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firstlightI do not know what this is, but it's now about 850 words long. Shit. Ok.
- Fantasy AU
- D1-centric, featuring most of Rikkai
- Surprisingly angsty for me, or looking likely to be
- Contains OCs. Uhm. Well. One OC so far, but an OC which definitely implies the existance of another OC at some stage...
...I think we can conclude that practically no-one will actually read such a thing. :D
I am also only just beginning to work out what the plot of it is going to be. All of these things would seem to indicate that I should just. stop. now.
But instead I thought I'd throw you a fragment.
Sigh. It's pretty PG thus far, though that's liable to change at a moment's notice.
Do not know if I should even bother with more of this.
---
The first one to meet the man is Haru. He is ten years old and already developing a healthy sense of cynicism, but he is sometimes impulsive, and also angry enough at his father on this occasion to storm out of the stronghold right into a blizzard, although he does stop to grab warm clothes, because he isn't stupid. Finding someone else already outside is unexpected but, he reasons, maybe they left because they were angry too.
His own anger begins to fade into curiosity.
“Hello,” he says, and gets a surprised look from eyes which are the colour of water on a cloudy day. “Why’re you out here?” The words get lost in the storm and he can feel snow on his tongue, in his eyes, stinging his face.
The man just shrugs, too-thin shoulder rising and falling in an awkward motion. His hair is silver-white and his skin is pale. He looks like a part of the storm, somehow. There are stories, but Haru is too old to believe them... maybe.
“Are you alright?” he asks, but doesn’t invite the man inside because... well, there are stories. Anyway, even if he’s rapidly becoming far too cold despite his fur-lined coat, he wants to make his father worried, show him he was serious. He has to stay out longer than this.
A shrug. “What’s your name?”
The words are surprisingly clear, spoken in a voice which is slightly harsh, but not threatening, for now. Haru stares up at him.
“Haru.”
“That’s all?”
“Masaharu. No-one calls me that.”
He’s not going to say the other part. He’s not stupid. Some things you don’t mention when you’re away from safety. His full given name is bad enough; no-one ever calls him by it. He still wonders why his father gave him a name he can hardly bear to hear spoken.
The man’s eyes narrow a touch and Haru wonders if he said something wrong. He’s being scrutinised, and it’s more than a little disconcerting.
“So that’s how it is, hmm?” the man says eventually, almost to himself, and turns away, hunched over against the storm.
“Hey,” Haru calls after him. “Who’re you?”
He doesn’t get an answer. He didn’t really expect one.
“The god of the storm,” Yagyuu says flatly, fingers tapping on the table-edge with a certain amount of impatience. Haru is an inventive child - not a trait he wishes to discourage, as it often leads to other, useful things - but his need to lie is rather concerning. He would have hoped any offspring of his would have had a better sense of when to speak honestly and when to hold back.
Haru, however, is nodding, face fixed in a scowl. Yagyuu can sense another temper-tantrum coming on.
Of course storm-gods exist, but that’s hardly relevant. He can see no reason why one would choose to manifest, ask the name of a ten-year-old boy, and then vanish again. Either Haru is mistaken or lying, and the blizzard has been raging for days - who or what would be alive in it, much less hanging around outside the castle walls?
“What did your storm-god look like?” he asks, wearily. He will get the whole story, and then he will decide what to do.
“Tall,” Haru says, but Haru says everyone is tall. He’s short even for his age and refuses to admit it. The rest of the world is too tall. “With messy white hair, but he didn’t look old. And his eyes were... grey, I think.”
Yagyuu turns this over in his mind, imagining wildly spiked hair, a long rat-tail. Grey eyes which seemed to look right through your defences and pick apart your soul. Yes, Niou could’ve looked like a part of a storm, but he can’t imagine Niou is still alive, much less alive and here.
He keeps his eyes resolutely open, refusing to close them and fully release the flood of memories he knows are waiting, barely held in check by the need to be composed in front of his son, in front of the guards.
“Haru, you will go to your room,” he says, perfectly calmly. “Jackal, please organise a detachment of guards to search the immediate area. You know your own limitations in this weather, I am sure. I leave the extent of the search to your judgement.”
Jackal nods, though he doesn’t look pleased. No-one here enjoys the winter, but Jackal wasn’t born here; it still affects him more than many of the others. Still, he is competent, and he rarely complains. Even when he does, he still gets the job done.
Haru hasn’t moved, though. “What’s going on?” he asks, openly staring. “Just ‘go to your room’? That’s it?”
“Would you prefer further punishment?” Yagyuu asks, expression grim, and Haru shakes his head hastily and leaves.
Yagyuu waits until he is alone and then, quietly and carefully, puts his head in his hands and lets everything come back to him, thought after thought. Good memories overshadowed by bad ones and layer upon layer of guilt, until he can hardly stand it.
When he’s done, he stands up again, outwardly composed and regaining inward control. He needs to talk to Yukimura.
