I'm Ander.
My dad's a workaholic.
My uncle is an alcoholic...
Wish me luck. L-O-fucking-L
"Word's in the street that there's a masquerade going on at the palace, you goin' Ander?" my uncle slurs, leaning heavily against me as he approaches me. I fail at concealing my laughter at his drunken play. I laugh until tears brim my eyes.
His jokes aren't all that funny but the way Uncle Thomas laughs (even at his own jokes) would send anyone into a fit of laughter.
I sobered up enough to ask sarcastically, "You wouldn't happen to have an invite, would you?"
He leans up to my ear, as if what he was about to say would make the earth explode if it was said above a whisper. It might as well have.
"Mellinda, she has invites..." he slurrs into my ear. The mention of my mother's name still sends ripples of fear through me.
She lives on the other side of Brighton. She had left mere months after my birth. My father had spared me no details. She was a beautiful woman from whom I had inherited my looks. Her beauty contrasted their marriage. Beautiful. She broke his heart and his brother is the only one that would dare mention her name around the house or the family tailoring shop.
I shove Thomas gingerly onto a nearby settee as he takes a swig out of a bottle of rum that appeared out of nowhere.
I make my way up to my father's study up in the belfry that was acidentally built into this building, instead of the church that now resides unfinished at the corner end of our street. I walk uneasily up the steps and into his study, running my hand through my hair. Father had always said it was too long for a man, I couldn't care less.
"Fath- Dad, I'm going for a walk through town, you know where not to find me." I joke, and the corner of my mouth twitches. My father's does the same. He doesn't like the proper good boy act that Mother instilled into me. So, if I call him Father, he throws a fit. I try to sound nonchalant, but apparently Father knows better.
"Where?" He doesn't bother to finish the question, or look up from his paperwork. But the corner of his mouth still hints at a genuine smile. Keep it up and you'll be just fine...
"Just a walk, maybe I'll meet someone..." I keep my tone light and Father raises his head for the first time since I've arrived. I got to notice how similar the planes of his face are to mine, but I don't dwell on the fact very long. Everyone that knows my parents and I, know that I'm mosty like my mother when it comes to looks. It pisses me off.
"If you're planning on meeting someone, don't you think you should cut your mane off first? You aren't a gladiator, for God's sake." He raises a brow, smirking humorlessly, and backhandedly compliments my hair, that just brushes my shoulder in it's auburn color to match my mother. I can see why he hates it so much.
I flamboyantly flip my hair over my shoulder and try my best to look insulted. "I am no gladiator, how dare you sir!" I sass my father at the best of my abilities. My uncle and father have the same sense of humor so that broke through.
Father doubled over on himself, laughing. He has a deep hearty laugh that belongs at sport bars. Our laughter boomed together, filling the room. I was still snickering when my father regained his composure and slapped me hard on the back of the shoulder. "Be back before nightfall."
"Aren't I always?" I place a hand over my heart in mock insult. But before he could reply, I took my leave.
