The Prodigal Son [Tag Fox]

[Kat]

As soon as he stepped foot on the Eyrie, Sylvester started searching for Silvanus. He had to find his brother before he even attempted to do anything else—firstly, because Sylvester wanted to see his brother quite a bit, as they had been separated for months now, and secondly because he imagined that his twin was quite anxious at the lack of word. Two months had passed since Sylvester had felt well enough to write a letter, and he could almost picture his brother’s fretting. Sylvester started in the ground caverns, where Silas and him originally set up shop when they arrived, but he did not see his brother or his brother’s wares anywhere in the marketplace area. And since then, Sylvester had just been wandering, slipping in and out of every structure and building he could find, the kitchens, the candidates barracks, the garden, and now, he found his way into the Winglets’ barracks. And as soon as he entered the building, Sylvester felt the presence of his brother, almost, in that eerie way which was always foreign and also familiar. He was sure that Silas was in this building. Of course, Sylvester had been sure about the kitchens too, and then the gardens, but now, he was really sure, so he began to wander the halls looking for some sign of Silvanus or some sound of the man’s voice.

The walk down the hall proved unpleasantly difficult for the man, who huffed shallow breaths, winded and wheezing. Outside of his early morning bar fight, which had been aborted early, before it had been really strenuous, this was the first real attempt at physical activity the man had attempted since his accident two months earlier. And his chest hurt, perhaps with the residual damage of his injury, a rather deep knife wound on the left side of his body, or maybe just with the difficulty of the activity after so much time spent in bed. Everything in the Eyrie was just so big and long. Sylvester could hardly see the practicality of it all. True, the simourvs were large, but they did not have to go in every building, did they? They were such pampered birds. And Sylvester was damned tired of moving. He reached the end of the hall in the Winglet barracks, and he slouched against the wall with his arm propping up the rest of his body. He puffed against the wall for a few minutes, sipping in air, his chest tight and stiff, before he dared move or speak.

Sylvester was so sure that his brother was in this building. He had nowhere else to look, and he swore that he felt his brother’s very presence in the building. That was probably not true, because Sylvester did not put stock into superstitions or magic, but he still felt the essence of Silvanus in his bones. That feeling was probably just the fatigue which came from the fatigue of his walk around the Eyrie. if Silas was not here, then Sylvester would have to keep looking. He had to find his brother, but Sylvester was tired. He wanted to stop searching—walking. So Sylvester knocked his head against the wall, hitting it harder than he meant, which sent a wave of light pain through the man’s head and neck.
”Silvanus, you better be in here. I’m sick of looking for you.”
Sylvester called, his voice rough and unusually loud for the quiet man. Sylvester did not care that he probably bothered the other people occupying the rooms around him. He could deal with that fall out later. He would retaliate if he needed to do so—defend his right to be in the hallway. Sylvester did not care who he bothered—who he angered.

Sylvester peeled his body off of the wall, so that he was standing in the middle of the hallway, waiting. If he did locate his brother with his call, Sylvester wanted to look as physically fit as possible, and holding up his body against the wall was not the best way. Sylvester already knew he looked positively awful. His body was only skin stretched across his bones now, with almost all of his muscle drained away and his body scarce of fat. He had just not had enough time to rebuild his form, his figure, since his injury. He hoped that he could bulk up quickly, because he disliked the weakness that came from his two months of stagnancy. And his face was bruised now; because of the unfortunate brawl this earlier that night, his lip swollen, and his cheek darkening with every passing minute. He looked bad enough without showing how much the walking drained him, without propping himself against the wall. And Sylvester knew he could not allow Silvanus to know the exact extent of his injuries, as the man would fret far too much. Sylvester had to shield his brother from some of his actions, some of his bad behavior, and he had to shield his brother away from the danger Sylvester constantly stuck himself in the middle of. That was all he could do to pay Silvanus back—to protect.

