That's Fine

If you want to forsake me, that's fine. If you want to hate me, that's fine. If you want to wish death on me, that's fine. If you want to hurt me, that's fine.
You've already hurt me enough. Day after day after day, you hurt me. Time and time again, you forgot me. Promises broken, hopes dashed, and still I devoted hour after hour to you. I put my life on hold. I ignored other dear friends. I gave you more attention than anyone or anything else, but what did I get in return? For the 120% of myself that I devoted to making you happy, I got 40% back, at best. Giving you the benefit of the doubt became second nature. Wallowing in my own pain, unable to convey to you the hurt you put me through was a daily activity. There were times when I tried. There were times when I all but screamed it at you, begging you to give just one fuck. But you didn't. That isn't to say you were never there because there were times when you were. There were times you helped me through that I will forever be grateful to you for. But it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough to make up for all the tears I shed. It wasn't enough to erase the pain of not having you reciprocate the level of friendship I showed you and that is why I had to make a change. That is why I decided to not expect so much from you. It wasn't fair to me and it wasn't fair to you. There are other people who are willing to give me that kind of friendship and so I made the change I did. I tried to approach you honestly, but you seem to prefer treating me like a devil. But that's fine. Call me a devil. Write me off as a demon, a Satan that's but a stain in your life. That's fine. If you choose to continue taking me for granted, that's fine. I give up. I don't have it in me to fight anymore. I opened my heart and had it trampled upon. It hurts. But that's fine.

Clyde

A year ago today, @_Hannibal_King_ emerged on the TL and since he's the reason I first started talking to Clyde, his twitversary is our anniversary.
When Clyde and I met, it was through our characters. She didn't have an author account yet. Hannie liked her so much, he nicknamed her "Angel." She will always be Angel to him.
Clyde and I first started to get close around the end of summer when Toad started school and wasn't around as much late at night/early in the morning. The night that really started it all was when I was having a Psych marathon and got so into talking about it that I changed my avi to Shawn and started to call Clyde, "Lassie." As the nights went on, we came up with crazy sleepover/kidnapping ideas and even gave them themes. Soon enough, we were shouting weird shit at each other and, realizing we would be partners in crime, decided to be Bonnie and Clyde. After that I spent many an argument threatening to burn her share of the money while she tried to use Frank Iero's adorable face against me.
It was actually a fairly long time before we started RPing together. One late night, while I was up talking to Clyde and Vanilla, I couldn't resist the urge to use Minzy as an FC nor could I resist Buttface's boyish charms and thus HwaYoung was born. Since then, Clyde and I have grown even closer and have a SHIT TON of SLs planned for the Beauties and the Beasts.
Clyde is an AMAZING writer. She captures subtle nuances and expressions in ways I've never seen done before. She can be as doubtful of that as she wants, but it doesn't change the fact that it's true.
Anyway, Clyde, even though you ruined my life with Freaks and Geeks, I still love you way more than you love Franco. You may be #TrackThree in brains, but you're #TrackOne in my heart. Happy anniversary!

Toad

This time last year I wished Toad a happy birthday. It wasn't anything special, just a tweet that I sent because I saw other people sending them. Sure, I kinda knew her, but really the only reason I sent the tweet was because I didn't want to be the only one on the TL who didn't. But now? Now that bitch is so lodged in my heart no amount of sexy men dressed as construction workers could pry her out.
I honestly can't believe it's actually been over a year since we met. Over a year since her Maggie and I argued. Over a year since her Maggie favorited one of my tweets which prompted me to follow her. It's been a year since we were soul reapers together with Fergie. It's been a year since we became the capslock sisters. It's been a year since our sisterhood began and so much has happened that it seems more like decades have passed.
I used the power of peer pressure to make her create Daisy. My Hannie has a thing for Toad and has asserted his possession of her on more than one occasion. By way of intense shouting, I got her to watch A Hard Day's Night with me. Yeah. I got her first time. We've RPed together and I made her fall in love with my Poop. I told her she wasn't ready for this jelly. My body's too bootylicious for her. So much dishonor on so many cows. I'd mention everything we've ever done, but I think just saying #LadyAndTheCat pretty much sums it all up.
Toad is not just a friend I met online. She's not some bubbly entity that's there for the sole purpose to make me feel good. Toad is my precious little sister who is always, -ALWAYS- welcome to hide in my DMs when the TL just doesn't appeal to her. In there we'll put on boas and sprawl and just make absolutely no sense at all. Derping to the extreme.
Earlier today I told Ronald that I was freaking out because she's another year older. I don't even care that my Lil Bro is turning the same age in a couple months, but because Toad is as old as she is now I'm having a life crisis and just want to shove her back so she never ages.
I don't really know what I'm getting at anymore, but the point is: Toad is amazing and better than the rest of you at everything. You don't even breathe as well as she does.
Happy birthday, Toad. I love you. Stay #TrackOne.

