Damien sat on the floor, back pressed against the wall next to the fireplace, knees drawn tightly to his chest. His shoulder length splotchy blue hair hung around him like a shield.
Yes, his hair was blue. Courtesy of his sister and her friends.
Yesterday was Abigail's 17th birthday. Her friends had spent the night. Apparently, while he was sleeping they decided to try some hair dye recipe using flowers they had read about in a magazine.
On him.
"Damiiieeennn," Abigail poked his arm. He looked up to see her kneeling in front of him, five of her closest friends behind her. "Don't be mad. If you let us do it again, it won't be splotchy anymore."
"I'm mad because you dyed my hair!"
"But it's funnn." She poked him again.
"Go away, Abi!" Damien said, twisting away from her prodding.
She poked at him again, and in one smooth motion he swept up some of the ashes by the fireplace and cast Dancing Lights, forming a brightly colored flash in Abigail's face. She yelped and fell backwards.
"Who wants leftover cake?" Their mom cheerfully bustled into the room, carrying a tray of half eaten birthday cake.
"MEEE!!!" One of her friends cried out.
"Your mom's cake is weird," another whispered conspiratorially to Abi. She was a deep gnome.
"That's because it has mushrooms in the filling," Abigail explained.
"Yeah, but the cake is so spongy!"
"I'll eat your slice," another elven friend offered. Despite being a moon elf she loved underdark cuisine.
The chatter continued and grew louder. Damien's mother made her way over to where he was leaning against the wall.
"Damien, dear, do you want any? Why is your hair blue?" She ran a hand through his hair.
He started crying.
"Abi and her friends dyed it while I was asleep," he explained through the tears.
She clicked her tongue. "That girl. ABIGAIL SIMMYNS did you dye your brother's hair?"
"Yes……" Abigail didn't seem as confident now that her full name was being used.
Imrae dragged Damien up to his feet. "Apologize to your brother. Don't alter people's appearance or their things without their permission, do you understand?"
"I already did apologize," she whined.
"Why is her brother crying like that?" One of Abigail's friends whispered to another. Damien heard it. This was all too much. His cries turned to gasping sobs.
"Imrae, it's fine. I'll take him." His father's voice. He felt his father place a hand on his shoulder. "Follow me."
The wall adjacent to the fireplace was lined with bookshelves. Damien's father stopped in front of one in particular and pushed on a bronze globe of faerun, shiny from wear. The bookshelf pivoted inwards, revealing the study hidden behind.
The newest of Abigail's friends gasped in surprise. Their father smiled slightly. He loved showing off his little secret office to guests. He ushered Damien inside and closed the door, shutting out the overwhelming chatter.
Floor to ceiling with bookshelves lined every wall, with more books laying in the corners on the floor. A desk filled the center, and off to the right of the door sat two big leather seats, a coffee table, and a lamp. Damien slumped into one of the seats, wiping the tears from his face. He still didn't quite fill it, despite the chair seeming far more normal sized than he remembered as a small child. His father sat across from him and lit the lamp, adjusting it down low. He proffered a book to his son: Elements of Magic. Damien had started reading it a few days ago. His father then took out his own things: a dry sounding history book, notebook and pen, and a long pipe.
"I fear you're like me," he said, stuffing the pipe with a mixture of dried moss and mushroom. The odor permeated the room from years of smoking the stuff. Damien didn't really quite know what it was, but even the slightest whiff reminded him of home. Here. With his dad.
"You need more peace and quiet than your mother and sister. They thrive on adventure. We thrive on this." He motioned towards the books then lit his pipe. "You will have to learn how to deal with the noise of life, I'm afraid. However, it's worth it. To be able to enjoy a little adventure now and then. But you can always escape to right here."
With that, he pulled his thick oval reading glasses out his pocket, put them on the end of his nose, and opened his book with a puff of his pipe.