Pleasantries - Chapter 1 - Part 2
Apr. 26th, 2010 06:47 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
genlisaePart 1 with advisories etc is here.
I should probably point out that a large portion of those advisories apply to this part. :(
Ripp tossed fitfully in his sleep. Something wasn’t right.
Turning over he pulled the blanket up higher.
It was no good. The comfort of sleep was slipping away from him, pulled down by the clutching hands of whatever it was that was worrying his entirely too awake mind.
Slowly he cracked an eye open, glancing around the room to see if he could find the source of the problem. Something didn’t feel right.
His eye settled on the clock beside the bed. Five Thirty-Seven in the morning.
Oh shit!
Sitting up as quickly as his still tired body would let him he cursed under his breath. It was no wonder he’d been unable to sleep. He’d forgotten to set the alarm and was now nearly ten minutes late starting breakfast.
Hurriedly he dressed and bolted from the room taking the stairs two at a time. Late was bad. Late was very bad.
In his haste he forgot to take a few seconds to make his bed.
“You’re late,” Tank stated as he poured the water in the coffee maker.
“I know,” Ripp sighed, sliding to a stop in the kitchen, “I forgot to set the alarm.”
“You can’t do anything right can you?” Tank sneered, his disgust evident in both his tone and expression.
Ripp didn’t respond, instead gathering the things he would need to make pancakes.
“Three days a week you have to make breakfast and you can’t drag your ass out of bed to do it on time.”
Tank seemed determined to get a rise out of him this morning. Ripp was not taking the bait.
It wouldn’t do any good anyway. He already knew what his older brother thought of him. He was very well acquainted with the opinion of their father’s favourite son where Ripp was concerned, and Ripp had no doubt that their father did have a favourite.
Of his three sons, General Buzz Grunt had a very distinct order of preference. First, at the top, was Tank, oldest and most favourite. Tank could do no wrong in their father’s eyes. Next was little Buck. While not the favourite, Buck was a very close second and Ripp was certain that as he grew up, became more like Tank; and he was doing so more every day; Buck would come to equal Tank’s position in eyes of ‘The General’. Ripp held out a small glimmer of hope for Buck though. There was still some innocence in him that their father had yet to squash.
As for Ripp himself, he was no longer sure that his father held any affection for him. Nothing he did was ever good enough, no matter how hard he tried. He’d come to accept that years ago. Now he just tried his best to avoid being noticed, to stay out of trouble. Now he just tried to survive.
He was rarely successful even at that though.
Even now he could feel Tank’s eyes boring into him from across the room.
“Dad is right about you,” Tank said with a disgusted grunt as Ripp placed the pan on the stove, “You really are useless, you and those freaky friends of yours. You fit right in don’t you? Lazy fuck-up just like them. Not one of you is normal.”
“Especially those two homo faggots. Sick fucking perverts. Maybe I should tell Dad about them, huh? I think he’d like to know the kind of scum you hang out with. But then you fit right in.”
“Lazy, cry-baby, pussy, loser, freak that you are,” Tank counted off the traits he saw in Ripp on his fingers as he said them.
Ripp didn’t respond. He’d gotten good at not responding. He still heard though. It didn’t seem to matter how much he tried, he couldn’t seem to turn off the ability to hear. He wished he could.
Turning toward the coffee pot, Tank momentarily lost interest in Ripp.
That actually hadn’t been so bad, Ripp thought as he headed to set breakfast on the table. Tank was slipping. He’d heard all of that before.
Tank managed one more dig just as Ripp was setting the table.
“And keep your greasy damn hair out of the food this time,” Tank grumbled taking a seat at the table, “Seriously, cut the fucking shit off. It’s disgusting. You want people to think you are some sort of homo pervert like those two friends of yours with your girly hair?”
“Ripp!” the voice of his father bellowed from the stairs a few minutes later.
Setting the remaining pancakes on the counter Ripp took a steadying breath and turned to face the door. This was just not going to be his morning.
