better for your head | alaric

[Ivan]

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— Бра́тья Карама́зовы

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There was something wrong with him. How could he be so prideful and yet hate every moment his heart beat? There were some days in when he was less troubled than others. He could not place a paw on what, scientifically, was going on with him. The mind was such an ugly place to dwell, and Ivan had spent his entire childhood exploring it. Wasted. He didn't feel like a child. He watched Simon and even Alice and Atticus with empty and envious eyes. He didn't want to look at them today. Didn't want to accept that perhaps nobody would actually understand him, to know what sorts of deep but terrible thoughts he toyed with.

Ivan left the Roux household that day with nowhere in mind that he was planning to go to. Maybe he'd land in the right place, but he'd almost scoff at idea of being led by some benevolent hand of fate. He dragged his paws, feeling his claw trail in the earth and mud caking under his toes but he could hardly bring himself to care. To feel was to be alive.

He should make himself useful, he finally decided. No use moping about. Maybe Alaric would humor him with looking for herbs together. Ivan didn't like the smell of them — even though he carried that faint herbal scent due to being the son of the medics — and typically didn't want to have anything to do with them. However, he came up with the rather embarrassing predicament: which was that he had no idea where Alaric lived. Ivan cleared his throat and straightened his posture, making himself like he actually had somewhere to be when in reality he was just trying to look for Alaric.

[member=12638]alaric g.[/member]

[alaric g.]

    There were, on occasion, days that Alaric felt envious of the children in the Thunderlands. They had it all; lots of friends, full bellies, and, most importantly, living parents. He had had none of these things. The feline grew up alone with only his mother for company. Prey was not plentiful in their area of the woods for many parts of the year. And his father was dead.

    Moth and Selby's kids, Aurum's kids—they would have everything they ever wanted. They did had full, complete families, and they had luxuries such as a library and a tavern that was stocked with all the food they could ever want. They had friends and siblings, neither of which Alaric grew up with. His only friends were the few books that his parents kept, especially after his father died and his mother grew distant.

    Perhaps that was why he chose to look out for the children of Tanglewood. He was envious of them in those ways, but he also did not want to see them suffer from the same trauma that he did, even though he would never call it trauma, and would decidedly not dwell on or acknowledge the impact that that event had on his life. Ivan, in particular, was the child that he was most interested in protecting, himself having long ago acknowledged the intelligence that the child seemed to innately possess.

    Presently, Alaric was leaving his home, beckoned out by some force that he could not place. The same force called him closer towards the center of the town, where his eyes landed upon the lanky black child that Alaric had just been pondering on. The tyke's head was held high and his chest was puffed with feigned confidence as he marched through the town. A slight smirk made its way onto the tabby's features as he approached the younger feline, who appeared to be busy with making himself look, well, busy.

    "Good afternoon, Ivan," spoke Alaric, closing the distance between the two. "Looking for anyone in particular?"

♔ don't do love, don't do friends

[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 was aware of his privilege, or otherwise lucky lot in life. He could hardly call it compensation with the sort of "gift" he had been given — though he tried not to think of it in this way. He was not given anything. It was a slight of the hand, a chance roll of dice. It wasn't worth looking at the sky while thinking that some benevolence was looking after him.

    All he wanted was for the cosmos to come down and tell them that they loved them, that they crafted every fiber of his being and mind with love and omniscience. But they won't. It's just space-dust up there, fire and gas. It didn't stop Ivan from watching the moon rise every night, didn't stop him from running out to catch a glimpse of the constellations and eagerly etch them into the ground. Ivan was well aware that he was hypocritical, but how else was he supposed to act, in a world that refused to bend to laws and morality? Deity was worth nothing. The stars told him he was nothing. He wanted to change that, but could not figure out how.

    Caught up in his feigned performance of looking occupied, he was startled at Alaric's appearance, the fur along his bony spine pricking up. An audible breath puffed from his lungs, a sign that he was keeping up his bad habit again of holding his breath. Habits were so difficult to break. "Yes," He blinked. "In fact, you. I was hoping you might be interested in the few herb hotspots. I know a few — hm. Yes." Ivan had trailed off a little, not quite that he was feeling unconfident or awkward, but tactfully cutting himself off before he needlessly repeated himself.

[alaric g.]

    Himself? Alaric found himself blinking in pleasant surprise, slightly shocked by the smaller feline's speech. The tabby was unsure if he had ever interacted with Ivan on such a level that the child would actively seek out Alaric, but it seemed that at some point he had.

    Seeing the child here brought back a few memories of the day that he had come to join Tanglewood. Ivan, albeit a slightly younger and smaller version, had been the first to stop him in his tracks. Back then, Alaric had been but a mere trespasser. He had no idea yet that there were groups of animals out there besides his family, and finding his way into Tanglewood was but a mere coincidence. But, by discovering him, Ivan had, in a way, been the first to welcome Alaric into Tanglewood, whether the child knew it or not.

