20, Fall 519 AV
Baelin couldn't sleep.
"Little... Can't..." Thud!
While Baelin certainly didn't miss the shut-in confinement of Syliran apartments, he could really use his old apartment’s stone walls right about now. Because these walls here in the Sunset Quarters? Definitely too thin.
"Do you... Mother..." Slap!
Baelin winced. That was the unmistakable sound of a hard, stinging hit to bare flesh. It hadn’t been the first, and it wasn’t the last. Violence continued just on the other side of the wall, blows spaced in irregular but unstopping intervals. Some strikes had the sharp crack of open-palmed slaps, but others had the distinct, dull thud of heavier, closed-fisted hits. It was a beating. Long and drawn out, too unmistakable for Baelin to convince himself that it was anything else.
Through it all, Baelin could only hear one person: the occasional shouted frustration of Baelin's neighbor. His rage pierced through the too-thin walls, some of his words loud enough to be heard even through the wood. The rest was muffled, too low for Baelin to hear. But just because he couldn’t hear the specifics of the beating, didn’t mean he was spared the reality of it. This wasn’t just someone punching his wall and throwing furniture. Flesh hit flesh, and the abuse continued.
Baelin buried his head in his arms, trying to muffle the ongoing strikes. It’d been, what… a half-chime already? That was a long time to take that kind of abuse. Far too long.
Unable to block it out and entirely incapable of ignoring it any longer, Baelin finally gave in and got up. In the span of a tick, he’d crossed the room and started banging his fist against the wall.
At first, his neighbor didn’t hear him. But Baelin kept it up, pounding the side of his fist against wood again and again. And then it stopped. The slaps and thuds; all the telltale signs of a pummeling.
“The petch you want!?” The shout from the other side of the wall was as clear as day; Baelin’s neighbor must have gotten right up to the opposite side.
“Quit it!” Baelin hollered back.
There was a long moment of silence, where Baelin could hear nothing of what was happening on the other side. Then there was a loud Bang! A door being slammed open so hard that it banged into the wall.
Well. At least the beating stopped. But a door slammed open didn’t exactly bode well for―Bang! Bang! Bang!
Yep. Now he was pounding on Baelin’s door.
“Open up and say that to my face!” The neighbor raged. With just a shuddering length of wood between them, the threat somehow felt that much more real.
Opening the door sounded like a hilariously bad idea. Instead of cracking open that can of worms, Baelin went back to sit on the edge of his bed, grabbing his hammer on the way. Settling down so that he was facing the disaster waiting to happen, Baelin waited. While he thought the door would hold, it’d be naïve to think the guy completely incapable of breaking it wide open.
And so Baelin waited. Tensed and ready, he stared with a predatory intent at the shaking door. Shyke, he almost wanted the guy to break it in. Shut him up for good, came the thought. Baelin immediately pulled back from it and tried for some more constructive thinking instead: At least the person in the household is getting some breathing room.
Chimes went by as his neighbor pounded and shouted, demanding Baelin to open up. But he never did try to kick it down or take any measures to break the doorframe. Either he wasn’t particularly bright, or just not very determined. Either way, the door held.
Eventually, he stopped. Baelin couldn’t be sure if he had left or had just tired himself out and was taking a break. Whatever the case, Baelin wasn’t planning on opening that door anytime soon. And so he sat there, unmoving. Just staring at the door. Waiting for it to shake again.
This was the kind of thing that would have never flied back in Black Rock. The Omens kept everyone in line. And―if you were enough of an idiot to actually cause trouble―rumor had it you’d become an ashl. Baelin smirked at the thought: an abusive asshole reduced to currency, passed around from person to person with a complete loss of agency. It almost made him wish his father had been that much of an idiot. Baelin wouldn’t have minded that.
Wait…
A thought stuck him. One that he hadn’t really bothered to consider before. But… was that why his father never did anything to him? Baelin had been certain as a child that his father had wanted to do more than just threaten him. He’d been young, and his memories were imperfect, but Baelin carried with him the all too vivid recollection of his father’s fingers twitching at his side as he proposed pulling out Baelin’s tongue. As if he could just…reach over and do it.
