You go home after that- no use mulling over what is or could be. You're feeling a little mellow, a little sullen, angry at your self sabotage again- but you know how it would have turned out and that would have just made you feel all the worse.
You don't think you can handle facing the fact that you're still the same person you always knew you were.
Its late, the knock on your door. Late for you at least. The party isn't over, but hope blossoms in your chest for a minute. But when you open your door it's just a young errand boy, and he holds a bag of containers to you.
"Uh, delivery for.." he checks the address. "Yeah, it's right, takeout?"
"Um..." You take it, hesitantly, the boy is young faced and too awake for this time of night, or, day.
"I didn't order anything? Since when did the restaurants around here cater at this time-?"
"I don't know. I was just paid to bring it here. Enjoy!" And he runs off.
Inside your hands, the containers are warm. The food is packed haphazardly, but smells delicious. There's a note with it-
'The restaurant you always mentioned wanting to go to at the Grove catered for us tonight, you really should've been here :(. I'm sending you dinner because I know you're going to try and skip it. Dont.
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“Where have you been,” he says, palming the counter, filling your line of vision like a glass of wine. “I feel like I haven't spoken to you in forever.”
“...” There's no need to. Even now, the other girls look at you like you're not a threat, not like you'd ever try to be, but still, watching. Seeing whether you want to be.
“You see me everyday.”
“You’re always at work.”
“Every weekday from Lucid hour until Curtain Fall hour.”
“There's an event. You don't want to go?”
“It's…not a mandatory event, but it's one of those things they put on to show their appreciation for us working class,” Violet, a slight girl, comes closer and shrugs.
“Come. You should really try to. They’re decent, usually and work even ended early.”
“Yes! The workday's over now, so-”
“No thank you.”
“I-”
“I appreciate the offer though.” The girls giggle as he deflates, and you try not to let anything show on your face as those blue-gold eyes stay on you. Your hands wring under the table.
“...You’re being mean again-”
“Professionalism sir.”
“You’re being mean,” he continues, pouting, draped over the receptionist desk. “And it's not even that cute anymore. Not as cute as I recall. Why can't we go back to how it was in our school days? Don't you remember?”
“What?” You and the girls speak at the same time. They chirp and twitter like the slight birds they are and your chest flutters like a battered wing as you tamp down the feeling.
Of course you remember. A freshman and senior, though with the way people gravitated towards him there was nothing very awkward or juvenile about the young scholar. Still, he chose you to be friends with, one of many, of course, but it still felt special because it was him.
You were still socially awkward, but not inept, like you are now. You didn't have much then.
You'd tease and scold and pull him around the grounds to hide how ridiculous, how out of depth you felt and, you both knew it. He'd nettle and tease you back, like he’s doing now, but you're not so young anymore, not so willing to be the butt end of the joke anymore. Your hands squeeze harder.
“I’d rather keep things strictly professional between an old acquaintance-” he squeaks out the word ‘aquaintance?!’ “And myself. As for my personal time, that is personal. But by all means, go on and enjoy yourselves.” You gesture towards the girls.
“The ladies have been looking forward to this for some time now, and I'm sure they'd greatly enjoy your company. I’d hate to hold any of you here longer than you need to be.”
“Yes yes, of course.” Helena, with her coiled hair, comes to your side, and in an uncharacteristic, or rather rare move, hugs your arm. She’s warm. “Better luck next time, Lord Phainon. Our friend here isn't the social type, but they look out and protect us when they do go out! Without them we need someone else to help us ward off the creeps tonight.”
"What do you do when Chrysos heirs or our dashing knight isn't here then,” Phainon asks, voice smooth as amber.
She sighs, leans her hip against you. “Fend for ourselves as best we can. But you'll come, of course? It would be such an honor, wont you? Please, please,” she bounces on her toes and leans into you with her shining eyes. “Let him come with us, won't you?”
You frown. “I don't dictate what this grown man does with his time.”
Helena pouts. “But, you’re friends right? You were his, what, upperclassman? In the Grove? He should listen to his elders!”
“I’m not that much older.”
“But you act like it! Really it's so nice, you're so calm and mature.” The girls laugh again and you're not impressed, nor surprised. But you didn't master your poker face for nothing, so you wait until it dies down. Like it does every time.
Phainon looks between the two of you, back to the other girls waiting eagerly, back to you.
But he's waiting, and doesn't laugh with them. His voice is low for you, and Helena, to hear, but directed towards you. “So, you really don't want to go?”
“I’m fine.”
“That’s not what I'm asking.”
”...No. I don't want to go.” There's nothing to do under that stare but wait, as he skims, looks over you like he's evaluating, digesting. At last, he clicks his tongue and rises to his full height. You think he grew.
“Okay then. I’ll get you next time, hear? For now, I guess I’m left in the care of you ladies-” and they cheer before he can get the rest of his words out, grabbing their little purses before surrounding him, practically steering him towards the front doors. He gets a half glance back at you before they turn the corner, and soon, their sounds are faint too.
You wait for--nothing. So you take a deep breath, and another, before looking over the desks, all the papers left behind in the haste.
It's a small booth, an overcrowded table with a few signs, and the short line is made smaller when he joins it on no particular whim; people titter and flit and give wide berth insisting he go forth- fear disguised as hospitality. So by the very short time he gets to your booth (nothing more than two chairs and a overburdened table) the man in front is leaving, grumbling at a slip of paper.
You change your inkwell when he sits, and immediately, you smile, sunny.
“First timers get a discount. But you still have to pay first.” You point to your sign detailing price, and he drops the coins into your jar with only a slight grumble.
“High price for a half embellished half contrived prophecy.”
“Oh I hope the rumor isn't true that the Kremnoan prince truly can't read. The sign, Your Highness,” you tap it, and switch out your ink again for another well. “They are not Prophecies- Poems, though sometimes they are one and the same.” You finish selecting a square of paper, thick and creme colored, ink and quill at the ready.
“I have five minutes to write a personal poem for you. So, talk to me.”
The back of his neck itches with stares. “Talk. About?"
“About anything. Five minutes.” And you flip a little sandglass he didn't see behind your stacks of papers and stamps and inkwells, the sand colored a dark indigo.
He thinks for a moment.
“...I need to escort some tenants to the council hall. They have a meeting with their landlord to talk about renovations. The floors are cracked, the pipes are leaking and the windows always let in draft.”
You hum to show your attention, chin propped on hands.
“The landlord thinks it's fine because the weather is always mild, so it's been a struggle to acknowledge this as an issue at all. But some don't care for critters that crawl in smelling their dinners and wanting a bite.”
“I would agree with you.”
The sun beats down, as it always does, and Mydei talks.
“Some parents have spoken about opening a school for their children. Children have been facing issues mingling with the other children. They hold the prejudices of their parents, and so do even the teachers. But who is petty enough to hold prejudice against children?” He clicks his tongue, sharp.
“It’s a matter of defining the schedule and rubrik, then renting a building. They've started a pool foundation which I have brought to the attention of Goldweaver. Ah, she will also accompany me when I go with the merchants tomorrow- They've asked me to accompany them on their journey to the Grove and she will send us off. It will be a good look and lower feelings of discontent with the people of Ohkema.”
“What did you eat today?”
The sudden question startles him.
“?” You blink, take your quill and begin writing in this deep red ink. “What did you eat. Today.”
He pauses for a moment, and the chair creaks from under him.
“Fresh bread with honey. Meat and vegetable skewers from a stall.” He thinks. “A handful of sunflower seeds. Pomegranate juice with goat milk.”
You nod, barely hum as you scribble. Though, scribble would be a petty word, because your handwriting is both practical and pompous, neat lines and sweeping strokes.
The sand in the glass is nearly empty, and he searches his mind for something more to say when you cut his thoughts off.
“Dont force yourself. If you feel you've said what you need to then there's no need to push anything else out.”
He frowns. “...I haven’t spoken about myself,” he says, as the last grains fall. "How 'personal' could this be?"
You blow gently on the paper to dry the ink. You look up at him, and it's odd and it's only with certain people like that idiot Deliverer, but you smile with your eyes and the apples of your cheeks when you hand the paper to him.
“I think you said plenty, actually. Please, have a good day Your Highness. And be safe.” Your smile doesnt fade, and you're already looking past him to the line that tentatively formed behind him.
He has some tact, so he nods, leaves, doesn't look at the slip of parchment till he’s a good distance from your booth. Red ink has dried into the color of rust.
Noble Prince of highest esteem- Are you sure you have not assumed someone else's fate?
How honorably you share slivers of a heart set to break.
Pomegranate red, honeyed slices rationed for consignment-
Is this a fitting punishment, for one who has only known violence?
literally just reading this post made me so insane, gods...
