Page 1 of 2 12 LastLast
Results 1 to 20 of 28

Thread: Scared Of A Little Lightning?

  1. #1

    Closed Roleplay [X-Men] Scared Of A Little Lightning?

    Phoenix, Arizona - 1995

    It was Thursday.

    I never could get the hang of Thursdays.

    That line of literature floated through Glen's mind as he heaved himself reluctantly from the car; he considered it's meaning as the door clunked closed behind him and his weary feet trudged along the slabbed pathway that separated the drive from the front door, bisecting a lawn that he would no doubt be nagged into mowing as soon as Sunday rolled around. The quote was an understatement, he decided: he did not merely struggle with Thursdays, he loathed and detested them. Thursday was when a tsunami of extra work arrived, last minute requests from those too disorganised to file them expediently, but too savvy to wait until Friday and risk him deferring the task until after the weekend. Their tactic was shrewd: safe from the accusation of leaving it to the last minute, his colleagues deftly absolved themselves of any blame or responsibility should their projects be delayed, and placed that burden squarely upon his shoulders.

    His nose wrinkled as he peered up on the clouds; the rain that had been tumbling from the grey and overcast sky for the last fifteen minutes seemed about as enthusiastic about today as he was. Hollow encouragements and futile motivations suggested he should seize the day, and make it his own; but stealing Thursday from the deity to whom the Vikings had dedicated it seemed unwise.

    In the distance, a rumble of thunder seemed to agree.

    The key slid into the lock; a click, and the front door swung open. Past mistakes reminded Glen to remove his shoes before venturing further; coat abandoned on the hook beside the door, he trudged across the carpet in suit and socks like a man on the verge of collapse.

    A single pace into the kitchen, a single glimpse of her, and that changed.

    Renewed energy rolled through him. His strides as he crossed the room were not rushed, but there was an eagerness in the way his socks padded against the kitchen tiles. He didn't speak, not out of a desire for stealth but merely because the sight of her made him speechless, as it always did. His arms slid around her middle, drawing her away from the counter and into a gentle embrace. His lips sought out a sliver of exposed shoulder and settled a kiss upon it.

    "I swear," he said, his voice escaping as a contented sigh as he rested his head against the side of hers, "You grow more beautiful every time I see you."

  2. #2
    She had heard him coming every since the car had pulled into the driveway, had mentally traced every step taken before each was actually placed and had slowed her hands from the busy work of preparing that evening's meal just a second before he was upon her. The knife in her right hand slipped from her fingertips as arms still holding the strength of the man she had first fell in love with embraced her. Whatever worries, whatever lingering troubles of the day were drained from her in that moment as her eyes closed and a soft sigh escaped from her lips. The let the moment linger before eyelids fluttered back open and a coy smile formed as she slowly raised her hand to draw her fingertips lightly along her captor's neck and along his jaw.

    "You should know by now that flattery gets you no where." Sandra let the words tumble softly away from her before she leaned back just slightly into the man's arms. "Since I couldn't possibly love you anymore than I do already."

    Dinner was all but forgotten, a task that could wait as everything else in the world could and was forced to often do the moment her husband came into the equation. Her lower lip was bitten as her mind tumbled over other activities that could fill the time instead. The small moment of reverie was shattered as another low rumble echoed throughout existence. Tuireann apparently saw it fit to remind her of everything else that day had wrought. Specifically one very important thing in particular.

    A frustrated breath left her as her eyes wandered to the kitchen window, out past the back yard and the chain link fencing that ended it, towards the empty lot that separated their home from the beginning mountain range it nestled against. Her gaze finally settled on a tangled mess of trees and vines much as it always did. It seemed so gloomy as the rain continued to drizzle and it felt like it seeped into her, only the warmth behind her and from the arms around her kept her from turning frigid.

    "I had to pay another visit to the headmaster today." If her sigh before had been out of frustration of interrupting her daydreams, this one carried all the weight of annoyance she could muster. "Another fire, Glen."

