The Onyx Tattoo

The Solitaire

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"Cavieh's home!"

Flauta's high-pitched squeal was enough to drive Polen off the edge. He slammed the pencil to the desk, effectively gouging a deep gray mark in his already-torn paper, and leaned back in his chair, yelling, "Shut up!"

She screamed back almost immediately, "Meanie!" Then, at the sound of heavy footsteps, he heard her complain, "Cavieh, Polen just told me to shut up!"

"Wonderful, Flauta." His brother's voice was deep and laced with exhaustion. "Excuse me, Telcee..."

The sound of his brother's return warped Polen's anger into a sort of deranged depression. In the years that had gone by, Cavieh had grown more and more distant - but to be honest, it was to be expected. He was already twenty-one and his entire life had been an ever-growing disappointment. Cavieh hadn't found a wife because he had to care for his family, ever since their mother had died three years ago, and due to that he'd never skipped his service. Not once had he been late to his Grounds, even when his times changed, and he'd never been late to arrive home and always with his payment in tow. He'd never abandoned his family in all the years that had passed. It was a legacy Polen wasn't sure he could live up to, if the time ever came.

But in any case, he decided to try and cheer his brother up, as he pushed his chair out and stood to his feet, stretching. After all, tomorrow it would be his turn to be marked. And once he was, Cavieh would be free to leave the nest at last. 

Well, as long as he actually got a tattoo. There was always the possibility he wouldn't. Polen shivered, feeling sick to his stomach. Best not to curse my luck, if I have any.

He trotted toward the main room of their house, the one they'd bought two years ago with the money they'd saved from the first day. It was a small house, more like a hut, really; three bedrooms, one for Cavieh, one for Polen, and one for their two sisters. There was the aforementioned main room, which was the kitchen and dining place, and then that was it. They had four beds, a main table, a desk for Polen and a full-length mirror in the girls' room. The mirror had cost a fortune once, but since it was cracked and grimy, Cavieh had bought it at nearly one eighth of its former worth. Even so, they had eaten almost nothing during the time to save up for it.

In the main room Cavieh towered over his two sisters at 6'4'', which Polen yet again was forced to notice as he entered. He was probably done growing, but one could never be sure. Many people who served Cerise kept growing right about until they were twenty-five, and they were giants by then - huge, muscular, fast, strong giants. He could smell the sweat and grim coating his brother, as well as the nearly undetectable blood scent underneath. Polen knew that smell well now: sweet and coppery, snaking around in the air and almost making him retch.

"Polen," Cavieh said, greeting his younger brother with a small nod.

He gave his brother a delicate flutter of his fingers as he came over. "Hey, Cavieh."

Flauta pointed accusingly at her brother, her pink lips pulled into an adorable pout. "He told me to shut up," she complained again. Once she realized Cavieh wasn't paying attention, she tugged on his hand and repeated the complaint, loudly, shrilly, I'm going to get a migraine at this rate. Her pale, delicate hand was tiny compared to her older brother's, and not for the first nor last time Polen shuddered.

As soon as the little girl had to touched him, however, Cavieh snatched his hand away from his sister as Flauta stared, wide-eyed, at the red now coating her fingers. He sighed, though at what no one was certain, and rumbled expectantly, "Polen?" while Telcee handed Flauta a small square of black cloth.