“What did you just call me?” Your hands don't pause chopping, the knife making neat sounds against your board, readying the vegetables for stew.
He calls out your name and- “Phainon, please, the pot in the back is going to boil over! Can you-” quickly- and urgent enough that you pause- he lowers the flame, and when you look up, bowl in hand, his eyes are set on you with a profound sense of desperation. Open, stinging, raw.
Immediately, your rush and hubbub is forgotten.
“Phainon? Whats…?”
“What did you call me?” Visibly, his throat bobs. “I…I need to hear you say that, again? Please.”
“My love?” And there- the aborted flinch to his shoulders. The way he’s leaned forward like a plant straining for sunshine.
You haven't been living together long. But it undoubtedly marked a new depth to your relationship- sharing a bed, meals, showers, clothes. It's been shy, learning, awkward, but wanted regardless, and no less precious to the both of you. The shared proximity makes the love feel fuller, and you find your tongue sweetened with kisses and honeyed words more often as of late. Like now.
Under that blue tinged gaze, something in you dawns, tender and shy, but yours. You see it reflected in the heart he bares for you, here.
“Your…love?”
“...My love.” You confirm, and he stills.
Again. “My love. Phainon, my love-” His face crumples- he rushes forward and pulls you into his chest just as the tears fall.
Maybe this is what it is. Maybe this is the confirmation, somehow, the both of you were waiting to finally ease into the inevitability of all this.
He still will be the one to save the world, but maybe you’ll be the one to save him, too.
The first thing that Vi learns about you is that apparently, you’re pretty. Like, really, really pretty.
“Have you seen the new shorty in cell block B? God-damn. Apparently she's–”
“Is she underground?”
“Huh? Uh, sorta? She's a halfie-”
“Where.” The other prisoner, number whatever the fuck, named whatever the fuck, is one of the few dumb folks here who never took the hint to to leave her the fuck alone. Over the years [years and years and years] she's made herself useful enough to tolerate. Telling her about certain guards and schedules and new inmates. Vi needs all the information she can get.
Number whats her face looks constipated. And maybe it's because of the way Vi hasn't stopped her rhythm, punching a weathered bag back with every blow, but she wrings her hands with a laugh. She's missing her front teeth.
“Um, I heard she’s already processed and in the cafeteria now but she's with–”
Vi doesn't listen to anything else; she turns on her heel, letting the punching bag swing into the woman, stomping as she moves past the throng of prisoners in the weight room.
The prisoners, and the guards, look up at her warily as she stomps past, breathing sighs of relief as she moves. ‘Who is it this time?’ and, “At least it's not me.’ A guard glares, suspicious, and speaks into a radio. She hurries pace.
There's not many people in the cafeteria, it's almost the end of lunch, but Vi barges in, scanning the room under the harsh white fluorescent light. Regular folks know to avoid her and the newbies–
Always stare. Dead straight eye contact, and, there you are.
The first thing she thinks is-You don't look underground. You dont have that grit about you. Neither do you look naive. Nervous sure, but alert. You noticed her as soon as she came in, as soon as she walked over.
She only has a moment to take in the look of you- widened eyes, pinched brow, before someone moves to block her path. Her shoulders tense before she looks up to see who.
“Ay, ay. The boss doesn’t want anyone coming over here right now.”
“Get out of my way Kira.”
“No can do.” His mohawk bobs as he shifts on his feet. But he doesn't move. “Boss says.” He stands a good foot and a half taller than her with more tattoos than skin and foggy blue eyes.
“...Why? Whose that–” She looks over his shoulder to point at you. But now, the other members of The Widows have moved closer, blocking her view.
The Widows are a sizable, particular gang. Only people from the underground are allowed. Another prerequisite–only those who lost someone because of Piltover. So its a pretty big gang. –It's one she can tolerate, which is something they can barely afford her, ever since she refused to join. Cordial, but barely. Mainly because of their boss.
She gives them a better attitude than anyone else here anyways. Those people she's either frosty, or downright hostile towards.
“The boss ain't here and you're gonna have to ask him about that. And we both know now that your talk aint gonna go the way they usually do now, ay?” He leans down to her eye level and nods back to the fresh meat. “She's someone of interest to the Boss, so you needa keep that temper of yours under wraps.”
“Who are they?” He shrugs. “It's not my business to tell.”
“...Well then where is he." She grits out of clenched teeth and clenched fists. There are murmurs in the cafeteria now, as the people around tense for a fight.
“Where he usually is, I guess,” Kira shrugs. ”Go find ‘im if you wanna.” That's a dismissal if there ever was one. But Vi is not to be waved away like a child- so she sneers, spits a glob of spit right next to his shoe, and deliberately walks out the cafeteria slow and controlled.
She can feel your eyes on her as she leaves.
______________________
Benny’s working in mechanics when she strides in. Hardly anyone looks up from their tasks, but they do tense as she strides over. People always do.
“What do you want?” He says as soon as she's in earshot.
“The new kid you got–”
“No.” Her fist comes down hard on the table, rattling the carefully assorted wrenches and screws.
He's unfazed, not even looking up from whatever he's doing.
Benny’s a small man. Really small. But his hair and his eyes are dark, and what little words he can be bothered to speak are low and to the point. He never stops shaking a leg or messing with those fucked up bangs of his, but his hands are steady and sure.
And, well, he knew Vander. He cried when Vi finally opened up to tell him what happened. That's the only reason Vi tries for some decency around the guy and his people.
But this is more important than that. “I have to talk to that girl–”
“She's only a halfie Vi. I doubt she knows what you're looking for–”
“But she might–”
“Spent majority of her time in Piltover so I doubt it,” He raises his voice above hers. “She wasn't arrested for no black crimes either-so drop it.”
She stares at him, incredulous, before shoving the table back. “So that's it? No?”
“Exactly.”
“Then what did that princess do up there to get sent down here? No, why are you even defending her? A spoiled halfie? She your new squeeze or something–”
Benny’s small, but he’s still a grown man, and fast too. Vi hardly registers the burn in her cheek before he lowers his hand and she tastes the spill of a broken lip.
“Shes my niece, dumbass, so watch your fucking mouth and your fucking tone.” Vi straightens, tongue poking to assess the damage. She doesn't apologize, but he sees the look on her face and his glare lessens a fraction.
“She’s an actor in some theater company. Her mom, my big sis, is Zaun. Her dads some big pocket–paid for her education.”
“...You think with that opportunity she woulda chosen something more…lucrative?”
“Not your place to judge,” he sits back down, re-arranges the table. “She's good. Got swept up in a Zaun protest, things got violent and some big-time backer to the council died. Blamed her, the rest of ‘is family pulled strings and now? She's here.” He sighs, and Vi notices she can see his eyebags through the dark lens of his goggles before he hides them, forehead to fist.
“I got my peoples looking over her though.” She recalls how the other members practically huddled around you before she could get a full glance, like a single stare and you’d wither. Princess. Her lip curls.
She shuffles, but steps forward to sit on an empty spot of the table. “You already got beef with the Vapers…So she already has enemies.”
“I know. And these people who don't like halfies, there are even some who knew about her before coming here so they got their prejudices…”
She tries for a joke. “Damn...Do they want a refund? Was she that bad?”
“No, of course not. She's the best.” He doesn't hesitate, and the way he says it has a rush of heat spreading up her chest and burning her throat. She has to push the lump down.
“Anyways, my niece hasn't been to the underground in years. Visits her mom every so often. Not enough to know who you’re looking for.” And a little softer, “I'm sorry.” The lump comes back.
She pushes off the table and walks out the room.
________________
It's a Vaper who approaches her next.
And that's a dumbass decision, because she hates Vapers, practically a death sentence, and the weasel is sweating like he knows it too.
Still, he slinks up to her while she's mopping up a bathroom. Anything to take her mind off hte boredom, the anxiety.
He’s grinning. “Heyyyy 516! Working hard or hardly working, amiright?”
“...Blunt force trauma, or blood loss?” He just laughs and leans against a sink she just wiped down.
“Okay, I see what gear you're playing in, so, I'll get straight to the point. You know Benny’s new girl? The soft looking one? Well–”
“Real stupid to be even talking to me, rat. Dont you have some enforcers to fuck with instead? Ran through your shimmer stash too fast?” He frowns, she's probably more on the nose than she thought. Because that's what the vapers do, leech and suck off of anyone that could satiate them. Whether it be a grudge or addiction. “Fuck off.”
“Oh no no no no no. It's not anything crazy. Not anything you wouldn't have done anyway–”
“Fucks that mean?” She's trying for calm. She already sent a few men this week into the infirmary. They'll lower her rations again if she keeps up. She's skinny enough.