    And now that very same tyke was proposing to take him to some so-called "herb hotspots." Ivan was one of the several offspring of Selby and Moth, so he could not say he was surprised that the black feline knew of places where herbs grew. Well, the child had not outright offered to take him there, but Alaric was capable of reading through the lines.

    "I am, actually," responded Alaric after a moment, his blue gaze staring directly into the child's own green-blue hues. "Would you mind leading me to them? he would inquire with a slight tilt of the head.

♔ don't do love, don't do friends

[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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Ivan took in a deep breath, wheezing through his nostrils. The apparent baby boom that happened within all the Clans meant that he had a lot of peers to interact with, but he regarded them all with a sort of distaste. His own siblings, for the most part, were spared from his scathing eyes, but his distant relatives in the Typhoon were not, and he had hardly interacted with any of Aurum's brood.

Just once he'd like to think that people wouldn't think of him as some ordinary child. Sometimes he can feel it in the watchful stares of the more "mother-hen" inclined members of the group. It was on account of his pride, something he knew in the back of his mind was bad, but elected to nourish it further, nevertheless.

For that reason, he noticeably lightened up at the apparent fact that Alaric seemed rather pleased in his offer. It wasn't much, but Alaric did hold a special memory in Ivan's heart — being the first foreigner and joiner that the young kitten had witnessed. His nativeness to Tanglewood made it difficult for him to appreciate, or even understand foreigners. But Alaric was proving to be quite different from his usual predisposed opinions of others.

"There's this one herb that is long with tiny little leaves." He liked chewing on them occasionally when he felt nervous. "Not too far from here, I'll show you!" His young voice tipped up at the end, emitting a sort of childish enthusiasm as he began padding west, parting his mouth to scent the air. "What's your favorite?" Ivan did not care for plants, and usually only saw them as an ends to a means, like food. It was nothing personal, and he didn't take care in learning them either, which was why he did not know the plant he was describing earlier was thyme.

[alaric g.]

    Unlike the many growing families within each group, Alaric did not grow up with siblings. According to his mother, he was the product of a failed litter in which he was the sole survivor. He'd been sickly for the first few weeks of his life due to the lack of warmth that having brothers and sisters provided, and his mother had been unreliable due to a sort of postpartum depression that came about as a result of the stillbirths of so many of her kits. He may have even died if his father had not been around to guide the queen into nurturing her one living child.

    Perhaps if the tabby had grown up with peers like Ivan did, he would not be the aloof and distant feline that he was today. But his parents had instead made the decision to settle in bumfuck nowhere where little more than wild game and the occasional feral dog roamed. Friends? Nowhere to be found. Family? Only his parents. Alaric would never admit it, but somewhere deep inside of him, in a visceral, unknown area, he would have liked to have grown up with a friend or two, or maybe a sibling. Someone to talk to other than a mother who grew increasingly more depressed after the death of her mate. He'd felt bad for leaving—that was one of the few times that he had actually felt somewhat of a pit in his stomach—but he couldn't stand listening and watching as his mother wallowed in her own misery.

    It was for that reason that he found himself to be jealous of Ivan (although he would never, ever admit it). In a way, he was reminded of himself, with the child possessing an acute intelligence as well as seeming to share the same coldness that Alaric harbored. He often found himself a shade fascinated by the child, if not outright intrigued. Of the children in Tanglewood, Ivan was easily his favorite, and the one he tended to make an unconscious attempt to keep an eye out for the most.

    He padded alongside the four-month-old, a faint smile gracing his features as the child described the herb in question as well as enthusiastically stating that he was going to lead Alaric to the site. He wasn't quite sure what Ivan meant by  "long with tiny little leaves," but it probably wouldn't be too hard to figure it out once they arrived. As for his favorite, though? There were so many that picking just one was pretty difficult. After giving it some thought, he arrived at what he considered to be a pretty basic answer.

    "Goldenrod," the tabby stated, glancing inattentively at the tyke. "It promotes the clotting of blood cells, thereby stopping or slowing bleeding." He didn't know if his use of medical terminology would go over the child's head, but he certainly hoped that that would not be the case. "Do you have a favorite as well, Ivan?"

♔ don't do love, don't do friends

[Ivan]

[table][tr][td]

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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He was caught up in his own mind as Alaric told him his favorite herb. Ivan searched for a symbolism to it, he always tried. He liked the idea that things of the world had a deeper meaning. It wouldn't be such a far cry to call the young cat a bit of an airhead. Ivan tried to remind himself that he wasn't part of a book, he was real and alive. This was all he had known and it sucks to be alive. He was finding out rather painfully that it hurt and sometimes things just happened without reason.

