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agentsketchbook · 9 months

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About the Diamines

The Diamine family is what I like to think of as a very tall house of cards. They are an authoritative family of Zion Diamine the father and his three sons from oldest to youngest, Solaire, Lucius, and Brighton. The family extends to the eldest two’s children as well. Zion and sons are CEOs of Diamine Industries and its major daughter companies.

Zion Diamine oversees Pharmagene corporate, the pharmaceutical giant of Anterica. He is indescribably dedicated to his work and throws himself to it for hours and days and weeks. He excels at what he does, or perhaps he is never satisfied with calling it quits when the job is never over. He is very critical, with five Virgo placements in his birth chart. He is sharp and always pointing out things to be revised and revisited. This nature has earned him the title of being the Cutthroat Boss. He struggles most with his own mistakes and snags in the system, however. When defeated and unable to work out a solution, he will bring in one of his sons to ramble at until one is found. Over the years, all of the sons have filled this role, but Brighton is the most available one now that he works in the same building as his father for him. The other two have gone on to work for other daughter companies of Diamine Industries.

Solaire oversees Fascion Label, the textile and fashion giant of Anterica. His daughter, Trish, also works in a corporate position. She works in the actual fashion side of the business while her father works on the executive side. Solaire relishes his high standing position and power. He’s fearsome in stature and in speech. While he has a good sense of humor, he should not be joked with when a smile is nowhere to be found. He is known to make quick decisions, and for many, those involve livelihoods. He has earned the title Shark Boss for making many feel like they are in the tank, or perhaps the chopping block with him. Many will say he’s not easily impressed. In reality, what he is looking for is a job well done and done right without frills, ifs, ands, or buts. Unlike his father, he relies more on his team rather than doing all the work himself. To the dismay of his team.

Lucius oversees Kewel Mines, you guessed it, the mining giant of Anterica. The Kewel family married with a Diamine years ago, merging the companies under Diamine while the Kewel name remained. Lucius is a very reluctant CEO. If he had a choice in being a nepotism dropout like Helly and Molly, he would. He operates with much hesitation and fear, easily swayed by the slightest move in the wrong direction, earning him the title as The Coward. Strangely enough, this causes him to make changes in the more progressive direction when it is pressing him. As progressive as the indentured nature of the mining industry of Anterica can be, that is. Lucius suffers from severe anxiety, depression, and a reproductive medical condition that all compound together to make work and life all the more difficult for him.

Brighton works a corporate position under his father at Pharmagene and does mostly legal work. He is studying law while working at the same time, as he is college aged. Brighton has undiagnosed ADHD and struggles with momentum and inertia. To put it simply, he has trouble starting and stopping his work. Either being frozen, unable to do a task without the help of coffee and the pressure of time, or unable to stop working, riding on the high of being in the zone and forgetting time altogether. He works odd hours due to this fact. His father takes notice whenever he’s not too busy grinding his own non-existent nose to his paperwork.

When we fast forward to 1988, the gang is discovered by the Corporal Unity Police Department, or COPD. This earns much publicity in not only Calitonia state, but across the nation of Anterica and across the globe. All of Dearth knows it. This worldwide attention is what finally causes our very tall house of cards to lose structure.

Zion becomes overworked and overwhelmed, unable to keep up with the constant barrage of action. His selfish decisions in pricing the sun deficiency drug against his late COO, Amanda Mandrake’s wishes, have made way for her bereft daughter, Molly Mandrake, to lead a group of who knows how many others to fabricate the drug with a farther reach under the table. The injustice is seen in favor of Molly with a resounding majority of the people on her side, which means that majority is also against Zion. Between the poor self care and his weak heart and age and the stress of it all, Zion just cannot handle it and experiences heart failure, passing away in his own home with Brighton present. This can be found in the text Running An Heir’s End.

#Notes #zion diamine #solaire diamine #lucius diamine #brighton diamine

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agentsketchbook · 9 months

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Running an Heir’s End 4-15-23

CONTEXT:

Zion Diamine is the CEO of Diamine Industries, a family run organization passed down for generations, which has monopolies all across Anterica in areas such as pharmacy, fashion, electronics, etc. From oldest to youngest, he has three sons named Solaire, Lucius, and Brighton who all work within the company and its subsidiaries. This piece of writing follows the events of Sneaking out of the Morgue, Listen to the Silence, Pigeon’s Nest, and I’m Dying for You to Find Out.

