Post by Jack Rendel S5 on Dec 23, 2006 17:27:58 GMT
((This thread is mainly for the two Jack's here: Myself and my character. I had sudden inspiration to write this thread and I'm not even sure where it's going, but to me, that's the beauty of it all. Please, no one respond. It is only for Jack and Padme. ))
"Welcome back," a house elf squealed, before running off to perform a duty. Jack watched its retreating back, then returned his gaze to the manor laid out in front of him. No one was waiting at the door to welcome him, no one was looking out the window with a smile, no one was waving or running toward him. It looked as if no one was home, that no one had cared to be there to welcome him back, except for the house elf, of course. The sky above the manor was the expected cold gray color of winter and a sharp breeze tugged at Jack's coat. It wasn't the weather that was making the teenager shiver, though. It was the fact that he had left a sanctuary to return to a madhouse. It happened every year, of course, but Jack never quite got over the feeling of returning to his home, if it can be called that.
Walking up to the house cautiously, Jack peered through a window, but inside it was dark. Frowning, he came to the door and found a note there. He recognized the writing instantly and his stomach did a back-flip as he read the note. "I'm at work in my office. Meet me there on your return," it said. Jack bit his lip, crumbling the paper in his fist. He most certainly did not want to go to his father's office, or talk to him at all. He wanted to go to his bedroom, relax and maybe write a letter to Mack. Taking a deep breath, Jack turned the knob and entered the dim house. The long entry hallway winded down the manor in great, elegant curves, and on the sides were rooms for about every purpose you can think of. Living rooms, family rooms, kitchens, ballrooms, offices, bedrooms standing rooms, and rooms that seemed to have no purpose at all, but were simply there. Jack knew, despite the letter's lack to explain, which office his father would be found in. The Rendel's only used a few rooms out of the many in their mansion, and so it was with his father using only one primary office. It was the one on the third story, with three walls made of glass so that he could watch the front, side, and back of the house whenever he felt the need.
When Jack reached the stairway that curved upward in great loops, he felt a sudden urge to call out his sister's name and see if she was around. Yet the silence in the house was eerie and he had no wish to shatter it, despite the craving to do so. He only wanted to avoid this confrontation with his father, but that seemed impossible. Grimacing, Jack took a step up, then another, then another, until he was moving at a near run up the stairs. He had left his baggage at the doorway for the house elf, so nothing weighed him down except for the fear in his heart. It was hard to admit, most of the time, that he was afraid of his own father, but that too was unavoidable. At the top of the stairway, Jack paused for a moment to catch his breath. A sound reached his ears that wasn't uncommon at Rendel manor; the scratching of a quill on parchment. He followed the noise to the source, which was, of course, his father sitting in a high-backed chair.
"Jack," he drawled out, laying down his pen and swiveling around to face his only son. Jack nodded at him, his heart beating wildly around in his rib cage. His father looked different than last time they had parted; his face appeared younger and his eyes more bright. "You look well," his father said, standing up for the traditional inspection. Whenever Jack came home, this was how it went. He would be inspected, then interviewed on how his school was going, then would be yelled at for now particular reason, then sent to his room for being a nuisance. He was prepared for that, but not so much for the break in tradition his father made when hugging Jack. Shock engulfed him at that time, and he merely stood there as his father hugged him tightly. The child still inside of him wanted so dearly to hug him back, to feel like the past was all a bad memory, but Jack couldn't allow himself to do that. Not after what he had been put through.
"I'm sorry I couldn't greet you," his father said when pulling away. "I have some important work to finish up, but I do have something planned for your return." He smiled down at Jack, who stared uncomprehendingly back at him. "A surprise?" Jack asked. "Yes. I do hope you enjoy it, but for now, tell me all about Hogwarts." Father gestured for Jack to sit down, and his son obeyed, even though his legs trembled with longing to run away from the scene. As his father sat back down in his chair, hands clasped, waiting for Jack to tell stories of his schooling, Jack couldn't stand it any longer. "What's wrong with you?" he blurted out, eyes narrowed. "What was with that hug, or that apology? Why are you being so nice?" His father seemed slightly taken aback, but then he merely stood up straighter in his chair, eyes shining brightly. "A father can't be nice to his son, is that what you're telling me?" he asked. Jack stood up from his chair abruptly, mind reeling. Part of him wanted to run up to his father and hug him tight, saying that he hoped this could be the long-awaited start of a father-son bond. Yet the Jack he had grown to be after years of hardship and neglect told him to show his father that he couldn't be bribed.
"You had fourteen years to be nice," he hissed, then stormed out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Jack took a deep breath, then began to run. But the footsteps he anticipated never came, and his father never went after him, seeking punishment. It was only silent, as silent as it was when Jack first arrived. Retreating to his bedroom, Jack collapsed on his bed and closed his eyes. After a moment, he reached up to touch his pillow, surprised to feel it wet. Wet from his own tears, and when he realized this, Jack began to cry even harder. He cried for Hogwarts, the place he wanted to be most. He cried for Mack, who was probably having a hard time at home with Trevor and all. He cried for Padme, who was with his mother and going through a time of hardship. But he mostly cried for the wrongs done on him, and how when the peace offering was made, he had to be the one to disregard it. But why was this happening? Why was Roger Rendel trying to be a father? But the most horrible question of all continued to torment Jack: Why couldn't he try to be a son?
