August was always angry, and he hated that he was angry, which just made him even angrier. So, as all good parents ought to do, he took that anger out on his children.
Because when you know you have no future, and can’t trust yourself to do pretty much anything, the most you can do is try to improve the next generation. Sadly, the children were influenced by him to an extent; some would say half himself and half the metal’s origins, or half the smithing process, half their upbringing, or some combination of all of the above. In any case, they had some of August, and even that much was enough to make them a little… reckless.
Dear father, I’ve humiliated a gang of bandits in an alleyway near the river port, but I accidentally endangered this young homeless man socially. Do you know where I can go to set him up with a new community? Please do not worry about the money, I’ve earned a lot for my work testing my girlfriend’s Otherworld conservation ideas on monstrous cattle, which thankfully survived the Long-term-memory wipe due to being integral to her personality. -Hannah
Hey Dad, remember that protest I started against church interference in laws? It ended up getting way bigger than I thought so I’m heading north to Gastland under glamor until the heat cools down with my friend’s aunt. Do you think you can hire some people you trust to escort me since I don’t have a partner yet? -Charlotte
Hi Definitely-Not-Mom! Just checking in. I’m gonna be late for the holidays because there’s this huge ass wave of undead here in this random city on the way. All because it’s the hundredth anniversary of a super bloody battle or something and they tried to forget about it and the piles of bones did not like that. So yeah part of me wanted to let ‘em have it, but it’s on the way and one of my friends is super sad cause his fiancé lives there, so I’m gonna rescue her for him and get some magic calcium to sell. I’ll try to make it two days into the festival though. -Zina
Three red-tier messages in one day, after a month of -relative- peace. This was probably karma for being a disgusting demon hiding in plain sight, but he just wished it didn’t have to affect his innocent daughters too. August didn’t know if she he was relieved something finally happened, or if he wanted to pull his hair out.
It was both, of course. Always both.
At least two of the problems had an easy solution though. He grabbed his handy and very expensive Entangled Slab from his deceptively high-security wardrobe, and with great reluctance, wiped away the announcement of one of his daughter’s books being published. It was the oldest and least important on the board.
“Greenie, I assume your weirder is accompanying you. Both of you, go to Ink-Sniffer. And Bitch; please don’t get cocky. If you die, Snaccs will kill you. -Your Loving Manager”
With that, August signed and rubbed his eyes for a moment. He’d chosen the code-name as a joke way back when he only had four children, but now, it was practically an official title. 12 kids at the age of 26. It wasn’t a record, but it was probably pretty damn close to it. He started when he was 16 -no, that doesn’t count-, 17, and he cranked them out twice a year for a while before all the responsibilities slowed him down. All the stress of August’s normal smithing on top of the time raising his increasing number of daughters almost helped him understand why other soulsmiths treated their Living Blades more indifferently. Almost.
Factoring in emergencies plus all of that, the actual production time spent per living weapon had rapidly reduced to less than three months’ worth of work for his most recent daughter. Some would attribute that “masterful” speed to talent, practice, or pain tolerance. August would say he just enjoyed the feeling of violently ripping his soul out and putting it into a body he actually liked. Don’t go down that road, August; you’re having guests tomorrow.
He needed to work to keep the thoughts away, but his wretched soul still needed recovering, so he pushed the pile of letters to the left after arranging them in order of importance. Some of them used the color codes for something important but most were thankfully normal, so he just had to scan them for keywords, tone, and novelty -since some send letters less than others- to sort them properly. He then pulled out his drawer, where a sizable pile of notebooks lay, named after all of his kids. They were all born at the physical and mental age of roughly sixteen-ish to eighteen-ish except for Lyra who was born around fifteen-ish since he was younger at the time, so in some ways they were probably easier than raising biological kids through all the main stages of life. Living Weapons were all born at the age just before adulthood except in the unlikely case of the maker being a teen like him, but it was still a lot.
One cheat August had honed to perfection to use was the fact that almost half of their issues stemmed from problems similar to either himself or each other, since they were made from his own cursed soul. Shame, otherness, anger, overwhelming emotions, socializing, impulse, body image, ignoring problems, or most troublesome of all, secrets. It took a lot of work for him to deal with some of it without revealing too much of his own secrets, especially since vulnerability begets vulnerability, but it was all about selecting the right truths to get them open up, or telling stories. It’s much easier in person, of course, but he couldn’t tie them down when they were almost born with independence right off the gate. His twelfth didn’t even stay for a year; they’d been staying for shorter and shorter periods on average as he went on, actually, because his attention was so tied up with the others no matter how much he tried to give them the love they needed during their formative years. The other daughters could help with that, but to rely on them would be to try and pull himself up by his bootstraps, which was impossible without magic.
What am I doing again? Letters! For fucks sake get it together August.
But as much as he tried, he couldn’t bring himself to move the pen. He should really get to learning a focusing chant from some black market. Mind magic was illegal and dangerous to yourself and others, yada-yada, but so were painkiller potions, and the Otherworlder from the pizza shop said illegalizing drugs only caused issues so it should be fine, right?
