The cut of words

Julian had been quite busy. Trying to be in the shadows listening to the people on the street. Right before he was going to leave for the night under his alter ego Teowolf a message from one of the staff within the estate knocked on his door. The worst moment as he was about to leave through his window. He grunted and placed his mask under his pillow while casting a simple illusion spell that protected it from sight. Taking off his black hooded cloak, he walked toward the door. [color=#c10300]"What is it?"[/color] A slight muffled voice appeared from behind the door. Something about he is being requested. Sighing, Julian opened the door. "[color=#c10300]Sorry, Winston, I didn't quite hear you. Was about to get ready to sleep. Who is requesting me? At this hour?" [/color]

[color=#e8c500]"Apologies, your father requests your presence in his office." 
[/color]t
[color=#c10300]"Tell him I'm not feeling good and I'll see him tomorrow..." [/color]Julian lied through his teeth and made a quick fake cough. Winston understood and usually would allow follow through but something about Wintson was slightly different. 

[color=#e8c500]"It's not up for discussion. He will see you now..." [/color]

Julian was about to react but he liked Winston and knew he was only giving the message. Taking a deep sigh, he nodded to Winston. [color=#c10300]"Right, lead away..." [/color]

Julian walked behind Wintson at a slower pace. With each step, he grew annoyed that his father was requesting him at such a late hour. He had better things to do. The world was in chaos and it wasn't getting better. Plus he knew he had to keep an eye on Alonso. Eventually, he made it to the office front door. [color=#c10300]"Thank you Winston your dismissed."[/color] Julian nodded to Winston and walked in to greet his father. His annoyance is still visible on his face. 

[color=#c10300]"Yes, father...you requested to see me..." [/color]

Jorah frowned, his stiff hand heavy with rings covering his mouth as he read the parchment. On his desk, a map was unfurled, the corners held by inkpots and books. A scattering of small iron cubes marked the villages lost, and too many touched upstream of Antiva City. Not only had the outer-most villages of Antiva fallen, but enemy propaganda was spreading throughout the city, splitting the crows and countrymen alike in their loyalties. The note listed several investigations of arson and kidnapping that were on-going, and warned Jorah in the way the Talons only spoke when they were under the grip a common threat.

Jorah had asked Winston to fetch his son several minutes ago with a scalding look, and now, his mind had wandered to what these current events meant to his family. Should he side with Devante, the first Talon, a man he'd only scratched the surface of and hardly owed any loyalty to, or give up his seat as the Third Talon and all of its Bureaucratic intrigue, to anarchy, and to seek Elgar'nan's favor - and bet on the collapse of the plutocracy. His father had never taught him the wisdom to confidently choose. His brows furrowed as he speculated on the wrath of men more bent for power than he could ever will himself to be. Jorah's kingdom only included three people, and he was determined to never let his realm get any larger. Three people were enough.

One of the three entered the room, and Jorah's gaze rose to meet his son's face. [color=orange]"Julien..."[/color] he said, huskily and slowly, as if roused. His son had shot up like bamboo, but he still had the face of a boy. Fresh, not a scar or a callus. His hand rubbed his gritty moustache as he glanced back down at the parchment, and then stowed it in the inner chest pocket of his tunic.

[color=orange]"You're to accompany your brother and sister to Il Faro in the morning. The city is becoming too dangerous."[/color] He rose and found the elegant carafe of black wine. As he poured, he continued. [color=orange]"No detours - straight there." [/color]

Il Faro was his late wife's estate, a vineyard mansion along Antiva's high cliffside. Far to the south, near the border of the Free Marches, it was well away from the front Elgnar'nan occupied.

Julian was expecting to talk about some sort of political scheme or maybe some important news for the Talons. He never got called this late in the evening by his father unless it was extremely important. Jilian's face looked confused. As if he heard his father say that he needed to escort his brother and sister out toward his mothers....dead mother's estate. It has been years since her name was even mentioned. Something about the way his father was just so casual as if Julian had no say in the matter. He shook his own head in disbelief. [color=#c10300]"Wait...I'm sorry Father...what? You want us to leave?" [/color]

Julian almost chuckled because it sounded ridiculous to him. Leaving makes his family look weak. His father was the third Talon. Julian was the heir to becoming the third Talon. His life has always been in danger let alone his brother and sister. A few scares within the city are all of a sudden going to change things. [color=#c10300]"Father...that's ridiculous...." [/color]A shift in his demeanor changed. His body rose taller as his muscles clenched with rage. A pulse of rage filled his body. 

[color=#c10300]"NO...I won't leave the city. I won't leave you. This family is strong. We can handle ourselves. Why send us away?"[/color] Julian stared at his father. He couldn't help but feel angry and upset at his father. Just like that, his father thinks he could just send his family out of the city when things get tough. It's a load of shit Julian thought to himself. His family was safer together and not separate. 

Ever since Julien began to take the shape of a man, Jorah had begun to turn away from him. He knew his son would have to put away childish things. A coddling, doting parent was one of those. He wanted his heir to grow up and feel ready when he finally took charge of the family - not like he'd had. Jorah watched his son's outburst and scrapped his mind for what his father would have said or done. He hid the quiver of his uncertainty behind the goblet he held to his lips, his eyes like steel on the boy.

