1356 Constance St - The Morgan Residence

[More than Music]

The Morgans are not well-to-do people. They do not have parties at their house, and they do not invest into their house lots of money. They are practical people who enjoy history, who are not afraid to get their hands dirty, and love firearms as a hobby and a self-defense. Their home has been worked with and worked on and worked out, and as the divorce will soon become final it has fallen into the possession of Claire Morgan and her two boys of different fathers. They do not often have any visitors at all, and when they do the result is usually awkward because they do not know how to act.

A tree hides the front of their house, which is just fine for them. They like that.

All three of the bedrooms are in the upstairs, one on the right as soon as you go up the old cherry wood staircase – which looks to be something added as an afterthought, making one wonder how they reached the second story before -, one bedroom straight ahead, and the other bedroom down a rather long and dark hallway. The first is Claire's room, the second is Timothy's, and the last is Clarence's.

The master bedroom, crafted to suit the tastes of both Claire and Ethan Morgan, but since Ethan has long since moved out due to problems in the family... the large canopy bed for two houses two, but not the two it was intended to. The room, in itself, is rather plain, but the emotions connected to it in Claire's heart are as crimson as the paint on the walls. The doors are often locked, as if some secret is held inside.

Clarence is the oldest boy, in freshman year of college and sharing his father's great love for history and the art that is – in his mind – involved in the use of guns. The ceiling is tilted, making it difficult for people of great stature – but this does not bother Clarence – and a single small window is at the far end of the room, reflecting little light off of its navy blue walls. His room isn't a large one, but its walls are covered with posters of the greater history films – ones with stories of emotion and fear and holding the documentation as revered – and guns on stands. He has collections of gun shells and other historical remnants he has collected over time on shelves that stand only at waist-high for him. His bed is simple and uninteresting besides a blanket that looks quite old laid across it; it appears to be an entwined tapestry sewn to the top of a carefully crafted quilt, colored many various shades of red and purple, soft as Egyptian cotton. This blanket was a gift from his father's mother, a remarkable woman who was his closest friend and confidant before her recent death. Across the room, he has a small desk with just a few drawers and nothing fancy to decorate it. On top of it, though, is a picture of a young lady with blonde hair and another picture of his grandmother when she was about the age of the other woman, both next to a small Powerbook Air computer – which Clarence received as a birthday present from his grandmother just a month before her death. Clarence locks his door often when he is not inhabiting it, but, for the most part, the door is cracked open when he is inside. This is connected with a paranoia that he speaks little of.

Timothy is the youngest and second boy, who has supplied five years of sweetness and joy to his mother, five years of interesting annoyance to his older half-brother and only sibling. His room is twice the size of Clarence's filled up by a train set that is big enough to fit the boy in – his mother worries for his safety often with this toy, and, if Clarence had not been older when the boy received it, she would have also worried of Clarence intentionally murdering the boy with it; this thought has crossed the older boy's mind but he would rather laugh at it than act on it. Timothy loves this train set more than anything, and would much rather play on it with his Domo – which he has named 'Haru', though no one is really sure why – than go play with other children his age. His mother fears he spends too much time in his room, much like his brother. Timothy, though young, is set on the fact that no one goes into his room except him and his mother, even if he is not capable of locking it himself. Why, he is too young to explain.

All in all, the rest of the house is usually clean but empty. Much of the beautiful historical things are hidden in the basement, due to the grief it causes Claire to see them. She keeps most of the house clear of decorations because of this, and the downstairs gives the impression of them being new to the area as an effect. The best room in the house is the living room, a small cubby-like room just to the left as you come in the front door, walls lined completely with shelves and no windows, a large television at the end of the room that has hundreds of wires coming out of it. The two boys have figured out how to wire just about every game system invented to that one TV, and managed to convince their mother to purchase all of them, though off of Ebay or some other cheap place – though Clarence has had trouble accepting another sibling, their minds seem to be attached when it comes to electronics and they work together without any communication whatsoever.


Claire is an NPC but is not often at home and therefore should be used sparingly. Timothy is an NPC but be mindful of his age and small vocabulary.

[GGJ5]

OOC: Augh.. MTM, if I messed this up or something, please tell me.. I'm totally winging it here. Hope it's all right and apologies in advance for the goofups I am sure I made/will make. :/ BIC:

Silhouette St. James

Sometimes Silhouette's after-school job involved bouts of babysitting. Today was one of those days, and today she was inside, attempting to play a game of Life with an energetic five year old boy. Ideally, they'd be outside playing kickball or something, but the afternoon was just too hot to be out for much more than 20 or 30 minutes at a time, and she didn't want to overload Timothy with sugary Popsicles every time he started sweating.

Breaking up outside play with a board game gave them both a chance to cool off, and breaking up the board game with outside play kept Timothy from getting kindergarten-cabin-fever. And now they were inside, Silhouette laying on her stomach in the middle of the living room floor with Timothy sitting across from her, spinning the colorful number wheel so he could move the miniature minivan. Or car. Or SUV. Or whatever it was.

