Snippet #2369527

Sora, much like one handling a wary or half-tamed animal (or perhaps someone who was a half-tamed animal) didn’t move, for the most part, his eyes tracking Fujiwara’s movements with uncanny precision, though they seemed to go a tad out-of-focus when she settled again, right in front of him as she had been. In truth, he was thus because it was easiest to detect movement that way, without fixating on one thing in particular. Not one for using his social graces, he figured it was probably rude, but in the end, she’d probably value her secrecy more than his manners, and this way, he’d know they weren’t being watched.

She was talking more to herself than him, though, though much as he hated to admit it, the words did strike a chord with him. Have you ever felt like something wasn’t quite right with you? He could have laughed, but it would not have been a pleasant sound. He was a freak of nature, even among his own people; when hadn’t there been something wrong with him? Even now, when he could hide his obvious deformities, he wore a brazen attitude instead, daring anyone who wasn’t a coward to come straight out and tell him what they thought of him. Nobody ever had—they were all too afraid of him, even without knowing what he was capable of.

That, he realized belatedly, was why he wasted so much of his valuable time prodding at Fujiwara. Because she wasn’t afraid of him, not even wary, at least not any more than she was of anyone else. This quality admittedly fascinated him, as until now the only people that had displayed it were either dead or Sachiko… or didn’t know any better.

His offer to be her punching bag was still in effect, and he took it to apply to the verbal lashings as well, hence offering no reply or retort while she vented right at him, though his eyes did narrow almost imperceptibly when she accused him of not understanding. He might not be half-human, but that wasn’t the only way to feel out of place, excluded. Everything he was grew from that very foundation, and he knew well that he wasn’t the only one, either. Lots of people dealt with that. Maybe it wasn’t always right in their blood, as it was with the two of them, but it was pervasive anyway. Just look at vampire society: anything less than perfect in your honeyed lies and showy decorum, in your meticulously-planned displays of power and wealth, and all of a sudden you were a pariah, unworthy of the dirt beneath someone else’s feet.

What she didn’t understand was something he knew well: the only person who could save you from a ‘fate’ like that was yourself.

She left in a huff, and for a long time, he remained there, perfectly still. The memory visited him in shadowplay, flickering ghosts behind his eyes, as though on an ephemeral film reel, grainy at the edges and faint, the voices almost blending into the rustle of grasses and the daytime birdsongs.

What happened?

I don’t know! I was just training with him, and then…

Your electricity disappeared?

I swear, it was him!

Faces glare down at the child, and a boot finds its way into his stomach. He accepts the punishment silently, assuming that it is merely another part of what he has come to see as normal. It is to make him stronger, they say, able to withstand anything without breaking. To look the power of so-called nobility in the eye and laugh at it. To know the pain of a thousand stinging needles, countless whip-lashes, and hold his tongue. To face the worst nightmares his mind could conjure, the most excruciating pains his body could experience, and simply endure. It is their way, and it is many years before he understands that his was always the worst. Because their hopes for him were always the highest.

Perverse, is it not?

It would be all that saved him, in the end.

Sora stood abruptly, shaking the last fragments of memory from his head. It was a useless thing; he had no need of such recollections. They strengthened him no further now, after all. This was a waste of time; he never should have come here. His time would undeniably be better spent preparing for tonight.

“So certain of that, are you?” a rich contralto voice asked, dripping with mockery, asked him, and the Tsukino survivor grimaced. Not you again, he thought in the creature’s general direction, eliciting a throaty chuckle. The panther emerged from the shadows of the trees, all liquid grace and effortless motion. Its color was such that it seemed cut from a starless night sky, or perhaps the dark side of the moon, save for its gem-bright eyes, a startling emerald green. “I see you’ve been as useless as ever while I was gone,” the cat continued nonchalantly, glancing around the clearing with steady gaze.

“What do you want, Midori?” he demanded of his familiar, scowling at her. To observe the interaction, one could not be blamed for assuming they disliked each other quite a bit, but such a theory would be shown false by the way which the black huntress approached, nudging her head under his arm. He sighed, but scratched behind one large rounded ear all the same. As far as familiars went, she was massive, easily large enough to carry two people mounted, three if they were small people.

