CAN'T BUY ME LOVE...

[longlivesealand]

Who: The English Gentlemen
When: Friday Evening~
Where: That place Arthur calls 'home'.
What: Peter gets an unpleasant parcel in the post and now he wants some answers.

Comments

[longlivesealand]

Peter didn't remember much about their mother. Though he did remember that she always said that everyone existed and everything happened for a reason. And because Peter had so very little memory of his dear mother that he took every of her word to heart. It was then that he came to the conviction that Arthur's (sole) purpose in life was to be his nemesis. There simply did not exist, in Peter's mind, any other reason for the elder's behavior and attitude.

Speaking of Mum, the younger Kirkland's chest constricted at the muttered word. 'Mother' had never been a discussion between them since the accident. He could hardly recall the last time he heard the three-lettered-word out of Arthur's snotty lips. His countenance was combined of two-part nostalgia, one-part grief, and one-part anger.

"Mum?" came out soft as the breeze that tip-toed by. "Mum... did it... for me?" Well, he shouldn't sound as surprised as his intonation turned out to be. Unlike their father, Mum loved them all equally. Sometimes, Peter had the inkling that Mum loved him just a tad bit more than Arthur. No more than a passing fancy as it was proven time and time again that it was simply not true.

And if Arthur was telling the truth, then Peter supposed he had no grudge against the English for selling him off his hands. Oh, hold on a minute. He did. It had never mattered to him (much) whose money it was; the issue had always been his... sentiment toward the idea of Arthur severing the last tie between them. Multicolored band-aid would not heal the wound.

Nonetheless, Peter was still at a loss for word. Teeth clenched, clattered as he tried to make coherent sound. A question. An insult. Anything.

But nothing, save for a hushed gasp, passed his throat.

"Right then," he managed to utter. "Right."

[godsavemy]

Arthur could feel the tangible impasse between them. No immature name-calling, no lofty chastising.

Just silence.

He never knew what to do in moments such as these, as rare as they were. To say something would probably just set off the vicious cycle of insults and admonishing again. To say nothing was to do nothing and they’ve been doing that for how many months now. Obviously, it neither fanned the flames nor extinguished them, but left their pear-shaped relationship on the back burner until it roared back to life once they clashed again.

It was tiresome.

Arthur wearily ran a hand through his fringed mussed up by the breeze, and mindlessly adjusted his hold on the parcel in his hands that was all but forgotten. What to do, what to do. Always wondering what to do in regards to the younger brother he never knew how to talk to. Or rather, never honestly made the effort to talk to. Arthur rubbed his temples, feeling a migraine fast approaching. He really didn’t like pondering such things too much - he was more of a fan of studiously ignoring his failings as an older brother, and telling himself that Peter was better off. Which he honestly believed, more or less.

Head pounding now, Arthur abruptly decided that all he needed to make everything alright in the world was a warm cuppa. Taking little time to no time to think about it, Arthur made his way towards the house - passing by Peter’s form without sparing him a glance. He didn’t hesitate in his gait for a moment until he reached the door and started patting himself down for his wayward keys.

“I have another copy of those papers in my bureau, you know,” Arthur spoke up, as he finally found his keys wedged into a pocket he didn’t remember his trousers having. “I can send them in the post...or well, I suppose...you can come in and get them while I put on a kettle...” The last bit stumbled out of Arthur’s mouth a tad bit clumsily - the man, himself not exactly expecting those words to escape.

It's late in the morning. I can barely see the screen. Let's pretend this post make some sense.

[longlivesealand]

"No," Peter said, "thank you."

He bent down and gathered the stray pieces of paper he had so brutally torn apart. A bit here on the path, a bit there lodged beneath an innocent-looking shrub. He held separate pieces together and halfheartedly tried to paste them into one coherent document again. But like his relationship with his brother, what was torn could never be fixed.

He stood up straight; ears burned at the jingling of wayward keys and the invitation of a cuppa. He turned around and gazed upon the house that Arthur resided. If it weren't for the outdated architecture and the pestering spirits, it could almost pass for decent. His eyesight lowered, fixated on the back of his brother. The imagine had cemented in his mind; Arthur had always been and would forever remain a person he would chase behind.

Perhaps letting go was the only solution.

"Tell Dewi I said hello," Peter called out. The next string of words were difficult to muster; even his throat protested against them. But Mum had taught him to be a proper gentleman and a proper gentleman knew to give proper farewell. He stole a breath of air to steel his heart.

"Take care then. And... best wishes."

And with that, Peter turned on his heels, shattered familial ties in his hands, and made for the gate.

[godsavemy]

“Right then. Of course,” Arthur muttered to himself, a healthy dollop of resignation and a smidgen of bitterness in his tone. It was more bitterness than he cared to admit to feeling - something after all this time really ought to be gone. After all this wasn’t a play he had never seen before - the actors and the scene was all too familiar. The lines spoken even more so. Yet...Arthur thought if he just did a little improvisation they could break out of these characters that had become more them than not them for just a moment.

Considering the nonexistent success rate of that happening, he really should know better than keep trying, no matter how spare as his admittedly increasingly halfhearted attempts had become. Peter would never hear of it, and it only made him look like a fool in the end.

Not caring to watch Peter leave, Arthur struggled to open his door - thankfully only dropping the keys once. Once he wrangled the door open, Arthur simply heaved a tired sigh and carelessly pushed the door close behind him - not bothering to lock up.

Later, he would just chalk it up to forgetfulness and not another foolish whim of his acting up again.