was probably going to be told how much he had improved, and there were two directions Soul could take this from there. He could be truthful and tell his father that his music had gotten better just because he was enjoying it, or keep it to himself and enjoy his secret victory of fighting fire with fire.
That was until his changes came through at last after the intro. The music grew darker; for Soul's usual, it was just a light sprinkling, and he felt the atmosphere change as his father's face fell.
His changes persisted, and although the music was fun for him to play, just as he was getting to the part he liked the most… his father slammed his hand on the top of the piano, causing his son to jump up slightly and the piano to cry out in pain with the keys he hit on accident.
"Absolutely not," was all his father said, and Soul reeled back just a bit in his head. But the will that had been born with the idea of his way out wouldn't go back that easily. That part of himself could run backwards, away from the situation, all it wanted. But now that his plan to enjoy music again had backfired, the third idea was on the playing field.
"... Absolutely not what?" Soul's will mixed with a healthy dose of fear let the words slip like a bar of soap amongst their fighting.
"Your changes. Don't act like I don't get what you're trying to do, Soul Evans." He glowered over him as he spoke. "You're trying to slip your nasty music into your recital, and I won't let you embarrass me like that again."
"But it's what I want to play, what I learned piano for. Someone out there's got to like it. Give it a chance?"
"I already have. And as a musical professional and a member of this legendary musical family, son? No one with proper musical taste will like it."
Soul's teeth were bared again, earning him a growl of anger from his father. He didn't care.
"Just because you don't like it doesn't mean anyone else won't!" he shouted as he finally raised his voice to his father, "Just give it a chance!"
"I already have!" His father yelled back without any hesitation whatsoever. To Soul, he figured that said a lot. "The way your audience reacted to your little off-the-rails stunt at that recital said enough to me that your music has no hope of succeeding in the industry and helping your name be written down as another great Evans musician! Don't you want that?!"
"NOT AFTER THE WAY YOU'VE TREATED ME I DON'T!" After his shout, Soul found himself breathing deeply as he calmed down fast and realized exactly what he had done.
He realized he had sewn more scrutiny from his father into his fate. A red, angry face towered over him as his own father struggled to calm himself. Soul's will and fire to fight back took a few steps backwards as he looked his father in the eye, and as his father took a deep breath in through his nose, he cringed in fear. Words shrouded with a veil of stressed calm bit into him with all the venom his father could muster.
"If that's what you want, Soul Evans, then get off the piano. It is not for you anymore." With those words, Soul could feel his heart drop into his stomach, could feel the ice as it ran through his veins. Was this the true cost of fighting for what he wanted? Having his one passion pulled away from him? He wasn't even close to done fighting for his cause yet… Well, if he was honest with himself, as he watched his father shut away the black and white keys, his passion was synonymous with being locked under his father's control. Would he really want a passion that reminded him of that?
His will took its steps back forward as he walked out of the room to have the door shut behind him with a loud, echoing slam. What he wanted was to be in a place where he was accepted. Where he could play the piano again if he so decided to. Like the DWMA.
His resolve found once again despite the dent from before, he was going to press on. Whatever the outcome was of this, he was going to win it.
xXx
After he was barred from practicing piano, if not on indefinite hiatus, things got a lot less busy around the Evans household for Soul, and a lot more quiet, but not any less stressful. while he might've enjoyed his newfound free time, he was still given death glares from his father, and he was given more of a look into his mother and brother's lives than ever before.
As he tapped his fingers against the dinner table that might have gathered dust from very rare use if not for their servants, he sighed just before his solitude was broken by the presence of his father. His dress shoes clacked as he entered as always against the hardwood flooring, and Soul couldn't help his eyebrows from furrowing at the sight of him, the sight of the man who was trapping his son in a cage. How many things would be taken from him before he could finally have his get away? Needless to say, even if his father had seen his glare, it didn't matter; he got a glare for just sitting there and listening to his iPod anyway as his father opened the fridge and fetched himself a drink.
As if he had more problems than his son, blissfully unaware of the damages he had caused everyone, he sighed as if he had a horrible day. Soul knew better. It was Wednesday. Wednesday was Wes' practice day. Good old Wes. Never-Does-Anything-Wrong Wes. His day had been so great, being locked in a room with the prodigy all day, instead of the kid who could never get anything right. His anger only grew with his inner hatred towards himself, and even further when his father ditched the faux upset attitude for a genuine Proud Father Smile.
Ugh. He felt like he was going to puke then and there.