  3. #3
    Her words were like a pin to a balloon, but Glen refused to allow himself or the still swelling bubble of emotion in his chest to be burst. He nuzzled his way through Sandra's copper locks, sneaking kisses onto her neck, jawline, and cheek.

    "You should have called," he spoke softly into her ear, his arms holding her just a little tighter. He let his eyes close, allowing his other senses to drink in the moment; breathed in the scent of her hair, a whiff of perfume, and the faint aroma of the dinner preparations; heard and felt his heart pounding away in his chest as if he were a lovestruck teenager. The power she had over him was impossible to comprehend; when he was around her his every thought was of her, every emotion was for her, and every scrap of confidence and experience and grace fell apart to leave someone as awestruck and humbled as he had felt on the day they first met.

    He felt his throat go tight, his tongue turn dry, desperation boiling away inside as his heart and mind urged him to ramble forth a non-stop tirade of compliments and gratitude. If his every word, every action, every breath was dedicated to such an endeavour, by the end of time he would still not have expressed every facet of what made her perfect; would still not have whispered I love you enough times to convey just how deeply he meant it. That he did not do so was the greatest feat of determination and self-control that mankind had ever known.

    "If it happens again," he assured, the only words he'd permit himself to say, "Let me handle it. I know how much you hate having to be the bad guy."

  4. #4
    It look every ounce of determination she could form to not give in to the wants that were practically clawing their way through her. Each kiss placed upon her skin broke her resolve just a little more and when he spoke again just the sound of his voice was enough to send small chills running through her. It didn't matter exactly what his words said, it was everything that went unspoken that she was so keenly aware of and for an instant she was able to put duties aside in favor of turning in his hold and gently brushed her lips against his. The one thing she forced herself was to not look into his eyes, if that were to happen, if she once again saw every facet of his longing for her there the cause would be completely lost. Her mental war was once more interrupted by a sudden flash of light that brightened the kitchen followed almost immediately by the loud crack of thunder that followed. A small glance was given to the window once more as the skies opened up in a downpour it had been threatening for the better part of an hour. Glen may have been her world, but that world did have one tiny satellite that she never was able to keep her mind far away from, especially in times like these.

    "You should probably go out there," the reluctance in the thought of him pulling away from her came through plainly. "She'll never forgive you if you don't."

  5. #5
    And I'll never forgive myself, either.

    The thought of Kara tugged on Glen's heart like the moon on the tides, his desire to protect her the only thing stronger than his desire to never let Sandra leave his arms. Kara was the perfect completion: for while Sandra and he fit together so perfectly it defied belief, Kara was the lock that sealed them so, the coverstone on a foundation that could never be torn apart. It was for her, and for Sandra, that he endured the tedium and frustration of his work; it was thoughts of them that hoisted him by the shoulders and carried him limping through each and every maddening Thursday. His two. His all. His family.

    He pulled away, reluctantly, but not before his hands slid around Sandra's hips, turning her to face towards him. A hand sliding into her ginger curls, he began a kiss that opened floodgates, pressing Sandra back against the counter, his body screaming and tearing itself apart with the desperate desire for just a little more.

    He broke away, snatching a breath as he let his forehead rest against hers.

    "Don't go anywhere," he breathed, with the faintest hint of an unstoppable smile tugging at his lips. "I will be back for you."

  6. #6
    "As if I had any doubts." It was such a simple phrase that barely managed to be spoken above a whisper and yet it carried so much with it.

    Another kiss was painfully avoided as was the urge to give him a playful shove, knowing all too well that both actions would simply result in her inability to let him leave her. Even the ever increasing intensity of the storm outside seemed to push her tug at memories more than rationale. It had been Summertime, the thunderclouds had rolled in over Lake Superior while they had been out at dinner and the heavens had unleashed their fury moments before they had stepped outside. Like two children they had decided to walk, sharing the same umbrella. Her mother had been away so there was no one to watch as the first kiss was stolen, as he had told her it was 'improper' but she had known his heart was saying the exact opposite. She had begged him then, breathless and dizzily to take her away from it all.