“Just who the hell do you think you are?” Buzz demanded slamming a finger into Ripp’s chest.
Unconsciously rubbing what he knew was going to turn into a scorching bruise, Ripp stared puzzled at his father, “What did I do?”
Behind him Tank was pointing and laughing, Ripp ignored him.
“Don’t play stupid,” Buzz snarled, “You know what you did.”
Ripp honestly could not think of anything he had done this time.
“I have just been up in that pig sty you call a room. Explain yourself,” Buzz snapped, “Immediately.”
Ripp wracked his brain. His room wasn’t a mess. He was sure of that. He’d made sure that everything was put away last night. He’d even swept. The only thing he had touched since then was his bed to sleep and… oh no!
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, ducking his head, “I forgot.”
“You forgot?”
Ripp nodded, “I kind of slept in a bit this morning,” he admitted.
“You slept in and forgot to make your bed?”
“I’m sorry,” Ripp groaned.
“You’re sorry?” Buzz growled, “Look at me when I’m talking to you!”
“Yes, Sir,” Ripp squeaked snapping his head up.
“Do we or do we not have rules in this house?” Buzz inquired his tone dangerously low.
Ripp swallowed. This was not going to be good.
“I’m waiting!” Buzz shouted.
“Yes, Sir,” Ripp nodded, silently willing his knees to continue to hold him up.
“And why do you suppose,” Buzz asked, folding his arms behind his back and beginning to pace the small space between the door and the counter, his tone now almost conversational, “we have those rules?”
Ripp felt a lump lodge itself in his throat. He knew the answer that was expected of him. He’d given it many times before, but every time he felt another little piece of himself die.
“Because some of us are too lazy to pull our weight without them, Sir,” he responded at last.
“Very good,” Buzz nodded, pleased, “Now whom, specifically, would that someone be?”
Ripp closed his eyes against the tears he could feel beginning to form, “Me, Sir.”
“That is correct,” Buzz flashed a cold smile, “And what else are you?”
“Useless, Sir.”
“And?”
“Worthless, Sir.”
“And?”
“Pathetic,” Ripp’s voice broke on the word before he could finish the response.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” Buzz stopped, pinning Ripp with a cold glare.
“Pathetic, Sir,” Ripp corrected immediately.
“Very good,” Buzz smiled, almost warmly, “Now, all of it.”
Ripp shook his head. He couldn’t do all of it, not the whole thing. Not again.
“Do I need to get the belt?” Buzz snapped.
“No, Sir!” Ripp said immediately fighting down a wave of panic.
“Well then?”
“I am …” Ripp’s paused for a moment to get his trembling voice back under control.
Buzz waited patiently, an icy smile on his lips.
“I am lazy, useless, worthless and pathetic,” Ripp managed finally, his voice sounded hollow even to his ears. Not really surprising, he felt hollow. “And I should be grateful you did not throw me out with my whore of a mother. I am just like her and do not deserve any better than she did.”
“Exactly,” Buzz agreed with a satisfied nod, “But we are going to change that aren’t we?”
Ripp nodded mutely. He was losing the battle to hold back the tears. He may be making it worse for himself by not answering properly but he didn’t care anymore.
“Three hundred,” Buzz stated simply, “Now.”
“Yes, Sir,” Ripp choked out, dropping to the floor.
“Then I want this kitchen clean before you leave for school. And it better damn well sparkle.”
“I expect to hear every one loud and clear,” Buzz informed him, turning toward the table. “Get counting.”
“One … two,” Ripp counted off each push-up. Three hundred was going to take awhile. He couldn’t really complain though, he’d gotten off lightly this time.
“Discipline,” Buzz nodded, “You’ll thank me for this one day.”
7:20 AM Friday, April 4
Dirk made his way across the expanse of lawn that separated his house from Lilith’s in the early morning sun light. He still didn’t want to go home but it wouldn’t do to have Lilith’s parents find him crashing in her room either. Lil had enough problems with her parents to worry about without his presence adding to them.
