Finn O'Connor
:: 110th Vhalar, 717
Reviewer's note -- We're letting each other control each other's characters for purposes of better flow when writing, so there's no godmodding taking place here!
Sometimes unexpected visitors were a pleasant surprise, often they weren’t, and sometimes, at the worst of times, they were mean sisters with a penchant for violence.
Vhalar had stretched out for far longer than Finn liked, each trial dragging on from dusk till dawn, each repeating the same mundane cycle of work, eat, sleep, work, eat, sleep, work, eat, sleep.. So when the wheel was broken by the voice of one of the caretakers, telling him that there was a visitor for him, Finn jumped up and bolted down the stairs of the orphanage, only to be met with the sight of his sister at the front gate. His enthusiasm waned in the blink of an eye, but he marched on regardless until they met at the wrought-iron gate while old gatekeeper Fred fiddled to find the keys. It was fitting, in a way, for their first meeting after the better part of a season to be separated by iron bars. “You’re back,” Finn noted stiffly.
“Fred, you have one job.” Zipper said, completely ignoring him. As usual. She was either snapping or forgetting he even existed. “One fuckin’ job. You should be the Divine Maestro of picks and locks by now.”
Luckily Fred was hard of hearing. “You too!” he nodded happily, thinking that the impeccable grouch on the other end had said something nice to him.
Zipper frowned, opened her mouth, then went back to frowning. “You said something, Fi?” she said.
“Don’t call me that,” he grumbled as the gate squeaked open, "and don't be mean to Fred. He's practically deaf." Rare were the days that he sided with old Fred, the unfortunate cripple who’d been locked away in a too-small gatekeeper’s house to ponder on his miserable life and the peg-leg he’d gotten near the end of it. “I said,” Finn repeated as he backed off a pace to let Zipper step through, “you’re back.”
“I am, and I’m going to save us the a bit of time on the usual banter.” Zipper said. “I’m going to chirp something to the melody of ‘age doesn’t mean respect’. You’re going to retort with a surly ‘yeah, I know exactly what you mean’. You’ll give me a accusing stare, I’ll stare right back, and then after a needlessly long pause in which we stew in our collective, time-killin’’ misery, I’ll finally get to why I’m here: I’m returning to Foster’s soon, and you’re coming with me.”
Of all the things she predicted, only the pause occurred, although, perhaps, the rest simply played out in their minds. Finn sighed and tugged her sleeve to relieve poor Fred from having to hold the gate open. “Fine.” he answered as they trudged up the dirt-packed road to their miserable childhood home. “I’ll go pack then.”
But he didn’t yet depart from her side, not before he’d shot a tired look up at her and asked a solemn question. “Have you been lonely?”
“I don’t understand the question.”
“You talk a lot. You mustn't have had much company,” he explained.
“Quite the opposite: I’ve had too much strange company to last a lifetime in Foster’s.”
“Talking to yourself doesn’t count.”
“You seem eager to go,” Zipper said, changing the subject with all the authority of a big sister who could. “No Finn trademarked resistance?”
“We used to have fun,” he reminisced. “You took me with after you’d poked a hole in the fence, right there,” he pointed the spot out, “and we nicked sweets and stuffed ourselves and you had to make the hole bigger because we’d gotten too fat to fit through.”
“I Corroded a hole in the fence. I coerced those sweets from children smaller and weaker than me.” she corrected. “Your childhood was built on dark magic and dread sorcery.”
“You make it sound like it’s all over already,” he remarked bitterly as they stepped through the heavy double doors into the orphanage. “But I suppose you’re right. I just miss the old days . .”
Instinctively, she moved to bend down to meet him at eye level - only to for the reality that he was almost her height to sink in again. “It was alright, Fi, but there’s a joy to growing up too.”
“Doubt it.”
Zipper thought for a second. She needn’t have bothered; he knew she only did it for his benefit. There was a brief rise of anger; it was patronizing. “Yeah.”
It was the first time since Zipper had left the orphanage that there was a semblance of understanding between them, even if it was spoken in hushed, dreary tones. “Up,” was the next word Finn spoke, like a toddler who’d just learned his first words as he pointed at the stairs.
