-We Are All- ~Broken Things~ (South)

[SNOWFLAKES [Brik]]

"Even the most perfect of angels have flaws in their wings."
Osiris Lightwood

The nervous impulse took over him, and he ran a hand on the side of his neck and behind it, feeling the three little raised lines that had been done by himself just an hour ago. The scratches that he had carved into his skin with his fingernails weren’t deep, but they were enough to draw blood. Not too much blood, just a couple of drips that ran down his neck that were easy to clean up with a tissue. The reason why he always rubbed a hand over his neck was something of insurance to make sure that his neck was always covered by his somewhat long hair. He was moving in with his new family that very day, and he didn’t want them to know that he wasn’t the unflawed angel that he tried so hard to be. He didn’t want them to know that he didn’t regularly eat dinner. He didn’t want them to question the little pinkish lines that ran down his right cheek. He didn’t want them to see the scars on his pale shoulders. Because I have to be perfect. Fighting for something, anything, and in my case to be perfect, it keeps me together. Little did he know that his fight to be perfect was only him making himself more broken than he already was.

As he sat in the backseat of the car that the orphanage had strained so hard to get, he could feel every little rock that bumped underneath the tires, sending his body into small tremors, which helped him hide the fact that his body was causing him to shake. Yes, he would start to shake every now and again, feeling a panic attack coming on, but this was different. He had a totally real reason to feel the little fluttering of his hands and body. I’m gonna meet my new family today. In a few minutes, actually, and I have no idea what to do or say. Okay, well not for the first time. He had met them before, but they hadn't exactly spoken to each other and he considered 'meeting his new family' sitting down with them and talking with them. He had met the mother earlier that day and talked to her, and the orphanage took him back to the place to get all his stuff together, so now he was in the car, going back to the place. He had seen the siblings but he didn’t know what his new siblings were like personally. Oh, right. I have siblings, too. He nearly had a heart attack when he heard of how many children the woman had. Seven. He wasn’t sure if they were all her biological children, or children from different marriages, or possibly adopted children, like he was. But if they were, he wouldn’t care.

His blue, outlaw eyes scanned the houses that the wealthy people of District 1 lived in, knowing that in a very short while, the car would come to a stop in front of the one house that he would call home. He was going to be a part of the Lightwood home. His last name had been changed from the orphanage given ‘Bell’ to the last name of the woman who had adopted him. It felt odd to hear the new last name and his first name put together. Almost like it was odd to go to school and see a friend with glasses; it was just… different. Everything around him was changing, and the rush of it falling over his head like a wave in a storm made him afraid. But he knew if he felt afraid, he would contradict everything he had ever wanted, so he just had to put on a brave face.

Suddenly, the car jerked forward, indicating the wheels have stopped turning. The driver didn’t move or get out of his car, but he muttered to Osiris to ‘hurry the hell up’, basically telling him that he was on his own. Osiris looked at him with disbelief as to be so rude, but the driver didn’t do anything about it. As he got out of the car, he flipped a quick finger to the driver, mumbling a few choice curse words under his breath. What an ass. Oh well. If this is the small price to pay to get into the house, I’ll pay it.

Ripping the trunk open with too much unneeded force, he looked in the trunk and saw the four boxes he himself had packed just a short while ago. Sighing, he slightly slapped his forehead, realizing that he was only a thin little twig that had to haul his entire bedroom to the front door. He couldn’t believe that the driver was going to be as rude as to let him do all the work himself, but he didn’t say anything about it. He just put up a brave face and got a grip on the first box. And this is the only time I will ever wish for muscles. Because muscles are gross. Very gross.

After about fifteen minutes of straining and pushing and pulling, he got all four of the boxes (that must have been about a third of his weight for each of them) onto the front porch. Turning around from the direction of the door, he waved at the driver to go, watching with pissed off eyes as the guy precariously twisted his direction and drove out of the neighborhood. “Bye, asshole,” he muttered under his breath. Out of all of the people at the orphanage he ever met, he had never disliked anybody except for the driver. Absently thinking about why they even hired that guy, he turned towards the front door and slowly worked up the courage to knock on the door of the – his – home. But he probably sat there for a good five minutes, not having the power to lift up his arm and knocking on the door that stood in front of him.

The five minutes that he froze himself in place, all he could think about was what the siblings were like. He couldn’t even begin to imagine the possibilities of who they were. His new mother had explained to him their names and what they were like, but with most children, they put up an act in front of their parents, so he didn’t know if she was explaining what they were like with too much accuracy. He didn’t know if they were as nice as she had described, or If they were demons or anything of the sort. I’m just going to have to see, aren’t I?

Finally, after mentally forcing himself to, he lifted his hand to the door, pulling it back and forth with three quick, awkward jerks. After about thirty seconds or so, the door swung open, and a boy answered the door. Because of his height and the look of maturity that seemed to be always plastered on his face, he guessed he was the oldest. He knew there were only two boys in the family (and he also knew the names of the boys) but he didn’t know which one the boy in front of him was. Taking a mental guess, he plastered a smile on his face for his sibling.

