Tiberius Abaddon (mrabaddon) wrote in uprisingrpg, @ 2011-03-25 03:36:00 |
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Entry tags: | tiberius abaddon |
Who: Tiberius Abaddon!
What: Tibby goes to Italy. It did not go well.
When: Friday, early morning.
Where: Villa De Luca, Siena, Tuscany, Italy
Warnings: Violence and parental abuse
Status: Complete!
It wasn't right for Cerise to come with Tiberius and act as a shield. He didn't want to put her in that place, nor did he want to lie any longer. He didn't want to have to pretend he was living a life that he was not. Her visions could be changed, prophecies had the ability to be altered. Didn't they? Even if they could not...he was no longer a child. He would not allow his Father to hurt him any longer with charms. He was able to fight back. There were no underage restrictions and he was ready to face the man he feared so.
He arrived at his parents home early in the morning; having not told his siblings were he was going. He had only sent a message to Cerise explaining that he did not wish to include her in a hostile situation, but that he appreciated the offer. He hoped she would understand. He had considered sending a message to Fletcher, but he felt as if the man would have prevented him from going. A part of him, deep down inside, hoped that perhaps he was fretting over nothing. That something had changed. That he didn't need protected. He didn't like the feeling of being defenseless. So he went alone and with hardly any notice to those he cared about.
He stepped into his parents house, setting down his keys on the end table. His eyes scanned the vast entrance way, feeling a bit nauseous just from stepping into the establishment. Quietly, he walked down the hallway, making his way towards his Father's study, assuming his Father would be there. Perhaps not waiting, but certainly there. If he remembered his Father's schedule correctly, he'd be home. He knocked upon the doorway, pushing the door open cautiously.
He examined his father for a moment. The man looked as he remembered him. Samuel Abaddon was sitting at his desk, still dressed from work, with a glass of scotch in his hand. His hair had been slicked back at some point, the light bouncing off the shine of his hair, though some strands had fallen down in front of his eyes and pushed quickly to the side of his face. He was beginning to loose more hair and Tiberius suspected that his Father's reasoning for slicking it back was to cover up the obvious loss. He had his usual rough stubble, bordering his chin and lower features, and his eyes were fixated upon the wall in front of him.
"Enter, Tiberius," he finally heard and Tibby could barely keep himself from shivering, feeling sick to his stomach already. He stepped in, knowing better then to linger for long after being summoned. He placed his hands behind his back, looking ahead at his Father, who did not address him again, instead turning to finish his scotch. As if the drink were more important than his son.
Tiberius supposed this was the case in his Father's eyes.
"I asked for you to come over two weeks ago. Is there a reason for your delay?"
He sucked in a slow breath, bowing his head for a moment, before lifting it to try and face the man with as much courage as he could muster. "I am no longer a child; I cannot drop my obligations every time you beckon for me. I came as soon as I could make time in my schedule. Is there something you wished to discuss, Father?"
His father shifted his gaze, looking to his son with nothing but contempt. Tiberius wondered if he could remember any time in his life where he had seen love and devotion in the man's eyes. He imagined at one point in his life there it had to have been there. He was just uncertain as to when.
"You watch you're tongue, boy. You will be treated as a child, as you still conduct yourself as one. I've been told of your behavior in London, do you think I'd not find out how you act? I'm told you are seen in the company of that man so often at the Ministry that rumors have started up about your relation to him. Did I not tell you to sever yourself from him? I warned you that if it were to get out of hand, if you people were to begin questioning us about your habits, that I'd take matters into my own hands. Did I not say this?"
The worst part was how the man did not raise his voice. He never yelled, but his eyes pierced Tiberius and he wanted to shrink. To run and hide. He clutched his hands together behind his back, though his finger tips were brushing along the edge of his wand as it stuck out from his pocket, just in case. He did not look away.