With a glance at the clock, Silhouette turned back to Timothy and said, "I think your family's gonna be home soon. Do you think we should clean up?"

Her charge glanced up at her. "No more game time?"

"Well, we can keep playing if you want, just you need to help me clean up our game before I leave, okay?"

"Okay."

As expected, though, someone did come in just around the time Silhouette had been told she'd be freed from the job (not that she minded).

[More than Music]

OOC: You did good sensei! Just make sure you don't make Timmy seem too excited. He's rather shy, but I guess he'd be more comfortable around Si because she's just... likable. XD Yeah, totally.
BIC:

Clarence "Ren" Morgan

OKay, so this was interesting. He'd been out, trying to whack some sense into the dumb kids he was tutoring as they went to Summer School, when he'd heard about Shelby Wright.

Shelby Wright, was in Summer School at the high school. That was strange. But, to the interesting part. She was doing a musical for one of her classes. Her friends were involved. A musical. Clarence sighed, unlocking the door.

Why did he want to be a part of it again?

'Because musicals are interesting, that's why. Dad never watched musicals with me. Mom neither. Too proud. Yeah, I know that. But... maybe... maybe it'll be fun. I can sing. I've always been able to sing. Just never indulged in it because Mom and Dad were too proud. Again, hitting that roadblock. But I'm older now, and I don't have to worry about what they think.'

'But how the hell am I gonna get into Shelby Wright's musical?'

As he walked in, he heard Timmy let out a cry and ran out of the room. Clarence slipped his bag off his shoulder like nothing was wrong, used to this routine. "Timmy, it's just me." he called after his brother calmly. Then his eyes fell upon the babysitter. Clarence paused. "Silhouette."

'Why didn't Mom tell me who was babysitting? I could have been more prepared. Oh well, yeah, whatever.'

The shock was only in his eyes for a fraction of a second before it was gone.

'I'm stronger than this,' he told himself, something passed down into his mind straight from his father. 'There's no reason to get upset about a girl coming over. And a girl I know, no less. Of course I know her. The girls old enough to babysit Timmy would have to be in high school a few years, in which case I would have known them before leaving this Spring. Reason... reason, Clarence!'

He shrugged, moving over to Timmy, who was now slowly moving to his side. Clarence reached over and put his hand gently on Timmy's little head of shaggy black hair. Comforted by this gesture, the little boy hugged Clarence around his waist - which was all he could reach. A smile crossed the older brother's face and he let his bag drop - it was only books - to wrap his arms around Timmy's shoulders.

'Progress. Good. You never liked being touched before, Timmy. Maybe there's still hope for you. Maybe we can hug your father out of you. And no one else will ruin you like he did.'

[GGJ5]

Silhouette St. James

The door did open just then, and away went Timothy. His skittishness about people kind of floored her at first, but every kid was different, she often reminded herself. And it didn't change the fact that he was a good little kid. These thoughts made it easy to hid her natural worry for the small one.

"Timmy, it's just me."

Silhouette sat up from where she'd been lying across the floor and started packing up the game. "Silhouette." She looked up at the sound of her name, though, and echoed similarly with a small smile, "Clarence."[/b]

He shrugged, and Silhouette noted how Timothy was now creeping back out. Then he encircled his much-older brother in a hug, and Silhouette smiled at the cute gesture from someone so small, gently pushing the top onto the board game box.

Standing to her feet, Silhouette held the box under one arm looked over at Clarence and Timothy. "He was great today," she said to Clarence but for Timothy's benefit. "But then I'm used to that now," she added with a glance at the little boy. He probably wouldn't catch the compliment, but Clarence would, and she wondered if he knew how much Silhouette enjoyed watching him when she could.

[More than Music]

Clarence "Ren" Morgan

So a girl had invaded the bubble that was his domain. Well, partially Timmy's too. They were usually the only ones here. But Clarence hated having to take care of him so much. Not because he didn't like taking care of Timmy - which was true; he was awful with kids and didn't like the responsibility - but because he knew what their mom was out doing. And he didn't like that.

But now he had to deal with the replacement.

"Silhouette." he said, keeping what emotion he could out of it. She looked up at him with a little smile.

"Clarence."

Clarence forced himself to shrug just as Timmy slipped into the room again, hugging him like little kids should. And that was good. It meant him and his brother were building trust in each other; something they weren't used to having. Dropping his bag and sighing, Clarence returned the gesture.

He could feel Silhouette's eyes on them though.

"He was great today," she said, and Clarence nodded as Timmy moved away. The little boy looked down. "But then I'm used to that now. A blush added to Timothy's shame, and Clarence had to smile, ruffling his brother's shaggy black hair.

"Timmy," was all he had to say in order to get his point across.