[Fox]

Moving into the new, hulking room in the Winglet Barracks had been little more than a mad flurry of movement to newly-named Sil'us. He could hardly remember unpacking, because he'd done it all in a rush, thrown his chest of clothes in a corner and his other belongings on the table, and then promptly forgotten about them in order to make Restaph, his Restaph up a nest of blankets on the bed so that the hatchling could sleep off his first meal and replenish the energy used in breaking out of his egg. It was still somewhat unreal that he'd bonded at all, much less to a black, and Sil'us could still be found to be walking on air a few days later. He could not get enough of Restaph, though the hatchling was considerably more reserved than his rider, and more often than not he walked around with a hand draped along the hatchling's back, or neck; it wasn't difficult since Restaph was already fairly large for a chick. The only thing that had put any kind of a damper on the new blackrider's exuberance was the ringing silence at the end of the letters he sent off every week, into the safekeeping of Graham, who did not know where to send it on to since the letters' recipient had disappeared. Sil'us was worried about his brother, and the worry intruded upon his day at odd moments; like when he'd be staring down into his mug of disappointing water (and not ale or beer) and then he'd wonder where Sylvester had gotten to.

Whether he was dead.

But Sil'us would know if his brother was dead, because he'd feel it. Not in the same way that he knew he'd feel it if Restaph got injured, no, but he'd feel it all the same. Because they were twins, no matter that they did not look identical as some twins did, and they had that kind of connection. In fact, it was that very same connection that suddenly gave the man a twinge of awareness, as he penned yet another letter to Graham. He froze where he sat, mind first going to the dozing form of Restaph on the bed and, after ascertaining that the feeling was not from his simourv, jumping to the next best conclusion. And that was when Sylvester's damnable, oh-so-familiar voice called through the barracks.

Sil'us barely even registered the words before he was standing up, the chair toppling over behind him, and he fair sprinted out of the room. In his shock and relief, he did not register Restaph's sleepy awakening at his rider's running out ofthe room; he only knew that Sly was here and the idiot man was alive. The relief was strong enough that Sil'us almost could not breathe, as he threw open his door and dashed out to stare at the bruised, battered form of his much beloved older twin brother (no matter how much of a blinkering idiot he could be). Then he was hurrying to Sylvester, and grabbing him up into a bone-crushing hug, heedless of the damage plain on the man's face, and just as quickly dropping him to take an open-palmed swing at the back of his head. As thankful and relieved and happy as Sil'us was to see his brother alive and almost-well, he was still pissed as hell that Sly had disappeared for two months without a word to anyone. That was a record of stupidity even for him. "Where the hell have you been?!" He snapped, worry lending his voice a knife edge, as his lazy slurring became more defined, melding into the way of speaking he'd not made common since his youth. "Do you have any fucking idea how worried I've been?" And then he swung a fist towards Sly's stomach for good measure, though it wasn't as hard as it could have been. He was happy to see the idiot after all.

[Kat]

The hug hurt, not terribly, but enough so that he had to take a second to before he could talk so that Sil’us could not hear the momentary surprise in Sylvester’s voice. It was less a real pain, and more and uncomfortable pressure in his chest in the area surrounding his wound. So, after a short pause, Sylvester hugged his brother back, wrapping his arms tightly around his brother’s lanky body. He would have rubbed his face against Sil’us’s shoulder, so that he could drop fully into the hug, but he kept his face apart from Sil’us’s clothing. Sylvester did not want the scabs on his lip to rupture all over his brother’s clothing. The fact that Sil’us hugged Sylvester in his grimy, bloody clothing was bad enough. Sylvester would apologize later for the state of his clothing. As soon as Silvanus began to speak, however, Sylvester released his brother, and the elder of the pair crossed his arms across his damaged chest to show that his brother’s words would not bother him.

The question that Sil’us asked was, of course, quite unavoidable. Sylvester needed to decide how to answer it. He had the unfortunate disadvantage to talking to the man who was a wonderful manipulator. Compared to anyone, Sylvester was blunt and inarticulate, but compared to his brother, Sylvester was a dumb idiot, and to make the situation worse for the elder twin, the tools Sylvester had to use to manipulate all came directly from interacting and observing his brother. But Sylvester had to try. When he first started getting into trouble, Sylvester vowed that he would protect his brother from the extremity of his situation, of his anger. Sylvester refused to allow Silvanus to know when Sylvester was hurt, especially—he had to protect his brother, because they were brothers and because Sylvester was older. So, telling the truth, or at least all of the truth, was unacceptable. Silvanus did not need to know.
“I’ve been exactly where I told you I was in our last correspondence—Sayaie, but I’ve been movin’ around a touch, so I ‘pose I’ve been hard to contact.”
Sylvester muttered, and he distanced himself from his brother for a second so that he could watch his brother’s expression and see if Silvanus bought the explanation or not. It was a viable explanation, especially since it did not sound as if he was shielding Sil’us from anything. Sylvester had just made himself sound like an absolute vagrant—a complete bum, but it was better that he sound like an ass than for his brother to determine the real truth behind his silence.