“I'm just– the Boss is just saying. If you get your hands on her, doing that little question thing you do to all the new inmates, just…rough her up a little more, make things harder. Boss got word and proof of reward for some…prison justice, yeah?”Vi raises an eyebrow at that.
Just what the fuck did you actually do? Forget being blamed for a Piltie death–People want to make an example out of you.
He sees her pause, ego boosted. “Yeah! She’s Piltie anyway, so no lost blood on our end, yeah?”
“You vapes killed enough of your kind over a quick fix.”
He ignores that, reaching out and patting her shoulder. Red. “We can go get your commissary box some padding too, Zaun knows that's been empty for so long. How ‘bout it?” He stops laughing when she stops mopping, leaning her cheek against the skin warm handle of the mop.
“Hey.”
“...Hey?”
She leans in. “Youre fucking up my floor. Fuck.Off. While you still have legs.” And he takes the hint, scurrying on the wet floor.
She watches him run. Then, she breathes through her nose, out her mouth, once, twice, thrice. Breathing in the smell of shit and cheap lemon scented cleaner. Then she finishes mopping.
There's not much to do. She's been banned for some time from the yard, and she's not hungry. So she goes back to the weight room and punches a bag until her hands feel like they’re going to fall off. And then, before the room closes and the guards try pressing her up, she lifts her hands in frustration and goes to her cell.
“Ready to tuck yourself in pinkie?” The guard grins, and she’s tense. Familiar. Bitter rising on her tongue.
“Is it the ward paying me another visit? You don't think you guys are enough to hold me, do you?”
“We’re not the ones taking care of you tonight five-sixteen,” the other snickers, as the hall drags on and on and on and finally that cell comes into view. Confused-alarm pricks at her conscience.
Her dark, damp, cold cell. Blood splattered and filthy. Just like she’s always known.
Except it's different, because when she finally get there, it's still blood splattered and dark. But there's new bedding and someone swept and there's someone standing there.
“Oh,” she says.
“Oh,” you say.
The guard, this fucker, grins. “Well, get settled in you two.”
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“Don't act daft, Phainon.” Cool toned eyes delve deep, and Phainon chuckles under their scrutiny.
“Are you asking me which ones my favorite? Because you already know my answer.”
Agalea's office is huge and sunlit, and empty, and sitting behind a laden desk like an ordinary woman does not detract from her otherworldly air. At his words, her gaze cools even further. A finger twitches against the wood, and he catches the movement with interest. “And we both know who it never is."
...Oh? That sounded almost bitter. “And what do you mean? Of course she is.”
“You would be a more gracious, and kinder person if she were, Phainon.” She turns away, waving and twisting her fingers among the numerous golden threads, seen and unseen.
"You play and paw at her like a cat with a string, not knowing how close she is to just-" A thread by her wrist, breaks and thins. "-Snapping."
"Snapping under pressure, or snapping at me?" He grins, and Aglaea sighs.
"Come now, Lady Aglaea. Are you saying I've been anything but courteous?"
"That same courtesy that dismisses her? I've said it once, Phainon, don't act daft." Phainon hums, and dares the few steps forward to stand by his mentor's side.
"Well... it seems we both have developed a soft spot for our front receptionist. Though I'm surprised they managed to creep past your stone heart, Lady Aglaea."
And, she doesn't deny it. "I still have some of a heart left, it seems. The child simply grew on me. Like moss." Before he can mull that over she snaps her fingers, elegant and harsh.
“Do not deflect. The girls' internships are almost over, I want to know if there are any you think I should keep. You went to the soiree with them. How was it?”
Phainon cocks his head and thinks.
Violet, a timid girl, cheeky when inebriated, but, cocky too. She's too quiet, and something about the slow drag of her eyes makes him cross her off as no good.
Iris, a plain woman, gets her work done but nothing more, nothing noteworthy. A recommendation will land her a very decent spot somewhere.
The same could be said about most of them as Phainon rattles off their names. They are decent, appropriate, but lacking that cold professional edge that you so honed that Aglaea so prizes.
And Helena…
“Helena would be the best choice. She's ambitious, but not conniving. Composed and young, it would be a good look for your office. Younger people would make the process of approaching you less daunting.”
“Its a shame that our friend can't seem to take up that particular mantle hm?” Her voice, rich, passes impassivity off as warmth. “Luckily she’s very good at her job. And very loyal. Do you know how many rats of the council have approached her with offers for work, money, prestige? She rejects them all.”
“Thats a test we’ll see if Helena would pass. As of now, I think it's likely she would, but still, a test should be in order.”
“You don't like her.”
[“I’m not that much older.”
“But you act like it! Really it's so nice, you're so calm and mature.” ]
He doesn't hesitate. “I don't."
“Why? The same reasons you dislike her are the same reasons why your relationship is so strained with my front receptionist.”
Phainon clicks his tongue, but he doesn't let the cheer fall from his face. He is solid and composed when he replies, “I’m not that petty, or vain. Or bitchy.”
Her eyes flash, and she brings a hand to her chin in silent acknowledgement. Though he didn't tell her, he's 98% sure she's aware of the girls words to you. “...So you're saying she can't conduct herself?”
“...I'm saying she is young, and eager. Responsibility would either make or break her.” He shrugs.
“So not enough experience then? Alright.” And just like that, a series of threads snap, golden light dimming as they fall to the floor.
“It seems like we weren't fortunate with a good batch this time around either.” She sighs, closing her eyes for a thought, before opening them in a flash. “I must conduct a meeting with the others then so they may break the news. Though I don't suppose they were expecting anything this time around either. You never do seem to approve, do you.”
None of these girls-young, vapid, plain, conniving, vain- match up to the perfect composure you portray. Of course he doesn't. But what else could he say but give a half performative, half grateful bow to his mentor.
“I'm just honored you hold my opinion in such high regard, Lady Aglaea. Thank you.”
Summary: The Lord Daiyokai often shuts you up in an inn, every few days of the month, for the demons that are attracted to your bloodscent. It is one of the few graces he allows. You would think its for your safety, and truly it is. Because not only do you seem to forget that he is a demon, but also a man.
Rumors of a bloodhungry demon arise, one that prowls the edges of this ghost town, devouring its residents under the shroud of moonless nights; Of which steadily approaches. Under the dark viel of a new moon, all desires will be brought to light.
Content warnings: Smut, some lemon if you will, pvp, I dont go into a lot of detail but female genitalia ya, mysogynistic language towards reader, A bit of intimidation/domineering(??) kind of behavior from Sesshoumaru, IDK if that would trigger anyone but he does get kind of murder-y vibes, (not towards reader).
A.N: This is part 2 to part three of this story! Part one will be linked accordingly~
Length: 11.9K
You say my name and I want to knit my bones into your bones, smooth away the boundaries of our heartbeats.
It's late in the afternoon when you come to.
There's something wrong with you. Not wrong enough to worry alarm, but wrong enough for the hum in his gums to buzz to an ache.
Your spare moments of lucidity were fevered and dizzy. You drank whatever he gave and ate from his hand, pawing at his arm and chest with soft, weak sounds that made him wonder what sounds you’d make if he just decided to push back the covers and sheets, and soothe where you’re aching. It's not as if he doesn't know how to soothe you.
Static rose and sparked harmlessly when you touched him then, and he takes note of it with more than a hint of concern.
It's neither rare nor common to find a human with some ability, whether that be spiritual or otherwise. It’s just your luck that you're one of them. It's just his luck that he came across you, treasure that you are.
But you're awake now, and he must look after you. You sit up, wiping the crust out your eyes.
“Rin is resting in her room,” he tells you. “Jaken has left the inn for an errand, and has not returned.” Despite the time, and his patience. Something must have held him up.
“So you just let me sleep all day?” You yawn, your jaw cracks. His hand comes to your forehead and you jolt–another hint of static bolstering his suspicions. Your fever is lowered, and your jaw isn't tense with the pain of discomfort. Good.
You smell like late spring–green and sweet and full. Sunlight. His scent is on you as well, but it's superficial. He needs you to be coated in it. Smothered.
A mating mark would do that. Hormones, pheromones- they are in everything. And the mating gland found within the neck is crucial for the mating bond. He’d have to see where yours is, your glands don't seem to be so close to the surface, even with them being tender and swollen now from your heat when he felt over your skin. He just needs to find them, bite down–He’ll try not to be too savage.
He’s going to do it. Not now- he wouldn't want to do it in such a decrepit place. His manor, assuredly, would be ideal. And of course, it would be when you weren't in a heat. You’ll need to be more clear headed, and he doesn't need a pseudo-rut, this cloud of want and lust influencing his demeanor. Strictly, now, he’s only going to offer you what you need. That's all.
