Ashford Legacy: Intro/ 1.0
(Warnings: language, man-on-manly stuff, and a lengthy, sometimes text-heavy trip down Backstory Lane.)
My name is Deklan Ashford, and this is my story.
…
…
*cough*
Wow, that sounds cliché, doesn’t it?
Well, I suppose, in all honesty, it is. Because this story starts like so many others have before me;
you know, those of us that leave it all behind to try our own thing in some new, remote town?
Legacies, I believe they are called.
So, in turn, that would make this my Ashford legacy, wouldn’t it?
Heh, not that father would be all that pleased that I’m still using his surname… but we’ll get to that in a bit.
Right now, I suppose a proper introduction is in order. As mentioned, my name is Deklan.
I’m 23, and your typical Virgo- a nice, shy guy who likes curling up with a good book and keeping his surroundings clean.
Ha, not like that’s going to prove to be an issue- it’s not like I have much to really call surroundings at the moment, anyway. That’s the better part of my ‘house’ you see behind me, there.
*chuckle* Not much in the way for privacy, but at least it’s something to call home.
Thankfully, it’s still going to summer for another few months, so I guess I could just call this setup a sort of semi- permanent campsite.
Not like I haven’t slept under worse conditions, but here’s to hoping for at least a roof before winter.
I moved here to Bluewater Village a few days ago under… interesting circumstances.
It all started the Christmas of my junior year of college. Well, no, it technically started when I was 14 and I discovered how much fun the boy’s locker room could be after gym class; but you get the picture, I’m sure.
Anyways, back to the story. My family is one of those new-money families- beginning with my grandfather about, say, 50 years ago, on a small farm just outside of SimCity; just him, his strawberry fields, petrified llama droppings, and a little red biplane. (Anyone who understands that reference gets a cookie. :P)
Nevertheless, the business caught on, and, at that point two years ago, I was lined up to be the heir to an Empire of Strawberries.
Not an entirely exciting prospect, let me tell you. At least for me.
It was in my sophomore year at Académie le Tour that I met Nikolai.
At first he was just one of those guys whose father was an important friend of the family, and therefore it was my Ashfordian duty to look him up and at least keep on friendly terms with him, but of course…
… what no one bothered to mention was that he was fucking HOT.
A god in bed, too… but *blushes* we won’t go there. And, to top it all off, he was in the same boat as me - as the youngest son of the head of the Secret Police in SimCity, he too was being groomed to take over the family ‘business’, which he also wanted no part in. That, and he too had a deadly secret to keep from his parents…
Both studying for our Economics degree, we had more or less the same class schedule, which therein gave us the opportunity to become fast friends, then study buddies, and then, inevitably…
… *ahem* buddies of another sort.
After ‘dating’ (our parents still had a nasty habit of trying to set us up with some ‘nice, respectful’ girls they knew, but of course those never lasted long) for a little over a year, moved into our own place on campus, and, well, made short work of, ah… using the newfound privacy, as well as *blushes deeper* every available surface to our advantage.
Frankly, we were in love.
So, when he mentioned that his parents were going to be out of the country on business over the Christmas break, I didn’t hesitate a moment to invite him to stay with my family for the holiday. And my father, not being one to pass up a chance to possibly further a business relation, jumped at the chance to host the police chief’s son in his home.
I knew we were taking a huge risk, but it seemed worth it at the time. I had been planning a surprise for us on New Year’s Eve… but we never actually got that far.
It was Christmas Eve; and like all wealthy, well-known families, we were having our annual Christmas party for father’s clients, friends and business associates. And as easily bored as two 21-year-olds who have the hots for each other could become of hob-knobbing and handshaking, it wasn’t long before Niko and myself decided to create our own entertainment in one of the back parlours. It was one of the quietest rooms in the house, and unfortunately, we weren’t the only ones who were aware of that.
I had Niko pressed up against the back wall, and he nearly had me out of the top half of my tux when I had suddenly heard someone clear their throat behind me.
My father had entered the room; tailed by a man I later recognized as the head of a company my father had been trying to close a rather large deal with for the last few months.
Neither of which seemed too pleased with the sight before them.