"Busy day," he spoke before taking a sip of his wine. "Wes and I have been working hard on making his first tour a good one. What he'll be playing will absolutely wow the crowd. Hopefully one day he'll end up on stage with that Sterling woman!" Soul made a mental note after his dad's comment to throw out all of his music by her. Stat. But other than, there was no reaction from his younger son. He didn't want to give him the satisfaction. He was sure that his father behind him was well aware that he had no comment, and was a bit perturbed by his son's decision to stay quiet when he was talking, and that he'd act on it soon enough.
"... Aren't you happy for your older brother?" And there was said acting on Soul's silent treatment.
He knew it was wrong, not talking to his father and being jealous of his brother to this degree, but how could he not? Sure, Wes was under just as pressure as much pressure as Soul was, but at least he enjoyed it. At least he wasn't being denied his wanted musical path or anything. Unlike Soul himself. All he managed to settle on to give his dad as little attention and satisfaction as he could help, and to say that he was happy for his brother, was a silent nod of the head with a ghost of a smile that went away instantly. Ice threatened to bleed into his veins afterwards as he darted his gaze back to the table he was sitting at, knowing his father well enough to know that he wouldn't be satisfied with that and would pester him further. Maybe this was a bad idea.
The footsteps of his father's dress shoes against the flooring, slow and intimidating as ever proved that thought true. He had made a wrong move here. A very wrong move.
The table groaned against his father's arms as he leaned against it, causing Soul to once again backpedal in the form of moving away from his father's gaze. He knew what this was going to be. Some controlling garbage about how he didn't understand where his attitude was coming from, and how disrespectful it was. Usual parents garbage. It was so cliche at its core that sometimes he wondered if this was where every movie plot with bad parents got it from. His experience was taken further than those kids ever had it, however. Up to eleven; and fighting for his way out was proving difficult. But he couldn't just give up now, even with his father (sorta literally) breathing down his neck about simple things. He just couldn't.
"Listen. You are the one who gave up your piano practices. Don't act like you didn't have a choice."
"I didn't have a choice," Soul blurted out in a low hush without even thinking. It startled even himself how fast that came out in response, but as he kept telling himself, he couldn't put his tail between his legs and reluctantly stay in this poisonous pack. He had to keep fighting. And with that still in his mind, he kept finding the strength to continue, renewing it every time it dwindled. "I wasn't enjoying it anymore, and I wasn't being allowed to play what I wanted."
Another groan from the table as the elder man's arms pulled away from the surface and instead his weight was placed in a chair nearby, the cushion hissed air out as he sat down.
"Sometimes we can't get what we want in life, Soul," his father whispered to him, not helping his feeling of jealousy and anguish what so ever. If the man weren't so close, he'd show his shark-like pearly whites, but doing that with his father near his ear would be suicide. "You've just gotta make due with what you have. And I gave you everything. I gave you tutors, I gave you home-school music teachers, I gave you my own personal lessons and sets for your recitals. I did all I could to make you into the next great piano player, and this is how you repay me? By throwing it all away because you can't play what you want?"
The weapon lightly threw his hand against the table, raising his voice ever so slightly. "Yes, because I don't care about your opinion that playing what you want is bullshit, it's what I want to play."
"It's not an opinion when that's how the industry works for pianists like you, son," his father had the audacity to laugh out.
"Really now," was Soul's deadpan response as he was slowly pulling away the veil covering his rage as their conversation went on.
"Yes. You'll be hired by bands and performers to play what they want you to. Not what you want to."
"That's not how you got known in the industry," Soul spoke, no hesitation, no remorse, and no fear to his words, and he watched his father's face crinkle in the wake of his tugged heartstrings. His son raised an eyebrow. Would he realize how backwards his views were now?
The elder pianist's lip quivered at the shocking words from his son, and his son watched ever so interested in what his next move would be. Was he going to be shouted at? Was Soul going to have to tell him how many pianists have lead their own musical careers just fine, citing his own father's early work as example? Apparently not, for Daddy Evans balled up a shaky fist and lightly banged it upon the top of the table.
"I've had enough of your lip for one day," he said after finally standing up and walking out of the room. Soul kept his eyes on him, watching as he walked out. He had no idea what to make of that situation… Just what kind of nerve had he hit by mentioning his own musical past? Obviously there was more to it if his old man backpedaled on his ideals so quickly. But as he listened to the clicking of his dress shoes against the floor, the fear and suspense those sounds gave him was absent. He wasn't afraid anymore…. Soul was sure that he had finally found a way to fight back, other than to cause any fuss he could.
His father's reins were off him now. He was free to do whatever he wanted.
Oh, he'd use it. He'd use it as long as he could.
xXx
He wasn't being forced to go to any of the snooty rich people and classical musical parties, meetups, and recitals anymore, he'd realized in the next month, and that was yet another freeing thing he discovered after giving up the piano.
