Hoodwinked

6: You and I Are More Alike Than You Think

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The workshop was dark and dusty. You gagged at the smell —- abominations and smoke. When was the last time your father had cleaned up here?
You glance around the dimly lit room, the only source of light the magenta light bulbs that buzzed and crackled, which you were pretty sure would explode one day.
Your eyes trail from the lights to the posters and hastily written notes stuck to the walls. You see sketches of prototypes, small inscriptions, a poster of Darius Deammone graffitied with red x's on his eyes...
The buzzing sounds of welding stops. "Who's there?" A voice calls out, gruff and raspy, like he hadn't talked in a while.
"Just me." you reply, walking to your hunched back father. "Nice posters."
He scoffs. "What are you doing here?"
"Uh, Mother. She told you about the deal I made with her, right?"
He fiddles with the rims of his lavender goggles. "Um, snippets of it."
"Then you should know that I'm supposed to be helping you out with your....abomination stuff."
He wipes his nose, removing the goo. "Where were you last night? I was down here."
You shrug. "Forgot about it." you hop on the table and swing your legs around.
"Get down from there." he orders. You jump down, "Buzzkill."
You can tell he's rolling his eyes under his goggles, but he says nothing. Instead, he continues to weld.
"What do you want me to do?" you ask him when you decide the silence drawls out too long.
"Nothing."
"Mom would get mad at you."
He sighs, then points at a coat rack where a navy lab coat not unlike the one he wore hung. "Wear that."
You hum, grabbing the coat and putting it on. You feel a lump in one of the pockets, and when you stick your hand in it you fish out a pair of goggles like your father's, save for the bright pink lenses, the exact shade of your pendant, and some leather gloves.
You button up the coat and grin, giving your father jazz hands. "How do I look?"
He barely glances at you. "Presentable."
"What do I do?"
He thinks for a second. "Pass me the tools."
You roll your eyes. Typical, you think with a scowl. Your father would never let you touch his precious, wacko abomatons. You wondered if he treasured them more than you and your siblings.
Obviously. He spends all his time here. He never talked to any of you other than when it was absolutely necessary, or he'd tell you off in place of your mother, when she was too busy to.
As you hand him a screwdriver he asks in what you bet is the most uninterested voice he could do, "How's school?"
"Fine."
"I hear you're taking abominations soon."
You nod.
"Are you good at it? Abominations?"
You shrug. "Not really."
The conversation dies, the sounds of him ripping the abomination with his bare hands filling the gap of silence. You scrunch up your nose in disgust.
"Why did you do it?"
You furrow your eyebrows, unsure what he meant. "What do you mean?"
He grunts with effort, and finally pulls off the piece, "The deal. Why did you do it?"
You hesitate before giving him the answer. "Amity."
What use was lying? Clearly your father didn't give a shit about you, and even if he told Mother, she wouldn't care. She wouldn't give a damn what your motives were, as long as you were following the rules.
"Amity?"
"Yeah. I saw what pressure she was under. She was stressed, getting ready for the tryouts and stuff. I didn't like it."
"So you put it on yourself?"
"Amity deserves to be a kid," you say with a shrug, "It's not fair what Mother is doing. What you're doing."
His fingers halt. He doesn't reply.
"The emperor's coven is an opportunity." he says finally.
"Opportunity?" you say with a derisive laugh, "What, an opportunity to kiss the emperor's ass?"
"(Reader)--" he warns, but you don't stop, "That coven is filled with crackheads." you pause, "Mostly."
"The emperor's coven is the most esteemed coven in the Boiling Isles, whether you like it or not," he says sharply.
You open your mouth to argue, but the words cease from your tongue. You remember that day Mother had presented the rules to you. There still was a burning question you hadn't had the chance to ask.
"...Mother said you were like me when you were younger."
His eyebrows raise. "She did?"
You nod. "Something about....having potential. A lot of it. And that she helped you realize your potential, and turned it into talent."
It takes him a while to answer. "Your mother," he began, "Likes to stretch the truth a little."
You let out a begrudging chuckle. "What do you mean?"
"She wasn't the one who made me realize my talent in abominations. Someone else did."
"Who?"
He hesitates on his answer before deciding, "An old friend."
You don't have to ask before he explains, grabbing a handful of screws in the process, "He was a natural at abominations. Blew the judges away when he first tried out for Hexside, while I...did not. My abominations always looked half-melted, did you know that?"
You laugh, shaking your head no.
He continues. "I got in, somehow. I reckon he had something to do with it, see, his family was rich. But I got in, and we both took abominations." Father sounded wistful, but happy. His usual frown was upturned into a small smile. "Dar—my friend was a whiz with it, specifically making the abominations more animated. He loved making lifelike creatures, animals, people, you name it. Actually, sometimes he'd wear his abominations like clothing. He turned his magic into art." he sighed, sounding breathless but content. "I was a little different."
"How so?"
"I was more practical. Liked to make the abominations have a purpose, instead of just looking pretty. N-not that his wasn't practical, they did the job well. But I wanted mine to have modifications, to withstand more damage." he fastens in a screw. "I liked making small inventions. You know, with screws and nails and hammers. One day, he saw me toying with some invention I made, and realized what Hexside had failed to do."
"What was it?"
"Like I said, I had a different way of using magic. Hexside taught the more generic way of using abominations. The reason why I wasn't learning properly was because they weren't teaching in a way I could understand."
"So what did he do? Your friend."
"Taught me himself. He integrated the lessons with inventing things, and soon I was amazing the teachers with my new abominations, with armor and gadgets and stuff like that. Got in the gifted class." he sighs, standing back to admire his work. "I owe a lot to that friend of mine."
"I feel like you should've taken the construction track," you chortle. He chuckles. "Yeah."
It was quiet for a bit, yet the uncomfortability of before was completely gone. You wondered why you hadn't heard this story before. You fiddle with a crew in your hands, rolling it against your palms absentmindedly.
"What would you have chosen, if you didn't pick Oracle?"
"Bard magic," you reply almost instantly. "Or maybe potions."
He smiles a little. "Bard magic is good. So are potions, you get to mix magic and create new things."
You don't reply, partly because you have run out of what to say. Your father fills the silence with a sentence. "You know, I agree with your mother. You and I are alike."
"How?"
"We both have potential, perhaps you have more than me at your age." he begins, "We can never sit still. Our hands constantly have to be moving or we'll get antsy."
"We both get distracted," you added, "When we're supposed to be doing something else. We both don't know what to say sometimes."
You both laugh, and your stomach feels lighter than it was when you first entered the workshop. The resentment for him being distant was still there, but it was faint.
He starts, "You're my kid and I'm your dad, no matter if we don't want to be sometimes. But that's not exactly a bad thing."
You nod. You weren't listening that much. You still had a question you wanted to ask.
"Hey, Dad?"
If he noticed the change of words you used to address him, he doesn't show it. "Yes?"
"Why do you give Amity, Ed and Em more attention than me?"
It takes him a moment to respond, "what do you mean?"
"You never enroll me in any gifted classes," you pointed out, "Or extracurricular classes."
"I....you never seemed interested."
"How could I have been? I've never tried."
The workshop is still and silent.
"Do you want to be in an extracurricular?"
You nod.
He stays silent for a little, then says, "How about this. I'll enroll you in some bard lessons, or potions, or both if you'd like, but on one condition: you won't tell your mother."
You giggle, nodding, "I suppose that's fair."

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