Ash

His mother's nostrils flared and she huffed, a sure indication that she was nearing a very rare outrage despite the calm mask the public could never seem to see past, the only part of his mother that his grandmother approved of. “Well, you are here now. Your grandmother has something to discuss with you.”

Ash looked over, keeping an eye on his mother as he did so. She was hardly ever so terse, even around his grandmother, and never allowed herself to be so clipped when speaking to others, like them or not. What could possibly be going on?

“Yes, we do have something to discuss,” his grandmother’s tone was haughty, which, sadly, was far more typical of her than any other emotion. She was the definition of a "better-than-thou" attitude, and in her mind she was. She also had that Central-American accent that somehow seemed to suggest that the English language was truly beneath her. There were times when she would refuse to speak or even acknowledge the English language, forcing those who didn't know Spanish to listen in confusion or constantly ask for interpretation. “As is tradition in this family, everyone must learn some form of art. It is about time that you decide on your own art form.”

“Wait, what?” Ash stared, the pretense of being calm and collected scattering without the illusion that he was simply waiting for information. “What do you mean an ‘art form’? And why haven’t I been told of this sooner?”

“You never listen, do you Cipote? (*Honduran slang for boy*) You should be paying attention during family gatherings instead of daydreaming,” Ash cringed at her words. She was mostly right about that. He had a habit of "disappearing" during the get-togethers. In his defense, though, they were all the same. They revolved around distant relatives bragging about their latest accomplishments with no regard to actually getting to know who they were talking to. Many of them tended to ignore Ash anyway, and so he ignored them all as well. He hated them, a fact only made worse because Elliot was never allowed to so much as stop by, let alone keep him company. He was more family to Ash than any of the oblivious *ssh*les he was related to. Ash's grandmother sighed arrogantly, bringing him back to the conversation, “In any case, you must decide on an art form, and you must decide immediately.”

Sylvia leaned towards him, careful to keep her back straight and arms away from the table. "Come on, Ash. Isn't there anything you enjoy doing? Or, at the very least, can do?" He wanted to glare at her. She was the artistically talented one. He was just academically gifted. Neither minded and usually went to the other for help when there were assignments that they struggled with.

“Uh, I-I don’t know," he looked at her honestly. Her expression went from thoughtfully concerned to extremely confused and landed on rather baffled. Ash figured she just didn't quite understand how he had no inkling of what he might possibly be able to do or expand upon, or at least have no clue as to what they couldn't do. "I’ve never had time to do anything other than study.”

“What about a musical instrument?” his father looked at him. His thoughts almost visibly flitted through his mind, going in and out as he quickly analyzed old memories of his son. He could only hope to find something that might appease his strict, overbearing grandmother, at least for the time being. “You used to love the kazoo you had as a kid.”

“So long as you master something, you can change it as many times as you want,” Ash's grandmother stood, followed by her husband, quiet and obedient as always. Even the usual mischievousness he saved specially for his favorite grandson, though hidden from his stern wife, was missing. It showed just how serious the old woman was. “I will leave you to it. Buenas noches.”

Silence followed the closing of the front door as his grandparents let themselves out. The old woman seemed to believe that she was entitled to whatever she wanted. It was evident in the way she often acted as if every home she entered belonged to her and she was simply allowing the true owners to live there under her "generosity". It was not something that Ash enjoyed about her personality, though there wasn't much that he did enjoy. He most certainly preferred his grandfather over his grandmother.

Still silent after the old couple's departure, his parents stood and left the room as well. They only gave him a slight glance as they disappeared around the corner that led to the front room. It almost looked like they pitied him, and he figured that anyone probably would. After all, he had never shown any kind of inclination towards any of the so-called "arts". Syl herself was deep in thought, desperate to help her brother, seeming to be the only one who cared enough to help him find something.

“Maybe I should try an instrument,” Ash finally sighed, “It's likely the most promising option for me.”

“It's also going to be easier than painting or drawing. You never could do a decent stick-figure,” Syl hid a small chuckle as he nodded his head, unfazed by how well she had read his thoughts. “I may know of someone who can teach you, though they aren’t available often and I only know of them through a friend. Should I try them?”

“Might as well,” he dropped his head onto the table. He really didn't have time for this, especially if he wanted to graduate as Valedictorian. “I don’t have much of an option, do I?”

“Nope," she chirped with a surprisingly cheerfully pat on his back, her mood increasing now that a plan was in action, even if it was only temporary. "The only reason why I haven't gotten a visit from grandmother is because I’ve always had something artistic going on.”

"Alright. Text me the deets, yeah?" he stood and watched her nod before leaving the house himself. He was not coming back this weekend. He had far too much to do and even more to think about.