She purred like a kitten under the attentions, but cracked one eye to look up at him wryly. Rather than answer his question directly, she offered a statement. “I overheard your conversation with the girl. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Why should I? It’s not my place to decide anything about her life. Besides, I’m not here to make friends. We’ve been over this. She’s interesting enough, but that’s all.” He started back towards the edge of the forest, the great feline padding along just as noiselessly by his side, quite the feat considering her size.

“Such a waste,” She chided languidly. “I grow bored of your revenge schemes. You are at your best when your attentions are focused elsewhere, Sora.” Her tone was sly, but he knew she truly believed what she said. Too bad he didn’t.

“Oh yes, because I’m utterly fucking charming,” he replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes to the sky above. The rasping chuckle sounded again, and she bumped his side with her head. Sheer reflex and solidity kept him from falling over—she was very strong.

“Not everyone needs pretty words. Sometimes, they just need true ones.”

He scoffed low in his throat. “There’s nobody on earth who’d prefer the ugly truth to a pretty lie, Midori. Especially not when it’s coming from me.”

She tilted her head to the side. “So you say. But I know you had something to tell her. I want you to tell her now. You’ll regret it, otherwise. You can’t watch out for people behind the scenes forever. Sooner or later, someone’s going to figure out that you’re not as bad as you make yourself seem.”

“Yes I am,” he replied, his tone so low that it almost constituted a growl. This was not a conversation he enjoyed, nor the first time he’d had it with her. In the end, though, there was only one way to make her give it up. “Fine. I’ll go try it, but I guarantee you she won’t even open the damn door, and I won’t blame her for it. People and I don’t mix.”

“Must be why you spend so much time talking to your cat,” She replied glibly, and his jaw tightened. Honestly; she really was insufferable sometimes. Whatever. He’d just get this over with, Fujiwara would ignore him as she rightly should, and he could go back to the entire point of his stay here without having to deal with shit from his familiar anymore. At least she hadn’t told Sachiko; his cousin would be fucking unbearable if she thought there was even a snowball’s chance in hell that he’s made a friend. Ridiculous.

He and his familiar entered the school building, both of them raising the angle of their heads to sniff the air in a curiously-matched motion. Catching the scent he was looking for, Sora followed it to, where else, the music room. Shooting the large panther another glare, he approached the door, laying one palm flat against it and leaning forward until his forehead made contact with the wood as well. Standing like that, he waited for the song to end—properly this time—then tapped the door twice with his knuckles. He made no move to enter however. Midori had never said he had to say any of this sentimental bullshit to her face.

But it’s not bullshit, is it? Midori thought at him, traces of amusement tingeing the mental communication. Every word of it will be true, and that’s what you can give that few others do. His scowl deepened, but there wasn’t a point in retorting to that at present. Taking a deep breath, he spoke through the door, not particularly loudly, but firmly. “Not gonna pretend to care here, Fujiwara,” he said, echoing her words from earlier, “But I do get it. Do I ever fucking get it..” he shook his head.

“To you, I’m just that dumbass that you get angry at every once in a while, but it’s kind of bullshit to just assume that people aren’t going to get your problems, you know.” He pressed his forehead harder into the wood panel of the door. “You’re you,” he said, and this was much quieter. He supposed it might have been tough to hear through the door, but he was gonna do this his own way or not at all, dammit, and Midori could shove it if she didn’t like it.

“And that’s enough of a thing to be. The rest of it’s just stupid shit that people are gonna pretend is important for your whole life. You don’t have to let them, though.” Another pause, and he pushed himself away from the door. This was a stupid idea. He sounded like a damn idiot, saying the things he wished someone had told him all those years ago. True things, but he’d been fed a diet of lies instead. Shaking his head, he shoved his hands into his pockets and started away from the door.

He’d known he was right—nobody had any use for him as anything but a weapon. It was all he was good at, after all, and he’d accepted that. He couldn’t do this people stuff; better to leave it to someone else and get on with his business.