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Posted: Fri Jan 16, 2015 8:16 am
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Posted: Sun Mar 08, 2015 5:32 pm
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opb There had been a time in recent memory when he had enjoyed cutting through local parks on his lengthy walks back to Amityville. Those secret strolls had been soothing, especially when the powders and vials he had carried were less than legal.
All of that changed once he heard about the pumpkin. His brother. No one had actually told him his future sibling was male, but Brenley knew it was all the child could be. The very existence of the scareling was already a horrible, threatening, life changing event, and a boil would make it even more so. Nothing he wanted. All that he deserved.
He couldn't cut through the parks anymore, not with so many babies around.
To be fair, they weren't the worst part. Their parents, bursting with proud smiles and empty, encouraging blather, were far worse.
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Posted: Tue Mar 31, 2015 12:49 pm
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you know Brenley often thought back while he was thinking forward.
Back... to when he was small and his parents were his reason for being. His mother, in particular, had always been there, showing him how to behave, telling him what not to stick in his mouth, encouraging him to cling to her by taking every available opportunity to suggest that the world was cold and unforgiving. She hadn't been wrong. But he could see now that her intentions had been to keep him close, not keep him safe.
Forward... to this new life that was inexorably tied to his own. His absence had brought his parents together with an intensity he had never seen them display. Perhaps they had been just as devoted to each other before he had arrived. Perhaps, too, it was a habit of theirs to make scarelings to show that devotion, scarelings that inevitably distracted them from one another, made them distant again. This analysis secretly pleased him every time he prodded at it in his mind. It meant the child would end up as poorly adjusted as he had. Someone would understand.
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Posted: Fri May 29, 2015 2:22 pm
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a lifetime "Mom?" Bren squinted and cleared his throat, as if either would fix their spotty connection. "Mother?"
"Yes... hello... Brenley, dear, I'm sorry. The phone has been horrible."
"Should I call another time?"
"No, no..." There was a bit of shuffling and then the line was clear. "I guess it was just something rubbing the wire. Your father hasn't been home again, and I—"
He cut her off without hesitation, not even remotely considering how rude it might be. What he had witnessed six months ago, how his parents had behaved... It had all been a fluke after all. A fluke that happened every seventeen years.
"How is the pumpkin?"
It was an innocent question, one that a concerned older brother would be expected to ask, one that he never would without an ulterior motive. The line was so silent that it was a wonder there had been static disrupting it at all.
She took a breath. "The pumpkin is in excellent health, Brenley. Thank you for asking."
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Posted: Fri May 29, 2015 2:22 pm
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Posted: Wed Jul 15, 2015 7:17 am
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Posted: Mon Sep 07, 2015 11:14 am
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Posted: Mon Sep 07, 2015 11:15 am
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pumpkinsitting The scareling had nearly arrived. If he hadn't been counting the days himself, Bren would have been tipped off by news of his father's return. It made sense that the gryphon wanted to witness the arrival of his second child, but in the interim, Bren's parents had taken to acting like teenagers again before obligation kept them from date night for another fifteen years.
Of course, with Brenley nearly an adult and able to watch a child, at least in their opinion, maybe they would never give up their solitary trips this time. The boil didn't share their confidence in his scareling watching ability, but at the very least he knew he could keep a pumpkin in line. It was a mild comfort for now.
The first night they asked him to watch his unborn sibling, Bren brought his fully stocked travel potion cabinet, but after only an hour of silent mixing and casting, he swore he could feel the child's eyes boring through its rind and into his back.
"Fine. All right. I know this probably isn't any fun." He crossed to the pumpkin, giving it a brief pat. "Would you like me to read to you? That would be entertaining, right?" Bren perched the baby's hat on the crown of its pumpkin and retreated to his closet, smiling widely when he saw the book he hadn't remembered to miss at the top of the nearest stack.
"Flynn O'Houlihan. I haven't seen you in years."
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Posted: Mon Sep 07, 2015 11:17 am
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vacating the premises Phones were not permitted in Professor Warch's Halloween History for Hobs, but as soon as Brenley's let out a muffled buzz from the pouch at his thigh, he had it out and concealed under his desk, illegal or not. A burst of jealous anger flared in his chest as he read the incoming text, a calm missive from his mother informing him that the pumpkin had cracked and his sibling would soon be born.
Though he had anticipated this very reaction months ago, he still had to choke down a sneer as he gathered his books. Bren might have come to terms with the reality of the scareling, but the fact that his parents had chosen to have it at all still stung, no matter how prepared he thought he was. Bag packed, the boil shot to his feet right in the middle of a droning lecture on the ghost-reaper skirmish of 1622 and hurried for the bus.
- - - The house was surprisingly quiet when he finally arrived, though all of the candles and assorted magical lights were blazing, throwing the hastily-made WELCOME HOME BRENLEY banner hanging from the porch into stark relief. It was a nice gesture, one that made him feel better in spite of himself. He gathered up the delicate strip of paper and brought it inside with him, slipping off his boots and slinking toward the kitchen.
As he moved deeper inside, the desert's evening chill was dampened by the insulated walls of his home, the windows drawn tightly shut. He heard a muffled clatter, then the rumble of his father's proud laughter. It made his stomach clench. Brenley rounded the corner, expecting his discomfort to grow, but it instead remained constant and even faltered as he paused in the doorway, catching sight of ruddy brown fur and a tiny, grasping set of talons. It would never cast a spell or one day summon an adorably charismatic familiar. It likely wouldn't even command his mother's academic attention. Bren's face tightened, making him appear as though he might cry. He didn't. His features smoothed and he took a step forward, then another, then another, his parents parting just far enough for him to wedge between them.
"Brenley," his mother said, reaching up to squeeze his shoulder. "This is your sister, Tanaela."
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