And the Cat's in the Cradle

*Valentine* · (This post was last modified: 01-26-2019, 04:19 PM by Valentine.)

Rhyme's declaration that he came to get advice from his dad convinced Valentine that something was indeed wrong. It was a bit too soon to be sure his intuition had been correct, but given his son's solemn expression he could only assume that whatever the problem was, it was a big one. He steeled himself for the worst.

Somehow his preparation wasn't enough. Valentine's gaze darted to the horizon but he made no attempt to hide either his disappointment or his disgust. Not once, but twice his son had fucked up. That Rhyme hadn't learned from the first mistake didn't speak well of him and Valentine found himself clenching his jaw in anger. His son was a fool. Valentine had been known to chase girls but never, not once, had he done what his son had done. Say he had, though. Had he been in his son's place he'd have righted the situation the moment he'd learned of the pregnancies.

The knowledge that he had not one but two sons who had a problem with drunkenness disturbed him. As far as he knew, though, Ashmedai hadn't drunkenly squirted bastards into either a close relative or a little mongrel of a woman. Valentine could only imagine what kind of weak, or in the case of Shaye, inbred, creatures had come from Rhyme's mistakes. Why, why couldn't the alcohol have rendered his son limp or caused him to stick his drunken cock into the wrong hole. The Imperialis name would be better off for it.

Valentine took a deep breath and held it as Rhyme continued to speak. He could tell his son was struggling and as much as he wanted to rail against him, to beat him over the head until he understood how badly he'd damaged the Imperialis bloodline with his incompetence, now wasn't the time. Valentine sighed tiredly. "We will discuss your failings later." It was a promise; for the preservation of their strong name, Rhyme's mistakes would have to be dealt with. Rhyme's grief wasn't enough to help him wriggle free of his father's judgement. It only delayed it today, but it would indeed come.

"I'm sorry for your loss," he offered gently before sighing again. "I didn't have the certainty you do now, but I know what it's like to lose hope of ever seeing someone again." His thoughts went to first few months after Rhyme and Rhythm's disappearance. How the uncertainty had eaten at him. The many terrible, nagging what ifs. What if Rhythm had stolen Rhyme? What if they were dead? What if, what if, what if. He remembered consoling Rhys and later, when it was just the two of them searching in Auster, grieving with her.

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