"Sorry I didn't help..." Timmy apologized in a very small voice. Clarence looked up at Silhouette with a nod, approving of his little brother's words.

"Go up to your room or something," he told the kid, shoving his head playfully. Timmy laughed, running up the stairs. "Hey! Just don't get yourself killed before Mom gets home, okay?"

"Hai!"

Clarence stopped in his tracks, a blank look coming across his face. Timmy had just spoken Japanese. How did Timmy know Japanese. He forced himself over to the stairwell. "Timmy!" he bellowed, gripping the doorframe with a deathgrip. "Where'd you learn that?"

"Daddy."

Swallowing, he turned to Silhouette and made the look on his face go away, covering it up with a half-smile and a shrug. "His dad is Japanese." 'And I wish he'd go to Hell. Or back to Japan. One or the other. Just go and die somewhere.' Then he picked up his bag and threw it on the couch, which wasn't much better than the floor, but at least his mother wouldn't complain and the books wouldn't get damaged. "So... My mom probably won't be back anytime soon. She tends to stay out... late..." He shrugged. "You're probably better off going home and coming back in the morning if you want to get paid." Not expecting her to stick around much longer, Clarence went over to the couch and sat down. Raising an eyebrow, he pulled a strange action figure out from under him. Holding it up with a half-smile to Silhouette, he threw it at the stairs. "Timmy, come get your f-ing toy," he called, half-mindedly. Timmy appeared, obviously thrilled to find this missing thing. "You're gonna f-ing puncture someone with one of those." Timmy just giggled, heading back upstairs at top speed. "Oh my god, Timmy, I told you not to kill yourself! Stop your f-ing running!"

"I won't! Shut up!"

"You shut up." Clarence said, pouting as turned away from the stairs.

"Shut up!"

Clarence whirled around. "You shut up!"

"You shut up, Clarence!"

"Shut the f*** up, Timothy, or I'll call Mom and she'll be mad as hell to hear you're being a little brat!" That was the end of that, and Timmy must have known it, because he stopped talking. Then he looked at Silhouette, finding himself smiling. "Sorry. Brother thing." He shrugged, coming over to the couch and sitting down again.

The silence was going to kill him slowly, he just knew it.

[GGJ5]

Silhouette St. James

"He was great today," Silhouette commented. It had become a habit of hers to offer little compliments like that about the kids she sat for, especially for the adorably timid ones like Timothy. "But then I'm used to that now."

"Timmy," Clarence prodded.

"Sorry I didn't help..." voiced Timothy in a tiny tone, and Clarence gave a nod of approval. However, Silhouette gave a slight shake of her head, an equally slight smile on her lips. "It's fine, you can help me next time, all right?" She cast a glance to his brother, to Clarence, as a silent emphasis that it was all right.

"Go up to your room or something," Clarence ordered his brother with a playful gesture, making Silhouette wonder again if Clarence actually liked the kid or not. Sometimes it was hard to tell. Timothy obliged, and he called back to him, "Hey! Just don't get yourself killed before Mom gets home, okay?"

"Hai!"

Silhouette watched with curiosity that she probably shouldn't have encouraged as Clarence visibly froze. Then, "Timmy! Where'd you learn that?" An order as if the kid had to explain a bad word he'd learned. Good grief... overreact, much?

"Daddy," came the boy's simple reply.

Clarence turned to Silhouette, still hovering nearby, and gave her a sort of half-smile by way of excuse. "His dad is Japanese."

"Yeah," Silhouette agreed with a brief nod. "I figured he was something like that," she said in a deadpan tone, referring to the obvious features that had been passed down in the gene pool. She didn't like this assumption of Clarence's that she wasn't bright enough to catch on to the obvious.

Clarence seemed unfazed. "So... My mom probably won't be back anytime soon. She tends to stay out... late..." He shrugged. Silhouette nodded to let him know she was listening. "You're probably better off going home and coming back in the morning if you want to get paid."

"I just have some stuff to clean up in your kitchen first," Silhouette responded quietly as Clarence dropped himself onto the couch. She hadn't cleaned up yet from the little snack she'd made for Timothy earlier, and it gave her a reason to get out of the room. For some reason she couldn't finger, Clarence unnerved her a little. Not all the time, just random little bursts of unnerving feelings. The way he smirked as he held up one of his brother's playthings was one of those times.

As she turned, the clattering of plastic against the floor signaled that he'd tossed the thing. As she wiped the counters clean with some paper towels, she heard Clarence barking at his brother with words her dad would still drag out the bar of soap for. And to Timothy, of all people.. a kid. And kids repeat things. What if he went to school and said those things, didn't his brother care? And how that tone would affect his self-esteem? Silhouette made a face to herself, out of sight, before returning into the room mid-brotherly-spat.

"You shut up!"

"You shut up, Clarence!"

"Shut the f*** up, Timothy, or I'll call Mom and she'll be mad as hell to hear you're being a little brat!"

