L Rawlins- Cruelty of Peers

Winters were wetter here. L remembers harsh, bold winters, crisp winters, with thick blankets of snow that covered everything, dark days and darker nights. After the longest boat ride of their life (of which they swore that they’ll never step foot on a boat again), winters were… Not that. 

The snow was weaker, the type to turn to slosh on the ground. Made it worse to walk in, the water soaking through everyone’s shoes, people slipped easily. It is what made L feel the most homesick. Not the fact that no one but their little sibling and their parents shared their accent. That they ate different (a hot breakfast was just weird to them, compared to dark bread and cold cuts), they dressed differently, their peers were different. 

L withstood their mother absent mindedly combing through their hair, yanking harder on knots that was necessary, but they didn’t want to point it out. She’d just frown at them and throw her hands up in the air; “nothing is ever good enough for you when it comes to me, is it?” No, they endured until their mother drifted to E, kissing their head and beginning to fuss over their unruly curls. 

That was their cue to make themself scarce. They knew that their mother did love them, she had loved them before E had been born, but she only had so much energy. Or she knew that L’s father only had time for the eldest from that moment on. Or maybe E was more charming and outgoing than the sullen, quiet older child who hated fuss. 

L pulled on their big coat, one of the few reminders from Saxony that their father allowed them to keep, and made their way downstairs, the drafty boarding house already freezing. Father didn’t want to use any more coal than necessary, apparently not wanting to look bad to the local pack he was working to integrate his family into. L couldn’t see why he couldn’t do that and keep his family from freezing at the same time, but whenever they asked he waved them off and told them to stop asking stupid questions, they were becoming worse than their mother.

There wasn’t a lot to do, so they just slipped through the backdoor and sat on the stoop, wrinkling their slowly reddening nose at the immense amount of sludge that had built up overnight. Looked worse than the food the landlady made for breakfast. E had once complained loudly that she was trying to poison them, but she didn’t understand a word of German and just cooed at their little scowling face and pinched their chubby cheek. 

So far, South Hollow was not shaping up to how L would have imagined it, before the boat, before the packing, before the Night of Shouting as they covered E’s ears so they wouldn’t wake up and cry. The children were unruly, shouting cuss words back at their parents, they were noisy, they were rude, and L had no idea how they got away with it without getting the back of their thighs caned. It was a quiet fear that if they didn’t move soon, E would turn out just like them, rambunctious and rude and blasé about everything. 

Turning their head slightly at the sound of little feet ambling towards them, E appeared, curls already escaping the meticulous styling enforced by their mother and flung their arms around L’s shoulders, smushing their cheek against their neck. 

“Können wir jetzt spielen?” E whined, tugging at L’s own straight hair. 

“Englisch.” L reminded them. 

“Play now!” E tried again, voice rising into a shout. 

L winced and sighed, worried that if they didn’t give into their demands, their father would stomp downstairs and shout at them for being Devil-Children for making so much noise on a Sunday. So, with a private curse (“Schimpfwort! Schimpfwort!” E chanted), L picked up their younger sibling, who was steadily getting too heavy for it, and made their way down the pebble path, picking their way past the melting brown ice. 

Back in Saxony, they had three dogs, which made it easy to entertain the smaller children of the pack. A horse too. Many books. Now, they had to make do in any way they can. L usually just told E to find chestnuts to roast later, or try and spot anyone who could be a Witch. E loved both activities, splitting their time between shoving the nuts into their pockets and trying to peer at people’s faces and then shouting and running back to L, “Sie werden uns fressen! Schnell, schnell!”. It usually made strangers stare at them but E would be entertained for hours and L couldn’t care what these people would think, especially if they wanted to cut their fun short. 

L usually kept an eye on them, but would slide a scruffy book out of one of their pockets to bury their nose in, or would explore a bit, trying to familiarize themself with the numerous streets that all looked the same to them. Except- 

“Oi!” 

The shout startled them, looking up from where E was digging in the dirt, getting their clothes dirty. 

“Yeah, you!” A scruffy child was staring at them, behind them, a whole pack of similarly bedraggled children, all looking cold and a bit ratty. 

There were two blondes with them, hair so light it seemed see through, a redhead and a brown haired child, the one that yelled at them. All except the one with blood red locks was staring at L like a particularly interesting bug they found under a slab of stone. The other child ignored them, mouth in a perpetual pout and with bruises on their throat, unsuccessfully hidden by a scarf too big. 

“You the Teutons that moved in?” The same scruffy child shouted across the street. 

L quietly observed him. Ugly. They shouldn’t have thought it, it was rude, but there was no other word for him. 

“Yes.” They finally said with a sigh. 

The children stared more at them, then looked at each other, then back at L. 

“Hey, wanna do something fun?” One of the blond children shouted over, apparently having no control over the volume of their own voice. The redhead elbowed them sharply and motioned to one of the windows above them. 