In these aforementioned writings…

Molly Mandrake’s gang is discovered by Corporal Unity Police Department (COPD)

Molly and Burdock are detained and incarcerated for their involvement in producing the sun deficiency drug

Pigeon Wing is killed by the police

Hansa goes through Pigeon’s belongings and reveals that his late friend had feelings for him

Hansa shares with the gang some of Pigeon’s thoughts on paper through journals, poetry, and fiction written by him

What we haven’t touched on yet is how the Diamine family has been dealing with the publicity of their proprietary formula being reproduced by Molly Mandrake, who is the daughter of the late COO of Pharmagene, Amanda Mandrake. Despite Zion’s cold and calculating facade, he is incredibly overwhelmed, stressed out, and burdened with the guilt of these events shedding light on how corrupted the system he’s been running is. In Running an Heir’s End, we will see the biggest toll it takes on Zion Diamine.

“God, what a day…” Brighton muttered under his breath as he fumbled with the door handle at his bedroom door. His limp hands waved to his sides, not even bothering to switch the light on.

For most, the gloom of the cluttered room that greeted him would be a grievous scene to take in. To the exhausted young Diamine, it was a sight for his sore eye. It was only at the entrance that he relaxed. Had he been that tense the whole time?

His shoes dragged against the carpeting below him all the way to the side of his bed, despite the protesting of his legs where he sat to the edge and curled down to pluck at his shoelaces. He dug his fingers underneath the heels of his leather boots, working them off and allowing his aching soles to feel weightlessness at last.

Brighton deeply sighed, kicked back, and sank into the plush duvet beneath him. First, he felt relief in his back, weight melting away from his spine down through his aching feet. He felt the pain leaving them in waves, a gentle thrumming as the blood evened out into the rest of his body. The pillow beneath him shaped around his sharp angled head, the down and cotton supported his coiled neck. Brighton became aware of these sensations, focused on the feeling of repose. He took a slow, long inward drag of his lungs and allowed the air to ease out of his chest at its natural pace. Then another breath came. His vision became distant, losing focus on the world around him as he stared out toward the motionless ceiling fan before him.

The day’s harrowing events replayed in his weary mind. Since he stepped foot out of his bus to make way to the Pharmagene building, he’d been mobbed by the press, who recognized him right off the bat as the youngest of Zion Diamine’s sons. Before he could process three questions thrown at him, he had ten more spat in his face. He hardly got past the curious crowd unscathed, thank god. Or thank the Pharmagene security, rather, who hurried the flustered young man through the gate.

Entering the facility wasn’t much of a respite, as he felt all eyes on him. He didn’t do anything to deserve the stares, but he didn’t have to. His father’s scandal had pointed the entire nation of Anterica in the Diamine family’s direction. Poor Brighton had to navigate this unwanted attention all the way through the corporate building towards his duties. At least Zion had the deflection of a mirror. Every dirty look and gawking stare his way felt like it shot right through Brighton’s soul, aching and burning in his chest and it prickled his face, suffocating him and squeezing his ribs in place as he tried to trudge through the hallways as quickly as possible. That overly friendly watercooler talk he’d grown to brush off seemed like a direct attack now as he tried not to make eye contact with the men glaring and leering his way.

The rest of the day after reaching his office was an anxious blur. He found his loathsome paperwork to be a haven away from prying eyes and the workload kept his thoughts occupied. Though his mind wandered to the worst case scenarios, he was able to steer himself right when he realized he wasn’t breathing and was shaking when he reached for his cup of coffee, sugar and cream. No more of that, he thought, as he set down his third mug of the day.

The overhead buzzing of the fluorescent lights and the four walls that contained Brighton boxed him in away from the outside world, away from people and sunlight. He was unable to pry himself up from his papers when his in office alarm clock went off, signifying the end of his day. He quickly shut it off, continuing to finish his thought from pen to paper. And then the next thought. And the next, until he’d forgotten the time altogether. It was only when a sharp pang struck through his wrist that he snapped back to reality. His eye was bulging at the clock. Brighton always had trouble pacing himself with projects such as this, either unable to start at all or finding it a gargantuan task to pull himself away from his momentum. He had a feeling he was in no hurry to exit the room, however, so he took his time collating, packing, and gathering his pens and desk related accouterments and making sure they went where they were meant to live. An activity he’d normally left undone, returning to the disheveled state of his desk every day. His coffee cup, however, remained half empty on its coaster.