Silhouette returned his smile with a blank, disinterested expression. Did he think that was cute or something? I don't think so. "Sorry. Brother thing." He shrugged and Silhouette reached down to pick up her schoolbag.

"I don't have a younger brother, I'll just take your word for it," she responded. "But do you really think you should be talking to him like that? Kids repeat what they hear, you know. If stuff like that slips out at school, he'll get a phone call to his mom, at least. And I really don't think he or she needs that, I'm just saying..." To avoid his expression, Silhouette glanced down to check her phone.

[More than Music]

Clarence "Ren" Morgan

"His dad is Japanese."

"Yeah. I figured he was something like that," she said, as if it were obvious. Clarence looked at her a little sideways. 'Um, hello, babysitter-girl-who-thinks-she's-everything-apparently, knowing someone is Asian is one thing, but knowing their Japanese unless you were told is nearly impossible. Chill out. It's not a personal thing. Just a fact.'

But he continued nonetheless. "So... My mom probably won't be back anytime soon. She tends to stay out... late... You're probably better off going home and coming back in the morning if you want to get paid."

"I just have some stuff to clean up in your kitchen first," she said, leaving the room for a moment. He watched her leave but fiddled for the remote, instead finding something underneath him as he sat on the couch. He threw it at the stairs and told Timmy to come get it.

"You're gonna f-ing puncture someone with one of those," he told his brother, who just giggled and shot back up the stairs. "Oh my god, Timmy, I told you not to kill yourself! Stop your f-ing running!"

"I won't! Shut up!"

And that's when it started.

"You shut up!"

"You shut up, Clarence!"

"Shut the f*** up, Timothy, or I'll call Mom and she'll be mad as hell to hear you're being a little brat!" That's when he saw Silhouette standing there, looking at him without any forgiveness on her face. He smiled at her a little, even though he didn't really mean it. Sometimes, smiling came when he didn't want it to. But he didn't care how she took it. That wasn't his problem. He would give her a little apology, but anything more than that she had to give herself. "Sorry. Brother thing." He shrugged. His part was done.

"I don't have a younger brother, I'll just take your word for it," she said, sounding completely unimpressed. And even a little snarky. His eyes flickered. 'Okay. I like big reactions. And when people freak out I tend to calm down. I could go for that. What else?' "But do you really think you should be talking to him like that? Kids repeat what they hear, you know. If stuff like that slips out at school, he'll get a phone call to his mom, at least. And I really don't think he or she needs that, I'm just saying..." She looked down at her phone, and Clarence felt something swelling up in his chest.

It was a laugh, and it came out eventually. Actually, within a few seconds. "So, let me get this straight," he began, pointing a finger at her. "You're gonna call my mom on me? For how I'm talking to Timothy?" He laughed again, leaning against the back of the couch, not intending to move any time soon. Ren wasn't bothered by this. He knew where he stood. "Listen. I talk to him a hell of a lot better than my mom does. And don't even get me started on his dad. If the kid starts spewing off random 'f***'s and 'c***'s, then it won't be just my fault." He shrugged. "Honestly, I think he's completely immune to it." Folding his hands behind his head and thrusting his eyes to the ceiling, he easily kept an ambivalent look on his face. "Think about how many people that he comes into contact with, that speak in profanity half of the time. But he doesn't seem to care. Actually," He laughed for a second. "he's been trying to convince me to quit." Just shrugging, he flopped down so he was laying on his back on the couch.

"Don't sweat it. He'll blow it off like he always does. He's... resilient." He smiled without worry and looked back up at the ceiling.

'Go on. I can't wait til you explode.'

[GGJ5]

Silhouette St. James

"I don't have a younger brother, I'll just take your word for it,"she commented, feeling like she'd just witnessed something messed up, but was too timid to say anything much about it. She gingerly mentioned, as docile as possible without backing out, "But do you really think you should be talking to him like that? Kids repeat what they hear, you know. If stuff like that slips out at school, he'll get a phone call to his mom, at least. And I really don't think he or she needs that, I'm just saying..." She looked down at her phone in an effort to distract herself, and she felt the heat in her cheeks when Clarence's response was a robust laugh. Oh, gosh... great, now I look like a loser...

"So, let me get this straight," he began, pointing a finger at her. "You're gonna call my mom on me? For how I'm talking to Timothy?" He laughed again, and Silhouette looked at him blankly.

"No... I said his teachers would probably call his mom about it... Most teachers in elementary won't be too happy with that is all I said." Hi, let's not put words in my mouth, 'kay, thanks.

He laughed again, leaning against the back of the couch. "Listen. I talk to him a hell of a lot better than my mom does. And don't even get me started on his dad. If the kid starts spewing off random 'f***'s and 'c***'s, then it won't be just my fault."

