mood: ---
music: ---
prompts: disdain, scarecrow
The footfalls moved over the thin floorboards, the steps somewhat muffled by the mats. "Where is the youjo?" Their voices grated her ears as they approach, and the smell of powder made her nose itch. "Still down there, my lord. Do we retain her for aiding wanted criminals?"
There was a pause after the reply, and it seemed as though even the crickets stopped chirping; waiting, perhaps for the next words. The air felt ripe with malice. It disrupted the peace that normally accompanied the flow of the wind.
"Bring her to me. I want to speak with her."
"Ukyo-sama, I do not think--"
"My father decreed that all samurai would be arrested. While I really don't care much for the fuss, these are an exception. They had Kirara." The tone in this man's voice was as spoiled as fish left uncooked for too long. "And if you had not stopped me down at the cave, I'd have her back by now." They walked past the door, and though she could not see their movements, her other senses compensated for that handicap. The faint breeze that drifted in told her that her door was slid roughly four inches apart, and on that same breeze the smell of perfume and make-up that she assumed covered at least one face carried itself over to her.
"Go. Bring her." The command was haughty, as if time was a commodity fast losing it's value. "If she struggles, I trust that you'll handle her."
She shut her eyes, a statement to herself more than anything else, and when she rose from where she sat, her fingers traced an upward line along the wall, using the solidness of the wood for balance and as a guide that would lead her out of the room.
"Are all merchant's sons incapable of seeing to their own dirty work," The words were fluid upon her tongue, and even if she wanted to, the disdain in them was thinly veiled. She tilted her head towards them, as if listening to the wind. Her blank eyes stared ahead at nothing. "Or perhaps it is only those who dress in the way of glorified scarecrows?"
She heard him bristle, and even as her heartbeat quickened at his rushing footsteps, she anticipated his actions. He would push her in the way that spoiled children tend to do, but she would not fall alone into the koi pond.
The water was chilly and she heard his attendants scatter, one in particular calling his name and lacing each syllable with distress. She heard the movement behind her, felt the shift in the water, but she didn't move, not even when her head was shoved under the water, the liquid coming around her like a shroud. She didn't flail or fight, though she heard Yukino's strangled plea to let her go. She was not afraid of drowning mostly because she believed that this one didn't have the courage to really kill her with his bare hands. Those like him elected others to do their dirty work; this boy, if she was correct would be no different.
She clung to that thought, even as she swayed, the lack of oxygen making her light-headed, and told herself that even if he did decide to kill her, then at least she would know inside that she did not stand idly by as he ordered them to hurt Yukino.
Three hours later she awoke to the feeling of warmth of her body swaddled in blankets and the gentle feel of fingers as they threaded through her hair. The Firefly House was hushed as if in a vigil, and the silence was broken only by the soft, sad lullaby sung from Yukino's lips.
music: ---
prompts: disdain, scarecrow
The footfalls moved over the thin floorboards, the steps somewhat muffled by the mats. "Where is the youjo?" Their voices grated her ears as they approach, and the smell of powder made her nose itch. "Still down there, my lord. Do we retain her for aiding wanted criminals?"
There was a pause after the reply, and it seemed as though even the crickets stopped chirping; waiting, perhaps for the next words. The air felt ripe with malice. It disrupted the peace that normally accompanied the flow of the wind.
"Bring her to me. I want to speak with her."
"Ukyo-sama, I do not think--"
"My father decreed that all samurai would be arrested. While I really don't care much for the fuss, these are an exception. They had Kirara." The tone in this man's voice was as spoiled as fish left uncooked for too long. "And if you had not stopped me down at the cave, I'd have her back by now." They walked past the door, and though she could not see their movements, her other senses compensated for that handicap. The faint breeze that drifted in told her that her door was slid roughly four inches apart, and on that same breeze the smell of perfume and make-up that she assumed covered at least one face carried itself over to her.
"Go. Bring her." The command was haughty, as if time was a commodity fast losing it's value. "If she struggles, I trust that you'll handle her."
She shut her eyes, a statement to herself more than anything else, and when she rose from where she sat, her fingers traced an upward line along the wall, using the solidness of the wood for balance and as a guide that would lead her out of the room.
"Are all merchant's sons incapable of seeing to their own dirty work," The words were fluid upon her tongue, and even if she wanted to, the disdain in them was thinly veiled. She tilted her head towards them, as if listening to the wind. Her blank eyes stared ahead at nothing. "Or perhaps it is only those who dress in the way of glorified scarecrows?"
She heard him bristle, and even as her heartbeat quickened at his rushing footsteps, she anticipated his actions. He would push her in the way that spoiled children tend to do, but she would not fall alone into the koi pond.
The water was chilly and she heard his attendants scatter, one in particular calling his name and lacing each syllable with distress. She heard the movement behind her, felt the shift in the water, but she didn't move, not even when her head was shoved under the water, the liquid coming around her like a shroud. She didn't flail or fight, though she heard Yukino's strangled plea to let her go. She was not afraid of drowning mostly because she believed that this one didn't have the courage to really kill her with his bare hands. Those like him elected others to do their dirty work; this boy, if she was correct would be no different.
She clung to that thought, even as she swayed, the lack of oxygen making her light-headed, and told herself that even if he did decide to kill her, then at least she would know inside that she did not stand idly by as he ordered them to hurt Yukino.
Three hours later she awoke to the feeling of warmth of her body swaddled in blankets and the gentle feel of fingers as they threaded through her hair. The Firefly House was hushed as if in a vigil, and the silence was broken only by the soft, sad lullaby sung from Yukino's lips.
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