A test for his patience and discipline, if there was ever one.
He’ll ease the pain and lick away the blood, afterwards, you’ll have the time. He’ll wipe your tears. And you’ll mark him too, of course. You’ll need to bite hard, your teeth are blunt, smaller. He’ll need to show you where, how-
You’re talking. They said something. Listen. “Sleeping for so long always gives me weird dreams, you know that?”
“Such as?” He reaches for a plate he has at the ready, cut fruit, ume and pear. He doesn't want to give you something too heavy, yet.
“...It was a storm, but the rain was falling upwards. I was on A-un, I was going…somewhere. Blood…flowers. Fire. ” You shake your head. “I only remember bits and pieces.”
“Sounds nonsensical.” Or an omen, if one is superstitious. He presses a slice to the seam of your mouth. You mumble as you take it.
“You were there too, in your demonic form though.”
This, he pauses. “You've never seen me in that form.” He’s taken great pains to ensure that you haven't.
You grin. “Yeah, so when are you going to show me?”
“Shut up.” He presses another slice to your lips to shut you up before you start. You laugh.
“Hey, are you alright? Why do you look like that?”
“Like what?”
“Your hair is pulled back. And the white part of your eyes are pinkish now.” You reach out as if to brush away a stray hair from his forehead. “Are you alright? Did you get so mad you popped a vessel?”
He can't help it–this close, he might as well be tasting you on his tongue, in the back of his throat. His lip curls as a low sound escapes; You freeze, before moving back.
“Um, too close? Sorry…”
Not close enough. He clicks his tongue. “Just eat.”
“Okay. Feed me?”
You're happy with just the fruit, you glutton. But he acquired it for you, didn't he? He watches you eat. Presses each cut of fruit past your lips, teeth. There's something particularly thrilling about imagining your smaller canines, sinking into the flesh of his neck instead. You’d have to bite hard–your teeth are much more blunt and he needs to make sure the mark is deep enough. The rivulets of blood that would escape, run down–He finds himself leaning forward into your space, and has to draw himself back.
He’s noticing though, the way you hold yourself, and the puzzled way you look when you think he can't see you as he looks away, as he feeds you, as you allow him. Your fingers shake before you curl them into fists and it taints your rich honey scent with worry, murky and thick. He knows it has more to do than with the way you moved from him.
“What is wrong?”
A sigh, a hiss from your teeth. “I feel hot. And…jittery.”
“...Are these symptoms familiar?” Here, you pause. But you try to shake off the gooseflesh he sees rise on your skin.
“It's…probably something with my diet, or messed up hormones, or maybe because I'm not used to so much leisure-”
“And the sparks? They've been happening more frequently as you slept.” H offers you another slice. “And there is a storm soon to break. You always get tense when they come around.”
“You think there's something up with that?” You remove the covers and crawl over to his side. He tries to ignore the curve of your spine, or the way you look up at him doing so.
You bite half of the slice he offers you, covering your mouth and pushing the other half towards him. He takes it as you chew over your thoughts.
“So, what are you saying? We kinda-uh, there was a spark last night too, when you touched me.”
“So try it again.”
“Uh, Okay?” Hesitant, you look at him, and reach for his arm. He looks at you, and you take that as permission to lay your hand flat there.
Immediately, there's a spark, and you jolt your hands away.
“Ow?! There is something up with that?! What was that?”
“Try that again.” He holds up his hand as you look down at your own in alarmed confusion.
“Try it again, this time.”
“I don't know man…” You reach with a finger this time. He urges you and you poke the heart of his palm.
Before you touch him, he lets just a hint of youkai energy seep past the lines of his palm. As soon as you touch, there's a tiny spark of light, a crack!
You fall back with a cry, and immediately he’s on top you.
“Are you burned? Hurt? Where?”
“What? No! No, I'm fine,” you sit up and try to push him back, but your hands are shaking harder now, and so too are your shoulders. He leans against your force, ready to fall into you. Your hand curls against his collar.
“...Okay, okay, really. What is this? What the hell is going on? Sesshoumaru?”
“...”
Oh, dear. You look at him, with your eyes wet and wide and confused, and it doesn't do anything but pluck the heartstring known as W A N T in his chest. A low growl builds in his diaphragm; He wants to speak in his own language, console you, cajole, entice, warm. But you wouldn't understand him.
Connections beyond words are made when a pair is made through mating. Would you understand him then? He wants you to. You need to.
He takes a breath, for calm. He's getting out of hand. His intentions aren't good, they hardly ever are, but they aren't meant to cause you distress. Your tears are pretty. But he’d prefer them in a different context.
“It's fine.” He pulls you up, and takes your hands in his own, to help the trembling.
“There are humans with abilities not unlike youkai. That's what this could be.”
“What…? How, why-”
“A series of factors. These abilities are more often present in half bloods, or monks, priestesses. You're one of the rare outliers, it seems. Has this ever happened before?”
“...I guess? I always get sleepy and have weird dreams around this sort of time. You know I get jittery during storms too, so to have both at the same time is just, kinda rattling me up a bit,” you laugh, weakly. “Jaken and Rin could probably tell you more about it.” Since they're the ones who are closest to you in this time.
He should have slotted himself closer to you much, much sooner.
“If it's around the time of your cycle it could be an imbalance of energy. More than simply nerves, you could be responding to or be affected by the storm-which is why you're so rattled now.” He presses your hands down into your lap, better looks you in the eyes.
“Though there's limited ways to prove such.”
“Forget about proving, I just want to stop the shaking. This always happens,” you sigh, washing warm breath into the space between you. Fruit and honey and hot.
“You got a remedy for that?”
“...Stabilizing will help. But first we need to know what the disruption is. The storm will worsen, if you react to that then I can test your energy to see if it is in fact a reaction or response. There is a difference between the two.”
“So if it's not the storm, then…?”
“Then it's your cycle.”
“So is there nothing you can do now to help? How would we even ‘stabilize’ this?” You gesture with your trapped fingers.
Something in his jaw ticks. “Drain the energy, have it expelled. Or, we introduce a foreign element. Your energy would either fight it off, depending on dose, or succumb to it.”
“So like a vaccine then?”
“...?”
“It's, uh, a medicine thing, for really bad diseases and stuff. Introduce a dead version of the virus or whatever and inject it so the body can safely fight it off and build immunity. Some, like measles you only take once. For the flu you need one every season as the virus builds its own immunity and evolves.”
“If that's the connection you can make, then in a sense, yes. This could also just be a one time occurrence. You can't build ‘immunity’ though- not here.”
“What, wait why not?”
_________
Rin combs the brush through A-un’s mane– He closes his eyes in bliss as she works. She's more petting than anything.
You've been busy sleeping, and Jaken is gone doing who knows what. It's not like she can't stand being on her own for a while, but she doesn't want to. And the Lord is kind of antsy right now…
Even if he’s enjoying all the extra sleep, staying cooped up isn't good for anyone, so Rin took off A-un’s muzzles and led him to a relatively clear part of the forest floor, not too deep within the trees, the inn still in sight.
“-and he told me that alphas and omegas are together to make babies, but most people are betas so they too can have babies.” She’s careful with a particular snag. “So I don't know what he meant by that.” He snorts. Talking to A-un is easy–and maybe it's because he can't speak back. He could react and reply, he had his own feelings and thoughts, but Rin took comfort in the fact that if he was judging her, he couldn't verbalize it.
“And he said demons, so does that mean you too? Which one are you? I’m an omega, so I'm supposed to smell sweet. What do I smell like?” He snorts again in answer, eyes still closed, and Rin hums.
“I wanted to ask him, but I didn't want to be rude. If that is rude. What if I smell bad and he just never said anything? That would be soooo embarrassing.” She picks the stray hairs out the comb, rolling it into a ball.
“They didn't know that they're Omega too. I think he's going to tell them all the stuff when they wake up–I think he should. They already like each other.” She rolls her eyes.
There's always been some kind of tension between you two, she's noticed it since she joined, and there always has been one looking at the other.
Maybe now you can be together and get married and maybe she can have siblings again like she used to. It would be nice to be a big sister. Would they have white hair? Would they have pointed ears, or fuzzy dog ears, or a long fluffy tail like Lord Sesshoumaru’s?! They wouldn't look anything like her, that's for sure. Nothing like the familiar faces she once knew.
Suddenly, violently, comes the twist of shame, guilt. She gasps, sits up ramrod straight and tries to breathe through the tightness, like she does after a nightmare, like you’ve told her to.
Count the breaths. In. Hold. Release-slow. In. Hold. Release. Again.
