Bound by Blood

by **Saul Sticks** on March 7th, 2016, 1:00 am

Bound by Blood

32nd of Spring, 516 AV

Saul stumbled home after a long day at work. Lately, Brat had become sullen. Sullen might not have been the right word for it. Agitated was more like it. Every day that went by, she became more and more irritable. She snapped at Saul whenever he did something even remotely wrong or asked a question he ought to have known the answer to. Today, she had stayed home. Which was something completely out of the ordinary for her. Generally, she tried to spend as much of her time outside the castle walls as she could. She hated the stillness of the air within. So Saul stumbled home with no one to talk to. Usually, Brat kept a lively, one-person conversation going while they walked home. Saul hadn’t realized how much energy her words gave him. He hoped he could figure out what it was that had her so gloomy of late.

Step by step, he made his way through the halls of Stormhold Castle. He remembered how easily he had become lost his first few weeks in Syliras. There were a few nights he never made it home, a few nights he slept in the halls. Now, he knew his way home, but he knew very little else. There was still much he had to learn about this city.

Step by step, he made his way home, every step wearier than the last. Saul wished he had Brat there to say anything. She’d probably be mocking him right now for how weak he was. If there was one thing Brat enjoyed antagonizing Saul over, it was his physical fitness. Still, she only did it, because she cared.

Rounding the corner into the hall he lived in, he spotted someone waiting for him outside his apartment. As exhausted as he was, it took him several moments to identify who it was. When he finally did, he wasn’t happy.

“Shit.”

It was his youngest brother, Sam. Sam was a short, small man, much like their father. And above all, he was ugly. Sam, of all the Sticks siblings, had received the worst of the Sticks family curse. Some part of his face didn’t fit with the rest of it, but it was difficult to decipher which part that was. Whenever Saul saw Sam, he wanted to punch him in the face, just to see if that would fix whatever was wrong with it.

As Sam saw Saul approach the apartment, a smile spread across his face, a genuine smile. It was one of the many things Saul hated about his brother. Sam was good at acting, acting like he cared, acting like he was interested. Saul knew better. Sam was just good at using people. That was probably how he had survived all these years, off the unnecessary pity of others. Sam was about to say something, but Saul cut him off by lifting him by his shirt front and shoving him against the wall.

“What did I tell you about coming to my house?” Saul had told Sam to never do so.

Sam shrugged. "You're never out at the bars anymore. How else was I supposed to find you?"

Saul glared at Sam, but there wasn’t an ounce of fear in the younger man’s eyes. Saul had forgotten how unattractive Sam’s eyes were; it had been too long since Saul had last seen his brother. They were brown but not a warm brown or a deep brown. There was no way to describe them in any nice way or with any term vaguely pertaining to beauty, because there was no beauty in them. They were a pale, pasty brown- the color of old dog shit. Saul hated to admit this, because he knew he had the same eyes. Just one part of the Sticks family curse.

Saul had meant to scare Sam, but Sam knew Saul, knew how his mind and emotions worked and knew that Saul wouldn’t waste unneeded energy on beating him. As children, it had been Saul who had saved Sam from the abuse of their father and from bullies in the streets. He knew Saul wouldn’t waste all the previous effort he had spent protecting his little brother. Besides, beatings didn’t really scare Sam much anymore. Being a lousy con man meant he received the worst from people unimpressed by his lies, and Saul was always gentler than they were. He had a thing about his kin. Whenever Saul did decide to beat Sam, it was for a good reason, and Sam hadn’t seen Saul often enough to give him one.

Sam smiled his smile again while he brushed the day’s dust from Saul’s shoulders. “You look like you’ve been working hard.”

Saul put Sam down. It wasn’t worth wasting the energy if it wasn’t going to produce any results. “You look like you’re hardly working.”

Sam’s smile broadened. “I haven’t worked at all since I got here. People don’t want to hire me, big brother.”

“Big surprise.” Saul turned to his door, unlocking and opening it. He stepped through and readied himself to shut the door in his brother's face.

Sam gave Saul a sad look. “Come on, Saul. Invite me in.”

Damn it. He hated Sam for his manipulative ways, but kin was kin. Saul sighed, held the door open, and gestured his brother through.

by **Saul Sticks** on March 8th, 2016, 3:39 am

Sam walked into the apartment and looked around. He turned to Saul and smiled. “Looks like they put you in the same shithole apartment they stuck me in.”

Saul ignored Sam’s jab at the quality of his home. Instead, he gave his attention to Brat who was sitting on the bed writing in her journal. “Hey, Brat. How was your day?”

She looked up, saw Sam, and rolled her eyes. “Sucked to begin with. It just got worse.”

Brat didn’t like her father. Saul couldn’t really blame her. Sam hadn’t been very present in Brat’s life and had discarded her as soon as he realized she wouldn’t be profitable. Luckily, Saul, as her uncle, cared enough to take her in. In a way, Sam knew how to give Brat the best care he could. It had been Sam who had brought Brat to Saul.