He did not know the boy anymore. The entitlement that raged in Julien's eyes, alongside the childish pride to stay together, told Jorah his son was oblivious and innocent to what war meant. His fist tightened as Julien continued his speech. His son was a proud fool, and many a lesson that taught one not to be often ended in death. Struggling with his own failure to impart this lesson, he grappled for what to say. It would have to be harsh. It had to live up to death.

[color=orange]"How dare you raise your voice against me," [/color]Jorah said to his son as if he were a stranger to him. He began in an oddly calm, conversational tone. [color=orange]"Fed you. Clothed you. Educated you. And you dare question my judgement, boy"[/color] he bit into the word, pausing briefly, he put the cup down.[color=orange] "You do not know war!" [/color]he raised his voice. [color=orange]"You do not know it! Have you not been paying attention to your studies? Do you know what could happen to your sister?!?"[/color]

His chest heaved and his voice settled,[color=orange] "The world has teeth, perhaps I should have let you feel them more,"[/color] he concluded, lifting the drink and looking his son once more in the eye. He hated how half of Elena's face looked back at him, and it was why he never wanted those teeth on his children.

Julian felt something crack within himself. The world around him swirled in slow motion. He felt the words crash into him as if daggers were stabbing him in his chest. The shock of seeing his father raise his voice and accuse him of not paying attention to his studies. The thing that drew him mad was the idea of what could happen to his sister. If his father truly knew his children...he would know they could handle themselves. And it was with that moment, a burst of anger boiled inside of Julian. His hands tighten into a fist. Words he may regret but he wasn't thinking. The anger and the emotion of it all was all that was clouding his judgment. 

[color=#c10300]"You mean Wintson and the servants who fed and dressed me. While we're at it...my studies that was all Magnus. He is more like a father than you ever will be." [/color]

A sudden pause for a brief second. He wasn't ready to let his father intervene. The pent-up rage Julian has been holding onto unleashed in a word vomit. 

[color=#c10300]"If you truly cared to get to know Jaq or myself...you would know that suggestion you just suggested would never happen. But how can you, when you can't even look at us for more than a few minutes before sending us away with a task or to our studies. I have been holding on to so much guilt all my life because I truly thought it was my fault that mother died when she gave birth to me. If she were here now she would be disappointed in you...but how would I know...you never talk about her or tell us the stories about her. It's the servants that take care of us and tell us the smaller details." [/color]

Another beat. 

[color=#c10300]"Jaq and I will make sure Tomas is safe. But I refused to be put on the sidelines..."[/color] As the words sidelines spoke, Julian's eyes began to shift in color. A slight change in pupil and iris, something like a dragon's eye. The change in his eyes appeared quickly and reverted back to his normal eyes, leaving just a tiny bit of smoke drifting off of his eyes. Julian had lashed out at his father. It was the most he had ever said to his father in all of the years he had known him. Julian knew what he said was hurtful and yet he did it. He would expect retaliation from his father. Slap? A punch? Just disappointment?  He dug his grave in this moment, standing up for himself and so Julian waited on the edge of his feet. If his father wouldn't do anything or say anything, the conversation was done. He was done. Julian needed to prep his brother Tomas to get him to safety. Julian's body tightened as he began to slowly turn toward the door in a fit of rage but still looking at his father with malice. 

Jorah sanked deeper into dread and frustration as Julien raised his voice in a manner the whole estate might hear. Blood rushed into his face at the mention of Julien's mother, and he faltered and dropped the glass carafe, which broke as it hit the floor. Blood-black wine spread over the wood and into the corner of the hand-made silk Orlesian carpet amid sharp icebergs of glass shard. Jorah did not flinch as he tread the glass to his son, standing before him looking down into his face and and his eyes.

The bizarre shift in Juliens pupils did not go unnoticed by his father, the movement just another aspect of Julien's rebellious manifesto crashing a wrecking ball through Jorah's sanity. He didn't have time for Julien's nitpicks or whatever in hells name leaked from his eyes - he could figure all that out when Elgar'nan's threat was dealt with - right now he needed Julien to stop wasting his time questioning him and to do what needed to be done. Maker, what he would give for one child he could rely on. But chaos only seemed to pile itself on Jorah as he realized Julien was possessed by something other-worldly.

[color=orange]"What has gotten into you."[/color] he growled dangerously and without question. [color=orange]"You will shut your mouth, get your brother and sister, and GET OUT!" [/color]The room seemed to shake as he roared, whatever he saw flicking in Julien's eyes bringing the words out so savagely.  Julien would leave with his siblings, and he would be blacklisted from the gate. He would have none of this tantrum. The boy was oblivious to what mattered - survival - and Jorah did not know the words to convey this when he had seen his own brother die of poison, and his wife die on the very bed Julien was concieved.

And with these thoughts, he made to grab his son by the front of his shirt, throw him out the door and against the hallway wall, and slam the door shut.