Sometimes unexpected visitors were a pleasant surprise, often they weren’t, and sometimes, at the worst of times, they were mean sisters with a penchant for violence.
Vhalar had stretched out for far longer than Finn liked, each trial dragging on from dusk till dawn, each repeating the same mundane cycle of work, eat, sleep, work, eat, sleep, work, eat, sleep.. So when the wheel was broken by the voice of one of the caretakers, telling him that there was a visitor for him, Finn jumped up and bolted down the stairs of the orphanage, only to be met with the sight of his sister at the front gate. His enthusiasm waned in the blink of an eye, but he marched on regardless until they met at the wrought-iron gate while old gatekeeper Fred fiddled to find the keys. It was fitting, in a way, for their first meeting after the better part of a season to be separated by iron bars. “You’re back,” Finn noted stiffly.
“Fred, you have one job.” Zipper said, completely ignoring him. As usual. She was either snapping or forgetting he even existed. “One fuckin’ job. You should be the Divine Maestro of picks and locks by now.”
Luckily Fred was hard of hearing. “You too!” he nodded happily, thinking that the impeccable grouch on the other end had said something nice to him.
Zipper frowned, opened her mouth, then went back to frowning. “You said something, Fi?” she said.
“Don’t call me that,” he grumbled as the gate squeaked open, "and don't be mean to Fred. He's practically deaf." Rare were the days that he sided with old Fred, the unfortunate cripple who’d been locked away in a too-small gatekeeper’s house to ponder on his miserable life and the peg-leg he’d gotten near the end of it. “I said,” Finn repeated as he backed off a pace to let Zipper step through, “you’re back.”
“I am, and I’m going to save us the a bit of time on the usual banter.” Zipper said. “I’m going to chirp something to the melody of ‘age doesn’t mean respect’. You’re going to retort with a surly ‘yeah, I know exactly what you mean’. You’ll give me a accusing stare, I’ll stare right back, and then after a needlessly long pause in which we stew in our collective, time-killin’’ misery, I’ll finally get to why I’m here: I’m returning to Foster’s soon, and you’re coming with me.”
Of all the things she predicted, only the pause occurred, although, perhaps, the rest simply played out in their minds. Finn sighed and tugged her sleeve to relieve poor Fred from having to hold the gate open. “Fine.” he answered as they trudged up the dirt-packed road to their miserable childhood home. “I’ll go pack then.”
But he didn’t yet depart from her side, not before he’d shot a tired look up at her and asked a solemn question. “Have you been lonely?”
“I don’t understand the question.”
“You talk a lot. You mustn't have had much company,” he explained.
“Quite the opposite: I’ve had too much strange company to last a lifetime in Foster’s.”
“Talking to yourself doesn’t count.”
“You seem eager to go,” Zipper said, changing the subject with all the authority of a big sister who could. “No Finn trademarked resistance?”
“We used to have fun,” he reminisced. “You took me with after you’d poked a hole in the fence, right there,” he pointed the spot out, “and we nicked sweets and stuffed ourselves and you had to make the hole bigger because we’d gotten too fat to fit through.”
“I Corroded a hole in the fence. I coerced those sweets from children smaller and weaker than me.” she corrected. “Your childhood was built on dark magic and dread sorcery.”
“You make it sound like it’s all over already,” he remarked bitterly as they stepped through the heavy double doors into the orphanage. “But I suppose you’re right. I just miss the old days . .”
Instinctively, she moved to bend down to meet him at eye level - only to for the reality that he was almost her height to sink in again. “It was alright, Fi, but there’s a joy to growing up too.”
“Doubt it.”
Zipper thought for a second. She needn’t have bothered; he knew she only did it for his benefit. There was a brief rise of anger; it was patronizing. “Yeah.”
It was the first time since Zipper had left the orphanage that there was a semblance of understanding between them, even if it was spoken in hushed, dreary tones. “Up,” was the next word Finn spoke, like a toddler who’d just learned his first words as he pointed at the stairs.
