After: Separation Anxiety (<a
href=”http://aldersprig.livejournal.com/381004.html”>LJ) Boom!/RP timeline/ Cynara
Parting Advice, and Mother Bears (<a
Mother-Son Bonding (<a
Kept du Jour/a> (<a
“Are we killing this one?” (<a
Meeting the Family (LJ) (a chat log)
Roleplay Log (Cya/Cabal, posted by cluudle); about one month after the beginning of this story.
Content warning: implied neglect-style abuse.
“Cya? Protect your Kept.”
She sighed, and headed out to the barn, the echoes of her conversation with Cabal still ringing in her ears. He was right, of course. He was usually right.
“So you show your son that you’re a Keeper who lets their Kept be-“
No. No, she had never been that sort of Keeper. Cabal knew that; he’d been her first Kept. She’d always taken care of what was hers, of who was hers. And Panlong should be no different.
”Yoshi wants him here so he can deal with him.” She had to let her son grow up, sadly, and part of that was letting him deal with Pan on his own. She couldn’t keep solving his problems forever.
“Come here.” The boy looked filthy, tired, and hungry. He’d been cleaning the stable for… hunh. Probably too long now. She knew better than that.
“Cynara,” she corrected, as he walked hesitantly over to her, his shoulders slumped. Yep, he stank. Somehow, she wasn’t surprised. She grabbed his shoulder as gently as she could force herself to be, and steered him out behind the barn.
“Cynara?” he squeaked. There was a hose around here somewhere, and a drain…
“Strip. We’ll burn those clothes if they can’t be salvaged.”
He looked like he was considering running, but none of her Kept tried that more than once. Having a Keeper who can Find you anywhere had to be a bit disheartening, she supposed. “Strip?” he repeated, even as he did so. This is not being gentle, Cya. She knew that. She also knew she was going to have to work herself up to gentle.
The slow nervous trickle of urine running down his leg suggested that perhaps she would have to work up to it more quickly. “Am… are…” he stuttered.
She picked up the hose, noting someone had left it in the sun. Good, the first spray wouldn’t be horrid then, and it was late July. “I am going to wash you off,” she told him, trying for gentle and at least managing calm. “And then I am going to take you inside and give you a proper bath, and you and I are going to have a conversation.”
“Okay?” he squeaked, uncertain whether or not to be relieved.
“And Cabal is not going to shoot you,” she added helpfully.
“Good?” he gulped, as she started the hose.
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