There's no replacing what’s been lost. You can only make the best of what you have now, and hope for the best. You always tell her things like that, and when Jaken and A-un’s eyes become too eerie, when she sees the glint of fangs when her lord speaks and her old scars ache–she goes to you. You're soft and warm in a way that is intrinsically familiar.
She loves it here. She’s not lonely anymore. She’s safe from the dogs and their glinted fangs.
She just hopes nothing bad ever happens to separate this little group.
Suddenly, A-un straightens, and his heads turns towards the trees. But Rin doesn't see anything, and reaches to pat his neck.
“What's wrong buddy? Did you hear a rabbit?” He doesn't pay her any mind, and instead stands to his full height.
“Hey, that's-” That's when she hears the rustle, and she too turns in time to look- and she meets a pair of eyes.
Her heart stutters, suddenly cold.
It's only for around a half second, before the dark blur races through the trees.
A-un’s snout wrinkles into a snarl as he takes stance, head lowered and pupils pinpricks. The comb feels unnatural in her hands as he growls, harsh and guttural.
“A-un, what’s–” but before she could finish her sentence he barks loud, once, and bounds into the trees.
“Wait-!” She’s tugged along a few feet before the reins in her hand are ripped away and she nearly tumbles. The momentum pulls her forward, before she rolls-stumbles into a stop, leaning against the tree. A-un doesn't notice, or care, as he goes after whatever that thing was.
Her heartbeat is so loud in her ears, almost louder than the panic.
She wasn't even supposed to let him out! If you or Lord Sesshoumaru finds out she let him out, and that now he’s running around without his muzzles they’d kill her.
“A-un! Come back! It was just an animal!” It's easy to follow the trampled shrubs he left in his wake, and she runs, hesitantly looking back as the inn gets smaller and smaller in view.
“Both of us weren't supposed to be out here, come bac-!!” Her foot slips on empty air, and she goes tumbling down with a squeal.
“...Ow…” When she looks up, she has a scraped knee, and she's half in a hole-no, tunnel, dug in a hill. As she smooths her hands along to get her footing, the walls are smooth and packed.
It’s really small though. Barely bigger than something you could fit, maybe, if you crouched low. It is roomy enough for her though.
She hesitates for a moment– A-un, and the inn…but childish curiosity wins out, and she enters the tunnel.
She pulls out a gift you gave her, a Flash-light. You told her to use it sparingly, because the batt-ery would die and couldn't be replaced. For a tiny thing, it has a lot of power, and lights up the tunnel with ease. It's deeper than she thought, and she gasps in delight.
It's cool and dark, and she sees other tunnel openings as she runs along, but she just stays straight, dipping down for a while before sharply going up.
It's not too long, and she has to climb, putting the light in her mouth to use her hands. It gets dusty soon, and she covers her mouth and nose with the collar of her kimono. Her light flashes against metal, and up ahead she sees a door.
Thrill, then hesitance. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea…
But it's too late for that. So she goes up to the door, and tries the handle. It turns.
__________
“The foreign element introduced would be my own youkai energy. ‘Energy’ doesn't work on the same level as our biological functions, they can only influence and be influenced by. I don't seek you harm, so there won't be anything to fight off.”
And that felt like something he did not mean to confess, so he just keeps talking so you don't dwell too much on it. “It is strong, so against your force, you'd most likely succumb. A definite ‘cure.’” He takes definite care not to look at your face. Instead, your hands, small in his own.
Human scent glands are smaller, not so close to the surface. He has to search for them, and, there. Tense under the soft flesh, he presses his thumb in circles into the soft part of your wrist. You squirm, but sigh as the initial discomfort fades.
“The issue could be solved either way. Energy can be taken in by simply being near one another, though that method takes the longest. The most effective method would be through ingestion.”
“Ingesting…what?”
“Something holding your energy. I'd need a taste of your blood to know what I'm addressing. But I'd give you my blood after, this is the most potent method.”
You hum, a lilt...pretty thing. “So energy is in…bodily fluids?”
A nod. “Which is why yours is out of balance from your bleeding. It should be stabilizing, but again, the storm.”
“So is that why you've been kissing me like that?”
“...Like what?”
“You like to use tongue. Messy.” You huff. “And you don't come up for air as often as I need you to. Is it to stabilize my energy?”
…He didn't think of it like that. Perhaps he realized earlier on a subconscious level. But- “I do it because I want to.”
“That's it?”
“What other reason could there be? I wasn’t doing it for your health then-” Mistake. Because your eyes alight with that teasing joy you so often encompass.
“But you could. We could. So why not?’’
“Do you know how long it would take to transfer my energy to you via saliva? You’d be better off if I decided to couple with you instead.” And you move closer, grinning.
Sesshoumaru just focuses on smoothing his fingers, and his own scent gland over yours, smoothing up the soft flesh of your inner arm in slow circles, thoroughly. Not the way your mouth curls to a smile, not remembering the taste of them, not the honeyrich floral scent of you thickened, blooming with the smell of lust, the slick he can scent between your thighs.
Sesshoumaru focuses on his motions, and keeping his breathing light and under control.
But you’re, of course, not satisfied with that. Your eyes are alight in a simple joy.
“If, in an autumn field,
a hundred flowers
can untie their streamers,
may I not also openly frolic,
as fearless of blame?”
“We are playing this game now,” his voice, colored in mirth. Unfamiliar for its rarity.
“The Dyer’s River
Should one cross,
Then what do you expect?
Getting stained with passion,
Of course.”
You grin. “Undisturbed, my garden fills with summer growth– How I wish for one who would push the deep grass aside.”
“I can do that.”
“Oh? Do what?”
“Fuck you.” There's a switch in your expression, alert, listening. This is where he tests boundaries.
No, he is not infallible. But he is close. You are the margin of error, chance, and you need to know it.
So he allows this tension and this pause, lets you know he means what he says.
“How long have you wanted to?”
“...A while now.”
“Before Rin?”
“Well before.”
You take his wrist this time, simply holding it as he smooths his thumb across your collarbone. “...You should have said something.”
“That would have been beneath me.”
“To what, admit your feelings? So you waited until I reciprocated so you could just say you're accepting my feelings.”
“Reciprocated, as you said.”
“You should have said something. We could've been close like this much sooner.”
“Do you think restraint is effortless?” He straightens his spine, no longer curved over but still above you. You seem to realize the position you're in, how close; He feels the gooseflesh rise on your skin when he meets your eyes in sudden, reckless abandon.
“Do you take my discipline as flawless?”
“Well, no, no one is perfectly infallible-” you still as his hand comes to your throat.
He traces over the marks he left- shallow, practically an insult. He needs something that will last.
“My Lord-”
“My name. Use it.”
“...Sesshoumaru.”
He sighs a breath. “I want you,” and he pulls you into a kiss too swift to gasp into before he pulls back.
This feels less like a confession than a declaration. Your pupil, round and soft, blown dark and wide. “Not only once, and beyond the flesh…I want the whole of you.”
“Me too. I-I, I want you too.” You rush closer, and he hastens you the rest of his way into his lap.
“I could hurt you. I might.”
“I understand the terms and conditions.”
“Do you?” With a hitch of your breath he shoulders off the layers of cloth between you two. “This is no shallow basin to dip in.”
“I know-”
With you in his lap already, it's easy to smooth his way up the skin of your thighs, pushing aside cloth. He doesn't bother with cajoling you into this, you're already too deep. You jolt, but he’s not going to let you shy away.
He presses into what little space remains, nosing at your hairline and sliding a knuckle through slick, sticky and clear.
“Put your arms around my neck. And don't forget to breathe.”
— — — — — — — — — —
He slides his cock hard and fast through the puffy folds of your sex, but he won't enter. You already came once like this, a swift fluttery thing, and he shivered when you said his name. With his chest laid over yours, it's almost embarrassing how hard you’re worked up when he's not even fucking you properly.
But he's panting too, more controlled, of course, but his face is tucked into your shoulder, mouth grazing your ear, jawline, neck. Kneeling, one arm locked around your waist is all he needs to slide himself through without friction.
“You're not, this isn't-” he bumps against your clit and you squeal. He swallows the sound with a kiss.
“I'm not fucking you properly? Greedy, aren't you.”
“It's not fair.”
“Fair?” He breathes. “I just said I don't want to hurt you.”
‘I, you won’t--please?”
“I won’t. I won't.”
It only takes smoothing your hands up his arms, tracing a pointed ear and a pleading look before he relents, soft for you, where it matters at least.
He has the deltoids and slim waist of a swimmer, and when you trail past the planes of his stomach, the start of a happy trail catches your eyes. It's white, like the rest of his hair, and thick. It looks slick and matted by your combined arousal, and he is big-and pretty. His dick is flushed the prettiest pale pink you ever saw,trimmed white hairs and a bright red at the tip as aligns himself.
