Sarah, a maid of the cottage bobbed her head around the door before stepping out into the corridor. She could hear them yelling insults at the other over the clash of their swords. It was nothing new, she just had to move, and move fast whenever they drew near.
"You are going to wake up with a blade in your throat one of these mornings."
"Oh my lovely Cyn, you can try. And fail. Again."
She froze as the voices drew nearer, stepping backwards into Cynthia's room as they rounded the corner. The girl herself snarled as the boys blade caught her arm, slicing it from shoulder to elbow. Jonathan smirked in triumph and lowered his blade as Cynthia's own fell to the floor. But then he realized that had been a mistake to lower his guard as she lashed out with her foot and caught him in the stomach, sending him crashing into the bedroom door, a loud crack sounding as it fell with a loud splintering sound. Whether it was Jonathan's back or the door, Sarah had no idea. But she could tell they weren't sparring innocently.
She dropped the washbasket and hurried downstairs to the study, not even bothering to knock as she barged in, exploding with "They're fighting in the house again-!"
That was all Valentine needed to hear to drop his pen and get to his feet, dashing past the maid.
Jonathan smirked as he sat atop Cynthia's hips with her hands trapped under the fallen door, a blade in his hand, the tip hovered above her heart. "Give in Cyn."
"Not on your life" she snarled, ramming her head forwards and catching him in the face, the sword falling from his hand in shock. Cynthia grabbed the dagger she kept inside her boot and caught the young man from behind, pinning his hands behind his back and pressing the dagger to his throat. "Give me back my pencils. Or I'll drag this right across your throat."
"Killing me won't help you find your beloved pencils."
Cynthia snarled and allowed the blade to but him a little, a narrow trickle of blood running down his pale throat, mingling with his broken nose. He was laughing and Cynthia pressed the blade harder to his throat, making him grunt a little.
"What in the name of the Angel-! Cynthia, Jonathan?!"
Valentine had arrived with his eyes blazing dangerously. They flickered to the knife at Jonathan's neck and the cuts both of them had sustained, then to the blood they were both covered in. Fifteen years old and both of them were lethal, and literally. Cynthia let him go with a look of disgust, snapping out "he stole my pencils. The ones you got me for my birthday."
Jonathan started to protest, but Cynthia yelled at him "Don't try to lie you bastard-!"
"Enough. Both of you! I swear if I find you both fighting in this house again, destroying it as you go-!"
He didn't need to finish his threat, and Jonathan had a small smirk upon his face, flashing Cynthia a wink. She narrowed her eyes, pulling her hand back and tossing the blade faster than the eye could follow, the boy yelling as it embedded itself all the way up to its hilt in his shoulder.
Valentine ignored his son who was swearing, yanking the blade from his shoulder and pressing his hand to the deep cut with murder in his eyes, but he did ask him in a calm voice "Where are Cynthia's pencils?"
"I didn't take them!"
"Jonathan…" he said in a pleasant voice, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a dagger that was the same as Cynthia's. His eyes gazed at it appreciatively before he told his son "I will gladly let Cynthia have at your other shoulder with this unless you tell me."
A pause.
"I burned them."
Cynthia dived for the blade in her adoptive fathers hand at that, but he moved it just in time, grabbing the girls' wrist to hold her fast, ignoring her growls as he continued to talk to his son in the same calm voice "And why did you do that?"
"Because I wanted to."
Valentine cocked a brow, and then let Cynthia's hand go, letting her have the blade, voice still the same level as he told her "Downstairs Cynthia, now."
Jonathan swore as the blade was thrown, hitting him in the leg, spearing his calf. He stared after the retreating form of the girl with hate in his eyes.
-LightInYourNightmare-
"What am I going to use to draw with now?!" Cynthia raged as Valentine closed the door of his study behind him, ignoring her. Her anger was explosive as Jonathan's at times. It was why she and his son clashed so often, and violently most of the time.
What a beautiful monster she'd turned into.
After she'd stopped her ranting and raging, Valentine sat in his soft leather backed chair finishing off a paragraph, Cynthia sat down before him with blood smeared across her left cheek and a long gash down her arm. He reached into his pocket and rolled his stele across the tabletop, not bothering to look up as he told her "Sort yourself out, then we'll talk."
With her chest still heaving, Cynthia drew the iratze upon her arm, healing it up. When she was done, she cleared her throat and the man finally looked up, catching the stele as it was rolled back towards him. "Cynthia, you know better than to fight in the house."
She nodded a little, eyes flickering downwards as she muttered out "I'm sorry. He just wound me up so much and… by the angel I wanted to kill him."
"You would have done as well" Valentine noted sharply, making her look up and shake her head "I could never go through with it I think. Jonathan has his flaws and anger issues, but I'd never pierce his heart."
"You certainly had a good try at it today."
Cynthia was waiting for him to explode and yell at her the way he did with Jonathan, but he never did. It was one of the things that set her apart from Jonathan-
He never got angry with her.
She knew very well that he should be furious with her, especially when she'd been the one to start the fight really. But no, nothing. He'd allowed her to even throw another blade at his son.
A part of Cynthia was smug about the fact she could literally get away with murder, the other part was confused. Why was she allowed to do all of this and never get punished? Why did Jonathan get whipped for tiny little things when she got away with it?
Either way, she wasn't complaining.
"Do you think… Jonathan is okay?" Cynthia found herself asking and Valentine nodded, telling her "You of all people should know what he is capable of."
The man knew Cynthia wasn't like his son. There was one difference; Cynthia could feel.
"About your pencils my dear, I'll replace them as soon as possible. But please. Don't start throwing daggers in the corridors again-" a ghost of a smirk spread across his face "no matter how good at aiming you are."
She laughed lightly and Valentine asked her "Jonathan will be out of action today, which means I'll be tutoring you, one-to-one." A pause and Cynthia nodded "What shall we be learning?"
"Since your aim has vastly improved since our last lesson- knife throwing."
Cynthia beamed at that, asking innocently "shall I retrieve the blades from Jonathan's shoulder and leg?"
Valentine had to laugh at that- she was perfect.
Jonathan sulked in his bedroom, ignoring the sounds of his father and the brat outside, the regular thud of a blade sinking into a tree. It was always Cyn, Cyn and Cyn these days, and he hated it. Maybe he was jealous, but he didn't care.
When a few more thuds sounded, he got to his feet, ignoring the sharp stinging in his recently healed leg and glared out the window. He stared at the pair, one white headed and the other honey blonde. Jonathan rubbed his shoulder where it was still slightly sore. Swiftly he pushed the double windows open and grabbed his bow, notching an arrow and raising it, growling to himself as his shoulder hurt like hell. He closed an eye, aimed with precision and let it loose.
Cynthia just stared as her arrow was shredded by another, turning around and spying the young man stood in the window with the bow hanging loosely next to him with dark eyes narrowed. He met Cynthia's eyes and she snorted gently- show off. She flashed Jonathan a sweet smile. He sent her one right back and slammed the windows shut as he turned away.
Cynthia smirked after him, turning the dagger over and over within her palm.