She wanted to wrinkle her nose as if his causal talking sent a stench in her nose, but she remained watching him stoically as he ranted. But it's still so sad. How you treat him, how you justify it, like it's okay, because you're "not as bad". How good is good enough for you, then? "He's still just a kid... He's going to look to you to know what to do, to know what he should and shouldn't be doing." She almost felt like she was pleading with him, and Silhouette didn't like that feeling.

He shrugged. "Honestly, I think he's completely immune to it." Folding his hands behind his head, Clarence looked distinctly disinterested. "Think about how many people that he comes into contact with, that speak in profanity half of the time. But he doesn't seem to care. Actually," He laughed for a second. "he's been trying to convince me to quit."

"Kids have good ideas more often than we give them credit for," she responded quietly, lifting the board game under her arm and putting her phone in her pocket.

"Don't sweat it. He'll blow it off like he always does. He's... resilient."

But should he have to be? Silhouette sighed a little,feeling the bitterness of defeat mingled with a sadness for Timothy. "He's also a kid that's easily influenced.... I'll head out then, so I guess I'll see you next time." A courteous smile that was well-practiced and perfected to look genuine, and Silhouette headed out the door.

She started home, the innocence and vulnerability of that little boy tugging at her heartstrings while her thoughts shot angry and appalled expressions toward Clarence and the faceless man of Timothy's father.

Silhouette's gone now.

[More than Music]

OOC: Um... Clarence is a potty mouth. >>
BIC:

Clarence "Ren" Morgan

"No... I said his teachers would probably call his mom about it... Most teachers in elementary won't be too happy with that is all I said." She was getting quiet and withdrawing. 'No, don't do that. Get mad. Get pissed. It's fine. Go ahead. I love that stuff.'

He laughed to tick her off. "Listen. I talk to him a hell of a lot better than my mom does. And don't even get me started on his dad. If the kid starts spewing off random 'f***'s and 'c***'s, then it won't be just my fault."

Silhouette looked like she wanted to react but something held her back. 'Don't you get it? I don't want you to pretend you don't mind. I get that from my mom all the time. So cut that out and just get ticked already! Screw being controlled! Go with what your feeling and scream at me already! I know you don't like what I'm saying and don't pretend it doesn't make you mad. Give me some credit. I'm making you mad.'

"He's still just a kid... He's going to look to you to know what to do, to know what he should and shouldn't be doing." Her voice was quiet and he frowned at her. 'God, what do I have to do to make you mad, anyway? Don't tell me you're actually taking this seriously.'

But he shrugged. "Honestly, I think he's completely immune to it." He laid back against his hands and kept an ambivalent look on his face. "Think about how many people that he comes into contact with, that speak in profanity half of the time. But he doesn't seem to care. Actually, he's been trying to convince me to quit."

"Kids have good ideas more often than we give them credit for," she muttered, taking her toys and getting ready to go home. 'Boo hoo. Well, that's what you get for not giving me what I want. Stop being a baby and defend yourself.'

"Don't sweat it. He'll blow it off like he always does. He's... resilient."

She sighed, and Clarence shook his head. 'You don't hear what I'm saying, do you?' "He's also a kid that's easily influenced.... I'll head out then, so I guess I'll see you next time." She smiled with that stupid practiced smile and left. Waiting until she was out of the house, Clarence slowly got up and looked over at the computer. It was a desktop computer with a cheap screen that he'd fixed up because his mother had decided 'if it could be fixed' they didn't need another one. Unplugging it carefully, Clarence took a deep breath, then hurled it out the nearest window.

"F***!" he screamed, throwing his hands in the air and banging on the wall next to him. Taking another deep breath, he tried again. "Freakin', freakin', freakin'..." Shaking his head, he walked up the stairs, ignored Timmy's smiles and questions, and locked himself in his room. "Go away Timmy..." he moaned, flopping face-first onto his bed. "Go away..."

'So tired of this! Why can't people just... NEVER MIND.'

Clarence is done here

[More than Music]

OOC: Planned Yukito/Clarence/Timmy stuff.
BIC:

Clarence "Ren" Morgan

He leaned against the doorway, staring in at Timmy. The kid lurched again, and Clarence let out a frustrated sigh. "That just sucks, doesn't it?"

Poor Timmy had the flu.

Couldn't think of where he'd gotten it, but it was probably school or something. But where wasn't the point. The part that mattered, was how to take care of him now. Seriously, what was a person suppose to do when someone had the flu? Sit next to their bed? Clarence had tried that; it only made him nauseous. Try to make them laugh? No, because that just made the kid's stomach hurt worse. He'd also tried reading to him, but he'd only gotten frustrated.

On top of that, Timmy always wanted to eat something but didn't know what. He was always complaining with no idea what Clarence could do to help him. Puking all the time, crying and tossing and turning and screaming.

What sort of a mother could leave her kid when he was like this? How could she hear him crying in the background and not come home right away. "I'm working hard so I can come home faster," she'd said. 'Yeah right. Don't screw with me. You're just afraid of catching it.' Hearing her say she wasn't on her way home when Timmy'd hit rock-bottom had cemented Clarence's shoes to the floor; He wasn't leaving until his brother was better. 'Forget Mom anyway. We don't need her. We can do just fine on our own.'