"You did warn me of this, Sir. But I must remind you that rumors so often are only that. You have no solid proof on my behavior; I have been nothing but dutiful to our family's image," he stated, even if it was entirely a lie. He could think of many moments when he had done nothing of the sort. He spent so much time in the company of Fletcher, for years, that he was surprised it was only being brought up now. It probably did not help that he had begun staying the night at the man's house. It brought him a small comfort, one of which he did not acknowledge, nor would he speak of. His father need not know of his sleepovers. "But if you do not mind me saying so, if I were to be acting as you imagine, I certainly wouldn't be doing badly to find myself wooing a member of the Parkinson's family. They are such high class, after all. And Fletcher has recently become the head of his Department. If I were to find myself in his company, in the way that you mean, I could retire and live comfortably. Isn't that what you wanted for your children, Sir?"
He was surprised he had managed to get that far without interruption. He noted how his father's eyebrows seemed to come together in sheer anger. Ah, he had hit a spot. The rebellious son, who rarely was able to show his face, emerged from within Tibby, acting as he used to in these situations. Smug, sarcastic and eager to upset the man. He knew it was not wise. He knew this oh so well. But he also knew he could fight the man now. His finger tips gripped his wand, watching his father closely.
"You are still a sarcastic shit, boy," the man hissed, straightening up in his chair. "You are no longer to fraternize with that man. I want all communication disabled between you both and any of his other friends. I will not sit idly by and watch as you become a poof," he ordered.
Tiberius, who had been trying his best not to look smug even though he felt as such, quickly hardened his features. "Do you really think I am going to obey that command, Father? I am not a child. I do not take orders. I will not throw away my oldest and dearest friend just because you fear my behavior. I have done nothing to elicit a relationship with the man; I have kept..." he began, but cut himself off. No. His father need not know that he had feelings for Fletcher. "...I have kept our family's image unsoiled. I am courting a daughter of the Fortescue family. I have done everything you ask of me, but I will not toss away my friendship with Fletcher."
"You're lying," was all he managed to hear from his Father's calm, yet angered, voice before his Father leapt from the chair, tossing the scotch glass directly at Tiberius. While he had been anticipating violence from his Father, he had not expected it to occur quite in this fashion. The glass slammed into Tiberius' face, causing him to jerk his head to the side. His hands moved to his face, it immediately throbbing with pain, abandoning his wand without thought, simply reacting. Then he remembered the situation he was in and the past and he brought his hands down, just in time to see his Father's wand aimed at him. He waved it with an angered look, sending Tiberius back against the book shelf, his back slamming against the furniture before he fell down.
He heard the crunch of wood from behind him and didn't need to turn; knowing his wand had split in half. Fuck.
He moved to roll out of the way and it was then that he heard the words that had haunted his adolescent years. "Crucio!"
A scream of pain bellowed out from him, as he crumbled into himself, curling his legs to his frame. It brought instant tears to his eyes and he was so fixated on the pain that he only heard snippets of the shouts his father was giving. "Muggle loving wanker --- Embarrassment of a son --- half rate wizard ---" were some of what he caught, as he writhed underneath the wrath of the wand. He let out scream after scream, words escaping from him, pleading with father. He begged for the man to stop, sounding like a disobeying child being punished. He cried for his mother. Where was his mother? As he lost the strength to beg, tears began to flow more freely and he found himself clutching to the strands of carpet, crying for Felixa, crying for Fletcher, crying to escape.
He should have never come alone.
It was hours later when Tiberius opened his eyes. He did not remember slipping out of consciousness. He was laying on the floor of the study still and he felt as if he could not move. He whimpered and looked to the middle of the study; seeing his Father and Mother.
"He is not to leave. He has to pay for what he has done. We will force him to behave," his father spoke to his Mother, who kept looking towards him, protest in her eyes. Would she speak up for him? He stared at his Mother, hope pulling at his heart, and when she nodded her head in agreement to his father's words, he felt his eyes tear up again, for he felt no surprise.
He lowered his head, ignoring the two for now, pretending as if he were still passed out. His mother had either kept her mouth shut for his benefit or not noticed he had woken. Regardless, the two soon left him be, and he looked ahead. It took some time but he managed to crawl towards his father's desk, pulling himself into the man's chair, and yanking his father's journal from a drawer. He leaned against the desk, blood dripping down his face, his entire body aching. He reached out, gripping a quill, and scribbled into the journal. When it was done, he slipped from the chair, trying to will himself to walk, but he did not succeed, collapsing back to the ground. He laid his head down and he did not remember falling once again out of awareness.