He was grateful though. No matter what had happened before or what she was going through, he always knew that wherever Lilith was, he had a safe haven if he needed it. He just wished he need it a little less often.
For the second time in the past twelve hours, Dirk stopped short upon entering the house. This time though the sight that greeted him was very different.
“Morning, Son,” Darren Dreamer called cheerfully as he pulled something from the oven, “I was hoping you would be here soon. I made breakfast.”
“You actually cooked?” Dirk questioned recovering from his shock enough to slowly make his way to the kitchen.
“Yeah,” his father replied, “don’t get your hopes up though, it’s only toaster pastry and I think they might still be a bit frozen. I couldn’t leave them in the oven any longer, you know?”
Dirk nodded silently. Going near the stove since the fire that killed his wife was a colossal effort for the man. Actually allowing things to cook properly without fear of them catching fire would take a lot more time.
“I’d like to talk,” Darren murmured his voice a study of self loathing as he took a seat at the small table, “I wouldn’t blame you if you don’t want to listen.”
Dirk shrugged and made his way across the room, “Won’t kill me to listen.”
The pair sat in heavy silence for several long moments, neither sure how to begin. There was much that needed to be said.
“So,” Darren finally began in an attempt to break the silence, “Can I ask where you went last night?”
“Lilith’s” came the terse reply.
“Her parent’s are okay with you just coming over like that?” Darren raised a brow. It had been quite late as near as his fuzzy memory could recall.
“We don’t tell them,” Dirk shrugged, “They have enough on their minds without worrying about me being there as well.”
Darren pondered this for a moment his mind stumbling down the most obvious, if incorrect, path.
“Oh hey, that’s good I guess, right? As long as you are taking precautions,” Darren enthused with only a hint of hesitation, “I didn’t know the two of you were that serious.”
Dirk snorted. Why did everyone always assume that just because he spent the night at Lilith’s house they were sleeping together?
“Shouldn’t you be getting all parental and warning me away from things like that?” he asked.
“Probably,” Darren agreed, “I haven’t really been much of a parent recently though and if you like this girl enough to …”
“I don’t, Dad,” Dirk snapped, “She’s just a friend. I slept on the floor; I always sleep on the floor. We broke up months ago which you would have known if you’d cared enough to be sober.”
Silence lapsed between them as Dirk’s words hung in the air.
He wasn’t going to apologise Dirk told himself. He was not the one who needed to be sorry in this situation. He was not the one who chose to hide in a bottle rather than deal with the reality that life was hard. In absolutely no way was he going to apologise for calling things how he saw them.
The silence stretched on.
With a disgusted sigh Dirk leaned back in his chair, “Look, Dad, I’m sorr…”
Darren held up his hands, interrupting his son’s words, “I will admit I deserved that,” he said quietly.
“You did,” Dirk nodded sadly.
“I probably deserve much worse,” Darren continued, “and I am sure that if you weren’t trying so hard to be the adult in this situation you would happily tell me all of the things I really deserve to hear.”
Again Dirk nodded, though he really didn’t look happy about it.
“I do care though,” Darren insisted, “It may not look like it, but I do care.”
“I know you do,” Dirk sighed, “I just …”
Dirk’s voice trailed off for a moment. What he was about to say was not going to be easy.
“I’m 16 years old Dad,” he sighed, “I should be out trying to sleep with chicks and hanging out with friends. I’m not. I’m going to work instead because someone has to and you don’t. When I do go out it’s to get away from this house; to get away from you.”
Darren didn’t respond, he didn’t need to, the expression of remorse and self loathing he wore as he made an effort to eat his breakfast was all the answer Dirk needed to know that his father knew he was right.
“Get a job Dad or sell a painting if that is what you really want to do. Just do something, because neither of us can keep this up for much longer. And for God’s sake, stop trying to drown it all in alcohol. That won’t make it go away.”
“I can’t promise anything,” Darren told him.
“I’m not asking you to promise, in fact please don’t!” Dirk insisted. “Promises are just waiting to be broken. I am asking you to try. That is all I have ever asked.”