"Clarence..." Timmy blubbered, looking at him from over the toilet seat. "I wanna go back to bed now."

"Sure thing, kiddo," Clarence said, picking his little brother up and carrying him back to his room. "You're gonna be okay, Timmy. I know it feels awful, but you'll get over it. Promise."

Timmy nodded tiredly, laying his head against Clarence's chest as he walked up the stairs.

"It's not fair, anyway..." He didn't finish that thought, but he felt Timmy tense against him. "Not that. It's not that I don't want to take care of you, okay? It's just... Mom should be here."

"Arigatou..." was all Timmy said, worn out and sleepy. Clarence closed his eyes, pausing.

'Thank you. That's all he has to say. Thank you. Where'd this kid come from, anyway? He's not his mother, and he's definitely not his father. Did this sort of person skip a generation? Maybe we got this weird side of us from the same place. I guess we're sort of lucky to have each other then, aren't we?'

Sighing again, Clarence laid Timothy down on his bed. The little boy clambered underneath the covers and curled up to his pillow. Clarence ran a hand over his little brother's face. "Get better soon, got it?" A little smile and a nod was all Timmy offered in response as he faded off to sleep. "And don't you think about Mom. She's a loser now anyway. You've got me now, and I'm getting better. So you don't need her, or your dad. We'll take care of each other just fine, won't we?" He leaned down and put his cheek against Timmy's.

"We're gonna be just fine."

Someone knocked on the door. Clarence looked over at it, like it would answer itself if he waited a while longer. Sighing, he gave Timmy's shoulder a pat and went out of the room. He opened the door and his face hardened, no trace of the tender moment he'd left behind. "Yukito." He looked intensely at the boy, his age, that was standing before him. Clarence folded his arms over his chest. "Who swung first: you, or the wall?"

[Elda Forever]

Yukito Maki

Sometimes, his own idiocy shocked him. The moment Clarence opened the door and sent him a disapproving stare, he knew he was a complete idiot. For coming here, for letting himself consider coming here, for getting into this in the first place. Even for challenging this guy to a tennis match from the start.

It was all stupid and pointless now. He hated the feeling of helplessness, and a part of him was determined he should turn and walk away right now. After all, even if Clarence had told him to tell him if his dad came around, Yukito hadn't. Yukito knew the guy was trying to find him, and he didn't know why yet, but he hadn't told Clarence, or Timothy, or tried to get in contact with them. Until now.

"Yukito." Clarence folded his arms over his chest. Probably trying to seem strong and menacing. Yukito met his eyes, and saw the hardness there. Like he was used to steeling himself for the worst. "Who swung first: you, or the wall?"

Automatically his hand flew up to the blood on his cheek. It was dry now, and scratchy against his skin as he rubbed at it. "It's not much. I'm getting used to being bloodied every other week in America," he stated in a deadpan voice, "The point is who punched me this time." He hadn't expected to see his father outside the music store that afternoon. It took him all of five minutes to show Yukito just what he'd come to tell him. A few fists in the face, some screaming, the usual dark threats. But the difference was, when he'd seen his father this time, he hadn't been able to resist asking him about Timothy. Timothy had been preying on the edges of his mind for the last few months, ever since that summer when he'd learned about him. And his dad had gotten more than a little angry. In the end, Yukito had walked away with a sore rib and a few cuts and bruises, mostly around the jaw area. He tasted blood in his mouth, and he probably should have cleaned up before coming over, but it didn't matter now.

Yukito hesitated in the doorway. He was an idiot. And insatiably curious. "Can I see him? Timothy, I mean..." He half-expected to see him peering around Clarence, with eyes almond-shaped but unbelievably wide as they peered up at him. They weren't there. So Yukito could only meet Clarence's eyes solemnly and add, "Please."

[More than Music]

Clarence "Ren" Morgan

"Yukito." Arms folded across his chest, Clarence watched the other boy suspiciously. "Who swung first: you, or the wall?"

Yukito looked like he'd been caught with chocolate on his face, and Clarence couldn't help but smirk. "It's not much. I'm getting used to being bloodied every other week in America," Yukito told him, his voice bland. "The point is who punched me this time."

Clarence frowned. "That's why you're here, isn't it?"

"Can I see him? Timothy, I mean..."

Yukito was seriously being strange. Clarence's face was unforgiving. 'What do you want with him, anyway? Think this is gonna be some cute 'oh we're brothers and we're full of natural brother-ish chemistry'? I don't think so. If Timmy and you become friends, it'll be a miracle. He's afraid of you because he's afraid of your father. Don't you get that?'

"Please."

