4338.208 · July 27, 2018 AD
The Brother Who Said Fuck Off
You can spend all day solving problems for people and still manage to miss the one that's been growing right in front of you. Luke returns to Clivilius with another load of belongings—suitcases, bags, supplies. He's being thorough. Organised. Helpful. Paul scoops up a handful of rust-coloured dust and hurls it skyward. This fucking dust is everywhere and it is driving me fucking nuts! Then: Just fuck off, Luke. His voice softens for the dog. The contrast cuts deeper than the words.
Luke has been running all day—between dimensions, between houses, between narrow escapes. He's collected clothes for Kain, belongings for Karen and Chris, supplies from Pierre. He's solving problems. He's helping.
Paul has been here. In the dust. Managing a settlement that can barely feed itself, watching his brother appear and disappear with more "stuff" that has nowhere to go. No houses. No storage. Tents and improvised shelters. The gap between Luke's frantic productivity and Clivilius's grinding reality has been widening all day.
You can't just bring random crap through! Paul explodes. We may as well be living in dog kennels.
The profanity is rare. The anger is real. Paul flings dust into the air like a bitter cloud, then walks away with the dog, his voice softening for Lois in a way that makes the contrast with Luke unbearable.
Two brothers. One keeps leaving. One keeps staying. Something has cracked between them.
