i would LIKE to have the discussion about how the fact that kristoph kept and cared for a dog and speaks fondly of it is a really interesting facet to his character and hints at his ability to care for others, but i absolutely cannot do that without first passing the roadblock of why the hell he named her Clams
Dahlia stepped out of the way, looking up to meet the gaze of the person she had been blocking. Hmm, rather handsome with a nice sounding voice… Immediately she had to think logically; could he be an asset? Anyone could be, really. Hold on, she had heard plenty about this man and his way with law and words. This could be risky.
“Kristoph, right?” Dahlia’s temptations got the best of her, and she found herself injecting her words with the melodic tone that got boys to fall at her feet. A touch on the arm and she would be invested in this man.
H m. That certainly caught him off guard. Kristoph knew that he was no stranger on campus, but it did catch him by surprise that the girl recognized him, especially when he didn’t know her past seeing her in the library.
H e grabbed his book and straightened up, looking over at her. He was still trying to get a good read on what seemed different about her, but he couldn’t place it. Perhaps he was just plain suspicious.
“That’s correct. I’m apologize
but have we met before?”
There was no denying that Kristoph threw himself wholly into his work. Those who had worked with him- such as Apollo- would often come in in the morning to him already being there, and leave with him still in the midst of something.
Tonight was no different. The sun had set hours ago, and since then, Kristoph had only moved from his desk to draw the curtains shut in the office.
Eventually, he looked up from whatever dense legal tome he was poring over at this point.
“I appreciate the effort, Mister Justice
but you ought not push your limits,
either. It’s getting rather late.”
I ronic, maybe. But Kristoph often doled out advice he himself seemed to think he was above following.
Kristoph Gavin understood the importance of knowing thy enemy, so to speak. He was in excellent rapport with as many prosecutors, detectives, judges, and etcetera that he could get his hands on. It certainly helped him maintain his record.
Oftentimes, it was easiest to make these connections through his brother’s connections.
So it was only a matter of time before they met, really.
I t had been nagging him where he recognized the girl’s name from, since he was certain they’d never spoken. But before he spoke, it occurred to him. Lana Skye’s blunder and it’s subsequent fallout was one of those cases that anyone who had their finger to the pulse of the local legal world should be familiar with. Kristoph Gavin certainly was.
But that’s not the sort of thing one opens up with. He had a much better in, besides.
“Miss Skye, I presume. It’s a pleasure to
finally meet you properly. I would hope that
my brother hasn’t been too much trouble
for you.”
Stick with me, this is a bit of a winded explanation-
I don’t believe Kristoph tends to act impulsively. When he does things, he typically has thought them over for a long, long, time. But at the same time, Kristoph’s reaction to things are over the top- he reacts to levels people would not, with a lack of regulation most people would not. If he feels personally injured by something, he might bury the impulse for years, but he won’t get rid of it- and he’ll react eventually. Badly.
I’d say this happens less often with good things and “good impulses.” Kristoph doesn’t hold on to those long enough for them to fester. If something happens that makes him feel positively, he ignores or buries it.
In the end, he ends up acting on his bad impulses far more often, even if there’s a significant delay.
Kristoph is obsessed with keeping well-groomed. That’s where the nail thing comes in. It’s probably his paranoia about keeping a clean image manifesting physically.
Kristoph does a lot of little things to make sure he looks sharp- keeping pristine nail hygiene, keeping his clothes pressed and sharp, skin care, hair care, and etcetera. It’s likely he gets up at an ungodly hour to pull it all off. Then throughout the day he’ll fuss when nobody is looking.
Because we can’t all just put brains in jars to see how they tick.
♦ - HOARD - something that is precious to them
✿ - DECAY - an old memory, from childhood perhaps
⚔ - DUEL - a meeting or relationship that was important to them
♥ - STAKED - a jarring event, something that changed their life/outlook
∇ - TOMBSTONE - who they are versus who they appear to be
☼ - DAYSTAR - a secret they don’t want coming to light
☂ - THUNDERSTORM - a difficult or miserable time in their life
⚖ - SCALES - how well they balance their good and bad impulses
ϟ - LIGHTNING - something they thought they’d left in the past, returned
☢ - BIOHAZARD - the most dangerous thing about them to others
♬ - DIRGE - a habit, hobby, or obsession they can’t seem to shake
■ - LAIR - where they live, work, or spend most of their time
☠ - DEATH - the closest it’s come to touching their life
S he seems a bit young, but if Kristoph felt any sort of way at the rate that kids these days- such as his brother- were trucking through the process of passing the bar compared to himself when he was younger, he didn’t show it.
H e just remembers to smile politely, nodding.
“Excellent. If you’re ever looking to get your metaphorical feet wet in the industry, you ought to send your resume to my firm.”
K ristoph didn’t tend to pay much attention to the people around campus, especially those that he wasn’t directly involved with. But he did recognize the girl, at this point. Perhaps it was her screaming red hair that stuck out, or simply the fact that he didn’t see many other people looming around the poetry section of the vast Ivy University library.