Clarence raised an eyebrow. "You're a strange kid. Actually, Timmy's in bed with the flu. I was half-hoping you were our good-for-nothing mother, changing her mind and coming home to take care of him after all. I'm his brother, not his nanny." He turned on his heel and gestured for Yukito to follow. "Come inside. If you want to see him, fine. Don't expect much from him. But I expect to hear what I told you to come here for, so don't forget that, okay?" He led Yukito up the stairs and peeked in at Timmy.

"Who's there?" the little boy immediately gasped, nearly jumping out of his skin then doubling over with the pain it caused him.

"It's me, kiddo. And that kid, Yukito, from the park. You remember him, don't you?" Timmy looked nervous but nodded. "He came to see you. I'll stay in here if you want." Timothy nodded again, though he hesitated at first when he saw Yukito. Clarence came over and put a hand on Timmy's head, then turned to their guest. "Come on in, Yukito. He looks good enough to see you... for now."

'Just don't upset him and he'll be fine. Well, actually, if you upset him, I think you might end up worse off than he will. Sure, healing is possible. But don't count on it.'

[Elda Forever]

Yukito Maki

The quietly voiced request was met with a raised eyebrow from Clarence, like he couldn't understand why Yukito would ever ask something like that. "You're a strange kid." Clarence stated matter-of-factly. You don't know the half of it. "Actually, Timmy's in bed with the flu. I was half-hoping you were our good-for-nothing mother, changing her mind and coming home to take care of him after all. I'm his brother, not his nanny." He turned on his heel and gestured for Yukito to follow. Yukito's first impressions on Clarence seemed pretty close to their mark - he was over-protective of Timothy to the point where he was brutal and gruff. And he seemed used to bossing people around. "Come inside. If you want to see him, fine. Don't expect much from him. But I expect to hear what I told you to come here for, so don't forget that, okay?"

What else could there be to tell you? he wondered, following Clarence up the stairs. A glance around the house showed him that the place was a good-size - at least compared to a hotel room - but held a strange atmosphere. Like everything was a little distanced and kept too orderly, if not too clean like the homes Yukito remembered occupying as a child.

"Who's there?" came a thin little voice, making Yukito jump unnoticed behind Clarence's broad shoulders. The older kid was peering into the room before entering fully. Yukito stood back several steps from the doorway, listening to the conversation with a stoic expression on his face.

"It's me, kiddo. And that kid, Yukito, from the park. You remember him, don't you? He came to see you. I'll stay in here if you want." Clarence entered the room, and Yukito started to follow him, but ended up pausing a long moment in the doorway. He stared at Timothy's expression and hoped this kid wasn't really a second version of him. On many levels, they already were. He hated that, while in the same instant it fascinated him beyond any hope.

"Come on in, Yukito. He looks good enough to see you... for now." Clarence stood with his hand protectively on the boy's shoulder, as if to reassure him with a touch.

With tentative footsteps he entered, feeling Clarence's studious gaze and Timothy's almost fearful one. Glancing around the large bedroom, his eyes fell on the kid-sized train set. "Cool train," he commented, shoving his hands in his pockets and standing off to the side of the room as if he needed to stay out of the way. Yukito turned back to Timothy and shrugged, "Beats a stupid rocking horse any day."

There was an awkward moment for him. Alright, so every moment here was awkward. He'd just waltzed into a stranger's house with a couple of facial pretties and was now hovering in his half-brother's room hoping for... something. With his hands still shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket, he held his arms around a little, stretching the fabric in a strange gesture. "You know, you look a lot like I did when I was your age..." He tilted his head a little at Timothy, curiosity in his eyes. I wonder what you're like, Timothy. Does your dad come around much? Do you like to read or play at the park carousel? Did he hurt you much? I never knew about you until I saw your face, did you know that? I don't even think you know it, yet... He took one look at Clarence, then back to Timothy, and decided he didn't want to explain it to Timothy. Not like this, it would be stupid.

"Look, I'm not here to bug you guys, I just..." another shrug, and his eyes became trained on Timothy. He'd never thought about what it would be like to go back in time and meet his younger self. What kind of things he would say, what things he would ask about to remember better when he was older... But if anyone had the sensation of meeting their younger self, Yukito was experiencing it now, seeing the ill, frail form of Timothy sitting on the bed, clinging to the blankets and watching him uncertainly. Like his instincts were being ripped two ways - to satisfy curiosity and trust his fear."I was hoping to talk to you."

[More than Music]

Clarence "Ren" Morgan

"Come on in, Yukito. He looks good enough to see you... for now." He didn't take his hand from Timmy as Yukito carefully edged into the room. They were all quiet for a minute, the only sound in the room being Timmy randomly coughing.

"Cool train. Beats a stupid rocking horse any day." Yukito finally said, his hands in his pockets as he stood timidly a few feet away from them. Clarence watched him, curiosity entering his expression. 'What are you afraid of? Do you actually care what Timmy thinks of you? Just what sort of person are you, stranger?'