    Sandra let out a slow breath and finally slipped from Glen's grasp, agonizing over the lingering of his fingertips on her. "Go on, then."

  7. #7
    Glen's fingers kept a hold of hers for a moment longer, raising her hand to his lips. His eyes met with hers as a kiss settled onto her knuckles; a grin that he couldn't resist barged it's way onto his features. "As you wish," he said softly, letting his gaze and his smile linger for one agonising moment before he tore himself away. It wasn't entirely successful: though his body conveyed him across the kitchen, the dining area, and over to the sliding doors in the lounge, his eyes stole every possible glimpse they could until she was finally, regrettably, out of sight.

    He felt the raindrops hammer on his head and shoulders as he stepped out into the storm; another crash of thunder rattled his bones, louder and closer this time. He didn't bother to count the seconds between the sound and the lightning flash: it was close, and that was all he needed to go.

    He settled his brow into a half frown, not because of any emotion that he wished to convey, but simply as a way of bracing against the rainfall that the wind whipped into his features. It was surging towards him, buffeting the bare short of his chest, the slackened tie thrown over his shoulder. Groundwater seeped into the socks that he'd forgotten to cover with shoes; too late to do anything about that now. He powered on, feet squelching into the turf with every step. The lawn disappeared beneath him; the fence loomed. His eyes settled on the half-detached corner segment that Kara always snuck through: the segment that Sandra kept insisting he fix, which he always promised to do, but never did. He couldn't do that to her, not to his Kara: he new what her little tangle of brambles meant in a way that Sandra didn't understand, and couldn't bring himself to deprive his child of that. Sandra had spent her youth practically locked in a tower: all the comforts of home, wanting for nothing save perhaps the chance to get away from it all. Glen's youth had been far different, the elder sibling forced to sacrifice almost everything for his youngers, feeling isolated and yet at the same time never feeling alone or in peace. He knew what it was to want to run away; he'd fled to forest hideaways of his own on oh so many occasions. Of course, his brothers always seemed to invade those sanctuaries as well, eventually, which is why it was so important that he let Kara continue to have what was hers.

    He abandoned the notion of the crawlway, instead looping his fingers through the chain link and heaving himself upwards, bootless feet slipping effortlessly into the metal diamonds as he ascended and threw himself over with almost military skill. If there was one thing he excelled at - and admittedly, there weren't many candidates to choose from - it was climbing.

    Climbing, he mused, landing into a cat-like crouch on the ground beyond the fence, And falling with style.

    The ground here was less forgiving on his soles; he ignored it. His bones were safe: at worst, the sticks and stones would only break the skin, and such superficial things would heal quickly enough. There were far more important things to worry about; his pace was swift but steady as he crossed the field, a confident stride rather than a run.

    He reached the thicket, and already found himself ducking low branches. He had to commend his daughter for her choice of fortress: even Maleficent would have been impressed by how nigh impenetrable the brambles were to anyone but the spry and agile child who weaved through them with such ease. Glen felt a bramble snag and tear through his sleeve, and something else; the rain quickly transformed it into a seeping patch of pink soaking it's way through the fabric. He pressed on, getting as close as he dared, until his eyes finally settled on Kara: huddled in her thorny cocoon, a sodden failed attempt at a camp fire piled beside her feet.

    Glen's chest tightened like overstretched elastic as he watched her, the rain seeping through the branches taming her ordinarily untameable hair. She flinched as another crash of thunder reverberated through the sky. "Come on, Tiger," he said, with as much reassurance as it was possible to force into so few words. "Lets get you inside."

  8. #8
    Kara
    Guest
    She was in trouble. Had been since the instant Mom had walked into the Principal's office instead of Dad. Kara just hadn't realized how bad it was going to be until the silent car ride home. Mom talking was a good thing, even when she was angry. It was the quiet that was scary.

