L'ven and Xioth -- ...only i know how it ends.

L'ven and Xioth -- ...only i know how it ends.

L’ven hadn’t seen his mother since she had left him, laughing, two turns ago on Impression Day. And, to be perfectly honest, he was glad she had stayed away, because then he didn’t have to think of her or know who she was or … look at her. She had laughed at him because he was a failure, having not Impressed that day, and she had laughed at him because she knew it made him hurt. L’ven had been her punching bag when he had been growing up, just like he had been the victim of his ‘friends’ when they had been growing up. Now, he was still their dupe, but that was only because he couldn’t let go; he couldn’t forgive. He didn’t want to, either, because… because the way he was was a result of their torment, and someday they would repent for what they made.

As he strode through the hallways of the Quarters, his long legs carrying his thin body at a rather rapid pace as a result to the news the messenger had brought, the white dragonet (Hah, mother!) scampered at his side, moaning every now and then in distress. But L’ven, for what was startlingly the first time in his time of being Impressed, wasn’t in the mood to comfort the ivory dragon—he couldn’t be, not when he had to steel himself from scalding remarks, painful strikes… anything his darling mother would throw at him. His anger echoed in his footfalls—the sound his boots made as they banged along the corridor was soothing, and it helped to gather his thoughts easier. But the scratching of His’ clawed feet as he padded along at a fast pace was annoying to him… so much that he almost turned around and scolded the little ivory.

The little dragonet must have picked up on His’ thoughts, for he moaned again (this time quieter although a little more depressed) and tried to make his footfalls less loud and backed off a little from His very upset boy. His normally vibrant white hide was gray, as if his color was being affected by his misery and fear at being ignored by L’ven. And if it had been anything other than a visit from his mother, L’ven would turn automatically to the ivory and (careful of those claws!) comfort him, rubbing his eye ridges and promising a bath and an oiling as soon as whatever he had to do was taken care of. But not now—not today, and as L’ven stamped along the passageway until he reached the well-lit Dining Hall. The young Ivory, still wallowing his grief and sending thoughts (that were repeatedly ignored by His) of hurt mixed with reassurance, noticed several of his clutchmates, and, should he have been a dog, would have wandered over with his tail between his legs, his eyes shimmering an ugly yellow-gray.

L’ven, continuing to follow the messenger, doesn’t notice Xioth wandering off, his color, or his thoughts—he was too angry, too upset, and too nervous. He passed several people, who gave him disapproving looks that were perfectly clear as to why: they didn’t approve of leaving his obviously anguished dragonet with his Clutchmates, where it was so obvious the little ivory needed His and not the company of his brothers and sisters.If he hadn’t been so focused on what would happen next when he finally caught sight of his damned mother, L’ven would turn around and probably tell them off. Instead, he passed without a word, not even looking at them, and certainly not looking back to see if His was following. Finally, after walking past about four tables, he notices the woman dressed… elegantly. Although when she stood up (her body noticeabley swaying) he noticed how the dress did not match her dirty body, or her lack of anything that would say she was of noble rank.

L’ven dismisses the messenger with a curt nod, before he stares at his still swaying mother with his upper lip curled from distaste. His eyes were narrrowed and his fists clenched, prepared to fend her off should she try anything violent. When she had been drinking (actually, even if she hadn’t been drinking) she was dangerous… something he had found out early in his childhood. She looked at him too, her eyes unfocused and her face sallow, but it was obvious how she felt about him and how he felt about her—the negative energies flowed around the two, almost chilling the air and it was frightening to innocent bystanders (it was lucky there weren’t many.) When one finally spoke, their voice was not nearly as cold as the way they looked at each other, but it was received with even more hostility from the one being spoken to.

“Liohven! Oh, I haven’t seen you—” She was immediately cut off but L’ven—“It’s L’ven now, mother.” “—in so long!” L’ven’s brow furrowed even further, as he looked at the pitiful, bending woman who stood very awkwardly in front of him. Contemplating, L’ven answers somewhat cautiously, struggling to hold back the words he so desperately wanted to say to the idiotic, whorish female. “You haven’t seen me because you didn’t want to or need to.” His voice almost breaks, almost, towards the end of his speech, as she looks up at him, her eyes pitifully swimming with tears as she plowed on, obviously ignoring or not hearing her son’s chilly words. “I’ve been so worried! But now that you’re 20 Turns, you can’t Impress anymore… you can come home!” She obviously hadn’t gotten the memo about L’ven’s Impression, and she obviously hadn’t realized that L’ven wouldn’t want anything to do with her.