He slides inside-just the tip. But the stretch, the feeling of almost-full has you digging your nails in his back, fluttering. He growls a note low in approval.
He fucks you shallow, sinking deeper each time. You grin at the concentrated look on his face and he looks at you in question.
You punch out the words in gasps. “For someone who might hurt me, you're doing a pretty good job of the opposite.” He lays you down to free his hand, petting over your belly.
“I could do better. You're testing me.”
“Always.” You wiggle your hips, earning yourself another delicious inch and a hiss. “Please?”
“Look at you…you're so small and you want me to fuck you?” He thrusts shallowly, and your thighs are already trembling.
“I just..want you to enjoy yourself, too.”
“I'm… limiting myself to what you need. Be grateful.”
“I am. My Lord is so, ah, gracious.” you sigh against his skin, and you feel the tip of his cock head throb in another wave of pleasure.
A dog demon, liking praise. Who would've thought.
The pace he takes is steady but relentless. When you twitch away from the pleasure, he presses you into the sheets, keeps your legs around his waist and drives deeper, he’s basically fucking himself into you, and you’re mortified again at the coil thats tensing in your belly, the familiar tension. He sees this, and his hand comes to the little bundle of nerves, shushing the little sounds of ‘wait’ and ‘too much, too much’.
His eyes are half lidded too. He doesn't look flushed, but his eyes look indulgent and his hair is mussed from your hands running through it. There's sweat beading at his temple and he looks like he’s in love with you.
“There you go,” and he kisses you, breathes into your mouth. “Give me another.”
It's not a mind blowing-earth shattering orgasm. But he bumps against that gummy patch once, twice, and it comes, swift, your back arches away from the sheets.
He holds you down with his weight, and licks into the open cavern of your mouth. You're not doing a good job of being quiet, but that's fine, let it out. The sheets are torn where he raked his claws over, instead of your skin.
When your high dies down, he slips himself out, still half hard and aching along his thigh. Your hands smooth down his shoulders and his chest, and he focuses on that, getting his breathing even.
“Wait, you didn't-”
“Doesn't matter. Lay down.” How soft-You already look tired, droopy eyed and flushed pink.
“It does. You didn't come.”
“One wouldn't be enough for me. I wouldn't have stopped even if you asked.”
“That doesn't sound too bad.” He pushes you down and you sink with a sigh, boneless.
“Two and you're ready for sleep. I don't think you could handle more than five.” You reach and take the tie holding his mussed hair. It falls over you.
“You look different you know.”
“Hm?”
“Your eyes are red now. And those lines on your face are longer. You have fur now.” He didn't even notice the partial transformation; you stroke a thumb along the white fur along his arm.
“Even some on your belly, look-”
“Don't patronize me,” he swats your hand away from the trail on his stomach, and you laugh weakly.
“It's cute. The curtains do match the drapes.”
“What?” You laugh again, burying your face into the sheets. “Look! Even your teeth are a bit longer.” When your hand brushes his jaw, he takes it, opens his mouth to press the pad of a finger against a point.
He lets you run your fingers across the points of his teeth, curious and tentative. Across the top row and bottom, molars, tongue. You look content.
“Look at you. You're being so soft for me. Good boy.”
Fuck the thrill that passes through his bones. He’s not a pet. So he bites down, enough for skin to break and blood to drip into his mouth. You frown. “And you called me greedy.”
Your blood tastes sharp, like something barely ripe. Spring in bloom-warm and full of light, growth and seed. That's you.
So you take back your hand and he pets over your hair as you doze back to sleep, though you stall with sneaking looks at him with your bright eyes. He doesn't reprimand you; the hot rod of desire in his belly cooling in the long quiet moment. You'll rest, and by that time night will fall. He’ll call Rin over to eat her meal with the both of you. She’s been on her own for a hint too long.
In fact, where did she–
Suddenly, he hears glass, fall, shatter. You perk up, the sound loud enough for your ears.
“...Where is Rin?”
He feels his hair bristle. “Where is the innkeeper.”
__________
She gasps, holding the door open a sliver; Daylight cracks into the tunnel so she shuts off the flash-light, peeks, and when she finds no one, opens and crawls inside.
It's empty. Floorboards, the barest pieces of furniture. One look past the barely opened window has her realize she somehow circled back and up to the inn. Was it really that long of a passage, or did time just feel disconnected within that tunnel? It's a bit hard to believe she ended up all the way up…here. She rushes back towards the tunnel she just came from.
It's a little door hidden behind a stack of folding screens. It's painted over to meld into the wall, and when she smacks her hand against it she feels the impact reverb off wall, then rock. It must be the wing of rooms closest to the springs, the wall is warm from more than sunlight, even if she can't fully hear the water.
She’s on the second floor. The mountains are to the north, and with the way the house is placed, she must be in the east wing, so opposite side of where you and the Lord are. That means the tunnel went through earth, and through rock to reach up here. But it was so smooth, she never noticed the transition of earth to rock,only the steep incline.
But the second floor is bare, and untouched, though very clean. Obviously unused for some time, but the air is fresh and smells like old clean clothes.
As Rin looks around at what little there is, her footsteps creak on the long untouched floorboards. One particular loud creak has her gasp out loud–heartbeat thudding erratically when she hears something drop, and shatter in the hallways outside.
There’s someone up here who who oh please please please please please please-
But to no avail. Footsteps quicken and get louder, and she looks around for a place to hide. She spots a chest drawer covered with a sheet by the other wall that she's able to squeeze behind and under just as the door opens.
“Hello?!” Immediately, Rin recognizes the innkeeper's voice.
“Hello…? Are you there?” She walks into the room, footsteps hesitant. “Ren? Hiroya? Did you come to visit?
“...To see me?” Rin just quiets her breathing as she steps into the room.
“Ren? I know it's you. Your brother is too big now to use our tunnel. And, he wouldn't come here, anyways. I don't know why I called for him.
“You shouldn't be here either Lotus. Can't you smell the Lord who's here? Him and his partner.” The sneer in her voice startles Rin, and she tries to sink deeper.
“Why don't you come out? Or ...did you already leave? You left the door open.”
Oh nooooo. She walks over to the door, opening it to peer inside, before shutting it.
“So did you leave? But I did hear something up here, are you hiding from me?” She sounds so sad.
“I'm sorry, you were supposed to visit but this lord and his entourage ... .He’ll kill you and your brother, I can't have that.” And the unmistakable sound of a key turning in a lock sounds.
“...You know I'm not very good at this game, Ren. Are you here? Are you really not coming out?...Or maybe I'm just talking to empty air,” she sighs. “Wouldn't be the first time. I'll be locking this door. If you’re still here you can wait until I can get some time to talk to you. But I'll be back, don't worry, okay my Lotus?”
She kinda does sound crazy. Are those her sons she’s talking about? Shouldn’t they already be grown up?
The door shuts, and Rin panics as she hears the definite sound of a key turning. She shoots up as she hears the footsteps hurry away.
She waits. Then, she tries the door first, and yep, locked. It's not budging. Checking the door of the tunnel she came through yields the same results.
…She doesn't want to have to break the lock to get out. She can, but that would take time, and too much work. She’ll definitely get caught that way.
Maybe there's another tunnel door here..? But searching the room doesn't offer that option.
There's noise outside.
The window is easy to slide back and look out of, but all she can see from this side of the inn are trees and rock. But she doesn't mistake A-un’s barks and scuffs, it's the same noises he makes when he’s agitated, or being stubborn. He must have flown back, and she doesnt recognize the voice that's shouting back at him, old and booming.
Maybe if she can call A-un here, he could help carry her down? He could spare a moment to help her, right? It's not like she can go anywhere now, locked in this room with both exits blocked. Whoever's yelling doesn't sound like they're leaving anytime soon.
She pokes her head out the window and calls his name, but the sounds don't stop, too busy with one another.
“...to get inside-move-”
‘Who is that at the front? What are they yelling about?’ She leans more to hear just a bit better and–
She slips.
She slips with a cry, and ends up catching herself when her hand slams down on to stop her falling. It hurts, and she cries out again, but that doesn't stop her descent.
“A-un!” But he doesn't come. Her feet aren't touching the floor anymore, and with her weight slipping forwards, she falls the rest of the way with a scream, hands scrambling. She falls, falling for a hot rush through open air, before a hand catches her by the back of her collar-falling with her and slowing her descent from near death to this is going to hurt.
Her eyes shut, she already knows what trouble she's in as she feels those familiar nails at her nape. He lets her hang, toes dragging limply across the grass as he waits for her to fully stand.
“Rin.” She doesn't answer.
