Group: * Lunarian
Posts: 42
Member No.: 31
Joined: 1-August 11
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They lived in a shack.
Jupiter wasn't known for its elaborate architecture, as its people were rather simple folk. They simply didn't have a drive to acquire the finer things in life, as did maybe Venusians or Neptunians. They were content with simplicity.
And then there were those who not only did not lament the lack of gold and silver body adornments, but those who actually sought out the worst in life, and wallowed in an abyss of self-destruction. Paaksen Mizkka was one such man, and it was by a total lack of fortune that a mere boy of eight should have been his charge.
The sound of strange women moaning almost painfully was not a strange sound to young Kahzen Mizkka. And even at the tender age of eight, before his own puberty left him with any desire for the things women could offer, he knew what it was. And he knew from an unfortunate experience during an even earlier point in his childhood that it meant to stay the hell away from his father.
Of course, most things signaled him to stay the hell away from his father. As the years had gone by, he was increasingly drunk, now more often than not, it seemed. And if you thought he was angry when he was sober... suffice to say, it was unpleasant to be with him when he was drunk.
It has been said that one must judge a man not by how he treats his equals, but his inferiors. Paaksen felt he could do whatever he liked with his young son, and that included beating the shit out of him, as necessary. That probably said more than enough about his character.
So he sat there, in the corner of the large closet that was his room, curled into a filthy cot, waiting for time to pass. His stomach roared, painfully. How long had it been since he'd last eaten? Perhaps a day and a half. Kahzen knew better than to take food from the pantry without asking, but he had never been subjected to this long of a wait before. He couldn't stand it.
Now was the time, if there was a time. He had no idea when his father would remember him again and give him food of his own accord. So he'd have to take it, or suffer the pain of hunger.
The boy turned the knob on his door, opening it as quickly as he could, if only because he knew it creaked, and he did not want to prolong the sound of the squeak. With practiced silence, he crept out into the one large room that contained their living area and their kitchen area and really most things, except for his father's bedroom and the lone toilet.
His heart raced as he made his way to the pantry, and carefully opened the rotting wooden door. Just two pieces of bread... he'd grab them and take them back to his closet...
"You fucking punk!" Kahzen's heart leaped through his throat as he dropped the half-stale loaf of bread he was holding, whirling around to see his father, completely naked, glowering down at his son. All of the veins in his throat bulged as his grip tightened around the neck of a bottle of ale.
"I-I'm sorry, I d-didn't want to bother you and I was.... h-hungry," he stammered, knowing at the same time that no explanation he could give would suffice. The full-grown man, all of twenty-eight, closed the gap between them, grabbing the rag that was his son's shirt. Kahzen winced, bracing himself for the first blow.
And then, as if there was some god... a hard knock at the door, ringing with urgency.
With a growl, Paaksen threw his son to the floor, eliciting a small grunt of pain as he stomped back, swinging it open.
"What?" From his position next to the pantry, Kahzen saw the bottle of ale fall from his father's hand, smashing to the floor, the familiar sound of shattering glass ringing out against the musty floorboards. Four men and a beautiful young woman pushed their way in, the latter with all the grace of one floating above water.
"So, this is how you spend your money? How you treat our son?" she spat, her Jovian perfect, albeit heavily accented. The petite blonde woman rounded on him. "You're disgusting." A brief silence settled over them, as Paaksen was apparently too flustered to even muster a word. The woman nodded to the men with her, and the casually stepped towards him, hands reaching for his arms.
"No, no, no, wait, this is all just-"
"I don't want to hear it. Come, Kahzen." She snapped her fingers, and he felt compelled to obey, mostly because, hey, it looked like he was leaving with her, and that seemed agreeable to him.
All his life, he would remember the ripping screams that tumbled forth from the shack not seconds after the door was closed behind him. And he would remember that this woman, his mother, had rescued him with authority. That she had power and she'd used it.
Something about the way she simply snapped her fingers at him, without embrace, would stick with him, too.
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Something Like a Rescue, .Closed