To Sil’us’s second question, Sylvester only bashfully nodded his head. His face even gained a bit of color on the apples of his cheeks. But the expression was subtle. Sylvester had a good idea of how worried Silvanus was. He had imagined how worried Silvanus was—in fact, Sylvester had been worried about how worried Silvanus was. That was why he was standing in the Eyrie because of that worry. But Sylvester would not explain that to his brother. Sylvester knew he needed to act as nonchalant as possible, or Silvanus would start putting pieces together that Sylvester did not want his brother to know.
“Yeah, I think I can imagin’”
Sylvester mumbled, and for a second, he had to drop his gaze from Sil’us’s face. It was a brief moment without eye contact, as Sylvester knew immediately that he needed to look his brother in the eyes. With that resolution, Sylvester lifted his head just in time to move his body in a way which made Sil’us’s punch land squarely in Sylvester’s chest. It was an unfortunate strike, because it was very near the place where he had been injured, the place that was still quite tender and easily harmed. And even though Sylvester did not want to show any signs of pain, he gasped mostly from the shock of both the blow and his body’s reaction to the blow. He was honestly taken aback by the pain, even though it was not nearly as bad, not even distantly close, to the pain of the original injury or of the highlights of the two months of healing. He had just only have a little bit of trouble recently. After his gasp, Sylvester’s hand shot outwards, until he was leaning against the wall. He spent a few seconds collecting himself, before he realized that he had to respond.
”Fuck, could you hit less hard next time. I didn’t realize I was going to be assaulted. And I was glad to see you.”
Sylvester sputtered as he peeled his body off of the wall to look at his brother. Maybe Silvanus would not think anything of it, and he would think that he hit Sylvester far harder than the younger realized. Syvester then paused, his face breaking into a stiff, tense smile.
”I am glad to see you.”
Sylvester reiterated, and even though he was still hurting, and even though he was still not happy about being struck; he had been hit too many times today to tolerate Silvanus’s fist, he was extraordinarily glad to see his brother. They were made for each other, quite literally, and there was no one who Sylvester loved more.

[Fox]

Something was not right. Something was not right at all, and Sil'us could feel it like an itch beneath his skin. He couldn't peg down what exactly it was, though, and he scowled in a true younger-sibling fashion at his older brother. Throughout their childhood, they had been each other's constants. No secrets. Sil'us wasn't sure when that had changed, but it was obvious that at some point it had because Sly was keeping something from him. He knew his twin too well to not see the signs, even though Sylvester had improved since the last time Sil'us had seen him lie. It was frustrating, because even though he was the younger twin, there was a certain sense of proprietary protectiveness attached to Sylvester, not just because they were twins, but because Sil'us had hauled Sly out of so many shitholes over the years that he figured he could take whatever it was Sly had to throw at him. And the fact that Sylvester obviously didn't think so was not just galling; it was insulting. "Don't give me that shit, Sly, you disappeared for two months. That is not just 'hard to contact'!" He snapped, the scowl still etched firmly onto his face There weren't too many things that could make Sil'us lose his temper, but having worry over his brother constantly fraying at the edges of his thoughts for two whole months could wear anyone down.

He took a breath, a deep, long breath, to try and calm the anger borne of worry simmering beneath the surface. For a moment, the man's dark eyes slid shut, and he raised a hand to rub at the dull throb beginning behind his eyes. But it was only a second of lost eye contact, as Sly's eyes also slid away, before he opened them again to glare at his twin, frustration warring with exasperation for first place behind his eyes. He dismissed Sylvester's faintly guilty mumble out of hand, but it came as a surprise when his strike was met by Sylvester stumbling to lean against the wall. Quickly, Sil'us's eyebrows shot up as the scrutiny in his gaze turned up several notches. "I didn't hit you that hard." He stated flatly, consideringly, before everything about this situation clicked.