But not once had he ever done it. And he’d certainly never lost it and railed on Baelin like this neighbor had tonight. Shyke, he’d never so much as laid a finger on Baelin. And when he did eventually kick him out, it was to go live with his aunt and uncle. Not to a Dhani nest, like Baelin had feared he would.
Was that why his father had been almost civil with him? Because Black Rock held Dira’s protection, and his father didn’t dare risk the Omens’ judgement?
If that was the case… Baelin looked down to his hands, Dira’s mark bold and defined on his palm. A hint of a smile tugged on the corner of his lips, the grim lines of his face softening as he considered the mark.
It was all thanks to her, wasn’t it? It was Dira’s protection that spared him from whatever his father might have otherwise done. He’d never had to deal with violent abuse―not like whoever lived with Baelin’s neighbor. And his fear that he’d be displaced to somewhere hostile had been groundless. While the terrain in Black Rock could be dangerous, its people weren’t. A safe haven, for both living and dead.
He was so very lucky. Baelin rubbed his thumb over the curve of Dira’s scythe, his touch gentle and reverent, despite the rough terrain of callouses and picked-at scars. So many people were born in places where no one cared. You could be forgotten in the cloying mass of people that was Syliras. Or suddenly disappear in the mess that was Ravok. Or be beaten by a member of your household, with no one around who could turn your abuser into an ashl. Just one way of many that Sunberth failed in terms of safety and security.
But Black Rock… Baelin curled his fingers over his palm, wishing he could do better to protect the curve and slash of Dira’s mark. Black Rock was truly blessed. And it had been Baelin’s utmost privilege to have grown up there.
Dira, he thought, his heart somehow feeling like it was too tight in his chest, You have been too good to me.
Her Omens, maintaining peace in her isle. Her presence, granted to him so long ago off a beach near Syliras. And her mark… Baelin curled in on himself, cradling his right arm. He had to do better. She’d been so good to him. And he was…such a lousy Eiyon. Baelin sucked in a deep breath and counted to ten. It was alright. He could do better. He was here in Sunberth, wasn’t he? He could do better.
Baelin couldn't sleep.
"Little... Can't..." Thud!
While Baelin certainly didn't miss the shut-in confinement of Syliran apartments, he could really use his old apartment’s stone walls right about now. Because these walls here in the Sunset Quarters? Definitely too thin.
"Do you... Mother..." Slap!
Baelin winced. That was the unmistakable sound of a hard, stinging hit to bare flesh. It hadn’t been the first, and it wasn’t the last. Violence continued just on the other side of the wall, blows spaced in irregular but unstopping intervals. Some strikes had the sharp crack of open-palmed slaps, but others had the distinct, dull thud of heavier, closed-fisted hits. It was a beating. Long and drawn out, too unmistakable for Baelin to convince himself that it was anything else.
Through it all, Baelin could only hear one person: the occasional shouted frustration of Baelin's neighbor. His rage pierced through the too-thin walls, some of his words loud enough to be heard even through the wood. The rest was muffled, too low for Baelin to hear. But just because he couldn’t hear the specifics of the beating, didn’t mean he was spared the reality of it. This wasn’t just someone punching his wall and throwing furniture. Flesh hit flesh, and the abuse continued.
Baelin buried his head in his arms, trying to muffle the ongoing strikes. It’d been, what… a half-chime already? That was a long time to take that kind of abuse. Far too long.
Unable to block it out and entirely incapable of ignoring it any longer, Baelin finally gave in and got up. In the span of a tick, he’d crossed the room and started banging his fist against the wall.
At first, his neighbor didn’t hear him. But Baelin kept it up, pounding the side of his fist against wood again and again. And then it stopped. The slaps and thuds; all the telltale signs of a pummeling.
“The petch you want!?” The shout from the other side of the wall was as clear as day; Baelin’s neighbor must have gotten right up to the opposite side.
“Quit it!” Baelin hollered back.
There was a long moment of silence, where Baelin could hear nothing of what was happening on the other side. Then there was a loud Bang! A door being slammed open so hard that it banged into the wall.
Well. At least the beating stopped. But a door slammed open didn’t exactly bode well for―Bang! Bang! Bang!