On to Part 3.
I should probably point out that a large portion of those advisories apply to this part. :(
Pleasantries - Chapter 1 - What Dreams Are Made Of - Part 2
5:37 AM Friday, April 4
5:37 AM Friday, April 4
Ripp tossed fitfully in his sleep. Something wasn’t right.
Turning over he pulled the blanket up higher.
It was no good. The comfort of sleep was slipping away from him, pulled down by the clutching hands of whatever it was that was worrying his entirely too awake mind.
Slowly he cracked an eye open, glancing around the room to see if he could find the source of the problem. Something didn’t feel right.
His eye settled on the clock beside the bed. Five Thirty-Seven in the morning.
Oh shit!
Sitting up as quickly as his still tired body would let him he cursed under his breath. It was no wonder he’d been unable to sleep. He’d forgotten to set the alarm and was now nearly ten minutes late starting breakfast.
Hurriedly he dressed and bolted from the room taking the stairs two at a time. Late was bad. Late was very bad.
In his haste he forgot to take a few seconds to make his bed.
“You’re late,” Tank stated as he poured the water in the coffee maker.
“I know,” Ripp sighed, sliding to a stop in the kitchen, “I forgot to set the alarm.”
“You can’t do anything right can you?” Tank sneered, his disgust evident in both his tone and expression.
Ripp didn’t respond, instead gathering the things he would need to make pancakes.
“Three days a week you have to make breakfast and you can’t drag your ass out of bed to do it on time.”
Tank seemed determined to get a rise out of him this morning. Ripp was not taking the bait.
It wouldn’t do any good anyway. He already knew what his older brother thought of him. He was very well acquainted with the opinion of their father’s favourite son where Ripp was concerned, and Ripp had no doubt that their father did have a favourite.
Of his three sons, General Buzz Grunt had a very distinct order of preference. First, at the top, was Tank, oldest and most favourite. Tank could do no wrong in their father’s eyes. Next was little Buck. While not the favourite, Buck was a very close second and Ripp was certain that as he grew up, became more like Tank; and he was doing so more every day; Buck would come to equal Tank’s position in eyes of ‘The General’. Ripp held out a small glimmer of hope for Buck though. There was still some innocence in him that their father had yet to squash.
As for Ripp himself, he was no longer sure that his father held any affection for him. Nothing he did was ever good enough, no matter how hard he tried. He’d come to accept that years ago. Now he just tried his best to avoid being noticed, to stay out of trouble. Now he just tried to survive.
He was rarely successful even at that though.
Even now he could feel Tank’s eyes boring into him from across the room.
“Dad is right about you,” Tank said with a disgusted grunt as Ripp placed the pan on the stove, “You really are useless, you and those freaky friends of yours. You fit right in don’t you? Lazy fuck-up just like them. Not one of you is normal.”
“Especially those two homo faggots. Sick fucking perverts. Maybe I should tell Dad about them, huh? I think he’d like to know the kind of scum you hang out with. But then you fit right in.”
“Lazy, cry-baby, pussy, loser, freak that you are,” Tank counted off the traits he saw in Ripp on his fingers as he said them.
Ripp didn’t respond. He’d gotten good at not responding. He still heard though. It didn’t seem to matter how much he tried, he couldn’t seem to turn off the ability to hear. He wished he could.
Turning toward the coffee pot, Tank momentarily lost interest in Ripp.
That actually hadn’t been so bad, Ripp thought as he headed to set breakfast on the table. Tank was slipping. He’d heard all of that before.
Tank managed one more dig just as Ripp was setting the table.
“And keep your greasy damn hair out of the food this time,” Tank grumbled taking a seat at the table, “Seriously, cut the fucking shit off. It’s disgusting. You want people to think you are some sort of homo pervert like those two friends of yours with your girly hair?”
“Ripp!” the voice of his father bellowed from the stairs a few minutes later.
Setting the remaining pancakes on the counter Ripp took a steadying breath and turned to face the door. This was just not going to be his morning.