“I know you didn't faint. Stand up.” He jostles her a little. “...I will drop you.”
With an inward sigh and a wriggle, he plops her onto her feet. She takes a moment to smooth out her clothes, before turning to the Lord with forced cheer.
He cuts her off (before she could even start) shooting rapid-fire questions. “What were you doing in this wing of the inn instead of staying somewhere close? Why is A-un infront without his muzzles, and why were you leaning out the window?”
“Um…fresh air?” She grins weakly. “Exploring?”
“And A-un? Who is the old man he is barring from the inn?”
Old man? “I don’t know.” He turns to face the noise, the old man's voice carrying over all the way from the front. Closer now, she can hear him better. He's cursing- you and A-un and even her.
With a hint of trepidation, she sees her Lord's sclera are already pinken-ed with blood.
Her voice is tiny. “...It's the rice boy's dad, I think. From yesterday.”
“It is. Senile fool. Come here, interrupting, for what?” Interrupting? interrupting what? He turns away from the noise and back to her before she could ponder.
“You didn't answer my question.” She hesitates.
“Took A-un out…no muzzle. He ran after a r-rabbit. I followed.
“I found a tunnel. It led to there.” And she points to the room she fell out of. “Door is locked now. Both of them.”
“Hm…” He looks up towards the room, around the wall of rock leading to springs, where the water is heated and flows.
“So the hag still has some secrets then? What arrogance.” A-un barks, once, and she jolts. He looks at her without turning his body.
“They woke up and ate, and they've only just gone back to rest. Let's get rid of this fool before he disturbs that any further.” He turns, she follows.
__________
Jaken didn't get a chance to see what got him.
He had the mind to turn the female head of the staff away from him, spewing water into the dark tunnel and nearly drowning himself. The hands gripping him were torn away, as well as some of his clothing; But he had only ended up washing himself deeper into the darkness, and now he wandered, trying to find his way out. But he knew there was more than one.
As long as he wasn't going down, that was progress, right? There were tunnels of all sizes and shapes, some even he could not fit through. He wandered among them, led by his nose, sniffing for the wafts of cool air that would come unbidden.
There had to be a way out, right? He wasn't going to be stuck here forever, or, or devoured by a demon, right?! If, if anything, his lord will surely–
No, no he wouldn't. What is he thinking, would his lord really inconvenience himself to save such a foolish servant in this demon’s lair?
And that's the other thing.
He could see a few feet ahead of him, even in this murky darkness. He could see the trails of a great snake on the floor, claw marks, here and there, skulls and skeletons of both human and animal. There were multiple tracks, and sounds from throughout the great rock would come to his ears. This was a place lived in, and possibly by multiple someones.
He must stay low and stay Q U I E T. He can't risk attention, not here.
Jaken had thought for a while, as he crawled through, and the thought came to him that perhaps with all this wandering, he ended up somewhere close to the mountains his Lord wished to conquer. It would explain all the tracks and bones and demon scent. But he had not wandered that far, surely, and so the only conclusion popped into his brain–
That the demon nests his Lord wished to quell were not in the mountains, but closer to the village itself–that there was more than one naga demon, if these trails, and his eyes and ears, are to be believed.
He could hear the breathing of something very large down here, and very, very dangerous. The smell of sulfur would intense at times as the thing, whatever it was, hissed and breathed.
‘That Numachi-san was married to a demon…what if she lied to my Lord about his death?! What if he’s here and I'm going to be devoured soon by his brood or–!’ A shuffle in the dark, and Jaken ducks through a tunnel above for a view–he scrambles inside the hole, clutching his staff close and muffling his breath.
He waits.
The sound comes closer, until he can see a dark blur from below him, coming from a tunnel below. It -its a demon by scent- almost blends into darkness, but Jaken can see it has some human likeness, a head and arms and torso. Long, pale hair. He can see some scales, and see it look around the tunnel. Jaken cowers as its eyes sweep past his hiding place.
There is more than one demon, the one his Lord had met had dark hair, he said.
“...You're somewhere close by, imp. I smell you underneath your Lord's stench.” Jaken stifles a sound, alarmed.
“You shouldn't be in here. I'm sorry my siblings dragged you down here-do you need some help in getting out?” Jaken could hear mirth in his voice. “Then I'll be leaving now.”
“If you want out, then follow me imp. Lest you be killed and eaten here, of course.” He clicks his forked tongue and then he slithers away.
…He’ll follow at a distance, in case this is a trap. But he does really need to get out. It's not the same voice Jaken heard before he was dragged down here, he doesnt recognize it. But he does, in fact, recognize that scent.
Because the boy who shares the same spiced signature is already dead.
__________
Kushinadahime had– has a bad habit of bouncing her leg whenever she is anxious. She usually takes pains to hide it, but she doesnt care in the face of these guests.
Her sister should be getting their father, or already have him, and taking him to the apothecary. There, they will stay until they get back. The workers have been paid and ushered to their homes while there is still dim gray light. Her bag is packed and ready to go, if only these two, would excuse propriety and just let-her-leave. Her mind races with plans and the worry of them all, her leg bouncing faster. He frowns.
“...I understand you are in a hurry Kushinadahime, so I won't hold you too long–”
“I’ve no time for these pleasantries, Numachi-san.” The older brother's face doesn't change, but the younger twin's face falls even further. He looks like he could weep. She doesn't care right now. If she must suffer through his brother then he must suffer her.
Still, she adds (fake) pleasantness into her voice. “Why don't you go and visit your lovely mother, instead of me? I'm sure she’d readily welcome you both.”
He frowns. “You know why we cannot–”
“I would-” They speak at the same time and look at each other. She doesn't let them stall and cuts them off.
“Oh, I'm sorry, is it because of the demon Lord there? The one who maimed Takashi? Are you scared?’
“...The one who killed him? You found his hair at the scene, right?”
“Perhaps. He does have long, pale hair. Or maybe the two of you arrived a little earlier than we thought.” He frowns deeper as the late sun, hidden behind clouds, paints his hair in shades of silver and grey.
Hiroya Numachi looks like his father, with the pale hair, too dim to be silver and too bright to be pure white. His eyes are so dark that you cannot find the slitted pupils unless you look for them, and he is mannered enough not to show his fangs when he talks.
It all annoys her oh, so, much.
“It's late. You two arrived much later than you usually would.”
“Kushinada-hime, you know I would never–”
“I know that my sisters are secluded and undefended and that I must go to them, before my cycle starts and I lead a trail right to them.” She rises, and dusts off her knees. The floor is reflectively clean.
“...The twins are much more polite and welcoming than you are, you know.”
She ignores him. “What did you come for?”
Hiroya rolls the teacup in his palms, continuing. “That's why I first went to check the mine tunnels, but I didn't find your sisters there. You sent them early, didnt you? Are you sure they arrived safely?”
Her heart jolts, but she ignores that too. “My brother told you that there's no need to ‘help us’ anymore.”
“...I caught an unfamiliar scent there. Two really, but in the way one is marked when you're around someone for a time.
“It was a demon imp, and I think I led him out- he scampered off after a time and I lost his trail fast. Still, I led him far enough before taking a detour back.” His eyes are hard little things when he looks at her.
“The twins were the ones who dragged him within, I bet. That staff of his saved him from a cruel death; the twins aren't very good swimmers.
“But anyhow, you know what this means. An unfamiliar scent, in that place will upset the fragile balance. So what will you do, now that your brother isn't here? Where is his ronin sword? Will you take it up, Kushinada-hime?” She flinches, and at the sight of her unease, he settles down, straightens his back.
“The twins could help me take care of things if I could just go to them, I can take care of it.”
“...Stop with the pretenses, like we don't already know each other. Humour me, why don't you? Why were you named Kushinada-hime and not Inada-hime, daughter of the fields? That would have been less obvious. ”
“That is–”
“Tamayorihime and Toyotahime are even worse. And Ohatsuhime? Truly? I do not think she is nothing.” He hardly blinks as he tries to wear her down. “Strange way to make a distinction.”
She snaps. “What are you insinuating? What do you know? You speak on something you are not privy to nor will you ever be. Our names, are none of your concern. You have yours,” and she sneers, “and we have ours.”
Numachi Hiroya does not react, instead, he just sips at the tea she served.
Ren Numachi, however, has his shoulders hunched up to his pointed ears. The twins are identical in everything but color. Where his brother is more the lotus, Ren is the mud it rises from, dark and cool and gloomy. His nervousness makes his face seem almost softer, and her irritation fades into something more like pity. She’s surprised when he speaks.
“Kiyohime-san…was intentional when she named all of you. Kushinadahime in the tales was the youngest of the eight sisters, and you are the oldest of four. She named the twins after Taiga-san, the rivers. And she named all of you ‘Hime’,” and his eyes met hers. “She must have loved you all very much.”