Right Now

Right now, I just kinda really hate myself. I don't want to be me. I'm not feeling being alive. I want to lie in bed until I waste away to nothing.
I don't see the point. I honestly don't. There's nothing I do that someone else can't or doesn't. I can be replaced really easily. I can be forgotten really easily. So what's the point in my even being here? I don't get it. I'm useless. My friends are hurting and struggling, but I can't do a single fucking thing for them. I yell and scream until I can't move, but nothing changes. I might as well not exist.
I hate being forgotten. It scares me. I feel like I'm being told that I'm annoying and then want to apologize profusely, but I know that would just be even more annoying. If you don't want me to bother you, just say so. I'll do it. I'll leave you alone. You'll never have to suffer my presence again.
Lately, it just feels like all I ever do is dive into sudden depression over the smallest things and I hate bringing people down. It just makes me hate myself more. I know I sound like a broken record, but it's true and it hasn't gotten any better. I tell myself to stop it and to not let such small things get to me so badly, but I can't do it. No matter how hard I try those things still make me feel like I'm being stabbed in the heart. I become a worthless fucking sack of absolute shit and I hate that, but there's nothing I can do to change it.
To those of you that know me and know what I'm talking about, I am so so sorry. I don't know what else to do but apologize. You don't deserve my shitty ass ruining your good time and for that I could not be more sorry. That's why I'm taking a break from Twitter. Please, don't ask me what's wrong or try to tell me that I'm being ridiculous for thinking this way. You're all better people than I am so I know you'll try to comfort me and everything, but I'm not stupid. I know how I've been acting and I know it's annoying as fuck. I just hope you can forgive me for all of this. I don't know how long I'll be away. I'm sorry if this upsets anyone, but I'm tired of going from a bouncing ball of happiness to a piece of crap in no time flat. I'm tired of being a shitty friend. I love you guys. I'm really sorry.

The Worst Part

As crappy as I feel, as hard as it is to handle everything that's happening to me and going on around me, the worst part is that I don't want to burden the people I care about. I don't want to add to the things they have to worry about. I want to provide them with a place of solace. I want them to feel like they can come to me and tell me all the shit that's bothering them and then let me cheer them up. I always aim to be a beacon of light to people, but I feel like lately I'm more of a dark tunnel that only succeeds in bringing people down.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry I suddenly go from being hyper to being the most depressing sack of shit. I'm trying really hard to keep myself together, but I don't think I'm doing a very good job and for that I'm sorry. It's not in me to reach out because I've had my hand slapped away too many times. I'm too scared of being hurt to really open up. I'm too afraid that the people I want most will push me away or grow tired of me, so I don't even give them the chance to prove me wrong. And the worst part of that is that I know there are people around me who want to be there for me the way I want to be there for them, but I'm so fucking petrified that I can't and I feel like that's hurting them and then I just feel like the biggest asshole that ever lived.
I feel like a porcelain doll with a painted smile that looked so convincing, but now I'm cracking. Pieces are falling. I can't pick them up on my own, but I've put myself so high on the shelves that I'm not sure I could ever reach anyone else to ask for the help I need.
For my moods, I'm sorry. For my waffling, I'm sorry. For my cagey behavior, I'm sorry. I'm just so sorry. I wish I could make it up to those of you who must be frustrated by me, but I don't know how and that's the worst part.

I Can't

I've been trying really hard, but I can't. You aren't allowed to do that. You can't be so amazing. It's not fair to be the first person I think of when I wake up. It's not fair to have so much control over my heart. I'm constantly afraid of annoying you and getting pushed away, but you're the one I want most. I want to make you happy the way you make me happy, but I feel like all I do is act like a complete idiot. I can't handle it. It hurts too much. It shouldn't hurt like this. Ever since I finally admitted to myself that I like you, it feels like I've only been struggling with more pain and the only one who can take it away is you, but I can never tell you. I may scream it in my heart, I may desperately put my feelings out hoping that they reach you, but I'm not even sure I want you to know. All I do is cry over you and I hate it. I hate this feeling. I just want it to go away. I can't take it.

