There were far more important matters to be dealt with at hand than the petty things he felt. He seldom allowed what he may feel to interfere with responsibilities placed in the cupped basin of his scarred hands; he had learned from a young age that allowing the domination of heart over mind and reason spelled a bloody sentence. From but the age of a wee lad he assumed positions never quite fit for him, had became a man far too early. Alison, the faithful sister she is, ceaselessly attempted to coax EMOTION from the depths of where they sat under lock and key. She never succeeded, of course, but that never stopped her. And even now, with subtly trembling hands and hunched shoulders, it’s not to be.
Jaw set in f r u s t r a t i o n she forced herself to swallow down the venomous words that were clawing their way up her throat. Because they were not aimed at him, but at the father that took his childhood and turned him into this; steel. She should be used to it it by now, her brother has n e v e r been one to wear his heart on his sleeve; men are supposed to be pillars of strength. Unfaltering even under the crushing weight of life, and Filip would not budge. She knew her efforts were in vain —-try as she might she couldn’t draw his true feelings from him.
❝Deartháir… brother, I wish ye knew how wrong ye were.❞
In the late night hours in the quiet of his home, weary and worn mind begs forth a single thought; the betrayal of one of the youngest Sons lands in part upon his shoulders. It was his vision that, in a way, his guidance and watchful eye had not been enough to correct erroneous ways. Steady decline could not be prevented. Juice had been his prospect; he brought him into the club, he nurtured and guided and cared for him, posed as the father figure he had neverhad. It was a cutting wound, aching with the incessant reminder of what was and what should never have been.
IfI were you, I’d get that gun, put it in my mouth, and pull the trigger.
❝Ye can’ lie t'me —-but if ye donnae wan’ t'talk…❞
She wouldn’t press him. He'd always been so self reliant, it was just in his nature. To take care of everything and everyone else always carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. It sometimes seemed as if he'd forget that he was just a man. That he was allowed to break and bleed —that it didn’t mean he was w e a k for feeling.
There are times when all Chibs can think about nowadays is Juice, Juice, Juice. A booted foot pounded tapped in hard succession upon the surface beneath it, callous hands gripping tight an emptied mug with set jaw and closed eyes. A low mumble sounded, near incoherent in its foreign thickness. He reverted to mother tongue quite often as of late to himself.
To say she was worried about the Scot would be an understatement. She’s not used to seeing him like this —-or seeing him at all, for that matter and it’s making her anxious. Because she’s not quite sure if she knows how to comfort him anymore.
