Michael Corner (folkdevil) wrote in caged, @ 2013-08-18 20:47:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! 97-08, [ log ], michael corner |
WHO: Michael and Charles Corner
WHEN: 18 August, 1997 - early evening
WHERE: The Corner household in Edinburgh
SUMMARY: Michael wants to have a chat with his father. Charles is having none of it.
RATING: PG-13? There's a little swearing but otherwise super mild.
STATUS: Complete narrative.
Charles had been holed up in his office for days. Michael wasn’t even sure what it was that he’d been doing. Or why he was still there, because he’d overheard his parents talking about everything in hushed tones like somehow he wasn’t aware of all of this. He’d even seen the bag in the hallway, briefly, before it had disappeared again. Michael was aware that Charles had clearly been on the verge of leaving, of running away and disappearing a while ago. But then he hadn’t left. Which Michael was quite thoroughly conflicted about, when it came down to trying to sort out his feelings on the matter. He’d attempted to bring it up to his mother, who was tight lipped and thoroughly in denial. Or so it seemed, at any rate, though Michael had the sinking suspicion that Fiona was all too aware and just didn’t want to talk to him about it. Because he was still a child in her eyes, probably, which at this point was frankly dumb. But Michael wasn’t going to push that. Finally, though, Michael had enough of it all. He’d tried to distract himself with the news about Hogwarts being mandatory but it wasn’t like he’d been planning on not going back. Unless the entire family picked up and tried to leave the country, and it didn’t seem like Charles was planning on going anywhere at all anyway. Michael really just wanted answers because he didn’t know what his father was trying to do and he couldn’t take it anymore. Knocking on the office door, Michael opened it and walked inside, not waiting for a response from Charles because he didn’t want to give his father any opportunity to deflect. Though he wasn’t quite sure what to say once he was finally in there, looking very much at his father and remembering the part where their relationship had never been terribly close or emotive, exactly. “Michael?” Charles asked finally, breaking the silence that was weighing on the both of them. Or Michael assumed it was. It’d been weighing on him, at least. “Did you want something?” Coming further into the room, Michael closed the door behind him before distracting himself with a nearby bookcase, eyes scanning the titles but taking absolutely none of them in. “What are you doing?” he asked. Thankfully, he could tell by the look on his father’s face that he got the message. That he wasn’t asking about what he was actually doing in the moment but rather the larger and more pressing issue of ‘hey there my muggleborn father, what are you doing about the fuckery in the world.’ Michael was glad he didn’t have to word it that way. “Research,” Charles replied evenly. “Genealogical, in fact. Turns out there’s more magical blood in our family tree than I’d originally thought.” That was a lie. Michael knew it was a lie and instead focused not on the words but the meaning behind what his father was actually saying. Because it sounded an awful lot like his father had no intention of running, but rather that he was actually going to forge his family tree. Which...that wasn’t actually his plan, was it? Because while Michael understood that his father was an exceptionally smart man, that seemed like such a dodgy solution to all of this. And not at all what he’d expected from his utterly quiet and reserved father. “Dad,” Michael said, tone a mix of disbelief, insistence, and skepticism that he wasn’t sure completely conveyed all the emotions he was trying to bottle together into a response. But Charles seemed to get the message anyway. “It’ll be okay, Michael. I’ll promise you that.” Michael didn’t think that was a fair thing to promise, when Charles had no control over any of it, and he opened his mouth to say so. To point out that this was probably a terrible idea and he couldn’t promise things like that and why was this even the plan anyway, when Charles cut him off before he could even begin. “I think your mother might need some help with dinner, Michael. Why don’t you go and check? I’ll be down soon.” The dismissal was clear enough, and Michael ran his hand through his hair feeling utterly frustrated but not quite enough to try and argue. So he nodded, walking to the door and hesitating just a moment as he reached for the doorknob. He thought about turning, telling his father he loved him, something that would more properly emote how scared he actually was by all that was happening. But he didn’t. Instead Michael just headed out of the room and down the stairs towards the kitchen. Perhaps his mother did actually need help with dinner. |