Never

Never will the admittance escape mine lips
Nor mine fingertips
Never may he know what I feel
What I desperately conceal
Never will I bare my chest
I'm too scared to take that test
So I'll scream inside my heart
Because nothing will ever start
I'll just rhyme because I'm clever
A poem that I've entitled "Never"

It's Not Fair

It's not fair that my "Good morning!" doesn't mean the same as yours.
It's not fair that my "I miss you" doesn't mean the same as yours.
It's not fair that I wake up wondering how you are, but to you I'm just another friend.
It's not fair.

One short message or one small gesture and my entire day is made.
One forgotten call or one ignored message and nothing can bring back my smile.
When you're upset, it hurts.
When you say "I love you," it hurts.

You're good to me. Too good to me.
Stop.
My emotions are tied to you.
Just stop.

I want to be special. To mean more.
I want to have the value to you that you have to me.
I wish I could tell you, but I never can.
It's not fair. It's just not fair.

Better Than a Hero

There is no such thing as perfection. There are no heroes. But there are good people, great people. These are people who make life worth living. People who shine their light at the darkest of times. People who remind the rest of us why we go on. People who fight with everything they have and refuse to give up. They are not perfect. They are not what we think of when we hear the word "hero." No. They are something so much more. They are better. They are like us. They suffer and they struggle. They have bad days and they don't always succeed. They are human and yet far more than what they may seem at first glance. The world needs these people. I need these people. Sometimes the weight of our burdens overpowers us. Sometimes we wonder why we keep trying. Sometimes it doesn't seem worth the effort. But then you see those people. You see the ones that have a strength you didn't know existed. They are better than heroes. They're real. They're beside you. They can understand you just as you understand them. I know one of them. He is more than he realizes. He means more than he realizes. He's my precious and irreplaceable friend. I lllll him.

Berry's Twitlongers

Go ahead and ignore this. It's only here so I don't lose what I wrote.

#1
Berlioz tossed and turned in his sleep. The night had been everything but peaceful for him. He wanted to accept his new family. He wanted to honor his mother by opening his heart to them and giving them a fair chance. However, each time he made the effort to do something of the sort, it pained him. When he tried to forgive O'Malley for not saving his mother it only sent a searing pain through his head. When he had tried to call Olivia his sister it brought on the terrible fever that now caused him suffering. Why? Why couldn't he be a good son and brother? What was stopping him?
The fever caused him to sweat profusely. In his sleep he clenched his eyes shut tightly as the warring emotions within him battled as though to the death.
He hated it. He hated being human. He hated being alive again. He hated to have so much hatred inside him. There had to be some way for him to escape. Just for a while. There had to be something he could do.
Suddenly, every muscle ached. His body curled into itself in agony. He let out a small whimper in his sleep as his body slowly took on its other form.
Berlioz shot his eyes open and stood up only to find the blankets of his bed were encasing him. He ran around in fright, stepping on his own tail in the process. Looking down at what used to be a hand, Berlioz saw his furry, black paw. Shocked and confused, Berlioz fainted.

