HOME | DD

Description
Old News, part two.
'Three's a Crowd'
-----

Saying that my brother and I are as different as black and white would make a great candidate for the understatement of the year.
Anyone outside the family is always shocked when they discover that we’re related. There isn’t a single trait that I share with my brother, besides the odd genetic one, and even those are often doubted. Our school records, while both spattered with notes and signatures written in black ink, hold different accusations and confessions within their neatly labeled bodies.
My pale-coloured hair and light blue eyes match those of my father. Like him, I’m often told I’m severe and uncaring, turning a cold shoulder to things that don’t strike my interest. By the time I’d realized that I was turning into a person much like my dad, it was too late. I’m already set in my ways of doing things, and though I’d rather not turn into a man I find myself disappointed in on a regular basis, I can’t see there’d be any way to prevent it now.
Westly Kitchener, on the other hand, is quite the opposite.
He’s the mirror image of my mother, minus all the feminine crap. Her chocolate-brown hair and emerald eyes were passed down to him, and now that she’s gone, Westly looks like a stranger amongst out fair-skinned family. But, my father often says that neither of us are anything like our mother, not that we’d know. Mom left when I was no more than four, so both our memories of her are very vague. It seems that Westly wasn’t chosen to bear the terrible burning of ending up like one of his parents.
So, I don’t know who he acts like, or who he inherited his attitude from.
But, in my opinion, whoever it is must be a very fucked-up individual.

My eyes narrowed as I groaned in exasperation, lifting my head to stare accusingly at the wall behind the foot of my bed. On the other side, blaring music had begun to play, the impossibly loud noise burrowing into my head. As I clambered to my feet, I could feel the bass resonating through the flooring, and the beat vibrated in the pit of my stomach. Angrily, I stormed across the room, until my nose was millimeters away from the wall. As I lifted my arm and slammed my clenched fist against the empty wall space, the deafening music paused quickly before continuing. Good. I aimed a hefty kick at the white divider between Westly and myself, and the song skipped several notes. A smirk spread over my face, and I returned to my bed. I flopped onto the mattress, and listened carefully, my eyes fixed on the ceiling. If you knew what to do, it didn’t take much to annoy my brother; he was a very easily provoked temper, depending on what you do. If I were to break into his room in the middle of the night and dump a pot of cold water on him, he probably wouldn’t yell. He’d just laugh and ask what I’d been smoking. But, mess with something like his stereo, and you could really piss him off.
A few seconds later, just as I’d guessed, the music stopped abruptly, and the sound of a slamming door echoed through the house. I erased the smug expression from my face as I heard someone grasping at the doorknob outside my room. After several twists of the brass handle, my door was thrown open, revealing my irritated-looking brother. I turned my head slightly to meet his stare, and found his bright green gaze flaring angrily.
“What?” I mumbled, frowning.”
He scowled and stomped over to my bed, picked up my bag and flung it at my face. I threw up my hands defensively and caught the book bag before tossing it to the floor.
“Cut the crap.” He spat back. “Don’t mess around.”
“I wouldn’t be messing up your stuff if you’d stop screwing around!”
“Hah! Well if you weren’t such a pu-“
Westly stopped in mid-sentence as a knock sounded from behind him, and he quickly turned to face the door. I leaned to look around him, and as if it were a reflex, we both immediately spoke in unison.
“Sir.”