“Just who the hell do you think you are?” Buzz demanded slamming a finger into Ripp’s chest.
Unconsciously rubbing what he knew was going to turn into a scorching bruise, Ripp stared puzzled at his father, “What did I do?”
Behind him Tank was pointing and laughing, Ripp ignored him.
“Don’t play stupid,” Buzz snarled, “You know what you did.”
Ripp honestly could not think of anything he had done this time.
“I have just been up in that pig sty you call a room. Explain yourself,” Buzz snapped, “Immediately.”
Ripp wracked his brain. His room wasn’t a mess. He was sure of that. He’d made sure that everything was put away last night. He’d even swept. The only thing he had touched since then was his bed to sleep and… oh no!
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, ducking his head, “I forgot.”
“You forgot?”
Ripp nodded, “I kind of slept in a bit this morning,” he admitted.
“You slept in and forgot to make your bed?”
“I’m sorry,” Ripp groaned.
“You’re sorry?” Buzz growled, “Look at me when I’m talking to you!”
“Yes, Sir,” Ripp squeaked snapping his head up.
“Do we or do we not have rules in this house?” Buzz inquired his tone dangerously low.
Ripp swallowed. This was not going to be good.
“I’m waiting!” Buzz shouted.
“Yes, Sir,” Ripp nodded, silently willing his knees to continue to hold him up.
“And why do you suppose,” Buzz asked, folding his arms behind his back and beginning to pace the small space between the door and the counter, his tone now almost conversational, “we have those rules?”
Ripp felt a lump lodge itself in his throat. He knew the answer that was expected of him. He’d given it many times before, but every time he felt another little piece of himself die.
“Because some of us are too lazy to pull our weight without them, Sir,” he responded at last.
“Very good,” Buzz nodded, pleased, “Now whom, specifically, would that someone be?”
Ripp closed his eyes against the tears he could feel beginning to form, “Me, Sir.”
“That is correct,” Buzz flashed a cold smile, “And what else are you?”
“Useless, Sir.”
“And?”
“Worthless, Sir.”
“And?”
“Pathetic,” Ripp’s voice broke on the word before he could finish the response.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” Buzz stopped, pinning Ripp with a cold glare.
“Pathetic, Sir,” Ripp corrected immediately.
“Very good,” Buzz smiled, almost warmly, “Now, all of it.”
Ripp shook his head. He couldn’t do all of it, not the whole thing. Not again.
“Do I need to get the belt?” Buzz snapped.
“No, Sir!” Ripp said immediately fighting down a wave of panic.
“Well then?”
“I am …” Ripp’s paused for a moment to get his trembling voice back under control.
Buzz waited patiently, an icy smile on his lips.
“I am lazy, useless, worthless and pathetic,” Ripp managed finally, his voice sounded hollow even to his ears. Not really surprising, he felt hollow. “And I should be grateful you did not throw me out with my whore of a mother. I am just like her and do not deserve any better than she did.”
“Exactly,” Buzz agreed with a satisfied nod, “But we are going to change that aren’t we?”
Ripp nodded mutely. He was losing the battle to hold back the tears. He may be making it worse for himself by not answering properly but he didn’t care anymore.
“Three hundred,” Buzz stated simply, “Now.”
“Yes, Sir,” Ripp choked out, dropping to the floor.
“Then I want this kitchen clean before you leave for school. And it better damn well sparkle.”
“I expect to hear every one loud and clear,” Buzz informed him, turning toward the table. “Get counting.”
“One … two,” Ripp counted off each push-up. Three hundred was going to take awhile. He couldn’t really complain though, he’d gotten off lightly this time.
“Discipline,” Buzz nodded, “You’ll thank me for this one day.”
* * *
7:20 AM Friday, April 4
Dirk made his way across the expanse of lawn that separated his house from Lilith’s in the early morning sun light. He still didn’t want to go home but it wouldn’t do to have Lilith’s parents find him crashing in her room either. Lil had enough problems with her parents to worry about without his presence adding to them.