Sam noticed Brat for the first time since entering the apartment. “Shit. She’s still around. I can’t believe you kept her.” He waved at Brat and beamed his smile. “Hey, wench.”

Brat stuck her tongue out at him. “Hey, petch face.”

Saul glared at her. “What have I told you about that word?”

Brat returned his glare, and hers was definitely the fiercer of the two. “That it ain’t classy. Like I petching care. He don’t deserve to be treated with any respect. He don’t have any class himself.”

She went back to writing in her journal.

Saul gave her another glare that didn’t matter. “We’ll talk later.”

Sam laughed at Saul’s pathetic attempt to control Brat. “Lack of respect. She got that from me. And petch. I taught her that one.”

Saul grabbed the front of Sam’s shirt, spun him around, and slammed him up against the closest wall. “Don’t you encourage her.”

There still wasn’t any fear in Sam’s eyes. He smiled that annoying smile of his again and held up his hands in submissive placation. “Relax, Saul. I understand it. You like the little wench.”

Saul left off with physical shows of force; they did little good with Sam. Instead, he stuck to honesty. “That’s the last time you call her wench, especially under my roof. Do it again, and I’ll kill you.”

There was a flicker of fear in Sam’s eyes. He didn’t think Saul would kill him, but he wasn’t sure Saul wouldn’t beat him.

From over on the bed, Brat smirked. “Petch yeah, Saul. You tell him.”

Saul? Just Saul? Since when had she started dropping Uncle?

He calmed himself and let it go. Sam had him worked up, and he was probably just reading into it too much. Besides, he had a bigger issue with her right now. A warning tone entered his voice. “That word, Brat.”

“Petch,” she hissed softly, but Saul heard.

“Brat!” Saul snapped.

She grumbled something under her breath and went back to her journal.

Saul gave Sam one more glare, then let him go. “What are you here for, Sam?”

“Like I told you, no one will hire me. I need coin.”

by **Saul Sticks** on March 12th, 2016, 6:43 pm

Saul gave Sam a judgmental look. He knew his brother too well. “No one will hire you? Or you haven’t even tried looking?”

For the first time, Sam didn’t smile, and Saul felt himself feeling sorry for his younger brother. “Come on, Saul. You know me. I may be lazy, but I don’t have a death wish. I like to survive, same as anybody else.”

“Fine.” Saul still wasn’t sure if Sam really needed coin. Sam was born to manipulate people, and Saul was pretty sure he was being manipulated. Kin was kin though. Saul wouldn’t turn him away. “How much do you need?”

“How much do you have?”

So Sam was playing him. Stoic and ancient, whatever dam that existed in Saul to hold back his anger finally cracked. He tightened his fists to keep himself from beating his brother. “No, no, no. We aren’t playing that game. How much do you need?”

“I honestly don’t know, Saul.” Sam stalled and took a look around the apartment again. Saul watched as Sam’s watchful eyes evaluated the value of everything in the room to see if there was any sign of Saul having any extra cash flow. Saul had been fortunate enough to add some things to make Brat’s and his living conditions a little better. It wasn’t much, just some incense and a washbasin, but Sam took notice of it. “I think fifty mizas ought to get me on my feet.”

“Fifty?” Saul was incredulous. “Gods, Sam! Have you found some trouble you shouldn’t have?”

“No, no, Saul. I just need some coin to get me on my feet until I land a stable job. That’s all. And then I promise I won’t bother you for the rest of the season.”

Saul could feel the pressure against that invisible dam begin to break it down. “Do I look like I’m made of money?”

“You definitely look like you’re made of more of it than I am, Saul. Come on. You’ve always been the one in the family who doesn’t struggle with having steady employment. The rest of us try, but life doesn’t seem to smile on us the way it does on you.”

Guilt. That was the route Sam was going to try to take now? Saul was hardened to guilt. He didn’t have any. The world had given nothing to him. He had worked for everything he had every received, toiled for every miza in his pocket.

“I’ll give you thirty.”

Sam was ready to haggle. That’s why he had started the amount so high. Saul could see his brother’s mind working through his eyes. “Make it fifty, Saul.”

“Thirty-five.”

“Fifty.”

Patience was not a Sticks family trait, and Saul was quickly losing whatever small amount he had. “You don’t understand how haggling works, do you?”

Sam just smiled that stupid smile and waited for Saul to continue.

“Forty.”

“Fifty.”

That dam weakened even more. “Careful, Sam. Push me too much, and you might not get anything.”

Sam’s smile broadened. “It’s settled then. Forty-five. Thanks, Saul.”

Saul thought about punching Sam, realized it wasn’t worth his time, and went for his stash of mizas. He counted out the coin for his brother and handed it over. “Remember the promise you made me. Make this last. Don’t come back.”

“Fair enough, big brother. Thanks for the coin. You won’t regret it.”

