Seth Trimble (alphageminorum) wrote in realitycrash, @ 2012-01-22 16:52:00 |
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Entry tags: | !inprogress, jonah trimble, seth trimble |
The Players: Seth Trimble and Jonah Trimble.
What: Seth is bored, unsettled, and is trying to reconcile. He's bad at it. Jonah tolerates.
Where: The Manor
When: January 22, 2012.
Rating: PG-13
Seth has been trying to move things.
It seems like a simple enough proposition, put like that, and even in a wheelchair it isn't like it should be impossible. He still has a leg and an arm under good conditions, and if he felt like screaming he has the other leg and the other arm as well. He's trying not to waste time being bitter about that, even though every single endless day as a cripple cuts another notch into his spine. It isn't fair. It just isn't. He wants to be able to walk already, to ignore the doctors' warning that he'll always have a limp. They can't tell him what he will and won't have. Seth is just arrogant enough to think that he can avoid a permanent defect by will alone and just insecure enough to be woken up by the throbbing in his leg with a cold hand on his own throat.
This doesn't have anything to do with what he's trying, and Seth makes himself focus.
It shouldn't be this hard. If Jonah can do it, Seth should be able to. He's the architect to his brother's artist. Anything technical has always been his knack, and he can't see how art would make sliding a stone from one end of the coffee table to the other easier. He grits his teeth and reaches, his fingers shaking, but it doesn't move. It never moves for him, even though Jonah could flick it effortlessly through the window, it's not fair. From halfway across the living room Seth slumps in his wheelchair, glaring at the stone like it's frustrating him deliberately, and if he could wheel close enough to pick it out he'd just throw it through the damn window. Of course this is where Jonah left him when Seth professed a desire to read in better light, and The Chrysalidspushes</i> as hard as he can, and the second he thinks he sees it wavers he already knows it has to be a trick of the light, and he closes his hand into a fist and rubs at his eyes with its heels. He's straining them. That's what it is.
It's a while before he feels composed again, and he looks at the book in his lap with barely any interest at all. He used to enjoy it, at least for some parts, but today it feels bitter to him. After all, if anyone will end with a Rosalind it's Jonah. (It's a strange thought, and Seth doesn't linger on it.)
"Jonah?" He calls, not exactly quiet but not exactly imperious either.