My father stood in the doorway, his vacant eyes switching from Westly to myself. He didn’t enter but remained where he stood, as if his perfectly-pressed suit would be ruined if he didn’t stand still.
“Anthony.” His cold eyes rested on me. “I wanted to discuss your school transfer documents.”
I stared silently at the man, my eyebrows lifting as my mind scrambled to register what I’d been told.
“Transfer? Why would I switch schools?”
I couldn’t understand why my dad would want to take me out of the high school that he’d arranged for me to attend since I aced some test in the sixth grade. It was a fairly high-class school, with a ‘strong academic program for today’s youths that strive to become the future of tomorrow’, or something along those lines. It had plenty of pre-executive classes, and you had to have an above ninety average to qualify. Dad had said that a well-rounded academic understanding would be essential for my later training as an officer, so I’d gone along with it.
My father was silent for several moments, and Westly moved to lean against the wall, his eyes flicking from me to our dad.
“Because,” He said, smoothing his blonde hair. “There is a girl who we’ve identified as a Superior moving to St. Anderson’s Academy in a matter of weeks. You will join Westly and begin attending the school, and protect the girl. To state it bluntly, you’re being assigned.”
My mouth dropped open, but I couldn’t find any words to force past my lips, though my mind was buzzing with questions.
I was being assigned a Superior?
Eyebrows furrowed in confusion, I ran a hand through my unruly hair, and frowned.
“Why can’t Westly do it? He’s already at that school.”
“Because, Anthony,” My father said, speaking as if I was an idiot because I wasn’t on the same wavelength as him. “You’re the oldest. You’ve gone through more training than your brother. You’re more prepared.”
I narrowed my eyes, racking my brain for more excuses. Yes, it was true I’d thought that it would be strange if I eventually became a captain without doing any work as an officer first. But it wasn’t like I’d actually wanted to be assigned to someone. That meant following them around and being on the lookout for hostile agents constantly, which didn’t at all appeal to me.
“But,” I stammered. “I don’t even know who I’m protecting her from.”
Arching a brow disdainfully, my father turned, and replied as he exited the room.
“I’ll brief you on further details later.”
There was no mistaking when my dad wanted to end a conversation, and he’d cut that one right off. I hunched my shoulders miserably, fuming in silence.
Westly shifted, causing a loose floorboard to creak. I looked up, pulled out of my state of shock by the sharp noise.
I could feel my brother’s celery-green gaze on me as he frowned sympathetically.
“Well, you never know. This might not be so bad.”
He shrugged and tipped his head curiously, all previous anger erased from his face.
“Y’think she’s hot?”

Description
Old News, part two.
'Three's a Crowd'
-----

Saying that my brother and I are as different as black and white would make a great candidate for the understatement of the year.
Anyone outside the family is always shocked when they discover that we’re related. There isn’t a single trait that I share with my brother, besides the odd genetic one, and even those are often doubted. Our school records, while both spattered with notes and signatures written in black ink, hold different accusations and confessions within their neatly labeled bodies.
My pale-coloured hair and light blue eyes match those of my father. Like him, I’m often told I’m severe and uncaring, turning a cold shoulder to things that don’t strike my interest. By the time I’d realized that I was turning into a person much like my dad, it was too late. I’m already set in my ways of doing things, and though I’d rather not turn into a man I find myself disappointed in on a regular basis, I can’t see there’d be any way to prevent it now.
Westly Kitchener, on the other hand, is quite the opposite.
He’s the mirror image of my mother, minus all the feminine crap. Her chocolate-brown hair and emerald eyes were passed down to him, and now that she’s gone, Westly looks like a stranger amongst out fair-skinned family. But, my father often says that neither of us are anything like our mother, not that we’d know. Mom left when I was no more than four, so both our memories of her are very vague. It seems that Westly wasn’t chosen to bear the terrible burning of ending up like one of his parents.
So, I don’t know who he acts like, or who he inherited his attitude from.
But, in my opinion, whoever it is must be a very fucked-up individual.