#2
Warning: Kinda gruesome death

Berlioz awoke late at night. He sat up and looked at the piano. As he studied it, he thought about how, despite his difficulty handling the news of his new family, the piano had made things easier. With the piano he could communicate to them what he couldn't with his words. But it was harder with paws. He was out of practice and had trouble getting his small body to move the way it needed to to play certain chords. Lifting his paw, he looked down at it with a scowl. After all his wishing to be a cat again, why was he missing his human form? Life -was- easier as a human...
As he became more lost in thought his body began to bend in a painful manner. Berlioz clenched his teeth together against the pain as his body returned to it's human form. He stared blankly down at his hands, turning them over and over. Blinking a few times, he wondered aloud, "How...?" In the midst of his bewilderment he looked up at the piano. With a deep breath he began to play the first song that came into his head. Halfway through the first measure, a screeching sound pierced the room. Berlioz stood up and saw a wire in the piano had snapped. "Can that even happen? Even if it's been out of use for so long..." He tapped his fingers on the keys lightly before deciding to go out and buy new wires.
To the best of his ability, Berlioz dodged the crowds and weaved his way through them to reach the shop he remembered Madame talking about back when she first bought the piano. Using money he'd found in a small jewelery box in his room he quickly purchased new wires and hurried out of the shop.
On his way back home, a drunken man approached him. Berlioz tried to shake him off by making a quick turn down a street he didn't know and walking faster, but the man persisted. The pain came back, shooting through his head as the man drew closer and closer. He shouted for the man to leave him be for his own sake. Soon, the pain was too much and Berlioz had to stop moving. As he clutched his head, the drunkard threw an arm around him and slurred something into his ear that Berlioz couldn't quite hear over the heavy thudding of his pounding heart. Everything became an overwhelming mixture. The pain in his head, the beating of his heart, the fever slowly overtaking him once more and the hatred he felt at being touched by a human, especially a man, all melded together into a sea that consumed him.
Everything went black.
Suddenly, or what seemed to be suddenly, his eyes began to focus again. All his senses quickly came flooding back to him. He could see a river, moonlight dancing on the surface. He heard the water rushing by in a calm, yet unsettling way. As the feeling in his hands came back he felt something held tightly in them. Confused and somewhat frightened, he looked down at his hands. The image before him froze him with fear. In his hands were half of the wires he'd just bought. They were wrapped tightly around the drunken man's neck; so tight, in fact, that they had begun to slice into his skin. Blood slowly flowed over the wires. The vibrant crimson was the most gruesome contrast to the pale white and somewhat purple hue of the man's flesh. His entire frame shook violently as he realized what he'd done. His hands released the wires, allowing the man's body to fall at his feet. Panicked, Berlioz tore the wires from the man's neck, causing some blood to spurt out. His own body felt ice cold as he kicked the man's body into the flowing river. His mind blank and yet racing a mile a minute, Berlioz stepped into the water and watched the river carry the corpse away. He fell to his knees, water splashing his face and reaching his shoulders. The blood on the wires as well as the blood that had dripped onto his shoes was washed away as he remained motionless. Finally, he bolted out of the water, wires still held tightly in his hand as he grabbed the clean ones too. He plunged the wires he'd used to strangle the man deep into the first dumpster he found. Then he stared down at the mounds of trash with a blank expression for a long while before shrieking. His feet began to move on their own, carrying him back home. The second he reached the door he collapsed in front of it. What had he done?

#3
[Berlioz's body shook violently as the sensations from the night he collapsed began to flood into his mind. He pictured the man struggling desperately to free himself from the piano wires and watched as the man's blood inched slowly down his neck like streams of thick red water and soaked his shirt. Berlioz could feel the resistance the man's skin had against the wires as they gradually sliced into his flesh. In his ears echoed the sound of the bones in the man's neck as they broke. Each one snapped like a toothpick the harder Berlioz pulled. The man's eyes bulged out of his head and he stared straight into Berlioz's, begging him for mercy. His face turned a more shockingly deep shade of purplish-blue the longer he was denied breath. Clawing desperately at the wires, the man strained with pathetic effort. Finally, his hands fell limp at his sides and his head lulled to one side, his mouth left agape, still trying for air. His lifeless body went entirely slack, allowing for the wires to cut even deeper into his neck as Berlioz was still gripping them. Suddenly, Berlioz's eyes shot open and he shrieked as he sat up in bed] DEAR GOD, WHAT HAVE I DONE?!