Probably not. August slumped down on the table, his arm as a pillow. He felt so empty, strung with an ever present longing that was almost, but not quite like physical hunger. He rested his eyes for a moment, in an effort to ignore the pain until it settled down again…
And then he woke up in the afternoon, his muscles protesting his awkward posture. The floorboards were creaking behind him. He blinked up wearily and croaked, “Hello…?” Was it one of his daughters?
“Damn you and your mama-bear ears. You should really use some rest, you know?” A hand reached down and tucked the hair behind his ear.
It took him everything he had to stop himself from reacting to giddy pleasure and subsequent dread at hearing mama-bear when he was still waking up. It always felt more terrifying when he didn’t expect it, making him wonder if it was slipping through and-
There was a taste in the air. It was a familiar rich flavor of recognition, a desire to remake society in her image, and empathetic hurt. His hunger ached, but it was nearly overshadowed by his joy and surprise.
He jolted up “Asura!” and promptly fell into a coughing fit. Water. He got up and walked to the sink, but she already beat him there, grabbing a cup to fill it up in the sink. That thing is a godsend, when will the next Otherworlder arrive with plumbing knowledge close to their heart? Maybe some native eccentric will even beat them to it.
Flipping on the activation runes on the spout even ensured the water would be filtered. Having money really was a cheat. August thankfully grabbed the cub and downed it, swishing in his mouth to get rid of the gross dryness. After a beat of silence he cleared his throat, he asked “I wasn’t expecting you, what’s up?” He tried to smile, and couldn’t decide where to put his hands all of a sudden, so he ended up leaning against the counter, looking like an idiot.
Asra laughed in breathy huffs, with that corner-mouth-grin that made his stomach flip. At me or with me? At me or with me!? She was about a half inch shorter than August, but he always felt small around her in a way that left him breathless. It was part of what made her such a good guard captain; a calm, confident demeanor with an observant gaze that never faltered. He wasn’t so dense as to be unaware that his… reactions to it were stronger than most, but part of him instinctively knew that exploring them in this case would lead somewhere dangerous, so he tried not to think about it.
Oh, she was saying something. “-ke sure Lyra doesn’t chew you out for giving yourself soul scaring again.” Those sharp green eyes leveled him a narrow glare, and he looked away, fiddling with his way-too-long hair. He really should cut it.
“I haven’t gotten any in two years.”
“-Because you haven’t made any progress in two years. And once you do you’ll pull twenty all nighters to keep the flow going unless one of your daughters sends a call on that magitech doohickey you call a phone.” Her words carried the scent of a growing garden with the desire to change someone for the better, and have them be grateful. With his mind still waking up, it almost made him dizzy.
“It’s not magitech, it’s just magic with scientific principles from the Otherworlders and we pretend it’s different or mysterious because it helps the merchants sell it for a higher price than it should-”
“August.” He froze in the middle of his rant, sheepishly shoving his hands in his apron pockets from where he’d been waving them around. “You know your bad work habits might, and have rubbed off on some of your daughters, right?”
He couldn’t hold back from flinching as an old wound cracked open in his chest. If he didn’t intimately know what it felt like, he might’ve joked that her words literally gave him soul damage.
Asra paused at the reaction, but pressed on anyway. “If you want the thirteenth to be as well off as possible, you should take more care of yourself.” He knew that. He knew it better than anyone, really, after so many sleepless nights thinking about it. Trouble was, there wasn’t a solution; taking care of his daughters did help him be more introspective, and having some of their talks actually helped him through something as much as it helped his kids, but it wasn’t permanent. A permanent solution to all of his problems only existed in magic so high level that it was more likely to damn his soul even more rather than fix it. He would know; he’d been searching for a decade.
Asra sighed, cupping his face and turning his head to look at her. “Just try to remember, your health matters to more than just yourself.” August’s breath hitched. It wasn’t the time, but Asra’s soft look was always super effective in combination with her round face. It made the ugly part of him twist with envy.
“I’ll try,” he whispered.
She looked like she didn’t believe him, but she dropped it anyway. Disappointing Asra left an empty hole in August’s stomach, but there wasn’t much he could do.
The woman dropped off her weekly plate of sugar-death cookies and left shortly after that, promising to talk more tomorrow and walking away with that perfectly braided auburn hair trailing behind her. He wanted to lunge at her feet and beg her to stay, but he clamped down on the urge just in time; he really was growing weaker, usually he had more control than that. The night was a bit more sleepless than usual as August tossed his only true friend’s words around in his head. It really was selfish of him to give birth to children who inherited his problems without being able to take care of them. He couldn’t stop though, so he did the least he could and tried his damnedest to make up for bringing them into this world.
But is that really true? Can I really not stop, or do I just not want to consider stopping? Am I afraid of stopping?
His only comfort was that most of them seemed to be doing okay; half of them even more than okay, changing the world in ways he’d never dreamed of trying after the incident. It was an empty comfort, but he’ll take anything these days. To distract his mind from the morbid thoughts and the dreadful emptiness, he returned to reading the letters and writing replies. Only, this time on the bed stand so he wouldn’t make the crick in his neck even worse.
Nice Chapter! Thanks for writing it!
Heh, thanks Asha!