He tipped his head up to glance at Alaric for a moment. So it was to heal bleeding wounds? Perhaps Alaric was caught up in a very physical world. Maybe he lost someone out of blood loss. Ivan felt somewhat queasy at the sight and scent of blood. His joints would knock together and his throat would close up. It was something that was not known by many, and perhaps Alaric might see the twist and wince of distaste that crossed his features as he thought of the blood.

"Don't like plants." Ivan shrugged. Well, he liked the scent of a few. He couldn't see green either, and usually they would blend in with everything else. Plants lived, but it wasn't a life like animals, or rational animals. His nose twitched and he suddenly darted ahead, squeezed underneath a root and pointed to the clump of thyme proudly. "Here it is. I suppose this might be my favorite, if I had to choose. It soothes the mind, I know that much. Helps me think. So, why goldenrod?"

[alaric g.]

    Unlike Ivan, Alaric chose not to dwell on the philosophical. He greatly preferred the realm of science, and clung to it like a child clings to their parents. He found a sense of grounding buried in his medical journals and worn biology textbooks that the classic stories simply could not convey. He could not see the purpose in founding one's morals upon what some dead human had chosen to scribble down and publish. Instead, he chose to develop his own morals, even if in the end it meant that someone might disagree with him and the way he thought. Deeper meaning was an afterthought—yes, Alaric was perceptive of underlying thoughts and motives, but he chose to ignore them. If someone can't come out and say what they want to say, what's the point of trying to pry out a real reason? Frankly, Alaric didn't have time for that, and he didn't really give a shit either.

    The tabby glanced at the younger feline as he spoke. Ivan's unfondness for plants wasn't a surprise. Growing up surrounded by two medics who cultivated their own herbs, and whose entire jobs revolved around application of said herbs, it no big shocker to Alaric that the child didn't like them. They tended to have powerful and pungent aromas, although some (like lavender) were generally pleasant.

    What did surprise him, though, was Ivan's sudden dart forward into the underbrush. It caught him off-guard, and for a moment he stood there just like that before realizing that he was meant to follow. And so he did. Alaric emerged on the other side and was greeted by Ivan's voice. The tabby took one look at the plant before recognizing it as thyme, a topical disinfectant. It had its other uses, but it certainly was not his favorite. "This," Alaric began, "is thyme."

    He was momentarily taken aback by the tyke's question. Icy blue eyes regarded him thoughtfully for a moment. Was he really going to tell someone so young the real reason why? No, he decided eventually, wanting to keep it vague so as to not scar the kitten. "There was, at one point, a time at which it would have been nice to have," the male stated carefully so as to not slip up or mince his words.

♔ don't do love, don't do friends

[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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There is only so much that medicine can do. It can't bring the dead back to life, and it can't heal Simon's seizures or Alice's leg. It was one of the reasons Ivan disliked medicine. He can't imagine being holed up with sick and dying cats, stuffing them with herbs and lying to their faces that they will be okay.

Then he sees his father in the profession, and it seems to him that Selby treats it as a way to care for others when they can't take care of him. Ivan has no such empathy. He loves the idea of people, but actual interaction proves to be harder than it looks and so he falls in with the more reason-based kind. Alaric is one of those people too, though it's strange that they are so alike yet so different.

He grips a few leaves of thyme to take with him later and turns to Alaric. "Were you a medic in the group you lived in before? You've probably already concluded that despite being the son of medics, I have no interest in it. It's not exactly because I'm scared, but I just don't think I can look a dying cat in the eyes while my medicine fails. It just can't fix everything." Maybe it's weak, it's cowardly, a sign of utter distaste for life, but Ivan didn't care. He would just sit along in this dark absurd world searching for something to grasp.

[alaric g.]

    Ivan had a point when it came to not wanting to sit around and watch as someone died while all forms of traditional medicine failed. That was a guilt that, despite his tendency to push it down, Alaric didn't want to feel either. Thankfully, his mentor had taken it upon himself to begin teaching the tabby how to operate surgically. He had a lot to learn, but he was already showing promise when it came to working on an operating table. When traditional forms of medicine failed, surgery seemed to be a reliable alternative when the issue wasn't strictly pathological.

    "I didn't live in a group before this one," Alaric responded, watching as the child plucked a few thyme leaves to take with him. "And yes, I concluded that the moment you told me you didn't like plants." He took a moment to collect his next few thoughts before speaking again. "I understand how hard it can be to look into someone's eyes while they're dying, knowing you can't do anything to help," the tabby spoke, his gaze drifting to stare off into the distance as he recalled memories of his father's final moments. He shook the thought away and refocused his gaze upon Ivan. "But there are certain other ways of helping someone who's sick."

♔ don't do love, don't do friends