The office hallways were empty when he exited with several lights shut off along the way, creating a maze of light to guide him back to the entrance of Pharmagene. The relief was palpable, how no people were out to peek at him. However, the paparazzi packed themselves outside, ready to prod and pry at the young passerby. They must have done so for all personnel coming and going. Even so, it made it feel to Brighton as though they were lying in wait for him especially. He would have shuddered at the thought to himself if he was alone to do so, but he found himself once again fighting off the flashing cameras and rapidfire questions flying his way.

Pushing and waving his body side to side and through the group of ravenous journalists, he managed to make his way to the bus stop home, where he braved the press silently, letting them do all the talking for him. He didn’t want to answer, nor did he have a clue as to what he’d even tell them. This was all Pops’ doing, after all. How would Brighton have a say in any of it? When the bus finally came, he was thankful that not a single one of the photographers had paid fare to board and follow him, leaving them behind as he made it home to the gentle humming and thudding of the massive vehicle. His driver didn’t say a word to him until he exited with a “Thank you” and a “Have a good evenin’.”

He must have been pacing around in his office more than he recalled, because the walk from the bus stop to the front step of his house was heavier on his feet than most days. The pain of the day moved from top to bottom as his worries began to stomp out through heavy footsteps of exhaustion.

Those footsteps stopped at the gate to his home, allowing Brighton to punch in the code and plod towards the door with his key in hand, ready to come inside.

Before making it to the stairs up to his sanctuary, his eyes met the warm glow of his father’s study through the frosted glass of the doors. Light and music both shone and seeped out the cracked open door. That was a rare occurrence, as Zion liked to keep his musings tightly lidded. Brighton ignored it today, humming quietly along to “Ain’t That A Kick In The Head” playing on record on his way upstairs.

After getting through the door and up to his room and to his bed, Brighton found himself back to the present, laying down comfortably at rest, sighing and closing his eye with his hands folded over his stomach.

He emptied his head of all the day’s thoughts, all the struggle, and all the worldly pain. Not quite looking to fall asleep right away, but certainly in a reverie and nodding away from his present.

And then there was a THUD from downstairs.

Brighton jolted up, disturbed from his peace by the noise. He paused, listening closely. He made out the faint but familiar tune of “My Way,” and the absence of his father’s vivid rambling and crooning.

“...Pops?”

…

No answer.

“...POPS?”

That didn’t sit right with him. He had to investigate.

Feet hit the floor, soreness returning to them all at once in an instant as he scrambled out his bedroom door. He bolted down the steps, sharply turning left to Zion’s study, where he pushed his way past the glass and froze in place at what he saw.

Zion Diamine himself curled on the floor, facing his son’s way, but he wasn’t looking at him. His million yard stare of his eye was replaced with a pained tightly lidded one, his hands clutching his chest and knees drawn. He wasn’t moving.

Brighton shook away the shock of it, rushing to his father’s side and resting his hand on his shoulder, shaking gently and calling out to him as though he were far away.

“Pops? Pops, are you okay?”

No answer.

He shook him harder

“Can you hear me?”

Still no answer.

This time, Brighton shook him frantically, causing his father’s crystalline head to loll on the floor.

“GOD, you need help!”

He whipped his neck side to side, desperately searching for the phone on the desk nearby. The dial of the rotary spun in a flash as it punched 9-1-1. The receiver crashed against the side of his head in anticipation, searching for the sound of another’s voice. In the background, the record player continued to warble. Brighton ignored it.

“911, What’s the address of your emergency?”

“16580, Corporal Unity Street…Ohhh my god, um… Sorry, uh, Calitonia, 90831.”

“And can you tell me exactly what’s happened?”

“Um yeah, my pops, he’s not moving, he’s on the floor. I heard something fall from upstairs so I went to check on him and he’s just not answering me.”

“Did he hit his head?”

“I don’t know, but I… think he… He fell.”

“Okay, is he breathing?”

Brighton’s hands shook as he held one up to his father’s chest, feeling for a breath or a heartbeat.

…There was none. Neither. But he was warm.

He felt again, searching and pressing his hand in hopes of finding just one breath. Just one pulse. To no avail.