    Of course trouble had probably been on her like a cat with a ball of yarn the second she had decided it was a good idea to melt the face off of Arges. Winters had been asking for it, though! Just because he wasn't nearly as cool as Ronan. It was a good enough reason, trouble was the action figure hadn't been hers and it's rightful owner had the crazy idea that the lamest guy known to cartoons wasn't worthy of his fiery fate.

    When they had gotten home, not even the rain could keep her away from retreating outside. Mom had said they would deal with it when Dad got home so that meant she would have at least an hour or two to herself. But then the thunder had started up an she had become trapped. It didn't matter how many times Dad tried to assure her the sound was from the fabled Odinsson and that it was meant to chase monsters away, it was still scary. Too scary. She couldn't move, what if he mistook her for a sea serpent with her being so drenched?!

    The miserable little world she had created for herself had been a wet coffin of annoyance that even the thorns couldn't keep away. Kara had briefly wondered if she could figure out how to set the rain on fire as retaliation for the lightning strikes that made her want to curl into herself and never look up again.

    And when things seemed like they couldn't get worse... That moment when the world was ending - a pretty big deal for a 7 year old - suddenly a familiar voice pierced the storm. Kara had looked up from behind sodden red tangles and felt her lower lip quiver before she practically launched herself into Dad's arms.

  9. #9
    "It's okay."

    Glen's arms automatically fell to where they needed to be: one hand spread across Kara's back pulling her as tight against him as he possibly could, the other arm hooked around her legs to hold her in place against his shoulder. They were back out in the open, Glen on his feet once again before he said another word; he didn't need to, nor want to, lest he disturb the way that Kara's head was resting gently against him.

    "It's okay," he said again, letting his head rest atop hers for just a moment, the most reassuring thing he could do with his hands full. "I've got you, sweetheart."

    Another crash of thunder, and he felt her grab a handful of shirt. He set his sights on the chain link fence, and considered his options: while having his daughter clinging to him certainly made him feel like he had paternal superpowers, he wasn't convinced that even he could vault the six foot barrier in a single bound; and yet there was no way he was going to let Kara out of his arms until she was safely inside.

    That left only one option. Glen turned as he reached the fence and, reeling back on one leg he delivered a precision snap kick with the other, the force of the impact tearing the metal post he'd targeted half way out of the ground. The panel of chain already peeling away to allow Kara passage detached completely, hanging limply like a fallen curtain. He stepped through, back to the mesh in order to protect Kara from any potential harm. I guess I really will need to fix that, he mused, as he began the trudge across the lawn.

    Sandra was already framed in the doorway as he approached. "Towels," he requested. He held Kara a little tighter as he felt her shiver against his shoulder. "And blankets."

    He hesitated, glancing down at his mud-soaked, half-shredded socks. He mustered a rueful, apologetic smile for his wife. "And maybe something to stand on, so you don't have to stab me for tracking mud all over your nice clean floors?"

  10. #10
    Sandra could only slowly shake her head for a moment at their shared dishevelment. Between the daughter with bit of twigs caught in her hair and a muddy sweatshirt to her husband with torn clothing she really was at a loss for words. Thankfully, she knew the both of them , knew what to be expecting so it only took a small movement before one of the pair of three towels on the counter was handed out and another was dropped to the floor. The second request was already waiting, draped across the back of a chair in the dining room table next to two cups of hot chocolate that she had just managed to get into place before the wandering adventurers returned.

    The talk about Kara's little fire starting incident would have to wait, there were far more important things to see to first. The last of the three towels was taken and wrapped around the girl as Sandra took on the task of prying her daughter's vice like grip away from Glen. A half smile was offered to him in repayment though turned into a more amused smirk at she eyed the snag in his shirt and mouthed the words Another one? followed with a small roll of her eyes.

    As Kara was deposited onto the towel on the floor she crouched down to the girl's level and began the futile attempt at drying her off. She couldn't help but notice the way the girl's eyes refused to meet hers and it brought a small sigh from her as she looked up to Glen for any sign that he may have gotten more than just terrified squeaks out of her. It was doubtful, but it also doubled as a request for help. The silent game wouldn't last long but it was hard to counteract when it was something she had perfected relying on herself.

