Morningside Cuesta the music's too loud

tartok? vex repeats, steely gaze shifting from haunt to the stranger; stony despite being studious in its true nature. vex is a miasma of things then: an unquiet churning of questions and suspicion. did he know kaertok? had their paths crossed even for a brief moment? were they family by blood or was it in name and oath only? were all tartoks like their absent father or was he an exception? i am called piguktuk. for now, it was all he had that was ‘tartok’ and though he is angry at the assumption that kaertok left them with little else to believe, vex cannot fully bring himself to shed that part of him.

we’re looking for him, our father. vex informs the older tartok, not entirely sure he can be trusted but a little more willing to give the chance given their status as blood ( or so he believes ). vex’s jaws part to speak once more only for whatever he’d been about to say or ask lost to the void as arbiter arrives; angry, as usual. vex can’t help the annoyance that flashes upon his visage; scowling at her.

perhaps one day, when and if he ever had kids of his own, he might better understand where his mother was coming from. that it was affection and ( rightful ) concern that drove her actions and not the need to suffocate them. unable to presently relate, however; leaves vex feeling like exactly that: like arbiter was making it her personal mission to bound, chain and suffocate him ( them ).

we didn’t even go that far. vex argues in their defense; a petulant pre-teen who had a lot yet to learn about the world.

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