H e wasn’t certain why, but something about the young woman caught his attention. He wasn’t exactly sure what it was,but it was simply as if she had some strange way about her, some aura, that seemed... different. After all, he’d always been sharp.
S till, unable to put context to this sense, he mostly ignored it. He did have to get by her, however. Arms already laden with several thick books of poems and literature, he nudged closer towards the book the young woman stood in the way off.
M aintaining work-life balance, to Kristoph, meant that he did things that fortified both his success at work, while also fortifying his personal relationships, so that, should need be, they might be called upon to help with work things. Kristoph, perhaps, was not the best at maintaining any sort of work-life balance, as it were.
All the same, he made point to not disappear entirely into his work in the name of keeping in contact with his short list of persons of interest. Somewhere on this list fell one Klavier Gavin, who had secured his position on Kristoph’s mental list by virtue of being born, and, while being shuffled around by later players, maintained his position.
Kristoph Gavin was a meticulous and disciplined person. If he had people he knew he ought to go out and be friendly with, he did so, right on schedule. So he made a point to meet his brother, even if his brother’s schedule had become obnoxiously predictable, and his own steadily fuller.
O n this particular day, they’d both had the time. So he sat, at the table in a restaurant that tried very hard to look like it was the sort of place people with money like the Gavins had ought to dine.
He was silent, so far. He hated small talk. Even more so, he hated the potential of repeating the same small talk he and his brother had undoubtedly already covered in past meetings.
If the silence bothered him, he didn’t express it, only finally looking away from the window to glance at his brother briefly.
quick exposition piece! content warnings for implications of abuse
✖ ✖ ✖
W ʜᴇɴ Kʀɪsᴛᴏᴘʜ ᴡᴀs ʏᴏᴜɴɢ, ᴀɴᴅ sᴛɪʟʟ ʜᴀᴅ ᴄʜɪʟᴅɪsʜ ᴛʜɪɴɢs ʟɪᴋᴇ ɴᴀɪ̈ᴠᴇᴛᴇ́ and imagination, he’d find himself wondering if he were a robot, some strange and complicated human-machine, and nobody had bothered to tell him.
I n the books (much above his age level) he read voraciously in the hidden corners of the house, the robotic characters would watch the humans laugh, and weep, and scream, and the robots would ponder. Logically, they would comprehend, because they comprehended everything, far more than the humans. But they wouldn’t fully understand. They wouldn’t feel. Kristoph took some comfort in their plight, since nobody else appeared to understand it.
K ristoph’s childhood did not last long. He grew out of this phobia, but he did not grow out of the behaviors that sparked it. He was too mature to have childish fears, however, so he dropped it entirely. By the time his baby brother was out of diapers, he was practically a little adult, himself. Adults would comment on this, not in a way to suggest that they were impressed, but more that they were perturbed. Concerned.
“Anxious attachment,” he blurted one morning, nose still buried in a book that was far heavier a text than a gradeschooler would typically take interest in. The nanny had just finished battling his weepy little brother to stop another seemingly incessant crying fit. When she stared at him in stunned silence, he peered over the edge of the book.
“Anxious attachment,” he repeated. “When a child fails to form a proper bond with their parents, they become sensitive and hard to calm.”
“That’s… quite interesting, Kristoph.” The nanny tried, eventually. She set Klavier down on the floor to play. Within moments, he was weeping again. Kristoph went back to reading, unperturbed by his brother’s shrieks.
S oon enough, she’d be gone. Nannies rotated as if they were coming through a revolving door. Klavier was needy. Kristoph was strange and withdrawn. And the parents were pretty scary, too.
S ometimes, in the gaps between, that’d leave them either stuck with their parents, or with young Kristoph left head of the house while they were gone. Kristoph resented tending to his brother, but he resented his parents more. So often he’d offer to take on the task.
H e had some interest in his baby brother, at least. It was intriguing to watch the way he grew, despite the circumstances. Like a plant left in suboptimal conditions, the young boy grew vibrant and colorful, but would twist and turn and periodically wilt along the way as he struggled to do so. Herr and Frau Gavin were wretched and unfeeling machines, too. Kristoph, ever the shrewd one, had learned to adapt to his environment early, and become the same. Klavier, even as a baby, seemed hellbent on thriving in spite of this. It was interesting to observe.
A s the years wore on, however, Kristoph got bored of witnessing this sad display. Or perhaps he had finally grown weary and pained from watching the only consistent person in his life suffer. But he couldn’t admit that, either. He was wires and cool machine, even now.
T his is why he absolutely would refuse to probe around his conscience to decide whether he had learned what guilt felt like. If he were ever to feel guilty, it’d be now. When he left Klavier alone there, to escape to university outside the country. But he certainly wasn’t going to think on whether had too hard.
A fter all, why would he? He could perhaps fool himself into believing he’d learned to feel remorse, eventually, yes, but he’d know better.
M achines can only comprehend, and perhaps emulate. But they can not feel.