  11. #11
    Glen had no help or support that he could offer; at least, not immediately. He had a plan, one that would probably frustrate Sandra intensely for the fact that it avoided a direct confrontation; but when it came to Kara, that wasn't his tactic of preference anyway. Under normal circumstances, when Glen attempted to tackle his problems he did so literally, and physically, tackling them off cliffs where possible, charging head first into action long before his mind had the opportunity to kick in. But Kara was not an enemy; she was the opposite. There was no fight in him when it came to her, no urge for confrontation or victory.

    Balancing on one leg at a time, he ripped off his socks and deposited them on the towel, scuffing his feet a little to clear off the worst of what had seeped through. He contemplated the mud collected around the bottoms of his work pants, considered the options for traversing the floor without incurring yet more marital wrath. Safe was better than sorry, he decided; a quick fumble with his belt and the trousers were shed, left on the towel in his wake.

    He meandered through the house, back through the kitchen, into the hall, and beyond it into the door that led out into the garage. At least, it was theoretically their garage; the odds of actually being able to get a car into it were slim, what with all the sundry items that had collected in there over the years. He found what he was looking for instantly: a nondescript canvas sac, filled with a mixture of axe-cut logs and gathered kindling, the latter recovered by Kara as one of the chores that Glen made up simply to have an excuse to spend time with her. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he remembered the way she'd pottered back and forth the last time they'd done last summer, her gleefully setting up logs and then scampering backwards to watch Glen's axe cleave them in twain.

    His smile faltered. That little girl was fast disappearing, evolving into something equally precious to him, and yet undeniably different. He would never admit it aloud, of course, but he was going to miss the Kara she had been: was going to miss the awe and love in her eyes that seemed to be replaced by disinterest and disdain more and more these days.

    He hefted the sack with ease, trudged back through the house to the living room, and dumped it with a satisfying clunk of wood-on-wood beside the fireplace that he'd insisted their house contain. It was an old fashioned notion, but it was one Glen could not bear to not have: innovative and impressive as these new microwaves and convection ovens were, there were times when he just wanted to eat something cooked over a real, actual fire the way he had in his less-than-wealthy youth.

    He fixed Sandra with a knowing look: one of surrender and concession to the fact that he now had to fulfil his unpleasant obligations as father and have a talk with his child. Of course, the significance of the look was diminished somewhat by the fact that it was being delivered by a man in a torn shirt, a tie, and a pair of Disney branded boxer shorts.

    "Could you go and grab Kara a change of clothes?" he asked. He hesitated a moment, glancing down at his bare legs. "And perhaps also some pants for me?"

  12. #12
    A small shake of her head accompanied a bemused smirk as Sandra handed one of the mugs of hot chocolate to her daughter, having finished ensuring the girl wouldn't drip water everywhere. Truth be told she had planned on Kara returning indoors long before the rain decided it actually would like to make a good attempt at what it did rather than just coating everything in a film of moisture, but as time was proving the daughter had clearly picked up more and more of her mother's less than desirable traits - today's guilty parties being stubbornness and the hinting of a quick temper that Sandra hoped would never fully blossom.

    Damp towels were collected in one arm as she walked over to where Glen was preparing the fireplace. She had always been torn on the thing... never one to deny the comforting glow and warmth that fire could bring, but never fully able to dispel all other lingering images and memories it brought along with it. With her free hand she reached down and brushed a few strands of hair away from his forehead before placing a soft kiss in her fingertips' wake.

    "I won't be long." Another glance was cast back at Kara who quickly looked away in response. Apparently there were some things that coco just couldn't fix right away.

    A frown tugged at her lips as another crack of thunder reverberated throughout the house, causing her daughter to flinch once more. A pang of longing was felt as she watched Kara force herself to stand still rather than running over to her mother as the she had done so often when younger. Not that much younger...

