Chapter Text
"No."
"...No?!"
Your brother stands tall, staring down your father. Your father stares back, incredulous, one thick eyebrow arched in disbelief.
"Say no to me one more time, motherfucker..." he warns.
"I will. No. And I mean it."
Kurloz never was one to follow warnings.
You look between the two of them, not saying a word. You're certain that if you did open your mouth, nothing but a wrigglerish squeak would come out. You can barely believe your own ears and eyes at what is unfolding before you over supper. You're dining in your father's quarters tonight, but dinner has barely been touched, the grubloaf getting colder and more unappealing by the second. You poke at your serving with your fork and pretend to be suddenly very interested in the texture and hope that they stop arguing.
"Kurloz, I'm warning you." your father growls, a low threatening rumble building deep within his vast chest. Your brother, older than you by 3 sweeps still stands by the dinner table, hands folded behind his back, unsmiling and not once breaking your father's stern gaze. He hadn't even sat down for dinner, how long had he been planning this?
Your father, The King, takes a long sip of red wine from his goblet. He swallows slowly, deliberately, and places it back on the table with a clack. Everything else is deathly silent.
"You are a Makara." he finally continues, his voice low "More than that, you are my first born. My son. My heir." his large fist closes around the handle of his fork, squeezing. "And you mean to come in here to tell me you wish to throw that all away on-"
"On what, father?" Kurloz interjects. His demeanor never fucking fails to astound you. Two seconds under your father's gaze and you crumble, but Kurloz always has this way of remaining so mother fucking calm. You wonder what emotions are boiling under his skin, under his paint.
Before your father can answer the rhetorical question, Kurloz speaks up again.
"Ever since the first moment I done stepped into the Church, I knew deep down in my pusher that it was where I was meant to be. You are a righteous man, father, but I always be hearing the Messiah's call louder than you ever did, you know this."
The king does not answer, but his grip on his fork loosens.
"I won't be throwing away my life, Father. For once I'll be giving it mother fucking meaning."
You can hear the pleading in your brother's voice. Shit. He really does want this a whole lot.
Your father grunts in response, before carefully picking up his knife and sawing away at the now-cold meat on his plate, not looking up.
"So. What now? All your training gone to waste? The plans for your coronation? Do you have any motherfucking idea how much time and money has gone into this?!" he hisses. His knife has sliced through the meat and is now grinding against the plate, producing a horrid shrill grating noise that makes your ears flatten against your skull.
"I...am sorry I did not make my desires clear sooner." Kurloz's unshakable calm falters ever so slightly "I did not wish to disappoint you, father."
"Yeah? Little motherfucking late for that, boy." the king bites back, and realises he's almost begun to slice the plate in two. He slams the cutlery down and lets out a noise somewhere between a sigh and a growl. He runs his big hands through his thick, braided hair, leaning back in his chair.
"Tell me what exactly it is you want, Kurloz. In plain motherfucking words." he calmly demands, and your brother shifts slightly, clearing his throat. Motherfucker's been rehearsing this part, that much you can tell.
"I am abdicating the throne. I will not rule our kingdom as you have done before me, father, for my calling lies elsewhere. I will abandon my name to become a monk of the Mirthful Messiah's, dedicating myself and the entirety of my being to them for the rest of my span. I will lead a humble life in the monastery, free from distractions. I will take a vow of silence, in hope that by refraining from speech I shall learn to listen. I will take no quadrants, I will sire no offspring. This is the life I have chosen."
A brief silence.
"No quadrants huh?" your father retorts, not missing a beat "This better not be anything to do with that olive peasant girl from last summer."
Your eyes widen, and Kurloz flinches, if only for a second. But any emotional response he had to your father's cutting remark is quickly gone.
"No. I have wanted this ever since I began to walk on two legs. She...that... is nothing to do with it."
You could be imagining, but you're certain you see your father's mouth twitch briefly into a smile. Amusing himself by causing your brother discomfort seems to be helping him to deal with tonight's events. A reflective silence falls.
"So. What in the motherfuck am I meant to do now?"
You look at him, then. You see the streaks of white and grey that run through his braids. You see the tiredness of his ancient face, even under his paint. And his horns, tall and magnificent as they still are, are not as bright as they once were. His many sweeps have dulled them. He's old, you realise.
And then, simultaneously, your brother and father both suddenly remember that you are in the room.
They turn to look at you at the same time and you fluster under their gazing, coughing awkwardly. Kurloz wrings his hands shyly and your father clears his throat, letting out a wheezing breath. Soon one small cough descends into a fit of hacking and choking. His large fists grip the tablecloth and his long shuddery breaths have a horrible rattling noise to them. You and Kurloz share a worried glance and go to move towards your father, but he holds up his hand to stop you before your ass even leaves your seat.
The coughing subsides and the three of you stay motionless and silent, save for your father regulating his breathing quietly.
"I'm fine." he mutters on an out breath, clearing his throat once more and sitting up "Kurloz, Gamzee, off to sleep the both of you. We'll talk in the morning." and with that, he is gone, leaving you and your older brother alone.
More silence. You may not be the brightest, but you weren't hatched yesterday. You know your father isn't fine. Not really.
Kurloz looks at you, and you wonder if his holy vow of silence has already begun, until he finally speaks up.
"Sorry about all that fine mess, little brother."
"No...s'okay." you shrug.
"Goodnight." he says, with a gentle nod, before departing.
You sit alone at the table and exhale, running your hand through your unruly waves. Your father's question from before echoes in your mind.
What in the motherfuck am I meant to do now?