#4
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=22-nWkADzeg

Berlioz closed his eyes as he played. As the notes filled his being, the words flowed out of his mouth. Soon, he lost himself in the song. Memories of the past flashed through his mind. The sweet memories of when his mother was alive began to make his heart swell. Then the memories melded into moments that had recently passed. He thought of Olivia, Koda, Oliver, and Nala. He focused on her smile and grinned himself. Then he saw Thomas come to stand beside her and place an arm around her shoulders. Berlioz nodded as he sang and played, his eyes still closed. There it was. In his mind he could see it clearly in the way they looked at each other. As the song came to its end, he opened his eyes and looked out at everyone. He cleared his throat before standing and removing the mic from its stand. With a deep breath he began to speak. “My mother always taught me to be honest. Even when it’s difficult, you have to be strong and embrace truth. I always try to honor her by following as she instructed. That’s why, when I was struggling to find what to say today, I finally realized that I should just be honest.” He takes a deep breath. “When I was brought back to life, I hated everything and everyone. I resented the man I thought of as a father because I felt he had let me down. I wanted to see him dead. I didn’t think it was fair that my mother had to die while he got to live and fall in love again. But all of that was only because I felt so alone. I just wanted my family back. I wanted everyone together the way it used to be. I didn’t hate him. I could never hate him. He’s the only father I’ve ever known.” The lump that was forming in his throat caused him to pause. “But when I calmed down, I realized how foolishly I was acting. I saw how disrespectful I was being and knew my mother would scold me for my actions if she were there. The one who helped to calm me and make me realize this, was none other than Miss Nala.” He looked to her and nodded. “Miss Nala reminds me a considerable amount of my late mother. She didn’t try to force me to accept her. Instead, she listened to me attentively. She let me get out what I needed to say and respected what I was going through.
No one can ever replace my mother, but Miss Nala is so remarkable she has created a special place of her own in my heart. I can not imagine anyone better for Thomas. When I see them together, I feel hope. They make me believe in love.” A tear rolled down his cheek as he took a deep breath. “I know that if my mother were alive, she would be here supporting you as well because anyone that sees you together is able to feel the strength of the love you share.
Terrible things happen to everyone. Things that scar you and make you want to scream.” He clenched his fists tightly as more tears fell. “But if you face them together, you’ll make it. You’ll overcome whatever struggles you suffer. I believe in you two and can only pray that I’ll be able to find a love half as wonderful as yours.” He reached onto a nearby table and lifted a glass. Looking at Thomas, he said, “Thomas, take good care of her. Miss Nala is a wonderful woman.” Then he turned to Nala. “And Miss Nala, good luck with him.” He forced a small chuckle. “To Mr. and Mrs. Thomas O’Malley. May your love live on forever.”

#5
Exhausted from spending so much time around so many people, Berlioz stumbled into the manor. As he neared his room he thought again of how Toulouse had not shown up. Curious as to what had kept his brother, Berlioz headed to Toulouse's room. Steps from the door, he felt a heavy weight upon his heart. Cautiously, he swung open the door. Shock and fear froze him as his eyes scanned the room. It looked ransacked. He took a shaky step forward and slipped a little. Looking down he saw small puddles of blood. His entire body shaking now,he crouched down, his fingers hovering above the crimson liquid. "No..." he whispered. "Oh God no!" In a split second he turned on his heel and sprinted out of the room and out of the manor, looking frantically for any sign of what had happened to his dear brother.

#6
Berlioz scrambled out of the taxi, tossing a wad of cash at the driver as he bolted to the doors of the asylum. Lost in the urgency of seeing his brother, he burst through the doors and barreled into a collection of nurses and guards. Some told him to calm down and held him back as he struggled relentlessly to get passed them. "My brother! I have to see my brother! You don't understand! Unhand me! Toulouse! Toulouse!" He shouted at the top of his lungs, the sheer volume causing his throat distress. As his exhausted body began to lose strength, the guards slowly helped him to sit on the ground. He clutched their clothing and pleaded as he fought tears. "Please. He's my brother. You have to let me see him. You absolutely must." A moment later, a woman claiming to be in charge came over and pulled Berlioz aside. She verified that Berlioz was indeed the patient's brother and proceeded to explain to him everything that had happened. She explained why he'd been admitted and why he was under heavy surveillance. Berlioz felt numb as her words floated in one ear and out the other. He couldn't believe it. How could he have let his brother suffer so much alone? His head finally level once more he used his persuasive skills and quick thinking to convince the woman that Toulouse would be calm and passive if he were allowed to visit. The woman believed his fabricated facts and led told him he could return the next day as visiting hours were already over. Berlioz acquiesced. He left the asylum to find shelter as a torrent of ideas raged in his mind.

