houseofcards_rp | Home is where the Hearts are

[The Green.

After so long, so much work returning to the Deck, he hated the very land for a moment.

It had landed him in the Green. Alone, in public view, in midday, amid a swath of empty grass. It was one last petty cruelty, he thought, for the Deck to display his shame in full public view. Even the very earth of his home betrayed him like this.

David had meant to sneak in, silent as a shadow, coming through the woods.To wander halls of all four castles, to be the ghost from people's nightmares brought to life. An avenging shade to feast on their guilt. These people, who didn't even have the decency to let him die with honor and instead left him to slowly rot as a vegetable in a hospital bed.

But no. He washed his hands of that. He would... not forgive. It was too big to forgive. He would accept the reality of his situation.

He returned because there was no where else he could imagine going, and because he would make them look him in the face - his pale, gaunt face - and understand that there were consequences to the choices the made.

They should have killed him.

He wished he thought that in anger.]

Fuck.

[Walking was really his only option here, leaving him wide open to anyone catching him out.]

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Lunchtime. Or, an hour where he didn't have to deal with recalcitrant lower Cards, rather. Kee'lah needed no urging; the pup took off once they stepped outside, more than ready to stretch her legs and annoy whatever hapless insect she could find.

Following suit, at least with the leg-stretching part, Ethan strolled about the Green, content to just walk, whistling to Kee'lah every so often, making sure she didn't wander too far. A figure not far caught his eye and he meandered that way, preparing to offer a good afternoon--then his breath simply stopped.

Ethan stared, in complete shock, eyes wide and for a second he actually thought he might pass out. Reflex then kicked in and he snapped his mouth closed, fists actually clenching to keep from instinctively pulling a blade, but he couldn't help his breath finally escaping, the word soft, barely audible:

"...papà..."

David had been sweeping through the Green, skirting the edge of the apparently-new tower (where had that come from? Bet it was the bloody Arcana, making more ridiculous building appear).

He did his best to sweep, despite travel-worn clothing and a dirt-smeared visage. Left to his own devices, he would have introduced to the Deck as a carefully-tailored, polite, icy, menace.

Fuck shit damn.

At least he kept his back straight, chin high, smooth mask in place. Had to be Ethan. Of course it fucking had to be Ethan.

Turning on his heel in a sweeping motion to face the boy was the best he could do for it. "You rang?"

Masks. And come to think, he'd actually grown accustomed to not having to wear one these days. But it snapped firmly back in place, obscuring everything which was otherwise written plainly on his face. Cool, aloof, mirrored.

One eyebrow ticked, his own shoulders straight, and he replied with almost bored nonchalance, as one might casually greet a long-forgotten acquaintance, "Good to see you. Alive, that is." Although he'd made no inquires after returning home, Ethan had nevertheless feared the worst. A worry misplaced, it now seemed.

If he wanted to be a Joker, he'd have to pick a different mask then the one he'd used so long as King.

To that end, David stretched a sharp knife of a smile across his lips, nothing like the fatherly amusement he had used for so long. It should have looked out of place, but settled on the thinner features caused by the coma it fit right at home.

"I live to serve, my dear." It's almost pleasant, if one can ignore the brittle sharpness underneath.

David was no longer King. Did that mean that if his son who still loved him and missed him and had dreamed of nothing but this for eight bleeding months endeavored to beat the living shit out of him, it wouldn't be seen as treason? Because Ethan was seriously considering charging over there and belting the jackass right in the damned mouth, regardless of consequence.

As it was, however, he simply took a deep breath, squared his shoulders again, and drew himself up. He was a motherfucking Spade, goddamnit, not some sniveling child. At least, not anymore.

"Do you. Then I'm sure everyone in the Deck will rejoice at your return." Formality, yes, let's use that. It would serve the mask well. "And what Suit will hold your allegiance, pray tell?" Inquiring minds would definitely want to know.

If his son endeavored to beat the living shit out of him, the only retribution he would have to face was David himself.

Of course. Then he'd have to face David. It was really a toss up of whether he should decide to do that.

Though, given David's current state of rather atrocious heath, it's probably the only time in Ethan's life that the plan won't end very badly for the both of them. Only for David.

"A bonfire in my honor, do you think? I'd certainly like to see pretty young maidens dance around a maypole for my enjoyment."

He ignored the Suit question. David had absolutely not intention of informing people of his new status. He rather hoped they came to the revelation through judicious application of slightly malicious jokes in rather poor taste. it would suit his mood.

Bitter sarcasm and polite facades were what his relationship with Ethan had been reduced to. What should he have expected, with his role models? It was his own fault, really, for wanting to be a father in the first place.

It was tempting. God, it was so very tempting. He hadn't killed a man since his return to Deck lands. And he'd left the Outside for that very reason, hadn't he? To be more than a mindless weapon governed by its instincts? Ethan's lip curled at the bitter irony.

And now, listening to this...husk that appeared to have David's face, spoke with David's voice, Ethan realized--this was not his father. This was not the former King of Spades, the proud, strong man who'd dreamed of a brighter future for his people.

No, this was a broken thing, perhaps all that was left of that man after betrayal, burdens and service had worn away those shoulders upon which Ethan had always leaned. Destroying it would be a kindness. And, may God forgive him always, but he didn't feel all that charitable just now.

But he could hope, couldn't he? Hope for just one scrap of familiarity from his former monarch, but perhaps that was too much. So he simply inclined his head with a false smile, replying, "Perhaps they will. We've had little to celebrate, as of late. Any excuse for revelry would be appreciated, I'd think."

Ethan then whistled for Kee'lah, the pup bounding up to her master, and the Spade sketched a half-bow to the figure before him. "If you'll excuse me, then. I have duties to attend to."

The Deck thought to pity him, it would seem. He'd make them regret that. If he hated them, he'd make everyone else hate him just as much. Using their own little ways against them.

David returned the bow with one so deep, so extravagent, it mocked the Spade he had been and the one he talked to now.

"Don't let me keep you, figlio. You never have before." Sarcasm was so easy, and maliciously self-deprecating humor had always been there. He just used to keep it to himself.

A flourish as he stood, and hard pride shone in his eyes as he straightened. He might be broken now, but damned if he'd let the child he'd raised think him weak.

Home is where the Hearts are

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