“Oh god, no… I don’t. Feel anything, oh…” Brighton hiccuped into the receiver.

“Sir, stay calm and stay with me, alright?”

Brighton nodded. His fingers gripped Zion’s chest, hand still planted firmly where it was.

“Sir, are you still there?” “Y-yes.”

“Okay, stay on the line, I’ll tell you exactly what to do next. We’re sending the fire department out to assist you. Do not give him anything to eat or drink and do not move him as this could cause further injury. If you have any more questions or there’s any change in his condition, give us a call back and let us know so we can better help, okay?”

“O-okay… Thank you.”

Click.

Just like that, Brighton was left alone, save for the company of the crooning record player warbling out “No Regrets” and his father’s lifeless body planted to the floor. There was no moving or touching him now, according to the 911 operator’s instruction.

His body ached from the inner pit of his chest out his throat and through his eye. It felt like it was swelling large enough to fill his head. Teardrops began to stain the heaving lapel of his jacket. He was breathing erratically and his chest shook with random sobs.

The operator also told him to remain calm, but in earnest, the boy was afraid. The realization struck him that he hit the worst case scenario already, and balled his fists onto his knees as he sat helpless by his father. He only had so many people in his family as is. He had to tell his brothers about this, he thought. Dare he move from his position to make those calls?

Brighton froze where he sat, his breath stilling.

‘Come on, you have to tell Lucius. And Solaire. They have to know. But god, is this really happening? This is happening…’

His whole body trembled as he worked himself up to stand, paying extra attention to Zion at his feet. The soreness in them that he lamented earlier seemed to vanish as the aching in his upper body took over. His glassy head felt like it was filled with cotton, making it all the more difficult to focus on dialing his older brother, Lucius Diamine.

Regardless, the young viral’s faltering hands spun the phone dial and beared down on the numbers gingerly. The anticipation of entering in the last digit had Brighton’s mind whirling, nauseated, unsure whether to hold his head or his stomach. He instead gripped his chest with his free hand as he held the phone to his head and kept a watery eye on Zion. As if he’d change position or magically come to.

Brrrrring.

Brrr- “Hello, this is Lucius?”

Brighton’s gaze fell as he gave it his all to steady himself to answer. Seconds went by before Lucius stated himself again.

“Hello, uh, anybody there?”

“Lucius, it’s me, Brighton.”

“Brighton? Oh hey, what’s going on? You okay?”

“It’s pops, I just called 911 for him, he’s not breathing and I can’t feel a pulse and I just don’t know what to do, I just, I can’t, I-I-”

“Woah woah wait, what? Are you for real? Brighton, buddy, slow down, is pops okay?”

That was all he could take. Brighton burst into the phone, hunching over Zion’s desk and spilling tears onto the documents that plastered it.

“NO! He’s NOT OKAY, I don’t know what to do! I can’t do ANYTHING, Lucius! I can’t! I can’t!”

“Easy, easy, alright? Hey, are you still with me?” Lucius could hear his brother sniveling into his speaker. He was painfully sorry that it wasn’t onto his shoulder. He continued vying for Brighton’s attention against the cataclysmic emotions he was experiencing. The younger of the two had always been prone to big feelings ever since they could remember. Bringing him back down to dearth was always a challenge. In this moment, it was crucial.

“Brighton, talk to me, are you still with me?”

Brighton nodded and sucked back his grief. “Mhm.”

“Listen to me, Bri guy, you called 911, they’re going to do what they can to help, okay? You already did THE most you can do here. Now it's your job to keep an eye on pops and make sure nothing else happens, ‘kay? Can you do that for me?”

Brighton hiccuped. “Mmm.”

“Okay, good. Breathe, man, breathe. Take a deep breath, c’mon.”

The younger of the two followed along, fighting his wavering diaphragm to fill his chest with breath. His chest shook as he held in the air before he released it in one go.

“Okay Brighton, I’ve gotta let Solaire know about this, can you be strong about this?”

“Y-yeah. Yeah I ca-an.”

“Okay, good. I love you, okay? Remember, you’re doing THE MOST right now already. Take it easy, please breathe now. Will you be okay?”

“I’ll be o-okay.”

“Okay, love you, gotta go tell Solaire, bye.”

“Bye…”

Click.

#writing #brighton diamine #zion diamine #lucius diamine #running an heir's end

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