#7
Berlioz had spent the last few days avoiding contact with everyone. He had worked so hard at it he wondered if anyone other than Toulouse even knew he was back. He stood at the window in Toulouse's room, looking out upon the grounds. He had so many memories and that was exactly what bothered him. They were memories. The past.
He sat down at the desk and pulled out a pen and a pad of paper. With a deep breath, he began to write:
"Dear Family,
I would like to begin this letter by reminding you all of how much I love you and appreciate everything you have done for me. I am truly one of the most fortunate people in the world to have been blessed with a family and circle of friends as kind and loving as you all are. I could never adequately express what you mean to me. I only want to see each and every one of you happy and smiling. That is why I must leave.
I am unsure how to explain what I feel at this moment. I just know that I could never live with myself if I stayed here with you and one day caused you all pain and grief. In the rest of this letter I shall endeavor to convey to you how I reached this decision.
In the first place, I should not be here. I should not be alive. My time ended long ago. This I am reminded of each time I gaze upon my own gravestone. I am the past, you see. Everything that I am, that made me who I am, is in the past. I was gone. My brother and sister were gone. My mother is gone. O'Malley," he paused in his writing to regain his composure after a wave of sadness flowed through him," is gone. We are the past. I am the past. Now there is Thomas. There is Miss Nala. There are Koda, Company, Liv, and so many more who are the present and the future. I do not belong here.
This may shock you and I am truly sorry if it upsets you, but you must know. I am sure that by now you are aware of the trouble Toulouse has gotten into and what he has done. He is not the only one. Not long ago, I, too, killed a man. I had no control over my body as it happened, but that does not make it any less my doing.
The fear overtook me. The fear forced my hands in order to protect me. I will never be rid of this fear. I am still haunted by my death. I can never forget it. Each day I feel that it only grows worse. I feel that I may soon be too afraid to leave the manor. That is why I must leave now.
If things get worse, who knows what I could end up doing? And imagining the consequences of those actions reminds me that I am not the only one who would suffer them. You, my family and my friends, would inevitably be involved. I cannot allow that.
At Thomas and Miss Nala's reception, I told Liv that I would protect her. I have to keep that promise. Not only to her, but to all of you who mean so much to me.
I know that it is cowardly of me to leave in this way, without facing any of you, but there is no way I could. I have grown so attached to you all that it would break my heart to have to say goodbye face to face.
I'm sorry. I truly am.
Best wishes,
Berlioz"
Berlioz held his head in his hands for a long while once he'd set the pen down. Tears streamed down his cheek as he fought to keep himself composed. When he'd finally calmed down, he picked up the letter and traveled down to the piano room one last time. While looking upon the piano he recalled his first night back and how Nala had been there to listen to him. He was more grateful to her than she could ever know. Heart heavy with sorrow, he made his way to the kitchen and placed the letter on the counter.
"I pray that you all forgive me for the things I've done." Wiping away stray tears, he took a deep breath and walked out of the manor, the only home he'd ever known and the one he would never forget.

#8
Muscles aching, Berlioz crashed back onto the dirty, tattered couch in the middle of his small run-down apartment. Closing his eyes, he held his paycheck tightly in his hand. In his mind he added the amount to what he had already saved up. Then he subtracted what he'd have to pay his landlord. That left him with about...not enough to eat. Sighing heavily, he sat forward and rested his elbows on his knees, running his hands over his face. How long had it been since he'd last eaten? His stomach growled loudly and ached.
Tiredly, Berlioz shuffled into the bathroom. He looked at the mirror and sighed at the sight of it's dirty state. Peeling off the only shirt he had, he reached out and wiped the mirror clean. Satisfied that he'd done enough, he turned and tossed the shirt into the corner. As he turned back he glanced at the image on his right shoulder. Berlioz placed his hands on either side of the sink and stared at his reflection. The crease in his forehead had gotten considerably deeper as time passed. How long had it been, exactly, since he'd left home?
The first few days after Berlioz left the Manor, he had tried desperately to do anything out of the ordinary. He wanted to surround himself with things and people far from what he was used to to keep himself from feeling homesick. One night, he'd made the mistake of drinking with people from a random bar. The next morning he woke up in an alley, his shoulder killing him. When he'd gotten to a public restroom, he'd looked to find a fresh tattoo.
Each month he had a new job. When he wasn't working, he was doing odd jobs for people in his apartment complex. Once a week he gave the children piano lessons. Each time his fingers touched the keys of the keyboard the landlord had given him, he missed home. He thought about everyone he had left behind. He wondered how they were. Wondered if they were safe. If they were doing well.
Rubbing the back of his neck, Berlioz stripped down and stepped into the shower. "Maybe...maybe it's time to go home..."