“I’ve Impressed, mother,” L’ven says rather matter-of-factly. “Nor would I want to go with you. My home is here, with My Xioth.” He still didn’t realize that his dragon wasn’t with him, and he still wasn’t paying attention to his hurt thoughts. “B-b-but, if you stay here, who’s going to take care of me?! You’re so SELFISH.” She screamed the last word at him, her tears immediately gone as she does so. L’ven, trying to stay calm, says back, his own voice rising and filling the Dining Hall, “Shard it! You can very well take care of yourself; or have one of your many sharding BOYFRIENDS LOOK AFTER YOU!” His breathing was beginning to speed up, and he glared now, pure and utter hatred in his eyes and etched into the lines on his face. How DARE she say he was selfish when she had been the one always leaving, always screaming, always punching pulling and hurting him when all he wanted and needed was a mother; someone who would love him unconditionally and help him instead of ignore him. But she hadn’t done any of those things, and the way she could stand there and blame him put him into a murderous rage, but it was she who lashed out first, striking him smartly across the face with an animalistic howl. She screamed at him then, her words slurring from the intoxicating drink and spit flying from her mouth, “HOW DARE YOU, YOU SMOKELESS WEYRLING—EVER SINCE THE DAY YOU WERE BORN YOU’VE BEEN A NUISANCE AND A DAMNED—” She didn’t get anything else out, because, while L’ven had been rubbing his cheek from the sting of her slap, the little dragonet had appeared, having vacated his Clutchmates’ company. He moved his white body in front of L’ven, his body and head low and his teeth bared—his statement was completely clear. If the woman were to advance on His again, Xioth would not hesitate to protect what he considered His and not Hers.

She staggered toward the little dragon, intending in her drunken state to punish it for getting in the way—after all, it was just as useless as her son! But the little white dragon pushed himself forward, and before L’ven could interfere or know what had happened, the dragon had his mouth around her arm, his intention not to let go. L’ven, stupefied by His’ actions, didn’t know what to do for a moment, before the woman shrieked her surprise and fear, yanking her arm away from the little white dragon’s mouth, shredding her arm’s skin down to the milky white bone. At the sight of the injury, L’ven finally sent a thought to his dragon, which also came out as a wordless moan. “XIOTH, NO!!” The dragonet, about to advance after the vicious woman, hunkered down and slunk to His’ side, crooning his apologies as well as peering up at His with his yellow-gray eyes. L’ven, ignoring and turning away from the bleeding and probably poisoned woman, bent down to His and he looks into the dragonet’s eyes, worry and fear and anger in the mixture of the thoughts he was sending the young dragonet. “Oh, Xioth, please—now we’re going to be in so much trouble; but it’s not your fault… I promise it’s not your fault.”

The woman had recovered from her shock and was screaming from the pain and the fury that she felt toward her son and his white dragon. “HE’S KILLED ME, HE’S KILLED ME, OH, I’M DYING! KILL THAT WRETCHED BEAST—AND THE THING THAT RIDES IT.” After this, L’ven had had it—he and His dragon were done with the woman… and they made to escape, L’ven’s throat burning from the held-back tears and his teeth clenched to hold back the words he so desired to scream back—that he wasn’t a thing, that the white dragon was right, she wasn’t (probably) dying… anything to make her hurt as bad emotionally as he had. But he, finally able, was focused on his dragon who was weaving back and forth from the worry and concern and the fear that he had gone too far. But L’ven’s fingers were rubbing his eye ridges, trying very hard to soothe the ivory enough so they could make their escape without any more injuries… and the screaming from the woman wasn’t helping.

Finally, he couldn’t hold it back anymore. “YOU STUPID WHORE! YOU NEVER SHOULD HAVE COME HERE—I HATE YOU, I HATE YOU, I HATE YOU!” His voice was cold and a high-pitched screech, as he stood up, the little dragon standing tall beside him. “IT’S YOUR FAULT, NOT XIOTH’S OR MINE; WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, ANYWAY?!” He was screaming against her wails and screams and curses, years of forgotten abuse coming back like vomit, he couldn’t control it any more, and he was too far gone to care. He bent down and gagged, his throat raw and his cheeks wet from the tears caused by the strain of his screams and the pain from her blow. Xioth was whining again, no longer relaxing from being rubbed by L’ven, and he leaned so hard against His that the boy nearly toppled over.

Unable to scream out any longer, the woman sank to the floor, her body collapsing as she passed out—either from the poison coursing through her body or from the amount of liquor that was in her system. L’ven did not even make an effort to catch her, to ease her decline to the ground. Instead, he simply watched, hatred in his heart as the woman who had bore him finally went to where she belonged—the ground. And L’ven had risen above her, finally, although he wasn’t sure to what cost. He knew he would be in trouble for first ignoring his dragon and then letting him attack someone… but he didn’t care. The only thing that he cared about anymore (or had cared about in the first place) was the white dragon who was huddled by His’ legs, his smallish body shaking from the fear of what would happen. People were rushing around, but the boy and his dragon were at peace for the moment, quiet and staring at the limp body of the woman who had caused so much pain.