Yep. Now he was pounding on Baelin’s door.
“Open up and say that to my face!” The neighbor raged. With just a shuddering length of wood between them, the threat somehow felt that much more real.
Opening the door sounded like a hilariously bad idea. Instead of cracking open that can of worms, Baelin went back to sit on the edge of his bed, grabbing his hammer on the way. Settling down so that he was facing the disaster waiting to happen, Baelin waited. While he thought the door would hold, it’d be naïve to think the guy completely incapable of breaking it wide open.
And so Baelin waited. Tensed and ready, he stared with a predatory intent at the shaking door. Shyke, he almost wanted the guy to break it in. Shut him up for good, came the thought. Baelin immediately pulled back from it and tried for some more constructive thinking instead: At least the person in the household is getting some breathing room.
Chimes went by as his neighbor pounded and shouted, demanding Baelin to open up. But he never did try to kick it down or take any measures to break the doorframe. Either he wasn’t particularly bright, or just not very determined. Either way, the door held.
Eventually, he stopped. Baelin couldn’t be sure if he had left or had just tired himself out and was taking a break. Whatever the case, Baelin wasn’t planning on opening that door anytime soon. And so he sat there, unmoving. Just staring at the door. Waiting for it to shake again.
This was the kind of thing that would have never flied back in Black Rock. The Omens kept everyone in line. And―if you were enough of an idiot to actually cause trouble―rumor had it you’d become an ashl. Baelin smirked at the thought: an abusive asshole reduced to currency, passed around from person to person with a complete loss of agency. It almost made him wish his father had been that much of an idiot. Baelin wouldn’t have minded that.
Wait…
A thought stuck him. One that he hadn’t really bothered to consider before. But… was that why his father never did anything to him? Baelin had been certain as a child that his father had wanted to do more than just threaten him. He’d been young, and his memories were imperfect, but Baelin carried with him the all too vivid recollection of his father’s fingers twitching at his side as he proposed pulling out Baelin’s tongue. As if he could just…reach over and do it.
But not once had he ever done it. And he’d certainly never lost it and railed on Baelin like this neighbor had tonight. Shyke, he’d never so much as laid a finger on Baelin. And when he did eventually kick him out, it was to go live with his aunt and uncle. Not to a Dhani nest, like Baelin had feared he would.
Was that why his father had been almost civil with him? Because Black Rock held Dira’s protection, and his father didn’t dare risk the Omens’ judgement?
If that was the case… Baelin looked down to his hands, Dira’s mark bold and defined on his palm. A hint of a smile tugged on the corner of his lips, the grim lines of his face softening as he considered the mark.
It was all thanks to her, wasn’t it? It was Dira’s protection that spared him from whatever his father might have otherwise done. He’d never had to deal with violent abuse―not like whoever lived with Baelin’s neighbor. And his fear that he’d be displaced to somewhere hostile had been groundless. While the terrain in Black Rock could be dangerous, its people weren’t. A safe haven, for both living and dead.
He was so very lucky. Baelin rubbed his thumb over the curve of Dira’s scythe, his touch gentle and reverent, despite the rough terrain of callouses and picked-at scars. So many people were born in places where no one cared. You could be forgotten in the cloying mass of people that was Syliras. Or suddenly disappear in the mess that was Ravok. Or be beaten by a member of your household, with no one around who could turn your abuser into an ashl. Just one way of many that Sunberth failed in terms of safety and security.
But Black Rock… Baelin curled his fingers over his palm, wishing he could do better to protect the curve and slash of Dira’s mark. Black Rock was truly blessed. And it had been Baelin’s utmost privilege to have grown up there.
Dira, he thought, his heart somehow feeling like it was too tight in his chest, You have been too good to me.
Her Omens, maintaining peace in her isle. Her presence, granted to him so long ago off a beach near Syliras. And her mark… Baelin curled in on himself, cradling his right arm. He had to do better. She’d been so good to him. And he was…such a lousy Eiyon. Baelin sucked in a deep breath and counted to ten. It was alright. He could do better. He was here in Sunberth, wasn’t he? He could do better.
WC: 1279