He was grateful though. No matter what had happened before or what she was going through, he always knew that wherever Lilith was, he had a safe haven if he needed it. He just wished he need it a little less often.
For the second time in the past twelve hours, Dirk stopped short upon entering the house. This time though the sight that greeted him was very different.
“Morning, Son,” Darren Dreamer called cheerfully as he pulled something from the oven, “I was hoping you would be here soon. I made breakfast.”
“You actually cooked?” Dirk questioned recovering from his shock enough to slowly make his way to the kitchen.
“Yeah,” his father replied, “don’t get your hopes up though, it’s only toaster pastry and I think they might still be a bit frozen. I couldn’t leave them in the oven any longer, you know?”
Dirk nodded silently. Going near the stove since the fire that killed his wife was a colossal effort for the man. Actually allowing things to cook properly without fear of them catching fire would take a lot more time.
“I’d like to talk,” Darren murmured his voice a study of self loathing as he took a seat at the small table, “I wouldn’t blame you if you don’t want to listen.”
Dirk shrugged and made his way across the room, “Won’t kill me to listen.”
“So,” Darren finally began in an attempt to break the silence, “Can I ask where you went last night?”
“Lilith’s” came the terse reply.
“Her parent’s are okay with you just coming over like that?” Darren raised a brow. It had been quite late as near as his fuzzy memory could recall.
“We don’t tell them,” Dirk shrugged, “They have enough on their minds without worrying about me being there as well.”
Darren pondered this for a moment his mind stumbling down the most obvious, if incorrect, path.
“Oh hey, that’s good I guess, right? As long as you are taking precautions,” Darren enthused with only a hint of hesitation, “I didn’t know the two of you were that serious.”
Dirk snorted. Why did everyone always assume that just because he spent the night at Lilith’s house they were sleeping together?
“Shouldn’t you be getting all parental and warning me away from things like that?” he asked.
“Probably,” Darren agreed, “I haven’t really been much of a parent recently though and if you like this girl enough to …”
“I don’t, Dad,” Dirk snapped, “She’s just a friend. I slept on the floor; I always sleep on the floor. We broke up months ago which you would have known if you’d cared enough to be sober.”
Silence lapsed between them as Dirk’s words hung in the air.
He wasn’t going to apologise Dirk told himself. He was not the one who needed to be sorry in this situation. He was not the one who chose to hide in a bottle rather than deal with the reality that life was hard. In absolutely no way was he going to apologise for calling things how he saw them.
The silence stretched on.
With a disgusted sigh Dirk leaned back in his chair, “Look, Dad, I’m sorr…”
Darren held up his hands, interrupting his son’s words, “I will admit I deserved that,” he said quietly.
“You did,” Dirk nodded sadly.
“I probably deserve much worse,” Darren continued, “and I am sure that if you weren’t trying so hard to be the adult in this situation you would happily tell me all of the things I really deserve to hear.”
Again Dirk nodded, though he really didn’t look happy about it.
“I do care though,” Darren insisted, “It may not look like it, but I do care.”
“I know you do,” Dirk sighed, “I just …”
Dirk’s voice trailed off for a moment. What he was about to say was not going to be easy.
“I’m 16 years old Dad,” he sighed, “I should be out trying to sleep with chicks and hanging out with friends. I’m not. I’m going to work instead because someone has to and you don’t. When I do go out it’s to get away from this house; to get away from you.”
Darren didn’t respond, he didn’t need to, the expression of remorse and self loathing he wore as he made an effort to eat his breakfast was all the answer Dirk needed to know that his father knew he was right.
“Get a job Dad or sell a painting if that is what you really want to do. Just do something, because neither of us can keep this up for much longer. And for God’s sake, stop trying to drown it all in alcohol. That won’t make it go away.”
“I can’t promise anything,” Darren told him.
“I’m not asking you to promise, in fact please don’t!” Dirk insisted. “Promises are just waiting to be broken. I am asking you to try. That is all I have ever asked.”
On to Part 3.