    A bittersweet smile formed as she turned and left the room to retrieve fresh clothing as requested.

  13. #13
    Life was an ordeal: a series of trials and obstacles meant to test one's courage, one's will, and one's resolve. Successes were rewarded at times, but at others those rewards were simply more challenges in disguise. Challenges like the one now presented: to accept affection from his wife and allow her to walk away without reciprocation; to see that frown on her features and not kiss her until it vanished; to watch her turn away without grasping her arm to tug her into an embrace, to abandon what remained of his torn clothing, unburden her of hers, press her body against the wall, attend to every inch of her with his lips -

    - and do all manner of other things that shouldn't even be thought of in front of their infant daughter, let alone thought about or performed. He mustered his resolve, steeled his concentration, and finished emptying the ash and residual debris from the last real fire to grace the hearth, piling it in the center of a few stacked sheets of newspaper, bundling it carefully into a package, and sealing it closed with tape. The parcel was tucked into a trash bag, shuffled aside; Glen turned, and offered a stern smile to his daughter.

    "Come on, pyro," he said, more softness than disapproval in his voice. "I'm going to need your help."

    As Kara shuffled over, using her knees rather than climbing to her feet for such a short distance, Glen snared her with an arm, squishing her into his side and planting a kiss atop her head. The gesture was brief, but it broke whatever tension had begun to settle between them now that Kara was back in proximity to her disapproving mother. The two women in his life were so frequently magnets: too often alike to do anything but push each other away, and yet Glen could not help but be drawn to them both like an opposite pole. He knew that Sandra at times frowned upon what she saw as negative traits inherited by her daughter; but what Sandra called stubbornness, Glen called resolve and determination, and if such an inheritance would one day transform Kara into an echo of her mother, it filled Glen with relief to think that their child would be so capable of taking care of herself.

    Father and daughter worked wordlessly, not because tension demanded silence but because their practised efforts meant that no commentary was required. Carefully chosen pieces of smaller wood were stacked in a familiar pattern, channels created at the base to allow the fire to breathe from beneath, kindling set in the centre, and a modestly sized log left in the garage to dry out thoroughly waiting off to one side until the fire was hot enough to ignite it. Glen offered a nod of satisfaction, and then turned to Kara, hesitating as he held a box of matches in his hand.

    It took a difficult swallow to muster enough looseness in his throat for his voice to work. "Fire is a dangerous thing, Kara. In small, controlled doses it provides light and warmth; but give it the slightest chance, the slightest concession, and it will exploit every opportunity it can to do nothing but destroy. One stray cigarette, or one stray match can start a wildfire, burn down a house -" He faltered. "- or a school."

    He drew in a slow breath; realised he was staring at the matches so he wouldn't have to meet his daughter's gaze. He forced himself to; remained silent until Kara was forced to look back into his eyes. He pressed the box of matches into Kara's hands, and when he spoke again, there was a rare edge in his voice that Kara almost never got to hear. "I don't know what happened at school today. I do not need to, because it will not happen again. Is that clear?"

  14. #14
    Kara
    Guest
    Kara knew that tone. Knew everything it meant and everything it didn't. At first all she could do was nod her head, causing hair to fall down over her eyes as she looked down at the matchbook that had been placed in her hand and watched as it shook in her grip. The trembling may have been from the damp clothing, her father's rebuke, both, maybe something else, but it had her and wasn't letting up.

    "Y-Yes." She stumbled over each piece pitifully, as if each letter of the tiny word were separated by a giant gap.

    Slowly she looked back up to meet Dad's eyes, feeling her stomach knot in on itself, which made her regret having drank the cup of hot chocolate really really fast. Well, that and the fact she was pretty sure she had burnt her tongue a bit, but that was nothing out of the ordinary, really.

    "I'm sorry." She wasn't. Well, not for setting the fire at least. But for getting caught, having to have Mom find out, having to make Dad tell her not to do it again - that she was actually sorry for.