- Fantasy AU
- D1-centric, featuring most of Rikkai
- Surprisingly angsty for me, or looking likely to be
- Contains OCs. Uhm. Well. One OC so far, but an OC which definitely implies the existance of another OC at some stage...
...I think we can conclude that practically no-one will actually read such a thing. :D
I am also only just beginning to work out what the plot of it is going to be. All of these things would seem to indicate that I should just. stop. now.
But instead I thought I'd throw you a fragment.
Sigh. It's pretty PG thus far, though that's liable to change at a moment's notice.
Do not know if I should even bother with more of this.
---
The first one to meet the man is Haru. He is ten years old and already developing a healthy sense of cynicism, but he is sometimes impulsive, and also angry enough at his father on this occasion to storm out of the stronghold right into a blizzard, although he does stop to grab warm clothes, because he isn't stupid. Finding someone else already outside is unexpected but, he reasons, maybe they left because they were angry too.
His own anger begins to fade into curiosity.
“Hello,” he says, and gets a surprised look from eyes which are the colour of water on a cloudy day. “Why’re you out here?” The words get lost in the storm and he can feel snow on his tongue, in his eyes, stinging his face.
The man just shrugs, too-thin shoulder rising and falling in an awkward motion. His hair is silver-white and his skin is pale. He looks like a part of the storm, somehow. There are stories, but Haru is too old to believe them... maybe.
“Are you alright?” he asks, but doesn’t invite the man inside because... well, there are stories. Anyway, even if he’s rapidly becoming far too cold despite his fur-lined coat, he wants to make his father worried, show him he was serious. He has to stay out longer than this.
A shrug. “What’s your name?”
The words are surprisingly clear, spoken in a voice which is slightly harsh, but not threatening, for now. Haru stares up at him.
“Haru.”
“That’s all?”
“Masaharu. No-one calls me that.”
He’s not going to say the other part. He’s not stupid. Some things you don’t mention when you’re away from safety. His full given name is bad enough; no-one ever calls him by it. He still wonders why his father gave him a name he can hardly bear to hear spoken.
The man’s eyes narrow a touch and Haru wonders if he said something wrong. He’s being scrutinised, and it’s more than a little disconcerting.
“So that’s how it is, hmm?” the man says eventually, almost to himself, and turns away, hunched over against the storm.
“Hey,” Haru calls after him. “Who’re you?”
He doesn’t get an answer. He didn’t really expect one.
“The god of the storm,” Yagyuu says flatly, fingers tapping on the table-edge with a certain amount of impatience. Haru is an inventive child - not a trait he wishes to discourage, as it often leads to other, useful things - but his need to lie is rather concerning. He would have hoped any offspring of his would have had a better sense of when to speak honestly and when to hold back.
Haru, however, is nodding, face fixed in a scowl. Yagyuu can sense another temper-tantrum coming on.
Of course storm-gods exist, but that’s hardly relevant. He can see no reason why one would choose to manifest, ask the name of a ten-year-old boy, and then vanish again. Either Haru is mistaken or lying, and the blizzard has been raging for days - who or what would be alive in it, much less hanging around outside the castle walls?
“What did your storm-god look like?” he asks, wearily. He will get the whole story, and then he will decide what to do.
“Tall,” Haru says, but Haru says everyone is tall. He’s short even for his age and refuses to admit it. The rest of the world is too tall. “With messy white hair, but he didn’t look old. And his eyes were... grey, I think.”
Yagyuu turns this over in his mind, imagining wildly spiked hair, a long rat-tail. Grey eyes which seemed to look right through your defences and pick apart your soul. Yes, Niou could’ve looked like a part of a storm, but he can’t imagine Niou is still alive, much less alive and here.
He keeps his eyes resolutely open, refusing to close them and fully release the flood of memories he knows are waiting, barely held in check by the need to be composed in front of his son, in front of the guards.
“Haru, you will go to your room,” he says, perfectly calmly. “Jackal, please organise a detachment of guards to search the immediate area. You know your own limitations in this weather, I am sure. I leave the extent of the search to your judgement.”
Jackal nods, though he doesn’t look pleased. No-one here enjoys the winter, but Jackal wasn’t born here; it still affects him more than many of the others. Still, he is competent, and he rarely complains. Even when he does, he still gets the job done.
Haru hasn’t moved, though. “What’s going on?” he asks, openly staring. “Just ‘go to your room’? That’s it?”
“Would you prefer further punishment?” Yagyuu asks, expression grim, and Haru shakes his head hastily and leaves.
Yagyuu waits until he is alone and then, quietly and carefully, puts his head in his hands and lets everything come back to him, thought after thought. Good memories overshadowed by bad ones and layer upon layer of guilt, until he can hardly stand it.
When he’s done, he stands up again, outwardly composed and regaining inward control. He needs to talk to Yukimura.