A string of expletives left him as he stepped closer to grip Sylvester's arm firmly, but not too tightly, as he inspected his brother from top to toe, lingering over his bruised and beaten face. It was fouler language than he would normally not have been caught dead using; politeness was usually the way to go when you wanted to win someone over, after all. But this was a special situation; the swearing tailed off with a slightly horrified; "Fuck it brother, you got yourself injured, didn't you? Where? How? You're not usually so stupid as to get in the way of lasting damage." Despite the harsh tone, it was clear from the way Sil'us almost curled around his twin that he was worried and concerned, that he cared more than he was willing to put in words about his brother's well-being. He was the taller twin by a scant inch and a half, and with that bit of height difference in close proximity, Sil'us felt almost like he was towering over his brother, whom he had been so used to seeing as the larger, the older. For a brief instant, his mouth twisted in a lightning flash of horror, at the thought of his possibly coming close to losing the last precious family member he had left, the only one who shared his blood since their parents had disappeared over ten years ago. Yes, Sil'us had recovered from their parents' deaths in a way Sylvester had not, because he was ultimately a resilient fellow, but it had still scarred him in ways he did not allow the world to see. But just as soon as it came, it was gone, smothered under the concern and anger he wore now like a mask. Even from his brother.

But not from another, an individual whom he had only recently discovered, and who knew his mind even better than Sylvester did. Quietly for a chick as large as he was, Restaph nosed open the door to their room, soft baby-talons clicking against the floor. He said nothing as he paced casually towards His; content when he arrived by Sil'us's side to lean against the man. Almost instinctively, Sil'us's eyes slid sideways and downwards, as his free hand that was not clutching Sly as if for dear life descended to fist gently, mindfully, in Restaph's feathers. A shaky sigh left his lips before he spoke again, voice determinedly, forcibly calm after his earlier outbursts. "While you were away, Sly, I met this little one. His name's Restaph." Dark brown eyes set in the simourv chick's darkly-featherd face looked up calmly at Sylvester, and a formal, kindly voice sounded in their minds. A pleasure to meet you, brother-of-Mine.[/color][/size]

[Kat]

What could Sylvester say? Silvanus was correct; the excuse Sylvester gave was not enough to justify his silence, but he was also unwilling to give the real reason. In fact, Sylvester would much rather his brother think he was just being negligent and hateful. He could claim it was gambling debts or something, or that he was in prison. Prison might be the best option. The problem was, as was just demonstrated, that Sylvester could not lie to Silvanus. He could try to lie, but Silvanus always saw through it. That was the problem with their relationship. Even though Sylvester would never trade his brother for anything, he knew that in many ways, the bond that they shared removed any possibility for secrets between them. And maybe that would not have been a problem if Sylvester’s life was less hectic, less dangerous, but he refused to allow Silvanus into the worst parts of his life. It was not fair to him. Sylvester’s trouble was and needed to remain his own trouble—his own business. It was for each other’s best good.
“I’ve been busy, and contacting the Eyrie is way harder than you think.”
Sylvester protested, but he appeared aptly worried about his brother’s propensity for belief. It had been pretty hard to get to the Eyrie, so perhaps it had been hard to reach the Eyrie, too. It was a decent enough excuse.

And Sylvester’s second hope, that his brother would misjudge how hard he struck Sylvester vanished as Silvanus spoke. Fuck, what was he supposed to say now? This whole reunion was not going well at all. Sylvester shrugged, his eyes flashing with worry for a second.
“Nah, not hard—you just surprised me, that’s all.”
Sylvester replied, and he straightened himself, pulling himself to his full height, so that Silvanus would not have any reason to suspect the weakness that actually plagued Sylvester’s body. But then, Silvanus put the pieces together, and Sylvester knew he was in trouble. When his brother grabbed him, Sylvester yanked his arm away, and he also took a few steps backwards, stumbling away so that he was not so obviously in his brother’s gaze. Sylvester did not want to be inspected. He wondered, briefly, why Silvanus could not leave well enough alone. Sylvester’s business was Sylvester’s business, and he wanted to shield his baby brother from the nastiness of Sylvester’s business. Still, he could not allow the comment just to sit. He had to grant his brother some understanding of the situation. It was all a matter of making sure that Silvanus did not quite comprehend the severity of the situation. Besides, the danger was over, and Sylvester survived.

