Pincher was ashamed. Guilty. Disgusted with himself. What kind of father was he? The one that wasn't able to be there for his children, the one that could support them in the ways his father never could? The only love his father had shown him was when he had simply been one month old, when he was only loving because he now finally had a son to carry on his legacy. A Roux. A Roux was a curse in the eyes of Pincher because he knew how twisted and dirty the bloodline was. A lineage of killers and liars, thieves and murderers. There was nothing prideful about being a Roux. Maybe if he had created a group that was aligned with being "good" and "passive", perhaps such troubles for his children would have been avoided. He wanted to make the world a better place for them but Pincher was trapped in the carbon copy identity of his father and uncle, trapped into the belief that if one wanted to survive in this cruel world, you had to be twice as cruel. Maybe he should've been more optimistic but that concept was nailed to the back of his head, always a reminder that he couldn't escape the life lessons he was taught especially if it was all he knew.

He dwelled deep in his thought as he stared drowsily at the bottom of the liquor bottle, a slight scowl lacing his muzzle. He hated himself. He despised every fiber of himself and realized the myriad of flaws he carried within himself. "Piece of shit..." He muttered at himself, glaring down at the brilliant blue gaze that the bottle reflected, the same shade that his father's and his uncle's eyes had. The disgusting blue. The one that was infamous in the bloodline and he was relieved when most of his children didn't have them as all he felt was worry that they were trapped into seeing themselves like the same monsters their ancestors were. Only if he knew. He never spoke about his history or his past, he was an enigma among his relatives and friends in the Typhoon. All they knew was that he was the infamous Captain Pincher, the man that knew how to win at any game he played in. That's all he wanted them to see and nothing behind the rich red curtains of infamy because in reality...he was just a scared little kid forced to grow up too fast. He closed his eyes, letting out a shaky sigh flow out of his lips as he stepped back from the bar table and headed out drowsily out of the tavern and towards his submarine.

He glanced up at the warm hues of the morning rise, glad that he had passed out in the tavern after drinking his sorrows away. Rings of no sleep etched below his eyes and his fur was rather mangled in some parts, the appearance of a broken man. He had to get rid of it soon and Pincher quickly used his water elemental to splash over his fur from the nearby shore and his air elemental to smooth down the dark storm gray pelt. Good as new. Halting outside the entrance of his home, a quizzical expression danced over his facial features as he noticed that someone had left it open. Deciding to head deeper, he glanced around the empty area until reaching his office room where the familiar mixture of herbs and his son's scent caught his attention. "Silus?" He mumbled groggily, glancing around in searching of his son as he stepped into the office with his gray head turning to each side in hopes of finding him there but couldn't locate him until he grew closer and stepped behind the desk to spot the curled up form of his precious child. "Silus..." He murmured softly, his tone filled with love and concern as he leaned down to gently press his nose against the cheek of his resting son. "Want Papa to tuck you in?" Pincher questioned in a tone that reminded one of the soothing touch of a warm shower in a cold night. He didn't mind taking his kid to bed especially after everything he had been through. In fact, he missed being able to tuck his children to bed.

© LEXASPERATED