"Mm-hm." Timmy was playing with his fingers, entwining them a little nervously with his blanket. "Sometimes... Sometimes I pretend it can actually take me places..." He glanced up at Yukito, expecting - like Clarence - a flash of anger or a look of disappointment that didn't come. This kid obviously wasn't his father, as much as he looked like him.

Timmy started to speak just as Yukito did, which frightened the kid, so he slid a little farther underneath his blanket. "You know, you look a lot like I did when I was your age..."

The little boy looked up curiously, then shrunk away. "You look like Daddy," he whispered.

"Look, I'm not here to bug you guys, I just..." He shrugged. 'You just what?' "I was hoping to talk to you."

"About what?" Clarence asked, watching Yukito with a little less suspicion as he sat next to his brother on the bed. 'You're probably just as scared and weak as my little brother, aren't you? What a wimp. He's ten and you're, what? I don't know, but you're definitely older than he is. So what's with you? What's wrong with you, anyway?'

Timmy let go of his blanket and reached out to Yukito with a shaking hand. "Wanna... wanna sit down, Mister Yuk'to?" He swallowed. "Promise I won't let him bite'cha." A weak smile on Timmy's face was enough to brighten the mood and make Clarence laugh. That, and the fact he'd mispronounced Yukito's name.

"Biting is the least of his worries, I think." he pointed out. He saw Timmy tilt his head a little as he looked at Yukito. "What is it, Tim?"

"What's on his face, hm?" Timmy whispered, looking to Clarence for answers. The older brother only shrugged.

"Ask him."

Timmy looked at Yukito, secretly taking Clarence's hand. "How'd ya get hurted, Mister Yuk'to?" Clarence watched Yukito too. 'Yeah, go ahead and tell him that your dad beat you up. You'd be better off lying, I think.'

[Elda Forever]

Yukito Maki

"Cool train. Beats a stupid rocking horse any day." He said, keeping his distance physically but reaching out to them mentally. Yukito hadn't quite figured out what he was asking for here. It was something about the way Timothy was watching him.

"Mm-hm. Sometimes... Sometimes I pretend it can actually take me places..." He glanced up at Yukito, who couldn't resist a wisp of a smile, going crooked at the corners. He's really such a little kid. He doesn't look older than... I dunno... four or five. Hey, I was that old when I met Aidousan, wasn't I?

"You know, you look a lot like I did when I was your age..." Yukito said, staring at the floor despite the fact that he was referencing to an acutal face.

There was a moment of silence, and Yukito's eyes started to wander up again. "You look like Daddy," came the whisper. Something in his chest crumpled, making it hard for him to breathe normally. This was a stupid idea. He was standing in a room with two people he didn't know at all. He should've gone back to ignoring them, pretending they didn't exist. 'You look like Daddy.' He hated looking like his father. Yukito tried to shrug and lift up the corners of his frown, but it didn't work to hide the pained expression.

"I don't mean to..." he added quietly. Then he noticed Clarence still standing protectively over his younger brother, and he let out a deep sigh. "Look, I'm not here to bug you guys, I just..." He shrugged. "I was hoping to talk to you."

"About what?" Clarence asked, watching Yukito as he sat next to his brother on the bed. Yukito wanted a decent answer, but all he could do was shrug helplessly. Timothy reached out a hand towards Yukito, and he turned to watch it. It was like he was reaching out to touch him, to see if he was real, but he was too far away, those shaking fingers touching only air. "Wanna... wanna sit down, Mister Yuk'to? Promise I won't let him bite'cha." Yukito's smile grew alongside Timothy's, while Clarence let out a laugh. I think he's more adorable than I was.

"Biting is the least of his worries, I think." Clarence pointed out.

"He is kind of creepy, you know..." he offered in his own defense, the playful smile still in place. He sat down cross-legged on the floor next to the bed, which really wasn't very high off the ground.

Timothy tilted his head to the side curiously, openly inspecting Yukito's face this time. "What is it, Tim?" Clarence prodded.

"What's on his face, hm?" Timmy whispered. Yukito's hand went back up to the bruises. Yeah, definitely should have cleaned up first. Clarence wasn't going to offer any explanation, merely shrugging and telling the boy to, "Ask him."

Timmy looked at Yukito, his thin little voice gaining confidence, albeit slowly. "How'd ya get hurted, Mister Yuk'to?"

"Uh..." his hand was gradually lowered from his cheek, and he offered a shrug. Then made a solid attempt at avoiding a real answer "I'm really good at getting people mad at me? I've gotten into a lot of fights lately." He didn't want to explain the reasons for each of those fights - since every one of them felt deserved in a way, leaving him with a sickly sensation in his gut - "Once it was actually my best friend, Aidousan. But that time wasn't so bad. He's kind of a wuss. Knuckles like a marshmallow." Yukito smiled a little at that. It was far from the actual truth, but he didn't really care. "And I got a few hits back, so we were even."