The rest of that night went by in a blur. I’ll spare you the minute details for the moment, but it proceeded in the usual way- in an unnaturally cold and level voice, he sent Nikolai away, and myself upstairs, saying that he would simply “Deal with me later.”
Turns out, the next morning, his way of “dealing”, after a long and heated argument in which I refused to see his way, consisted of §5000 in cash, a ride from our driver to anywhere I needed go, and short sentence telling me to get out of his house and to never ask for anything from him again.
Not another word more.
Not that he needed it.
For, if there was one thing I will never forget, it would have to be the look of complete disgust on his face as we argued that morning.
I never knew that one face could contain so much hate, especially the face of a family member.
So, I did what he asked and left.
Took the bag I brought home with me from school and walked out the front door without so much as a goodbye to my mother and younger siblings, who were, at that point in time, in the middle of opening their Christmas gifts.
My one ride took me to the airport. But instead of booking a flight back to Veronaville, where school was, I put my money down on a one-way ticket to Twikki Island.
I had to get away; had I even wanted to go back to school, the money that father had given me would hardly even make it through a semester, let alone three, with tuition to pay and books to buy, and not to mention the rental fees on our student lodgings.
There was nothing left for me there anymore, aside from Niko. My partially finished degree wasn’t in the field that I had wanted in the first place, and I hardly had the money to redo the three years over. Since the only reason I was to get an Economics degree was in order to succeed my father, it only felt logical at the time to abandon it.
After I bought my ticket, I had a few hours to kill.
Finding a fairly deserted net-café (it was Christmas Day, after all), I sat down to write Nikolai one final email.
Most of it consisted of a sincere apology; about how I hoped I had not just ruined his life, and why we would probably be better off if I’d, for the time being, stay out of it.
I outlined the basics about what had transcended with my father, and more or less the reason as to why I wasn’t coming back to school. I also bequeathed to him everything that I had left at school, and told him that he could sell anything he needed to in order to have the money to get by.
But never did I mention where exactly I was going; I only said that no longer belonged in the city and that I couldn’t see myself at the Académie anymore.
‘Don’t worry about me, Niko.’ The final lines of my letter read, ‘Wherever I may be, I’ll make sure to stay safe.
The only thing I can ask from you is that you do the same, and that eventually, you’ll forgive me for leaving like this.
Please don’t try to find me; I can’t stand to put you at risk as well. Go ahead and live your life, and keep me in your heart, if you wish.
I know you will be in mine. I love you, Nikolai Tichtchenko, for now and for always.
Maybe, one day, our paths will cross again.
Forever,
Deklan S. Ashford’
I have yet to say another word to him, typed or otherwise, since.
I spent the next two years down in Twikki wandering around the island- first as a tourist, and then, after I discovered a latent talent, as a one of those fire-dancing instructors.
Cheesy, I know, but it was good money. Something about the whole playing-with-fire-while- wearing-a-grass-skirt thing prompted my employers to cough up some rather hefty hazard pay. *chuckle*
And, before I knew it, I had turned what was left of my §5000 into §20 000.
Add to that a few tattoos and a perma-tan later, the novelty of the tropics had finally worn off.
It was exactly what I needed at the time, but now it was time to return to the continent and get on with my life.
I decided to settle in Bluewater… well, I’m not entirely sure why. It just seemed right. Close enough to the City to be advantageous, yet far enough away that I had no chance of ever running into family or old friends. Not to mention that land was cheap- I mean, shit, I was able to get almost an acre of land here, and I still had a couple grand left in my pocket.
So, without any further ado, with my temporary shelter set up and nothing else to do but wait for the paper to show up
the next morning, I called up a taxi and headed Downtown, to see what city had in store for me now.
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Okay, so that wasn't much a 1.0 as just backstory. This is my first attempt at trying to publish a legacy, and I like the story-type, so I'm going to give it a shot. Though, at times my writer side gets away on me, and I tend to ramble on; so, if I ever get too wordy, just say so and I'll try to keep it to the point.
On another note, I <3 Deklan so much. ^^ Especially his nose. Sure, it, as well as his custom skin is going to haunt me for generations to come... but oh well.
Any and all feedback is welcomed.