“... Sure.” L was wary but a spark of hope ignited in their stomach. With another glance at E (“Kastanien für mich, Kastanien für dich, Kastanien für das Haus, Kastanien für die Maus-”), L headed over, careful to avoid slipping. They followed the other children, all slowly sloshing a bit further down the road, L falling into walking next to the red head. They had nicer shoes than the others, preferring to walk nearer to the stoops of the houses, only sometimes grabbing L for balance. 

“I like your accent.” They suddenly said, rubbing under their eye, L noticing for the first time that they had a beauty mark. 

“... Thank you.” They eventually replied. They didn’t fully believe them. 

“Makes you sound smart. Not like Walter. He sounds like a fucking idiot every time he talks.” L cringed at the swear word, their ears going pink. The red head didn’t notice, slipping a bit on a stone and kicking it into the street out of revenge. “I think it’s because his parents are cousins.” 

“What did you say?” Scruff shouted back at the two, lagging behind the rest of the group. 

“That your Pa fucked a goat and it shat you out!” Red yelled back, shooting L a grin that they were too startled to return. 

Their hands itched. These children were so loud and… Rude. 

“Better than your Ma shagging half the town!” 

L didn’t even notice the stone smacking Scruff in the nose, from how fast Red had moved. Then they disappeared, marching off, down the street, nose in the air. Almost regal, if not for the rags they wore. Still, L quietly wondered what Red’s mother had done with half the town, since they had no idea. 

Scruff yelled another word L had no idea how to even decipher before continuing his stomping. They couldn’t see Red’s long scarf flapping in the wind anymore, and decided to keep going, until they all reached a towering tree in the middle of the road. 

“Try and climb up there.” One blond turned to him and blinked slowly. Like a frog. 

“Excuse me?” 

Scruff curled his lip at L’s response. 

“What are you, a posh cunt? Try and get the mistletoe down, my Ma wants some.” 

L felt a bit wheezy. They already decided that they hated these rude, awful children, and using E as an excuse to go back sounded so good right then. But they hated to back down from anything. They squinted up at the nearest clump of mistletoe. Wasn’t too bad. 

Already a well practiced climber, L toed off their shoes at the base of the tree, missing the delighted grins from the three behind them. They pulled themselves up slowly, branch to branch, digging their fingernails into the bark, so honed in they didn’t notice the children scattering from below them. They didn’t notice anything, except when they finally got the mistletoe in arm’s reach. Ripping it free hurt a bit, their palm scratched and sore, but they didn’t care. 

L looked down, expecting some sort of camaraderie, some sort of united cheer to go up, like back home when they had shown off the reason why they were destined to lead any pack in the future to their peers. Instead there was nothing. 

Not even their shoes. 

They stood, swaying, barefoot on a thick branch, mistletoe sticking into their skin, staring down. As if, if they kept looking, they’d suddenly reappear. Maybe they’d come out of hiding and start waving, or maybe even Red shall march back, ready to help them hunt down the other three awful dogs and make them pay for the tears pricking at L’s eyes. 

They waited a few more minutes before slowly climbing down, humiliation burning the back of their neck, spreading up their ears, flooding their cheeks. By the time they reached the bottom, toes frozen and feet hurting, their face was completely pink, and only in part from the exertion. 

L slowly made their way back, unable to let go of the stupid plant that sent them up there in the first place, fighting back pathetic sniffles. They finally reached E, sitting satisfied with a heap of chestnuts laid out in a line in front of them. It took them a moment to drink in the sight of their older sibling, shoeless and scowling. 

“Hast du geweint?” E asked, more curious than anything else. 

“English!” L snapped, grip on the plant tightening to the point of pain. 

“... Cry?” 

L rubbed their coat sleeve against their face roughly. 

“Pick up your chestnuts. Let’s go.” 

E quickly stuffed their pockets full of their treat and trotted after L, quietly slipping their mittened hand into theirs as they made their way back to the house. 

L gave their mother the mistletoe, who gave them a thin smile before cooing at E and their pocketfuls of chestnuts, ready to roast. She later shouted at L for losing their shoes, forcing their cold feet into a tub of steaming water and stomping off to get their father. The new boots they got hadn’t been broken in, and had blistered their feet. 

When they did leave the boarding house, the landlady pressing a small tin of sweets into L’s hand for them to share with E on the ride, they saw the children again. Red didn’t notice them, too busy trying to throw a stone through someone’s window. Scruff and the two blondes did notice, mouths agape as their carriage cluttered past, on the road that led to the Wolfpack Manor that would be their new home. 

 Können wir jetzt spielen- can we play yet?

Englisch- English

Schimpfwort! Schimpfwort- Dirty word! Dirty word!

Kastanien für mich, Kastanien für dich, Kastanien für das Haus, Kastanien für die Maus- Chestnut for me, chestnut for you, chestnut for the house, chestnut for the mouse-.

Hast du geweint- Have you been crying?