“Hi… uh… It's me… uh, Osiris. It’s good to meet you, Chyba? Are you Chyba? Wait… no… are you Riley? You are either Chyba or Riley, I know that as a fact. Sorry if I’m getting your name wrong, there’s so many people in your family.” Nervously, he let out an airy laugh, knowing that he was making a horrible impression on his new brother.

[/blockquote] [/justify]

[Deleted]

I am outside and I've been waiting for the sun
And with my wide eyes
I've seen worlds that don't belong
My mouth is dry with words I cannot verbalize
Tell me why we live like this

[/color][/center]

Riley isn’t surprised when he wakes up on the living room couch instead of his own bedroom. In truth, the only thing that surprises him is that he slept at all, his last few days a blur of flickering screens and ever-increasing crimson delineations across his skin and tears he refuses to shed because Avon made him promise that he’d be strong for them. He always wondered how she did it, numbed herself to the world while he felt far too much, but he’s finding that it’s possible. Not easy (nothing ever is), but possible. The grandfather clock tucked in the corner chimes nine times, and Riley reaches back in his recent memory, a stab of panic driving sharp and urgent into the center of his chest when he realizes that the last thing he remembers is watching the 3AM Games update through drooping eyelids. He’s missed hours, precious hours that could have held the end of his world or a nubile hope for another tomorrow, and it’s with breaths that rasp heavy and ragged and panicked through his lungs that he fumbles for the remote of the coffee table in front of him – he’ll save noticing that the TV’s been turned off and that someone had draped a blanket over his lanky, slumbering frame (Fenn shouldn’t have to take care of him, it should be the other way around, but right now he just can't) for a later place and time – slender fingers mashing haphazardly at the buttons until the television sparks to life, still on the Games channel. Riley’s grip tightens around the plastic in his hand as wide amberdark eyes rake over the screen, heart hammering with loud, wet thumps in his ears until the live feed comes on and he sees Avon limping through the sand toward yet another tower, haggard and still missing her hand and some toes but reasonably alive and well, as alive or well as a tribute can be. The rush of adrenaline is just beginning to settle in his veins when someone knocks on the door, sharp and uncertain and a little trepid. Riley sighs.

That’ll be the new boy.

Riley can count the times he’s been truly angry on one hand, angry enough to actually raise his voice and let something other than steady, unconditional acceptance flicker behind his eyes. Hearing his mother come in the day after the Reaping and announce that she’d filed for adoption was one of those times. He still remembers the looks on his siblings’ faces, shock mixed with disbelief as he had slammed the glass he’d been drinking from down onto the dinner table with enough force for water to slosh over the edge and paint the tablecloth with a moist stain. You can’t just go out and get a new kid to replace Avon, Mom, it’s not like when your dog dies and you go get a puppy so you won’t be so lonely, he’d all but shouted, voice echoing off the wood paneling of the dining room as he’d stalked out in a blind rage, slamming the door behind him. But the damage had already been done at that point, that much is clear given the insistent knocking on the door. While Riley is angry at the situation he’s more than aware that it isn’t fair to be angry at the newest addition to the Lightwood family, so he takes the briefest of moments to allow himself a deep, tremulous breath before hauling his spindly frame off the couch, crossing the entrance hall and pulling the door open with an impassive face.

“Hi… uh… It's me… uh, Osiris. It’s good to meet you, Chyba? Are you Chyba? Wait… no… are you Riley? You are either Chyba or Riley, I know that as a fact. Sorry if I’m getting your name wrong, there’s so many people in your family.” Riley blinks bemusedly under the onslaught of half-formed phrases and nervous laughter, an eyebrow quirking upwards as he studies the boy standing in the doorframe. Almost as tall and skinny as Riley is, a feat in and of itself, he shuffles back and forth as if he’s not really certain he belongs here (he doesn't, he’s a result of Willow Lightwood’s inability to live outside a world of her own creation, someone to hold Avon’s place but never, ever fill her shoes), wide blue eyes flickering around the ornate craftsmanship of the entrance hall.

“I could also be Aris,” Riley states matter-of-factly, fixing his new brother with a quietly analytical gaze, wondering how someone is going to have a hope of assimilating into the broken, barely-floating wreck that is his family with so little knowledge of the Lightwoods’ flawed dynamic. “There are three boys. But yeah, I’m Riley. Aris is thirteen and Chyba’s eight, he’s the youngest. Nice to meet you.”

A slender hand stops midway in an extension towards the new boy as Riley has a fragmented thought that it isn’t really normal for one to shake hands with one’s sibling. Clearing his throat awkwardly, the amber-eyed guitarist transforms the motion into a grab for one of the number of boxes stacked outside on the porch, hauling it into his arms with a small grunt of effort. “Come on in.” Then he realizes that it also isn’t normal for one to invite one’s sibling into their own home. “I mean, erm. Yeah. We’ll get you settled in before dinner. Your room’s right next to mine.”

