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echo-goes-mmm · 1 month

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Moonflower #15

Masterpost

Warnings: domestic abuse, alcoholism

Note: Ari is non-binary and uses they/them pronouns

Kit considered the pull-rope in the corner of his room. He’d seen Iris use hers once, to call a servant to pick up a dress that needed ironing before the usual laundry day.

Kit bit his lip. Slaves shouldn’t get to call servants, but how else would he be able to contact David?

He pulled the heavy cord, and waited.

It was only a few minutes before a servant appeared at his door. It wasn’t David, but someone he hadn't seen before.

“You rang for me, uh…?” they floundered for a title.

“Just Kit, please.”

“What can I do for you, Kit?” The servant had a nice smile.

“Do you know David? I need to ask him to do something for me.”

“Oh, sure! I’ll go get him for you.” The servant turned to go.

“Thank you. Oh, um, what can I call you?”

They looked back, confused. “You want to know my name?”

Kit worried the sleeve of his shirt. “Is that… odd? Sorry.”

“No. Well- a little. Most people don’t ask. I’m Ari.”

Kit winced at the wording. It wasn’t Ari’s fault they weren’t familiar with introducing themselves to faeries.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he said instead.

Ari gave him a smile. “You too,” they said. “I’ll go get David.”

___________________

David nervously walked down the hall to the royal wing. Kit had asked for him; for a favor, and he didn’t know what to expect.

He tugged on the sleeves of his uniform. It was a hot day, too hot for long sleeves, but it covered his marks.

He hoped Kit wasn’t mad at him for leaving so quickly. Dad had already been upset when he got home early, and he couldn’t handle more people yelling at him right now.

David took in a deep breath before knocking on the door.

“Come in,” called Kit.

David turned the handle and stepped inside, closing the door as quietly as possible.

Kit turned to look at him, and David suppressed a shudder.

The fae’s looked calm, but David couldn’t help but be wary. Kit was tall, and probably unnaturally strong, and had sharp teeth and strangely bright eyes and could do magic-

“Are you alright?” asked the faerie.

“Yes,” he squeaked.

The fae crossed the room towards him, and David tried his best to stay still.

“Hey,” said Kit, hand brushing over his, gently taking it in his. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Faeries couldn’t lie.

“Okay.”

Kit’s thumb rubbed a small circle on the back of his hand. “I just want to talk to you.”

“Okay,” he said. He couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Kit tugged him along to the couch, and David automatically sat down after him.

“I know we don’t really know each other. But, um, if someone’s been hitting you, I can help.”

Oh.

“It’s nothing,” he said. “It’s not like that.”

Kit tilted his head, his bright teal eyes watching him like a cat watches a mouse. Or at least, that’s how it felt.

“What’s it like, then?”

David bit his lip. “It’s not his fault,” he muttered.

“Who?”

Kit wasn’t going to let it go, was he?

“My dad,” he admitted. “But it’s really not his fault. He just gets angry, sometimes, and he’s been stressed. He’s fine the rest of the time.”

David knew what Kit was going to say.

“It’s still not right. We can get you help; away from-”

“I won’t go,” he blurted, and Kit went quiet. “I’m all he’s got left. Mom died, and I can’t-” David’s voice broke- “I can’t just leave him. He needs me.”

“Does he?” asked Kit quietly.

David nodded, tears beginning to gather at the corners of his eyes. “Family sticks together. And he needs the money I bring home.”

“He doesn’t work?”

David thought about the empty bottles of alcohol in the house, the smell of old beer and whiskey, the stench of drink on Dad’s breath.

“He’s sick,” he said, instead of the truth. “He never got better after mom passed away.”

Kit didn’t look convinced. “If you ever change your mind,” he said gently. “I’ll do whatever I can.”

David nodded. “Thanks. I uh, better get back to work.” He stood to go, but Kit grabbed his hand again.

“I mean it,” said Kit, the scent of fresh flowers flooding the room. “Freely offered, freely given. I promise.”

David shivered, a tingle of magic running up his spine. “Thank you.”

___________________

He pushed open the door to the cottage, the acrid smell of old wine hitting him square in the face.

“I’m home,” he called out into the house.

“Shut the damn door,” grumbled Dad, his face buried into the couch cushions. He must be hungover again.

David closed the door. Dad glared at the sound, even though David had already oiled the latch a dozen times.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “Have you eaten today?”

“Obviously not,” said Dad. “You were at work.”

“Right. I’ll, uh, make dinner.”

David left the room before Dad could ask if he got more hours.

He checked the pantry. It was mostly empty; he hadn’t had the time to go to the market. And there was no way he would ask Dad to go get groceries. That never went well.

There was enough to throw together a soup, and some bread to help fill them up, but that was all he could manage.

___________________

“Is that it?” frowned Dad, staring at his bowl.

David’s heart sank. “I haven't gone shopping yet,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

Dad rolled his eyes. “Did you at least get a better work schedule?”

David looked down at his bowl. “No,” he whispered.

Dad slammed his fist on the table, and David jumped. “Dammit, David,” he hissed, “Can’t you get anything done?”

“I- the schedule is already made for next week,” he explained, “if you had asked me earlier-”

“Don’t you dare pin this on me, boy.” Dad jabbed his spoon in his direction. “It’s not my fault you’re useless. Do you even care about me?”

“I do!” he protested.

“Then do better. Am I understood?”

David bit his lip. “Yes, sir.”

___________________

Dad smashed the plate against the wall, and David dove out of the way.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry- Dad, please-”

“Shut the fuck up!” Dad screamed, his hand reaching for a framed portrait.

David watched in horror as the glass shattered right where he’d been standing, the frame bent.

“I let you stay here, for free, and this is the thanks I get!?”

“I’m sorry!” David pleaded, scrambling away. Dad stalked forward and grabbed him by the arm, yanking hard. David stumbled, and Dad reached for a bottle.

“Don’t!” he cried, but the bottle smashed against his temple, and the world went dark.

___________________

The house was empty when he woke up. His head hurt like hell. He pressed a hand to his temple, and it came away sticky and red.

He whimpered, the sound making his head hurt like one of Dad’s hangover headaches.

David slowly sat up.

The room was just as Dad had left it; trash everywhere. David picked himself off the floor.

The picture frame Dad had smashed still lay on the ground. David gathered up the remains.

It was an old portrait. Mom, Dad, and him; from years ago. It was the only one he could convince Dad to keep after the funeral.

It was torn, and the frame was unsalvageable.

David heard the key in the latch.

He quickly pulled the portrait free, folded it, and tucked it away in his pocket.

“Hey champ,” said Dad, swaying into the room. There was a bottle in his hand, half empty. Gin. “Back from work?”

His voice was cheery, as if nothing had happened and he hadn’t left his son to bleed on the floor.

“Sure,” he croaked. The clock on the mantle said two am.

“Great.” Dad looked around the room. “Clean this up for me, ‘kay bud? I’m going to bed.”

“Okay.”

David watched his father stumble into the bedroom.

He began to sweep up the shattered plates, his mother’s favorite pattern in pieces, and tried not to cry.

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