Another drabble prompt~? Young Ray meeting little Hubert for the first time.
[Drabble: I carried a droplet to the beach and it created the ocean]
No matter the backs turned, the harsh words, the punishing glares and tensed jaw hinting at disappointment, there was some admiration for his uncle in comparison to Raymond's actual father. This man urged him to push himself harder, to become better and grow into a respectable man for a rewarding sake. This being the one thing repeated to him in constant resonance throughout his childhood and up. The Oswell family. The Oswell family. The well-being of Strahta was the well-being and prosperity of that very name. And Raymond carried its impressive weight with swelling pride. He was part of the generation that would come to carry those pillars above their heads. And it was wonderful. It was worth any beating, any seemingly significant drops of his heart. As Raymond saw it, if he was getting disheartened or despaired, he was not trying hard enough. He was not doing a good job, and he was being mentally punished for it. It only served him right.
Raymond had always been one to go the extra mile when it wasn't necessary. To stand out, even if only a little, to do as good of a job as possible and then some. This often led him to his own little agendas, ones that were seldom rewarded as the poor bespectacled ginger wasn't the brightest sort when it came to devising things on his own. Upon outside observation, it was rather clear to others that this would only give him positions suited for following rather than leading. Hence, at a very young age, Raymond's future and intertwined fate had already been decided for him.
But it was alright. It was fine. He was still able to serve the country of his origins, the pride and perfection of his name, the thing he truly was nothing without. The one purpose of his life. This led Raymond to think of little else, his mind drilled to insane amounts with what was supposedly the only matter of importance. And he coud be used and abused however often was necessary to shape him.
But as much as Raymond looked up to his uncle, the man himself did not see him. As something expendable, if anything, someone who no doubt worked hard and would do as he was told. But nothing that stood out from the rest. A dyed fringe would do nothing to assist him in terms of simply having a soul people could be drawn to. This was decided upon birth. And little did Raymond know that his own hard work would come to fuel the recognition and soul of someone not of his blood.
And he would be the first moth in this experiment.
There had been talk about it. An adoption had been a necessity, and that factor was understandable. Raymon was of the presumption that this wouldn't make the child an Oswell, nor would it make him appreciated or loved. He would need to work hard like everyone else, perhaps even harder. The notion had put a smile on the eighteen-year old soldier-in-training at the time.
But as the little boy had arrived, shaking like a wind-beaten doll, he was indeed treated with everything but mercy, and pity plagued Raymond's features. During their first meeting, he had been cold, said very little to the other, a condescending glare whispering that this boy would never rise above him. That now, Raymond wasn't the underdog anymore and never would be.
But the poor boy was put through the same ordeal as him, if perhaps worse. Everyday he cried, never a smile on his face. As soon as he spoke of something irrelevant, nay, spoke at all without first being spoken to, he was ruthlessly shot down. Raymond, having been assigned to teach the boy and take care of him in his uncle's absence, thought this would be an enjoyable thing to watch. But he only saw a weaker version of himself, curled up on the floor, knowing not what was so important about this family that he would need to suffer for it. But Raymond knew better now. This boy, Hubert, did not.
One day, Raymond, as if struck by a simple decision, entered Hubert's room as usual to teach him. But an impulse had been carried at his side that day, and his voice had taken on a gentle, albeit awkward, tone. He came to the boy with tips and tricks, teaching him how to stand and how to walk, clever things to say to win approval as well as things a few of the higher-ups liked. These were things he had learned over the course of many years, through trial and error, in order to win himself a more favourable spot. He now passed it on to Hubert, thinking it harmless as it was only a boy of ten at most who would likely not be able to remember it all sufficiently enough to perform it.
And little by little, as Hubert got more and more closed off, Raymond opened up. He barely noticed the transition himself, simply enjoying the other's company and being someone another could look up to for once.
But it turned out all his teachings had been a complete success. Hubert basically swept the military off their feet with his smarts, technique and skill, being not only a quick learned but a fiery spirit as well. People were quickly drawn to him, and he disregarded this, making them only further intrigued. He earned spot after spot, praise after praise, only disappearing more and more into himself and away from that shy little boy each time.
And as such, so did Raymond.
In the end, one not of his blood was more worthy of the Oswell name than Raymond himself. And the fact that he had allowed himself to be the stepping stone for this achievement only served to throw him deeper into this internal dungeon of his own construction.
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