#9
Homeward Bound

Mentions: @TwistedOlivia

It had certainly taken longer than Berlioz had hoped, but he had at last procured sufficient funds to get himself home. Standing in the doorway of his run-down apartment, he heaved a great sigh. All that stood inside had been there when he arrived. He had added nothing. "This...is no home." Looking down at the keys in his hand, he thought back to the manor. Then he brought his hand up to his chest. "I miss my home." With a quick flick of the wrist, Berlioz turned off the lights and headed downstairs to return the keys to his landlord.
The man looked upon him with eyes made tired by the sights of strife and struggle. "This place will be dark again," he said in his low, gruff voice. "You are taking our music with you."
With a soft smile Berlioz leaned back on the wall and folded his arms. "There exists no place void of music. I merely am better able to express it. The children have learned enough to continue on their own."
"They'll cry, you know."
Berlioz looked to the ceiling, taking a deep breath as he imagined the smiles on the faces of all the children he'd taught. Then he remembered another face. One of a child he'd already left behind. He thought of Liv. "I made a promise to someone dear to me. I thought leaving was my way of keeping that promise. These days...I'm not so sure."
"Well," the man cleared his throat in an effort to prevent his voice from admitting his sorrow to see Berlioz leave, "it's not like you'll never come back."
Smiling, Berlioz patted the man's shoulder. "That is so. I shall return in time. Until then, do let the children continue to make use of your keyboard." The man nodded and turned away as Berlioz stepped outside. Squinting up at the sky, he took in a deep breath of fresh air. As he did so, he thought of the rest of his family. "I do indeed hope things are well."

#10
Home Again, Home Again

Mentions: @DarkPainter_, @DarkNala, @HerAnimais, @_LittleLivia_, @TwistedKoda

It had been a while since Berlioz had returned to the city. However, even in all that time he had not actually returned home. A few times, he had ventured out to see the Manor, but did not set foot on the property. Part of him wondered if this reluctance was out of guilt. He knew that the manner in which he left was rude and undeniably irresponsible. He hadn't bothered to keep in touch either. A part of his heart ached at the thought. His mother would be disappointed. "What could I have done, Mother? I was not myself. I had murdered a man and it haunted me. I thought...I thought I would be a hindrance in my family's search for happiness. Even now I still feel that way to some degree, but I miss them so."
After summoning the entirety of the courage he possessed, Berlioz walked up the steps to the Manor. As one of the servants stepped out with a list of things to buy, she smiled at him and welcomed him home. Berlioz engaged her in conversation momentarily before she had to continue on her way. Taking a deep breath, he slipped inside the Manor and looked around. It was the same and yet...it had changed. "I have missed much." Berlioz stood in the foyer for a long minute, considering how he would announce his return. Soon, a sentimental smile grew on his face and he stepped quickly down the corridor to the piano room. 
With quiet steps, Berlioz approached the piano. He reached his hand out and gently glided it across the top, picking up some dust with his fingers. "You poor, neglected instrument." Wiping the dust off onto his handkerchief, Berlioz took a seat on the bench and rolled his shoulders back. For a moment, he simply studied the keys. When the right tune presented itself, Berlioz took a deep breath and began to play. As he played, he thought of his brother, Miss Nala, Thomas, Liv, little Koda, and everyone else who had been living there when last he did. It was the memories of these members of his family that spurred his fingers to communicate his happiness at having finally returned home.

#11
The Obvious

Mention: @DarkPainter_

Toulouse had been unconscious for so long, Berlioz's worry was beginning to eat away at him. He could see by the look on his brother's face that he was in distress. Was it pain? Was it a nightmare?
Berlioz paced back and forth in his room as he watched over his brother. Not much could easily get to him, but when it came to his family, nothing meant more. Seeing his dear brother suffer so much was agony for him. He felt helpless.
Heavy sigh after heavy sigh, Berlioz ran through courses of action in his head. The most obvious conclusion was of course that Toulouse would not be allowed back outside the Manor. Most certainly not alone at any rate. It was not safe. Not by any means. Naturally, Berlioz knew this would be difficult for his brother since his artistic soul did so adore painting and sketching landscapes, especially of the beautiful scenery of the city. However, he would have to insist this time. It was for Toulouse's own good that he keep from danger.