Sylvester sighed, and he inspected Sil’us from a distance, his eyes suddenly appearing tired and almost sad. He pursed his lips, which made them tingle.
”Fuck, this is why I didn’t want you to know. There was this girl, and I loved her, and I mean it Silas, she was incredible, and she left me for this asshole.”
This would be a familiar set up to Sil’us, because this was how the situation almost always went. Sylvester tended to become unusually enraged after his romantic forays ended. And he had been quite in love with Maggie, as close to love as he ever got, at least he was in what Sylvester understood as love. There had only been a few of these girls in Sylvester’s lifetimes, the ones that he liked enough to stay with for an extended amount of time. But the retelling of the story, Sylvester hoped, would perform another function in the conversation. If he could spend more time discussing the events, the details, of the situation without fixating on the injury, perhaps he could refocus the conversation away from the damage to his body. If Sylvester could make Silvanus think about the situation without thinking about the result, the older brother might create the effect he wanted.
“Anyway, when I figured out who it was, I tracked him down over a few days, and I found him in a bar one night, and I attack’ him. I assumed he would just hit back, but he pulled a knife on me. It was quite unexpected. Usually, such a fight would be weaponless, but I’m just incredibly unlucky, I suppose.”

Should he continue with his story? If Sylvester did not continue, Silvanus would make him, and then the information would not be on Sylvester’s terms. He sighed, because he was at the part of the story he did not want to tell.
“But, I ended up in the care of a friend of Graham’s. I have no idea how the surgeon knew who I was, but he did. I figure Graham told the surgeon to watch out for me when I first went to Sayaie. I don’ know, but the man was good to me. I would have contacted you, but I didn’t know how I was going to fair in the thick of it, and I didn’t want to worry you. I’m mostly fine now, too, so you don’t need to worry.”
Sylvester explained, and his voice increased speed as he spoke, as if he wanted to get through the story as quickly as possible. He did not want to sound as if he did not want to tell it, but he did not want to tell it. His voice reflected his current sentimentality. He hoped that Silvanus would not press the issue. Sylvester had said all he was willing to say. And then, he allowed Sil’us to get close to him, because it seemed right, and the older brother melted into Sil’us’s arms, because Sil’us seemed to need that contact.
”I promise I’m fine now.”
Sylvester whispered into Sil’us’s ear.
”I would not be here if I was not fine.”
Sylvester added, still close to Sil’us. His brother became needy in that instant in a way that surprised and worried Sylvester. He had tried to keep Silvanus from this, from this worry, from the pain that made the larger twin curl so tightly against Sylvester’s chest. Sometimes, Sylvester wished Silvanus would allow Sylvester to protect him.

But Sylvester was saved by the hatchling who padded out to meet him. As soon as the creature emerged from the room, Sylvester’s gaze drifted from his brother the Restaph. He eyed the chick. It was black, which did not surprise Sylvester in the slightest—Silvanus was special, of course, and he deserved it. But Sylvester was not about to allow Silvanus any slack for this. As soon as he spotted the hatchling, Sylvester felt a strange envy which rose up in his gut and settled around his heart.
“Christ, Silas, you’ve replaced me with an over stuffed crow.”
Sylvester muttered, but the simourv chick had greeted him quite nicely, and Sylvester was secretly impressed. He may not like the simourvs all that much, but from the way Silvanus reacted to the chick, the creature, Restaph, was clearly important to Silvanus. Sylvester dropped to the ground, then, slowly, because he did not want to further irritate his chest, and because Sil’us gripped Sylvester’s arm quite tightly. From the eye level of the simourv, Sylvester turned to Restaph.
“I don’t know if it is a pleasure to meet you yet, Restaph, but my brother seems attached to you, and I am glad if you make him happy.”
Sylvester stated. He was an honest person, and he believed in addressing people, and sentient animals, with the greatest amount of honesty possible. So even though he did not address the chick with as much politeness or social grace as the chick addressed him, to Sylvester, he used the most respect possible. Respect was honesty, and Sylvester could not relate his pleasure at meeting the creature who replaced him, especially without judging this chick’s worth for his brother. Sylvester could handle being replaced—he could, because he was a terrible brother anyway, and Silvanus deserved better, but this simourv better be worthy of Silvanus.
“So, will he get as big as Alianph?”
Sylvester questioned, his eyes continuing to scrutinize every inch of Restaph’s form. The chick was at least pretty, even if he was not as bright as some of the other chicks. His large, brown eyes were cute and kind looking, and Sylvester did acknowledge that.