(Couldn't get this story outta my mind an had to put it somewhere. For some background Staller is the 12th child born in a very old family with the name of Vecktelena, since Howltie had its first war it was said they were one of the first families to be apart of every battle. whether or not by choice?... well, only the family knows.)

"Come on, Stally. I have to go to work in my office."

Staller sat up slowly, rubbing his jet black eyes he yawns, looking around in a daze of confusion. His black wavy hair covering his eyes mostly but he could still see the bland gray walls of an even blander room. He sat in a desk with a chair that had been connected to by the metal legs of it and the desk, he looked at the top of the round flat surface to see some drool slowly rolling down the slanted writing surface. JaKa grabbed a paper towel and wiped the desk clean and his face. He scrunched his face up in both disapproval of being treated like a baby and embarrassment of it happening in front of his father's coworker, who seemed to only look at JaKa fondly at how motherly he could be. He looked up into his father's eyes after he had thrown away the paper and started to comb his hand through Staller's hair. His equally jet black eyes never showed any emotion and always had a dull look to them like an unpolished rock. His face held features of a stern old man but he had a face line of a smile on his chapped, pale lips. Although his happy lines, which were protruding and hanging slightly off his muscle and bones, kept their signature frown of disapproval to anyone. Staller looked up to the very sharply defined nose of his and to his eyes, the wrinkled, old, long, and skinny pale face of his father burned into his head like it always did. A face he could always see clearly and only see until he looks away, when the image of his father just washes away from his memory almost for good. He hated how boldly defined his face was, his emotions were clear as day because of it. And his eyes always had this high and mighty glare to them. The way he alway stretched his long neck out and tilted his head high would give him such an ancient look with a royal mix to it. He never smiled, he hated everything, and looked at everyone as if they were lower than him. He hated him, despised him down to the brittle bones that were hidden by aged, thin yet thick, paling skin. That's all he could ever say about him, that is, if Staller ever talks. And he knows, to his heart, that JaKa hated him right back. He can't even believe why he brought him to his workplace, why he bothered spending time with someone he's just going to yell at and be embarrassed of.

JaKa put his roughly calloused hand on Staller's shoulder and rubbed it even rougher, "Let's go, sleepyhead. We can't keep bugging Talla, she has work to do too. And a class is coming up."

Staller nodded, standing up he looked down at his father's black polished, pointy shoes which were mostly covered by his also black pants. He was a super tall man. He would be a stick if it wasn't for his broad chest. He was strong too, he could run faster than the speed of sound and his age hasn't weighed him down one bit. He had muscles but his skin didn't cling to them like they used to, making them invisible, but he was pure muscle despite his stick figure shape. He flinched as he felt his calloused hand gripped his tightly, JaKa was nearly bending down in order to reach Staller's tiny hand, his hand was just about the size of his palm once his fingers were halfway stretched out. He looked up to see his father, smiling, for once, just once, at him. It felt too staged. But he knew his father's staged smile. He had seen him give it before, to people he didn't like, but his mother or one of the maids did. It wasn't as awkward looking or crooked yet straight like that smile. It looked fitting, his face seemed to look almost younger with the smile.

He raised his hand up so he didn't have to bend down awkwardly any more. Rubbing the back of Staller's hand as he partly dragged him out of the silent room. Staller had to basically run in order to keep up with his father's massive stride. He kept looking down at his feet and JaKa's. Their shoes softly clicking against the dull granite floor. He didn't bother to look up at the equally gray walls. This place was like a prison to him, of course it was fitting for a man like JaKa, he had no style and hated colors. Not even black is suitable enough for him despite him wearing it for an everyday uniform.

"You having night terrors again?" JaKa said, throwing Staller off and almost tripping if it weren't for his father's grip on his hand holding him up.

He shook his head.

"Hmm?" The hum of cold questioning brought a chill down his spine. He knew what he was doing. He always used that to get him to talk when he was in trouble, to make him repeat what he said and to tell what he had done bad. It was one of his dangerous questions to many, normally used to make someone know they've done wrong and what the wrong was.

He shook his head again, whispering so as not to disturb the odd silence of the place, "Yes, Sir..."

JaKa cocked his head and stopped near the wood and glass door to his office. He looked down at Staller while a worker was repainting a wall beside them but paid no attention to them, like all do when a parent brings their child. "Sir? Who's this "Sir" you're talkin' to?"

Staller looked at the wall being painted for some sort of help, his eyes growing wide with thoughts, "You, Sir..."

"Why am I a Sir to you? Why aren't you calling me your father?"

"Because, Sir..."

"Because is a parent's reasoning and answer. You are a child. Now, tell me why you call me sir."

Staller grew silent, still looking at the wall for help. The painter stopped working now, feeling his distress. He smiled awkwardly yet soothingly at JaKa while putting the paintbrush down in a white bucket, "The boy is trying to show he's a man. Or maybe he just wants to give you respect, Me'ster."

JaKa looked at the painter as he stood up and tall, giving him that judgemental glare he gives everyone, but it was full of more hate. There wasn't something he hated more about strangers than them hearing his conversation and walking into it. "This is none of your business, Mr.. Here in the South Kara Sea we don't like Domnaes entering our conversations freely without even knowing us... Domnaes from the dessert just don't seem to ever keep to themselves..."