  15. #15
    A tiny smile tugged at Glen's features; it wasn't happy, just there to cover up the fact that his heart was held together by duct tape after all the times Kara's guilty and sorrowful looks shattered it.

    He reached out, wrapping a hand around Kara's to warm them and help hold them still against the shivering. "No you're not," he teased, using his other arm to tug Kara towards him so he could plant a kiss on her forehead. He held her there, a hand rubbing slowly up and down her arm to coax a little extra warmth into her stone cold skin. He let out a sigh. "I'll make you a deal, sweetheart. If you pretend that I gave you the kind of stern talking to that you're mom wants, and if you promise that I'm not gonna find out you've been making fires at school again -"

    He paused, mostly for dramatic effect.

    "- then while your mom is away this weekend, we'll head to the dump, fill the trunk with as much random junk as we can find, and see what happens when we expose them to a little thermite and fireworks."

    Another pause, more ominous this time.

    "But, if you make a promise and break it..."

    His hand dove for an exposed sliver of flesh between her shirt and jeans. His fingers barely made contact but it didn't matter; Kara recoiled instantly as Glen aggravated her ticklish spots, his embrace turning into a death grip that made it impossible for her to wriggle away no matter how hard she tried. A few notes of pantomime laughter tumbled from his throat as his hand assaulted her pale and squishy stomach. "You'd better promise quick," he teased, "Because I can do this all day."

  16. #16
    Kara
    Guest
    It was really hard to make promises when too busy with squirming, laughing, and squeaking out protests. Dad knew that. He also should have known that the thought of fireworks would have been more than enough to get her to agree, he didn't have to resort to torture!

    "I promise, I promise!" She managed to get the oath out before giggles overtook her completely. Kara continued to repeat it several more times between attempting to remember how to actually breathe without laughing once the attack ended.

    Maybe it hadn't ended. Maybe Dad was just making her have one of those fake feelings that the battle was over. But it must have been over for the time, any moment Mom would walk back in the room and if she saw the evil methods Dad was using to get her to behave their entire pact would be had! Not that Mom wouldn't find out about the deal eventually. Kara was entirely convinced there was an elaborate network of shadow monsters, birds, an bugs that were all spies for Mom. It was the only way to explain how she knew everything since Kara had personally checked to make sure that whole thing about moms having eyes in the back of their heads was nothing but fake made-up stuff.

  17. #17
    Glen grinned, and released his victim. It was bad parenting he was sure: obliterating discipline and making light of a grave situation like that. He was probably supposed to scream and shout, and send Kara to her room, and do all that stuff that was a necessary part of making his daughter resent him when she became a teenager. That was the attitude that the world had, right? If you didn't instil enough discipline and resentment to make your child want to escape home at the earliest opportunity, you were doing it wrong.

    An uncomfortable sensation settled in Glen's gut, as he realised for the first time that on some level he empathised with Sandra's mother. While their motivations might have been a little different, ultimately their shared deepest desire was to never lose their daughter: to never stop being the one responsible for keeping them safe, and to never stop feeling the affection that they gave in return. Glen was the villain of that story: the one who had stolen Sandra away. But with Kara, when something came to try and take her away from him, things would be different.

    Unlike Sandra's mother, Glen had an axe.

    He retrieved the matchbox, slid it open, and presented it to Kara once again. "You take two matches," he instructed, "You strike them both together, and if I find out you've tried to sneak any extras my next tickle attack goes directly for your feet. Understood?"

  18. #18
    Kara
    Guest
    As if on instinct she shuffled back from him just a bit. Not that there was any danger of his threat being made good on at the moment but just the thought made her wants to go tie her shoelaces tighter and knot them up so it would buy her time to escape. Kara nodded her head in agreement making another deal with Dad. Not that she needed matches anyway, Kara had become quite proficient with all manner of starting little blazes, at how to keep them contained where she wanted them, she'd paid attention on all those camping trips, after all. But Dad was teaching, actually teaching, not just showing, and Kara was sure he knew tricks she hadn't even dreamed up yet.