"Welcome back," a house elf squealed, before running off to perform a duty. Jack watched its retreating back, then returned his gaze to the manor laid out in front of him. No one was waiting at the door to welcome him, no one was looking out the window with a smile, no one was waving or running toward him. It looked as if no one was home, that no one had cared to be there to welcome him back, except for the house elf, of course. The sky above the manor was the expected cold gray color of winter and a sharp breeze tugged at Jack's coat. It wasn't the weather that was making the teenager shiver, though. It was the fact that he had left a sanctuary to return to a madhouse. It happened every year, of course, but Jack never quite got over the feeling of returning to his home, if it can be called that.
Walking up to the house cautiously, Jack peered through a window, but inside it was dark. Frowning, he came to the door and found a note there. He recognized the writing instantly and his stomach did a back-flip as he read the note. "I'm at work in my office. Meet me there on your return," it said. Jack bit his lip, crumbling the paper in his fist. He most certainly did not want to go to his father's office, or talk to him at all. He wanted to go to his bedroom, relax and maybe write a letter to Mack. Taking a deep breath, Jack turned the knob and entered the dim house. The long entry hallway winded down the manor in great, elegant curves, and on the sides were rooms for about every purpose you can think of. Living rooms, family rooms, kitchens, ballrooms, offices, bedrooms standing rooms, and rooms that seemed to have no purpose at all, but were simply there. Jack knew, despite the letter's lack to explain, which office his father would be found in. The Rendel's only used a few rooms out of the many in their mansion, and so it was with his father using only one primary office. It was the one on the third story, with three walls made of glass so that he could watch the front, side, and back of the house whenever he felt the need.
When Jack reached the stairway that curved upward in great loops, he felt a sudden urge to call out his sister's name and see if she was around. Yet the silence in the house was eerie and he had no wish to shatter it, despite the craving to do so. He only wanted to avoid this confrontation with his father, but that seemed impossible. Grimacing, Jack took a step up, then another, then another, until he was moving at a near run up the stairs. He had left his baggage at the doorway for the house elf, so nothing weighed him down except for the fear in his heart. It was hard to admit, most of the time, that he was afraid of his own father, but that too was unavoidable. At the top of the stairway, Jack paused for a moment to catch his breath. A sound reached his ears that wasn't uncommon at Rendel manor; the scratching of a quill on parchment. He followed the noise to the source, which was, of course, his father sitting in a high-backed chair.
"Jack," he drawled out, laying down his pen and swiveling around to face his only son. Jack nodded at him, his heart beating wildly around in his rib cage. His father looked different than last time they had parted; his face appeared younger and his eyes more bright. "You look well," his father said, standing up for the traditional inspection. Whenever Jack came home, this was how it went. He would be inspected, then interviewed on how his school was going, then would be yelled at for now particular reason, then sent to his room for being a nuisance. He was prepared for that, but not so much for the break in tradition his father made when hugging Jack. Shock engulfed him at that time, and he merely stood there as his father hugged him tightly. The child still inside of him wanted so dearly to hug him back, to feel like the past was all a bad memory, but Jack couldn't allow himself to do that. Not after what he had been put through.
"I'm sorry I couldn't greet you," his father said when pulling away. "I have some important work to finish up, but I do have something planned for your return." He smiled down at Jack, who stared uncomprehendingly back at him. "A surprise?" Jack asked. "Yes. I do hope you enjoy it, but for now, tell me all about Hogwarts." Father gestured for Jack to sit down, and his son obeyed, even though his legs trembled with longing to run away from the scene. As his father sat back down in his chair, hands clasped, waiting for Jack to tell stories of his schooling, Jack couldn't stand it any longer. "What's wrong with you?" he blurted out, eyes narrowed. "What was with that hug, or that apology? Why are you being so nice?" His father seemed slightly taken aback, but then he merely stood up straighter in his chair, eyes shining brightly. "A father can't be nice to his son, is that what you're telling me?" he asked. Jack stood up from his chair abruptly, mind reeling. Part of him wanted to run up to his father and hug him tight, saying that he hoped this could be the long-awaited start of a father-son bond. Yet the Jack he had grown to be after years of hardship and neglect told him to show his father that he couldn't be bribed.
"You had fourteen years to be nice," he hissed, then stormed out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Jack took a deep breath, then began to run. But the footsteps he anticipated never came, and his father never went after him, seeking punishment. It was only silent, as silent as it was when Jack first arrived. Retreating to his bedroom, Jack collapsed on his bed and closed his eyes. After a moment, he reached up to touch his pillow, surprised to feel it wet. Wet from his own tears, and when he realized this, Jack began to cry even harder. He cried for Hogwarts, the place he wanted to be most. He cried for Mack, who was probably having a hard time at home with Trevor and all. He cried for Padme, who was with his mother and going through a time of hardship. But he mostly cried for the wrongs done on him, and how when the peace offering was made, he had to be the one to disregard it. But why was this happening? Why was Roger Rendel trying to be a father? But the most horrible question of all continued to torment Jack: Why couldn't he try to be a son?
