Chance Renard (one_last_chance) wrote in midway_ic, @ 2011-09-14 22:58:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | chance renard, graham fischer, ishani chana, week 5 |
{ w h o } Chance, Ishani, Graham and Albert [NPC]
{ w h a t } Visits from Uncle Albert
{ w h e n } Wednesday, late afternoon (with Monday/Tuesday highlights)
{ w h e r e } The carnival grounds.
{ r a t i n g } PG-13 (violence and alcohol use)
{ s t a t u s } In Progress
There were many things that Chance thought he had left behind, such as diapers, picture books, his fear of clowns...
And his family.
They couldn't really be considering a family so much as a flock of vultures. Among his relatives, only his mother's eldest brother, Eugene, had any measurable success. The other nine aunts and uncles (plus included spouses where applicable) had only scraped out mediocre existances, only to have them ground under the heel of economic downturn. Chance was mildly satisfied by the outcomes, now they could know what it felt like to have nothing and be nothing.
It hadn't even occurred to Chance that one of them could find him. They were spread across the country, none of his relatives even knew where he was except for Eugene. It had been his deepest hope that none of them would ever find out.
So when he heard a familiar, terrible voice, one that had haunted his childhood memories, it was a horrible, awful, gut-twisting surprise.
"Hey, hey, Chancy! Hey!" A thin, gaunt, wretched looking man was working his way through the crowd towards him.
"Albert." Chance couldn't quite hide the shock, but he supressed the spike of terror well. He drew himself up, squaring his shoulders and straightening his posture. It had been at least nineteen years since he had left Albert's house for the last time. It'd been at least ten years since he'd last seen the other man. Albert had shown up drunk at his high school graduation party in order to beg Eugene for money. Chance took note of how thin Albert was now, how their heights matched up. Albert had been so much more terrifying when he was seven.
"Lookit you! Still all snazzy looking. Like that Eugene." Albert exclaimed, holding his arms out. Chance didn't move into the offered embrace. "Oh, that's right. That's right. You aren't a hugger. You never were." Albert continued, dropping his hands onto his hips. Like he knew anything about what Chance had been like.
"What're you doing here, Albert?" Chance's shoulder felt tense. His jaw was set, his feet spaced evenly apart. He couldn't keep the severity of his voice down, bitterness seeping in. Albert didn't seem to notice.
"I joined these, uh, pentecostals! Turned over a new leaf! Gave up drink! Gave up gambling! I'm a new man!" The older man explained, pointing over his shoulder in the vague direction of the revival's tent. Chance wasn't sold.
"Where's Aunt Prudence?" Chance queried mercilessly. He noticed a slight tightening in Albert's brows.
"She's...visiting her mom." A euphemism for she threw me out, none of Albert's lies would convince him otherwise.
"Give her my regards." Chance said before he moved turned away. Albert's hand caught his arm at the elbow, and Chance felt that surge of panic again, all the memories flooding into his mind unbidden just from those fingers around his bicep. His chest tightened and his throat felt narrow. He begged himself to stay in control, to measure his breathing.
"Don'tcha think ya could spare your ol' Uncle Al a few dollars? I think one of those damn carnies filched my wallet." Albert arched his brows, looking at Chance expectantly.
"If they had, you wouldn't be thinking it, you would know." Chance jerked his arm away, "And I assure you, my colleagues are nothing short of..." he paused, "Upstanding." It was a firm assertion, albeit slow and somewhat uncertain.
"So...that's a no?"
"That's a no. Goodbye, Albert."
---
Tuesday wasn't much better.
Chance had only been able to scrape out a couple, measly hours of sleep. He was feeling the mental strain that came with a lack of rest. It had been a terrible night, plagued with nightmares. Every time he woke up sweating, he scolded himself harshly. Albert hadn't even done anything other than show his ugly face in the light of day. Maybe Albert was right, maybe he had been reborn by the grace of God. It had been ten years. Maybe he had changed.
The very idea was laughable by the time Albert showed up again that afternoon. Chance could smell the stale scent of alcohol on his breath. He was careful to stay out of the man's reach this time.
"You've been drinking." Chance pointed out, scrunching his nose as he leaned back.
"A little bit of wine during the service!" Albert explained, "Do you think you could lend me a few dollars? Prudence is gunna be with her mom a couple more days and I'm not getting paid until Friday. Don't want your ol' Uncle Albert to starve do you?"
Chance didn't say the first thing that came to mind, "I don't really have a few dollars to give to you, Albert."
"Why don't you call me Uncle. I am your Uncle. And you and that Eugene always have money. You're both so smart." The older man nearly spat the last word.
"Albert, I'm not giving you any money, I'm not calling you Uncle," Chance's voice was harsh and tight, "And you need to leave." One, long finger pointed towards the carnival exit.
The way Albert glared at him as he left told Chance this was far from over.
---
No sleep at all Tuesday night.
His eyes hurt. His mind was starting to fray at the edges. His whole body felt heavy. Chance wasn't in any shape to deal with what was going to happen next.
"CHANCE!" Albert's voice boomed out, and the accountant was immediately surprised by how much noise a man Albert's size could produce.
"You little--" A clutching hand grabbed a fistful of Chance's shirt, "You're so fucking ungrateful." Albert's breath reeked of alcohol and tobacco, "I raised you. I fed you. I clothed you. I kept you under my roof for two fucking years and you can't even give me two fucking dollars." Albert's other hand was wound around the neck of a whiskey bottle, "You don't appreciate anything I did for you, just like that fucking bitch, PRUDENCE!" Albert's hand gave him a fierce shake.
His lungs constricted, his throat felt like it was knotted. His heart felt like it was beating hard and directly against his voice box, making it impossible to speak. When he opened his mouth, all that came out was a pitiful wheeze. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe.
"Don't you start that." Albert's face contorted into a fearsome sneer, "DON'T YOU FUCKING START THAT AGAIN."