    "Why two?" She questioned even as she did as he'd instructed. Flame came to life and she watched it, let it flicker in her vision before looking to her father past the waves the heat created in the air. Kara always liked the glow it made more than anything else. "Isn't just one okay?"

  19. #19
    Glen mused at her question for a moment, but mostly that was to mask the paternal excitement that was boiling away over the fact that Kara was expressing an interest in, well, anything he was knowledgeable about. Granted, fire being the subject was not exactly the ideal subject over which to bond with your daughter, but Glen's life experience provided him with precious few things that overlapped with his interests. When she'd been born, he'd assumed that at the very least they'd be able to bond over horses, and that he could teach her to ride: but apparently ponies were boring, and she would much rather have had a dinosaur.

    If it was to be nothing else, fire would have to do.

    "Inside an air conditioned house, with a full box of dry matches, full shelter, and not even so much as a breeze? Yes, one match would probably be enough. But -"

    He drew three matches from the box, holding two in his palm while the other he held up between his thumb and forefinger. With a slow and steady pressure from each end, the matchstick buckled and snapped in the centre. "The wood in most matchsticks is as cheap as it can possibly be; if you're not careful, it can snap while you're trying to strike it, and that's a waste of a match. Two matches -" He demonstrated again with both matchsticks this time. "- is a little more robust, and gives you a much broader surface to strike against: makes lighting much easier."

    "Also -" Taking the box back for just a moment, he struck his demonstration matches and held them up for scrutiny. "- the flame from two matches is bigger than the flame from one. Larger flames are much harder for breezes to extinguish, and the more fire you have to begin with, the easier it is to make your kindling light."

    He pointed the matches upwards, holding them so the flame licked across the already burned wood. It crept slowly downward, but each millimetre made the flame shrink, as the fire choked on a meal of exhausted fuel. Long before the flame reached his fingers, it extinguished completely, a whiff of smoke and the blackened, twisted remains of the two matches left behind. "Always be sure to tilt the matches once you have lit them: not vertically so the flame burns your fingers, but at an angle so the fire can reach the wood that still has fuel in it."

    He placed the box back in her hands; after a moment of silence, he shot her a look. "The longer it takes for you to light that fire, the longer it'll be before I'm able to sneak the marshmallows from where your mother hides them and start roasting."

  20. #20
    Kara
    Guest
    Kara liked listening to her Dad, the way he explained anything was always easy to understand and usually followed up with some sort of promise of junk food. Mom was harder to understand - Oh, Kara had learned things from her too but they were more quiet things like drawing and reading and okay, so the piano wasn't quiet but it wasn't in the same line as how to find the place on a log where an axe would almost barely have to do anything to make it split, how to not hurt herself when she jumped from higher branch on a tree, how to remove splinters, how to tell a joke, how to tell a story... those were Dad things and they were the best things.

    The matches she had lit earlier had to be shaken as the flames near her fingertips, but now she knew how to keep from having to do that as well. Which looked cool. Though given Dad's earlier warnings she kinda doubted that there would be any time soon that she'd get to show it off.

    Two more matches were taken from the box - and only two, Kara knew better than to try and pull any slight-of-hand thing to pocket more. Once more they were lit but this time she quickly brought the flames to the carefully stacked wood. She had watched her Dad a ton of times so she knew exactly where to set the kindling alight. As the fire slowly spread she pulled away and looked back to Dad with a triumphant grin.

    It was such a simple thing, but it made the entire day all better. Even the continued rumble of thunder seemed farther away now, like the fire had scared it off. Maybe it had. She'd have to ask Dad if there were any stories to back that up. But not right now, right now she had another question and it fidgeted within her. Squirmed so bad that even marshmallows would have to wait just a bit more.

    "Mom doesn't really like fire, does she?"

Page 1 of 2 12 LastLast

Bookmarks

Posting Permissions

  • You may not post new threads
  • You may not post replies
  • You may not post attachments
  • You may not edit your posts
  •