The Gemini Age: Book One

[6-4] Old Wounds - Part Four

    The park glistened in the rain, the depth of colour among the verdant grasses and the glassy surface of the puddles that sprang in the uneven pathways combining to burst with life against the tired overcast sky. Branches twisted and turned from the cracked barks of ancient trees to unfurl new leaves of a rich, unblemished green hue, each one broad enough to cobble together a canopy that encircled the parkland in a ring of shadow hallmarked with clear water. Though the rain bounced off the soaked ground, the worst of the wet came with the strong gusts of wind that shook water from the trees onto the shaded benches below with a deep thud.

    One bench, however, deflected the rain's advance. Each spillage of rainwater split against the hood of Skye's exquisite black cloak, its material dark enough to hide any evidence of its dampened state. Another large drop spat on the back of her neck, and she tightened the cloak around her shoulders as she sipped from her small flask cup. "Guess we won't be playing with fireworks tonight," she remarked, too invested in the smell of fresh coffee to raise her head and face the expanse of heavy cloud above.

    A flask lowered to refill her cup. "Sounds like you're busy these nights anyhow, matchstick," Sam said as he turned to fill his own, much larger cup perched on the arm of the bench. Where it was wet, his wool coat almost matched her cloak for colour, though his umbrella ensured that he remained mostly dry even as the trees shook themselves clear of standing water. "If it helps, I'm sure Father doesn't intend to leave you with the Nomads forever. After a week or two, he'll say you've learned your lesson and you'll be back to doing work fit for a Farron."

    He smiled, and Skye could not help but smile back. "I wish I could be so optimistic," she sighed into the steam of her new drink. "He says I'm wasting my potential, then lumps me with grunt work. How does that make sense?" Her face shivered inside the glint of light that skimmed the top of her drink, her amber eyes sparkling even in the dull, rain-flecked air.

    "Maybe he's trying to get a reaction from you," Sam spoke into the breeze, clicking his flask shut. The thick gloom formed by the umbrella and the emergence of a dense section of cloud cover cast a shadow over his face and hid his features from Skye, herself almost invisible in the dull light. "Maybe he wants you to show how much better you are than all those gang members put together."

    "Like a test? Did he ever test you like that?"

    A young couple clutched a coat over their heads as they scrambled towards the shelters at the far end of the park, and Sam watched them shrink to specks in the distance before he answered. "Never to such an extreme as this," he muttered, still wary of being overheard. "We weren't major players when I was your age, though. We only ran cash for other people back then, and we had to fight to keep what little influence we had with the local crews. Father couldn't afford to consign me to petty labour even if he wanted to, but he didn't hesitate to bellow at me if he thought I needed it."

    Skye stifled a laugh almost of disbelief. It had been a long time since any of them had suffered the hairdryer treatment like that, yet the persistent dread of being called alone into Byron's office was one of the few things that bound the Farron children together. "I can't imagine you needed it very often. You're clearly his favourite, even the other two agree."

    "If anything, that gave him more reason to yell at me!" Sam laughed into his cup, the steam curling around the mist in his eyes. Slowly, he lowered the cup to his lap and let his eyes rest on the rippling surface of the nearest puddle. "He was different before Mum passed. He had passion for everything he did, a drive to see the family succeed in the world."

    The coffee turned bitter on Skye's tongue. "And now?" 

    Sam sucked air through his teeth before he turned to face her. "He's still driven, but not in the same way.  He only wants to talk business. I can't recall the last time he asked me how my life was going, but I know it was a long time ago. He's my father, and he's right in front of me, but I can't help feeling like he's...closed himself off."