He’s spent the entire week grudgingly clearing out the dust-filled guest room next to his own quarters, hauling all of Antoinette’s spare clothes laying about back to her room and meticulously polishing every surface until the space gleamed like new. The room still has the uncomfortable, anonymous air that all guest rooms have, cookie-cutter décor and a distinctly unlived-in air that feels a bit stifling, but he’d be damned if Avon’s usurper was going to steal her room as well as her place in the family, and so the guest room had to be made available. Setting down the box with a soft huff, Riley turns and glances over his shoulder at the bundle of blueblue eyes and almost-hopeful smiles hovering in the doorway. You poor, poor boy. You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.

“I’m just going to warn you now, you’re not coming into this whole thing at a great time,” he mumbles, straigtening up and leaning against the beautifully-carved banister of the staircase. “My sister’s in the Arena right now if you haven’t heard, so if you get some animosity from the others don’t take it personally. We’re all having a hard time dealing with it.”

And an even harder time dealing with the fact that you’re meant to be her replacement.[/blockquote][/justify][/size]

[SNOWFLAKES [Brik]]

"Even the most perfect of angels have flaws in their wings."
Osiris Lightwood

His brother that stood before him in the doorway looked him up and down almost curiously, as if he was something that the boy had never seen before. Probably not just because of the fact that he was staring down at his new brother (that he had seen probably three times in the course of his life) but also because of the fact that he didn’t exactly belong there. Their sister was in the Arena, fighting for her life and in the next couple of days after the Reaping, here comes along a brother. That must have been extremely frustrating for them; their mother instantly accepting another kid after their beloved sister was gone.

With an almost thoughtful expression on his face, Riley looked him up in down before speaking. “I could also be Aris,” stated the boy in the doorway. Osiris felt the color in his face change from a ghostly, bloodless white to a titian, vermilion red. Willow had told him about all of the kids, but somehow, as the idiot he was, he had forgotten that there was an additional boy in the family. The smile from his face faded, and just as he was about to go into a string of ‘oh, really, I’m sorry about that’ and such apologies, his brother cut him off by explaining that he was indeed Riley, and telling Osiris about Aris, the thirteen year old, and Chyba, the eight year old (which he instantly bashed himself for. How could he switch up a teenager and a kid?). He naturally was about to go into a string of apologies again, but he stopped himself before he could allow the ‘sorries’ and ‘my mistakes’ to drip from his lips like he felt he had to do every five minutes or so. An embarrassed look played on his features and he could feel himself shaking from his usual nervousness. Shoving his trembling hands in his pockets, he stood awkwardly in the doorway, looking behind him, down at his feet, anywhere away from Riley’s eyes.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Riley extend his hand, so briefly looking up at him, he took his still-shaking hand out of his pocket, about to shake his hand until Riley pulled away slightly, reaching for a box instead of his hand. Osiris’s cheeks flood with his blood again from embarassment, his hands going back into his pockets. When Riley has a hold of one of the boxes, he walks inside, telling him that he’d get himself settled before dinner (which he was already plotting ways to miss). Osiris grabbed one of the boxes and follows him in, setting it down by the staircase where Riley had set his. Going out in the doorway, he drags in the other two, nudging them with his feet to get in the house, and then he shuts the door, looking over at Riley, who had just begun speaking.

“I’m just going to warn you now, you’re not coming into this whole thing at a great time. My sister’s in the Arena right now if you haven’t heard, so if you get some animosity from the others don’t take it personally. We’re all having a hard time dealing with it.” Osiris nodded at him, folding his hands behind his back and looking around the room, examining the living space. The couch that was on his right had a blanket draped over one part of it, and the television was on, displaying the current Hunger Games, flashing a brief image of the sister he wouldn’t ever meet. And only because she is in the arena, I am in this house. Ripping his blue eyes away from the television to look into Riley’s amber ones, he responded to him, almost as if he had gotten in trouble for something. “I understand. And… I feel the need to apologize for myself. I feel bad that the only reason I’m here is because she’s there. And I’m sorry.”

Osiris looked away from Riley and examined the house absentmindedly, taking notice of all of the little things that surrounded them in their silence. He looked up the staircase, past the lanky frame that leaned against the banister and to the wall, where a row of pictures hung delicately on the wall, each of them displaying the family in one pose or another, and then of course, there were a few pictures of a few of the siblings together. It only made him think of how he knew that even though he was legally part of the family, even though his last name was that of the family, he would never quite be a part of the family. He would just be the kid that Willow adopted to fill the void.

Shaking himself away from the thought, he tore his eyes away from the pictures on the wall and looked at Riley with a solemn, questioning look on his face. “So, ah… my room is upstairs, I assume?”

[/blockquote] [/justify]