And since he didn't have to go to those things, it was time to say goodbye to those stiff, hot and suffocating suits, and hello to the hoodies he had stuffed away in the back of his closet. Headphones in his ears, he bobbed his head as he walked past the door to the foyer, happy not to see that door as such a bad memory anymore. Now it was just another door in their too-large-for-four-people estate. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this good and confident in himself, that he was free to be who he was.
Of course, it was shortlived.
He was going out for a walk. That was the story and that was also the truth. It wasn't like he had any friends he had met during his recitals or anything, but going outside to make some in secret seemed like a good idea. After all, his father didn't scare him anymore. He walked past the old man, reading his newspaper on his lean-back chair. He hummed to the rock song he was currently listening to, nearly missing the sound of his father clearing his throat over it.
The weapon rolled his eyes while his father couldn't see it, turning around shortly after as he removed his headphones, letting the music be heard to his father and not just himself. That, he would find, was a mistake, as the first disapproving glance was probably from the guitar solo that was heard as a result.
"What are you doing?" His father asked in his nicotine-ruined voice angrily after a pause. If he thought that was going to intimidate Soul Evans anymore, he was wrong.
"Going for a walk," Soul said simply, shoving a matter-of-fact attitude into his tone. He hoped that would get his point across his old man's mind in place of saying 'you can't stop me', which wouldn't help his situation any whatsoever.
"You remember our rules about going outside the mansion, yes?" his father commented as he returned back to his newspaper without a care in the world written on his face, dormant anger sleeping in his tone. Soul knew the rules for sure, but he wasn't going to abide by them anymore.
"Don't talk to anyone," Soul counted them on his fingers, "more like don't open your freaky mouth, and don't wander into town. Are those it?"
"Oh, son, don't be so negative!" His father laughed out in the way that once again riled up the anger within Soul. All while not taking his eyes off of his precious article about Wes' amazing last concert in town in the newspaper, complete with his own face behind Wes' as the violinist shook the reporter's hand. "No one likes being around such a downer."
Soul turned around and took a few steps forward, all for the sake of hiding his expression as he clenched his teeth and balled up his hands. While he fought for his freedom, he still wasn't completely free.
"Well, I don't know," Soul said with the same dormant anger his father used earlier as he shrugged his shoulders, "I wouldn't be such a 'downer' if I was at the DWMA."
The sound of crumpled up newspaper in his father's hands was all he needed to know that his words had the impact that he wanted them to have.
"I thought we discussed that that school was never tobe mentioned in this household again," his father grumbled behind a shield of paper and ink, burying his head within it further, Soul assumed, from the sound of more crinkling. "That it didn't exist."
"I'm not insane, Dad. I saw Steven change his arm into a blade before my very eyes." He turned around despite his father obviously not being willing to return his gaze personally.
"That school is out there, and I'm a rare weapon."
Once again, the poor news was threatened to be torn apart in Big Bad Daddy Evans' rage. Red eyes met a matching pair once again as the face they were set in threatened to turn red in anger. It had been quite a while since Soul had seen that happen - about two weeks - but if his dad thought he was done, then he was wrong.
"I don't care if it's real or 'out there,' no son of mine is going to a school that sounds like something out of a Lemony Snicket book!" he finally shouted, tearing through the paper in the process. The lovely front cover smile he had was torn apart, just leaving his body in tact. It was a good thing, too. That smile was just as fake to Soul as his father's idea of what a good family was. And the answer to that was obvious: it wasn't this.
"Did Wes or Steven or anyone tell you that I have a chance there? I could still be known as a great Evans," Soul explained. "Maybe not as a great pianist like you, but as a Deathscythe."
His father breathed out sharply before speaking, hands shaking as he continued to grip the newspaper. "If I let you go to that school and garner that kind of reputation, do you honestly think the response to that would be positive towards our family? It wouldn't! Years of reputation as musicians down the tubes because one of our members is a FREAK! Death's weapon! You'd be known for killing people, Soul. No one wants to come to the concerts of the brother of Death's second-in-command, the person responsible for taking their dear old grandmother's soul right out of her body, be it she's in a better place or not!"
"OR," Soul interjected, joining in on the voice raising, "it'll be more publicity for Wes. The DWMA isn't a circus to people, it's known throughout history for helping weapon people like me and saving the world! They're not seen as freaks!"
"And what would you know, Soul Evans. You were told everything about this school by a stranger. A person you don't even know."
"He's a longtime friend of Wes that you've let him speak to for years. He's proved his trustworthy all that time. Wes wouldn't be friends with a liar for that long. And how can he lie when he summoned his own blade right in front of me, Wes, and mom?!"