My eyes narrowed as I groaned in exasperation, lifting my head to stare accusingly at the wall behind the foot of my bed. On the other side, blaring music had begun to play, the impossibly loud noise burrowing into my head. As I clambered to my feet, I could feel the bass resonating through the flooring, and the beat vibrated in the pit of my stomach. Angrily, I stormed across the room, until my nose was millimeters away from the wall. As I lifted my arm and slammed my clenched fist against the empty wall space, the deafening music paused quickly before continuing. Good. I aimed a hefty kick at the white divider between Westly and myself, and the song skipped several notes. A smirk spread over my face, and I returned to my bed. I flopped onto the mattress, and listened carefully, my eyes fixed on the ceiling. If you knew what to do, it didn’t take much to annoy my brother; he was a very easily provoked temper, depending on what you do. If I were to break into his room in the middle of the night and dump a pot of cold water on him, he probably wouldn’t yell. He’d just laugh and ask what I’d been smoking. But, mess with something like his stereo, and you could really piss him off.
A few seconds later, just as I’d guessed, the music stopped abruptly, and the sound of a slamming door echoed through the house. I erased the smug expression from my face as I heard someone grasping at the doorknob outside my room. After several twists of the brass handle, my door was thrown open, revealing my irritated-looking brother. I turned my head slightly to meet his stare, and found his bright green gaze flaring angrily.
“What?” I mumbled, frowning.”
He scowled and stomped over to my bed, picked up my bag and flung it at my face. I threw up my hands defensively and caught the book bag before tossing it to the floor.
“Cut the crap.” He spat back. “Don’t mess around.”
“I wouldn’t be messing up your stuff if you’d stop screwing around!”
“Hah! Well if you weren’t such a pu-“
Westly stopped in mid-sentence as a knock sounded from behind him, and he quickly turned to face the door. I leaned to look around him, and as if it were a reflex, we both immediately spoke in unison.
“Sir.”

My father stood in the doorway, his vacant eyes switching from Westly to myself. He didn’t enter but remained where he stood, as if his perfectly-pressed suit would be ruined if he didn’t stand still.
“Anthony.” His cold eyes rested on me. “I wanted to discuss your school transfer documents.”
I stared silently at the man, my eyebrows lifting as my mind scrambled to register what I’d been told.
“Transfer? Why would I switch schools?”
I couldn’t understand why my dad would want to take me out of the high school that he’d arranged for me to attend since I aced some test in the sixth grade. It was a fairly high-class school, with a ‘strong academic program for today’s youths that strive to become the future of tomorrow’, or something along those lines. It had plenty of pre-executive classes, and you had to have an above ninety average to qualify. Dad had said that a well-rounded academic understanding would be essential for my later training as an officer, so I’d gone along with it.
My father was silent for several moments, and Westly moved to lean against the wall, his eyes flicking from me to our dad.
“Because,” He said, smoothing his blonde hair. “There is a girl who we’ve identified as a Superior moving to St. Anderson’s Academy in a matter of weeks. You will join Westly and begin attending the school, and protect the girl. To state it bluntly, you’re being assigned.”
My mouth dropped open, but I couldn’t find any words to force past my lips, though my mind was buzzing with questions.
I was being assigned a Superior?
Eyebrows furrowed in confusion, I ran a hand through my unruly hair, and frowned.
“Why can’t Westly do it? He’s already at that school.”
“Because, Anthony,” My father said, speaking as if I was an idiot because I wasn’t on the same wavelength as him. “You’re the oldest. You’ve gone through more training than your brother. You’re more prepared.”
I narrowed my eyes, racking my brain for more excuses. Yes, it was true I’d thought that it would be strange if I eventually became a captain without doing any work as an officer first. But it wasn’t like I’d actually wanted to be assigned to someone. That meant following them around and being on the lookout for hostile agents constantly, which didn’t at all appeal to me.
“But,” I stammered. “I don’t even know who I’m protecting her from.”
Arching a brow disdainfully, my father turned, and replied as he exited the room.
“I’ll brief you on further details later.”
There was no mistaking when my dad wanted to end a conversation, and he’d cut that one right off. I hunched my shoulders miserably, fuming in silence.
Westly shifted, causing a loose floorboard to creak. I looked up, pulled out of my state of shock by the sharp noise.
I could feel my brother’s celery-green gaze on me as he frowned sympathetically.
“Well, you never know. This might not be so bad.”
He shrugged and tipped his head curiously, all previous anger erased from his face.
“Y’think she’s hot?”