The younger man paused and sized up the older for a moment, the gears turning in his head to try to see how far he could push Saul. Something came to Sam’s mind, and he opened his mouth. “You know, Saul, I’ll be dropping by on occasion to see how good of a living you’re making. I have to know Brat is being well taken care of. If I thought she wasn’t being provided for, I’d have to take her back. She is my daughter, after all.”

The dam broke. Saul shoved Sam backwards into the nearest wall and punched his little brother in the gut as hard as he could. Sam doubled over, trying not to vomit. Grabbing Sam’s shoulder, Saul pushed him back up against the wall and leaned in close.

“She might be your daughter, but in no way, is she yours. She doesn’t belong to you, not anymore. If I ever lose Brat, even if I know you had nothing to do with it, I’ll hunt you down and kill you with my bare hands. You’d best make sure that never happens. Understand?”

Sam couldn’t speak, but he nodded. When Saul opened the door for him, he stumbled out, still hunched over with a true fear in his eyes. Saul knew he had made his point, but he slammed the door behind Sam anyhow, mostly because it made him feel better.

by **Saul Sticks** on March 13th, 2016, 4:01 am

Saul looked over at Brat. While she had not added anything since Saul had admonished her for her choice of curses, she had been observing the entire time. At the moment of Saul’s final threat against Sam, she had sat up. Now, she was just watching Saul, and he could see her hands trembling. Despite the tremble though, there was a fierce anger in her eyes, and Saul could sense that it was directed at him.

He started to speak. “I told him what-”

Brat suddenly threw her journal across the room at him. For as small as she was, she had a surprisingly speedy arm and a sharp aim. He barely jerked his arm in front of his face to keep himself from being hit in the head.

“Why’d you let him in?” she shouted.

“I-”

“WHY?” she shouted again.

Saul figured opening his mouth again would only get him yelled at again. Bending slowly, he reached down and picked up the journal, being careful to make sure he didn’t see the inside. Brat always seemed protective of it. He did see what was scrawled across the front in her handwriting.

Brat’s Private Diary. Read on pain of death. P.S. That goes for you too, Uncle Saul. P.P.S. Aunt Sasha, if you find this, you can read it if you want.

He smiled gently, as gently as he could. His own anger at his brother was still fresh on his mind. Doing his best to calm his tense muscles, he walked over to Brat and held out her diary. Something in the gesture calmed her, and she took her journal back.

“I’m sorry, Brat. He’s my brother.”

“You didn’t even stop to think how letting him in would make me feel,” Brat accused.

It hurt Saul to hear that, mostly because it was true. He knew Sam had given Brat no reason to love him. In fact, he knew his brother had probably given her plenty of reasons to hate him, but he didn’t know, because he had never thought to ask.

“You’re right. I didn’t ask. And next time, I won’t ask.” Brat looked offended, so Saul clarified. “Next time, I won’t have to. He’ll never enter our home again, not with my permission. Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” She never did. Her life before living with her uncle, while not terrible, had not been pleasant. Sam was a drunk and a gambler, and both those occupations took more money from him than he ever made. He had never been a father, and Brat had never been a daughter to him. She had been, at best, a useful addition and, at worst, a nuisance.

Both went silent. Brat opened her diary, looked at her words, acted as if she was about to write something, and stopped. She looked again, then sighed, and closed the book, setting it down on the bed beside her. Opening her mouth to say something, she thought about it, stopped, and then sighed again.

She finally said what was on her mind. “It was awful, growing up with him. Whenever there was money in the house, it didn’t last for long. He either gambled it away or spent it all on beer. You know how many days I had to beg for a meal to eat?”

Saul hadn’t known, and he felt even worse that he didn’t know already and that he had never asked. He knew Sam wasn’t made for fatherhood; he just didn’t realize how bad Sam really was.

“Don’t get me wrong. I don’t mind begging; I never did. There are plenty of good people who have to beg for a living. I ain’t so stubborn and prideful that I think I’m above that. Begging definitely wasn’t the worst part, Saul.”

There it was again, the mysterious absence of Uncle in front of Saul. He let go again. Now wasn’t the time. “What was?”

“The fact he never cared about me. All I ever was to him was another piece to use in a con. It was always, ‘Look at my poor starving daughter,’ or ‘Ain’t she adorable. I’m just a hardworking father trying to make ends meet.’ The worst part was that he never loved me, not for one second.”

Saul wasn’t much good at showing his concern for others or his affection, but he cared deeply about Brat and gave it his best shot. He sat down next to her and put one arm around her shoulders, squeezing as softly as he could. “It doesn’t matter whether or not he loved you.”

“It don’t?”

“Nope. Because me, I do. And so does your Aunt Sasha.”

Saul usually wasn’t much for words, but this time, they did the trick.

Brat hugged him back. “Thanks, Saul.”

“Any time, Brat.” He meant it.

by **Dove Brown** on July 22nd, 2016, 3:19 pm

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Saul Sticks

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