"Many ways." spoke Papa Evans solemnly. "Many, many ways. I shouldn't have to teach you how many ways you can be lied to. I have many a story that would open your eyes if I shared those stories with you now. In fact, I just-."
No. He wasn't going to listen to this. He wasn't going to let his dad go on a tirade of 'when I was young' and 'stories of the real world.' Not when he knew better, and he wasn't afraid anymore.
"Even with Steven out of the picture, the DWMA is real," Soul interrupted, "The Internet's a thing. Magazines and advertisements are a thing. They're real, and pretty prestigious."
For the first time in a long while, the glare he got from his father sent chills down his spine so powerful he shook a bit. Papa Evans breathed deep through his nose, obviously trying to calm himself down by how his face lost its red color just a tad.
"I. Don't. Care. If they're real," he growled through gritted teeth. Soul glanced at the newspaper in his moment of fright, finding that his father had torn the picture of him, Wes, and the reporter in two with all of his anger and shaking. "You are not going."
"Not even if it helps me?" Soul spoke between his own nearly gritted teeth, hands balled up tight and shaking at his sides. "Not even if it gets rid of the family freak for you?!"
The way he got his answer was cliche as hell. His father pulled the newspaper over his shoulder and simply shook his head, not even bothering to speak before going back and burying his face within the inked pages.
Soul's hands shook further as the denied scythe bared his teeth once again, the sharp points clear as day towards his father if that godforsaken newspaper wasn't in the way.
With a stomp and a pivot, he was facing the doorway once again, and he finally left to go on his walk with all the loud steps in the world out of his rage. The door was fittingly slammed shut after he stepped out onto their musically-themed welcome mat as well.
There was silence for just a short while, only a small moment before the scythe sighed and looked to his right. "I'm guessing I don't have to ask if you heard all of that or not."
"You'd be right about that, little brother," said Wes from the space next to him. Thanks to not being scrutinized as much as Soul was, he was able to go outside when he pleased, and this time, he chose to wait and listen in on the father-son bickering, all on his own.
If anything, it beat being a broken record that no one was listening to like he normally was in those arguments. Still angry, he crossed his arms and slouched, teeth still out as he growled and grumbled and his nose wrinkled. A simple playful shove to his shoulder got him to knock it off, complete with Wes' chuckling.
"I get it, you're mad," Wes said with a sympathetic smile. He took the first few steps of his and Soul's agreed venture out of the estate, smile unfading as he looked back at Soul. "But that posture's not good for you. Stand up straight."
Wes. Wes was the only member of this family he could trust. He loved his mom and all, but after the threat Big Bad Dad made, she made no efforts to help him out. And Granny? She was on his father's side. His father had cut all contact between them of his own accord, probably thinking that he was an embarrassment and that if he let them talk, Granny would consider Big Bad Dad a bad parent.
The sad thing was that theory was pretty sound. How far would he go to keep how he's treated his youngest son hidden? He had already shown how far he'd go to keep it within the Evans estate. Wes had still been talking to Steven, and he had had it okayed to speak to him still just two months back. Steven's ban didn't last long, but that was because Wes wouldn't dare make the family affairs public, lest he be torn to shreds like Soul was. Or, at least. That's what Soul figured was going on.
He adjusted his stance as asked and power-walked to join his brother side by side before retreating back to his thoughts, trying to think of something, anything for his way out…
"So." Wes hummed, breaking the silence and causing Soul to gasp lightly. "Since you ticked him off enough to have him skip telling you about the wrap party for my tour, I may as well tell you that that's in a week."
Oh. Right. The wrap party Soul promised he'd attend when his tour started. Fucking hell, he swore to himself in his mind, here he thought he was free from suits and ties and all that bullshit.
"Do you think you'll need that back up I offered?" Wes spoke with a kind, sympathetic and subtle glance towards him, and Soul looked up and felt his heart healing just a bit from the act.
"Yeah. I think I will. Just in case," Soul answered, regret in his eyes as his brows lowered and his face fell further. "Are you sure this plan's okay with you? If it goes through, I could ruin your entire wrap party. Destroy your reputation. Something, anything… I mean, if I don't get through to him with this, then I never will, but…"
Wes laughed lightly before ruffling Soul's hair. "Brother, do you really think I care about that? Look at us. The apple's fallen really far from the tree with us," he reassured the twelve-year-old, "I can earn any lost reputation back, and it's one of many wrap parties I'll have in my future. Besides, it'll definitely make things interesting if worse comes to worst." He nudged the scythe playfully.
The violinist actually got a smile out of the young ex-pianist, his heart soaring with hope. It was desperate, the plan the two of them settled on, but desperate times called for desperate measures. If Soul Evans wasn't leaving town in two weeks, then he'd never leave.
That was how far the Evans brothers would take this war.