That was when the man had grown outraged, it was clear in his eyes and by the way he gripped at his painters overalls. He grabbed his brush and pointed it at JaKa. The paint just barely missed his shirt when it flung off, "Look here, buddy... Your child clearly has some reason to act so scaredly towards his own father... If you don't want people intervening to try and avoid that child from growing more scared or hurt you better learn how to better control yourself... give me a single bit of proof of his fear and you'll never hurt him again..."

JaKa looked at him in pure shock, walking to him very slowly, his eyes not leaving his. Although the painter realized his big mistake and wasn't meeting his eyes' glare, "Me?... Hurting my son?... You don't know what you're talkin' about, do you? You don't know how I discipline my children and I assure you... I never once laid a mark on my little boy..." He got into the painter's face. Feeling crowded he stepped back slowly, at the same pace JaKa was taking. Only to be stopped by the wall, more white paint sticking to his uniform, sticking him in place as if it was helping JaKa, "I cherish my children and their wants and mistakes... I know what a hand can do to a person, I know words are better tools to shape my child into a great man..." He pressed his nose to his, his coal eyes burning into the painter's blue ones with fiery hate, "You not only interrupted my conversation but you then persecute me of a crime I've never once done..."

His lip quivered as he spoke shakily, pressing his back more to the wall. Staller just watched the painter, it wasn't the first time he's seen his father blow up on a stranger. Everyone has thought JaKa to be the type to overly discipline his children. They aren't exactly wrong, but they're still not entirely right. "I-I'm s-sorry, Me'ster... I made a very wrong and q-quick judgement that w-was-sn't mine to g-give..."

"Now you realize your mistake?" That was another one of his ways to make others feel the wrong they did, had he not had his overly discipling part of him he'd be a very good father to his twelve children. He pulled away and walked back to his office door and opened it, laming it shut behind him. Leaving Staller all alone. It was probably for the better, seeing JaKa in another one of his tempers was just as bad as asking to have your head smashed into the glass of the door three times. It's exactly what he could do too. Of course he wouldn't do that to him but that would be a better case than hearing his yells about nonsense.

The paint peeled himself off the wall and sighed exhaustedly at the now drying, rough imprint of his clothes. He looked at Staller, who was looking at the imprint with a wild imagination flowing through his eyes. He smiled brightly at him, picked up his paintbrush, and handed it to him. Staller looked at him confused then at the white paint dripping onto each bristle on the brush. He put it in his hand then walked to the closet against the opposite wall to unlock it, swinging the door wide open he started grabbing different colored buckets and laid them on the floor. Opening their lids and tossing them aside as he chuckled, "Even though it wasn't a very warm greeting to you I'd like to make it up to you. This place needs better paint again and its thought to be the most blandest, boring building in the world..." He grabbed more thinner brushes meant to be used for smaller paintings, laying them out on the floor, "I figured a kid has more artistic ability than an old wall painter."

Staller looked at the buckets, then at the wall, then at the brushes, and the one in his hand. Thinking deeply for a moment he finally, slowly, walked to the grey bucket and dunked the brush in. walking back to the wall he made a series of lines. Pulling the ladder the painter was using close to him he began to sculpt a world out of paint. His jet eyes lit up, a smile slowly crawled up on his lips as the paint leapt on to the wall. The painter smiled brightly at him as he watched the scribbles turn to an abstract piece of work, covering the entire wall, from JaKa's room to the other closet meant for the janitors, which was a pretty far distance for a little nine year old Staller.

Three hours had past of non stop painting when Staller finally hopped off the ladder to look at his picture. The image of a stage popped out almost looking like you could hop onto the old wood and join the show. On top of the glossy bright wood are young, skilled, ballet dancers dressed in puffy, white. Their laces and shoes are a royal blue along with their tutus that fan out very flatly. Their hair is of all colors from blond to raven and are put up in braided buns. The six dancers were fanned out in an arch across the stage, one in the middle stood at the very front of the stage, her features were more defined than the others, her body was also more curvy than some of the stick like dancers. Her pure white hair was in the same braided bun but some of it is used to cover her right eye in a semicircle. Her head is turned to the side and she looks up at the golden lights shining down on them, the gold swirls in her soft purple eyes. Her pale eyes are raised above her head almost touching, one leg is raised and her foot touches the back of her knee while she stands perfectly balanced. The lights hit her face, making her soft beautiful features stand out more and look even younger. Staller smiles brightly and giggles bubbly. Looking at the painter who stares dumbfoundead, his jaw dropped to the floor, "Well I'll be damned... A little kid can paint like a master... Who's been teachin' ya these skills?"

Staller giggles more, "It's a secret. Don't tell dad, pwease..."

He smiles and ruffles his hair, "I'll keep quiet, don't worry."

"Okay, Auntie Julie teaches me, she shows me how to turn shapes into people. Ma picture is of the last show dad took me to, it had all those dancers and slow music, I fell asleep during it... I didn't get to see the end of the story. But mama says she's gonna take me to the next one this week."