30th December, 1894 — Brannon Fisk’s house, Bartonburg
The house had been full, everyone bundled back into the family home for Hanukkah, what had been a happy, celebratory evening. Ari had been present, of course, if a little quiet – but he had been trying to drink it all in, down to the last little details.
He had been a bad brother, in the past year or two; he had not really been present for them the way he remembered being, once. He had been – a bad husband and father for longer, but things were looking up there. The truth had all come out in the wash, and Dionisia knowing had helped. He had not forgotten that second day in February, what he had been told (they would like the choice) and what he had been given (another chance), and he had – evidently – not acted on what he had been planning then.
Deciding that hadn’t helped him in everything, because – the old coping methods had still reared their head. The cutting, the hurting himself. He wasn’t going to kill himself, he had resolved that much, but he had needed some way to still disengage. The sustained habit was taking its toll on him now – Ari could feel the various ways he was wearing his body out for the worse – and the first good sign he had found within himself was that this was worrying him. He didn’t want to be a burden on his family: but if he kept up this way, he would be, nonetheless.
He knew what he was going to do, now, and he felt a welcome security in the plan – but there was still the telling that was the trouble. He had waited until the celebrations had mostly passed them by – he hadn’t wanted to ruin a good day – but it would be easier to let them know now, while most of the family was here. Sitting on the couch, Ari pressed a hand down, unconsciously, on the old scars that littered his thigh underneath his clothes, when someone asked him when his next shift was at the hospital. He swallowed. It felt like the time. “I’m – well, actually, I’m not going back.”
invitational to Fisks! Zelda Darrow Konstantin Fisk Leonid Fisk Dorian Fisk, no post order if more than one person joins!
He had been a bad brother, in the past year or two; he had not really been present for them the way he remembered being, once. He had been – a bad husband and father for longer, but things were looking up there. The truth had all come out in the wash, and Dionisia knowing had helped. He had not forgotten that second day in February, what he had been told (they would like the choice) and what he had been given (another chance), and he had – evidently – not acted on what he had been planning then.
Deciding that hadn’t helped him in everything, because – the old coping methods had still reared their head. The cutting, the hurting himself. He wasn’t going to kill himself, he had resolved that much, but he had needed some way to still disengage. The sustained habit was taking its toll on him now – Ari could feel the various ways he was wearing his body out for the worse – and the first good sign he had found within himself was that this was worrying him. He didn’t want to be a burden on his family: but if he kept up this way, he would be, nonetheless.
He knew what he was going to do, now, and he felt a welcome security in the plan – but there was still the telling that was the trouble. He had waited until the celebrations had mostly passed them by – he hadn’t wanted to ruin a good day – but it would be easier to let them know now, while most of the family was here. Sitting on the couch, Ari pressed a hand down, unconsciously, on the old scars that littered his thigh underneath his clothes, when someone asked him when his next shift was at the hospital. He swallowed. It felt like the time. “I’m – well, actually, I’m not going back.”
![[Image: xXXD462.png]](https://i.imgur.com/xXXD462.png)
