two weeks - ivan

[selby roux !]

[align=center][div style="width: 51%; text-align: justify; font-size: 10pt; letter-spacing: -1px; font-family: georgia;"]Now that his children were old enough to wander from their home, Selby often found that outside of meal times and night, the place was unoccupied. They were all out exploring. And though he knew it was best to give them a wide leash, a large part of him missed having the kits constantly underfoot. The home felt empty when he wasn’t nearly tripping over someone. There was a soft ringing in his ears from the constant noise and chatter from before. There had always been questions to answer and requests to fulfill. The new degree of independence his children had gained left him feeling a little lost, despite them still being quite small.

Still, there was work to be done. After completing his daily chores and making a round of the territory for prospective patients, he meandered back to his home. Poking his head in the door, he discovered without surprise that there was no one inside. Taking care not to track mud or dirt inside the house, he stepped inside and ate a small lunch.

What to do now? The place was tidy. He supposed he could track one of the children down, but he didn’t want to be a hovering parent. It was important to develop skills without always having somebody looking over your shoulder, as much as it hurt Selby to leave them alone for so long. He silently picked his way over to the family’s bookshelf, sitting back on his haunches to select a title to read.

[Ivan]

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[div style="width: 300px; max-height: 100px; height: overflow; overflow: scroll; padding-bottom: 5px; margin-top: -5px; font-family: georgia; font-size: 8pt; color: #152232; letter-spacing: 0px; text-align: justify;"]He kept fancying that Ivan was absorbed in something — something inward and important — that he was striving toward some goal, perhaps very hard to attain.

— Бра́тья Карама́зовы

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Ivan, for his part, thrived with the great amounts of independence that he was given Perhaps the personality of some children necessitated a constant watch, Ivan was aware that Aurum's children were a particularly rowdy bunch. But luckily Ivan was low maintenance and did not show a desire to do anything bad, not because he would be punished for it, but because he just simply was not interested.

Ivan found that the only person who could truly entertain him was himself and unfortunately while it did make him an easy kid, he often found himself without friends. He was easily bored with other things, but could stand still for a long time just thinking, or brushing his paws over the pages of books he wanted to read but didn't have enough experience to properly read.

The young black cat was returning from one of his little walks — sometimes he thinks better when he is moving — pushing the door open haphazardly because he knew that when he left, there was nobody there. So, he was quite shocked to see his father standing up at the bookshelf. How long had he been there? And whenever books were concerned, Ivan was desperate to be in on it. He had one thing to be grateful for, being born in a family that appreciated that hobby.

"Dad?" He meowed inquisitively. "What are you doing?"

[selby roux !]

[align=center][div style="width: 51%; text-align: justify; font-size: 10pt; letter-spacing: -1px; font-family: georgia;"]Shaken from his search by a sudden voice, Selby’s ears twitched backwards just slightly in surprise as he looked to his son. Overcoming his brief shock, the sawbones straightened his slack posture and beckoned Ivan closer, gesturing towards the shelves. “Hey, Ivan. I was just gonna read something. Wanna help me pick something out?” he asked, trying hard to make sure his query sounded like a request and not a demand.

The slightly dusty books that lined the shelves would have little real meaning to Ivan, he knew. Oh, of course they were made interesting by their novelty. But his son had no idea what they really meant to him, or his connections to them. He couldn’t yet begin to grasp the complex meanings behind their words. But that was okay. He would teach him. It was his duty, after all.

[Ivan]

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[div style="width: 300px; max-height: 100px; height: overflow; overflow: scroll; padding-bottom: 5px; margin-top: -5px; font-family: georgia; font-size: 8pt; color: #152232; letter-spacing: 0px; text-align: justify;"]He kept fancying that Ivan was absorbed in something — something inward and important — that he was striving toward some goal, perhaps very hard to attain.

— Бра́тья Карама́зовы

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Ivan's large ears pulled back against his head, suddenly put on the spot. His claws nicked the floor as he unconsciously unsheathed and sheathed them. He padded forward, drawn by his own curiosity, but he noticeably trembled over looking good in his father's eyes. The young cat raised himself on his haunches and scanned his eyes across the bookspines, only gathering bits and pieces of what he was seeing. His memory was somewhat photographic, and he could usually memorize the scrawled lettering to mean something whenever someone read in front of him.

Ivan reached forward to touch his pawpad to a slimmer book and trailed it across the others, his seafoam eyes squeezed shut. His heart pounded against his fragile ribcage as he wondered when to stop. He didn't like to believe in fate, but for one millisecond of a lifetime, he wondered if something perfect would happen. "Yes," He answered finally, opening his eyes. He paused to sneeze as he withdrew his paw. "I'd like to help. Which ones where you thinking of?"

[selby roux !]

[align=center][div style="width: 51%; text-align: justify; font-size: 10pt; letter-spacing: -1px; font-family: georgia;"]As his son scanned the shelves with a nervous sort of intent, Selby watched fondly. It was odd to see how someone could have so much respect for him, so much admiration. He knew it existed, but to see it play out in front of him was an entirely different experience. The surreality of it all was a trip. He sat back to allow him some space.

“I’m not entirely sure, Ivan,” he said calmly, making an attempt to assuage his nerves. “That’s what was taking so long, I think. I just can’t decide. What kind of stories do you like? Maybe I’ll read one of those.” His indecision, of course, was being overplayed. Giving Ivan the chance to make his own choices was too strong an opportunity to pass up, along with the chance to learn more about his preferences.

[Ivan]

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pixel by tricky

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[div style="width: 300px; max-height: 100px; height: overflow; overflow: scroll; padding-bottom: 5px; margin-top: -5px; font-family: georgia; font-size: 8pt; color: #152232; letter-spacing: 0px; text-align: justify;"]He kept fancying that Ivan was absorbed in something — something inward and important — that he was striving toward some goal, perhaps very hard to attain.

— Бра́тья Карама́зовы

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His short duration on this radioactive town left Ivan without many life experiences. The dullness of the town, the peace, was almost frightening because Ivan sometimes worried that he didn’t have character. It was a terrible thing, to think you were as stiff as a board. The reason for this was that he couldn’t quite find something he loved. Apart from the stars and sky, of course, but he remembered how he trembled when Beck told him to collect something. There was this feeling of not fitting in, and he felt it the most when he was around his father. Maybe he was just afraid of what he was. Maybe that’s why he admired his father so much.

”Oh,” Surprise leapt to Ivan’s face. ”Well, things that are fantastical. Not fantasy like knights and dragons, that’s eh, what do you call it, sort of like a clique, no a cliche. I-I can’t put my paw on it. I don’t suppose anyone’s written stories about space.” He faltered, feeling that he hadn’t given much to work with. Sometimes he was just so picky that nothing could catch his attention. ”Maybe about someone who’s brave.”