Blake Rupert Hartley (onceakiller) wrote in st_margarets, @ 2018-01-29 20:23:00 |
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Entry tags: | character: blake hartley, character: jack cavanaugh, location: staff quarters in the castle |
Thread: Planning Stages
WHO: Jack Cavanaugh & Blake Hartley
WHEN: January 30, evening
WHERE: Blake's teacher quarters inside the castle
Blake had one of the largest living quarters in the castle due to the fact that he was more or less raising two kids. They each needed their own room, their own bathroom, and Blake needed his. They also had a shared living space, a kitchen with a dining area, and all in all, they had carved a nice space out of the castle's living wing. The castle and her notorious moving hallways had, of course, kindly adjusted to accommodate the Hartley 'family'.
Blake made sure Ryuuko and Wendy were busy in their rooms doing their homework. He told them not to disturb his meeting with Mr. Cavanaugh unless it was an emergency. Wendy was old enough and could sleep when he wanted, but Ryu was separately granted permission to keep her light on for one hour later than normal if she didn't disturb the adults downstairs.
The Irish whiskey was out and Blake was three shots in and feeling good. He'd made an effort to cut back on his consumption in recent weeks with a bit of Jack's help. It had been more of a challenge than Blake wanted to admit. Jack wasn't around very much, but Blake's pain was always there. Always a constant throbbing, a constant reminder of things in the past. It was easy to tell someone not to drink so much. It was not easy being the person who was told. He had his reasons. He didn't have anything to prove to Jack. And he could still perform his teaching duties. The rationale kept adding up.
Currently Blake was rewarding himself for coming off a week long dry spell and he and Jack were sitting together in the living area discussing plans to bring their students across the world to see some historically or otherwise significant sites in China.
"If you'd been a kid alive in this generation, you would've been torn apart. Archery wouldn't have saved your ass from playground bullies who would have had enough of your smart mouth. I'd wager you'd get beaten up three or four times a month. Become a recluse. Start cutting. Try to overdose on your mother's sleeping pills, leaving behind a note along the lines of: 'Goodbye cruel world!'." Blake downed another shot and winced. It was a strong whiskey. The kind that punched you in the mouth. He chuckled and reached for the bottle. "How did we get on this topic, anyway?"