‘Father named Takashi, as the eldest son. Dutiful, Boasting, Prosper. Ambition. Fathers name means great river, so the twins make sense… So why did father allow her to be named Ohatsu-hime? Or me…?
‘Maybe, mother was being a bit too on the nose–’
Hiroya hums. “She’s late, isn't she? Your youngest. She won't be joining you this time either, I didn't catch her scent there. She might not ever join you.”
“That's a good thing. She’ll be safe here until we get back.”
“Will she? With that Lord? What If that happens? What happens after? That little imp could disrupt what little peace you have, if he goes deep enough.”
“You said you led him far, so he can't–”
His voice rises above hers. “When are you going to take your sister to bring offerings?”
“When I tell Father where Mother’s grave is.” She hisses from gritted teeth.
His eyes flash. “A bit too late for that now, isn't it?”
The two of them glare at one another, caught in this stalemate, and the longer it goes on, the more she feels her anger building.
Who is this half and half monster, pretending to be courteous, pretending to be kind? He might look like his father, but he took his arrogance, and his mother’s temperament, and amalgamated them into some horrid semblance of grace.
Her father wants her to marry this one, even with the unspoken [but true] rumour of his parentage. If not her, then the twins, who see him more as family, and she allows this small betrayal. If only father knew who he was.
A liar. An actor. Pretending to have emotions.
[Why does he remind her so much of herself?]
She'd rather anger spill than tears. “Why did you come here, both of you? To give advice, warnings? Condolences? I don't need to replace a brother,” her lip curls, undignified, “So I would appreciate it if you just went about your business.”
The twins look at one another, in a way that reminds her of her twins. They stare off, and with a sigh, Hiroya is the first to break away.
“Allow me to accompany you towards your sisters.” She pauses.
“...You already went. The demon will be even more aware of us if you accompany me. And I thought you were keeping to yourselves?”
“I went, but I want to make sure the girls are safe. They would be pleased to see me as well. I also wish to give my offerings towards your mother-”
“There is no need. Or want.”
“Oh, I highly doubt that,” he laughs, (and oh she could kill him) and then in humor he recites,
“Now I know well
The pain of it;
When someone awaits me
At their home, I’ll not stay away
But pay my call, as I should.
“I was in a rush when I stopped by–it is disgraceful of me, and I humbly apologize. So please allow me to remedy this mistake.” He bows his head and her eyes fall to his brother.
“And him? What will he do?”
His eyes cut towards his twin. “Lay low. Keep watch.”
Kushinadahime scoffs. “You’re planning something. Aren’t you aware of who the demon inhabiting Numachi-san’s inn is?”
He looks at her like she is daft. “Of course we are aware–”
“Lord Sesshoumaru, Lord Daiyokai of the western lands. He’ll kill you and grill you over a fire.”
“If he has a taste for poison then he can have my flesh,” he shrugs, and she wants to scoff again. The arrogance!
“He took Takashi’s ear, and a finger off each hand.”
“Which ones?”
”What?” What does that have to do with anything.
“Which finger.”
“...Middle finger.” He makes a sound somewhere between a hiss and a grumble.
“He left him with some mobility then. So he isn't a cruel demon. We should be fine.” Now her mouth is open in confused shock as he drains the cup and rises.
“Your poison blend was stronger this time, but it still needs work. You can't kill me with such a weak dose.”
“...I wasn't aiming to kill you. This blend is meant to induce severe bouts of indigestion.”
“You used a venom as a base. You know that wont work on me.” He tosses the empty cup towards her and she catches it with a scowl.
“Well now I know…” He rolls his eyes to his brother.
“Ren-”
“I know, I know what you're going to say and I know what to do brother-”
“Why did you run off earlier then? Where did you go?” Ren rolls his eyes next. They're a hint lighter than his.
Hiroya clicks his snake's tongue. “Never mind, I smell it on you. I know exactly where.”
“What? Where?”
“Making sure your youngest wouldn't get mauled by that demon Lord–” she whirls towards him.
“You used the tunnel? You could've been caught–”
Ren sighs. “I know-”
“Did you now? He already met Takashi, he's already met Kiyomizu-kun, he would have recognized you!”
“I left quick enough-I didn't even get to see Ohatsuhime make it to Yoshida-san.”
“You just couldn't help yourself, right? You nearly got caught by that Lord's servant at the streams as well.”
“I wanted to speak with Takashi then. I just didn't anticipate them being so far from the inn. The most they saw was a far off blur.”
“You are so careless. I hope you didn't get spotted this time either.”
Unlike his brother, Ren doesnt hide his teeth, and snarls, fully. “I was checking on our mother, since you seem so very not worried about her proximity to that Lord-”
“So? Our mother did it, her mother did it. She’ll be fine.”
“And that right there is Father, talking from beyond the grave again,” Ren sighs as he stands.
‘You know, you’re only a few moments older than me?”
“Older all the same.” Hiroya turns to her so sharply she jolts. Whatever he sees there, he takes note of it, and nods. He walks past her and grabs the bag she packed for herself.
“Let us go then, shall we? We don't have much time before nightfall, do we?”
__________
Numachi-san is already outside, behind A-un and trying to calm down the enraged man.
A-un does a good job of corralling them both, snapping at faces and hands if one gets too close; if the man tries getting closer to the front door, or if Numachi-san tries to sidestep him.
“This blasted stead,” the old man is still cursing, “And that impish pest….! Where is he, gathering a list of next possible victims for his lord?! To hell with these thrice-damned creatures and that damned bitch of a concubine!”
Lord Sesshoumaru scoffs. She prays that this man will keep his mouth shut and stop right then and there but he continues.
“An omen if i've never seen one, leeching off of others power and using it to have my son killed- She’s not even married to that Lord, her teeth are not blackened and she still wears a furisode? What vassal needs such long, colorful sleeves, the whore?” Rin flinches. The man has not noticed them walking up to the front, but Numachi-san does. Her eyes widen in horror as she more frantically gestures to get him to stop. He doesn't.
“Her bastard child will end up just as rotten as her, as all the rest of you! A half blood, just like your son Ayumi-chan! But she doesn't look all that strong, is she even his?” He laughs, and then grips his head in his hands. “Does it even matter?! My son is dead. To the hells with all of you! Each and everyone of you! That bitch had my son killed! He’s dead!! My son is dead and I will have recompense. If I still had my blade I would have stormed past that front door and –”
“Why are you yelling from outside the inn? You can't even get in.” A-un straightens as the other two go still and pale, before Numachi-san dips into a deep bow.
The old man splutters, whether in shock or rage.. “I…I, you–”
“‘-You?’” Immediately, his blanched face reddens, and he bows with only his head in the shallowest bow Rin’s ever seen her Lord receive.
“Lord Sesshoumaru, Inu Daiyokai of the Western Lands. This humble one Yoshida Taiga–”
“I didn't ask,” Her Lord sighs, looking more towards Numachi-san. He frowns.
“What are you doing outside the inn?”
“...I wasn't aware that I wasn't allowed to leave.”
“I don't trust you.”
“If I may–” Oji-san cuts in, steps forth. “I have a duty to uphold my family's honor.”
“The same honor you disregard with such disgraceful composure? I turned your son away last evening, and now the father comes to show where he learned such horrid manners?”
“My son is dead,” he snarls, wrinkles deepening in grief. “His sister found the remains of a corpse in the early hours of dawn, within our family's bamboo grove.”
“Casualties are high in this town, no?”
Oji-san throws out a fist, it takes a moment to see it, but flowy gently with the wind is a strand of pale, white hair.
“I found this when I went to check myself. You're the only demon here with white hair, and you already had an incentive.”
Sesshoumaru looks down at the wrinkled fist, the strand of hair.
“It's true that the demon of this town does not have white hair,” he admits. “But do you think I would allow a lowly human’s hands to touch me, whilst I hunt, nonetheless? That is not mine. Neither does the length match.”
“It's yours!” He yells, shaking his fist. “Maiming him wasn't enough, he insulted your pride, your servant and by proxy you. So you just decided to finish the job.”
“Perhaps I should save everyone the nuisance of your bloodline and end it? Your disrespectful nature deserves it.” Anger melts into fear as the Lord leans forward, his eyes bleeding red. The elegant airs that are always so integral to him suddenly melt away in his anger.
“Like Father, like son. Again, you insult my vassal, my ward, my servant and even my steed…Why not the master too? I'm right here. Speak.”
“I came here…to, to demand recompense for my son's murder.”
“Not vengeance? Oh, but you know you’ll die, don't you.” He flinches as the Lord lifts a hand, grabbing his collar and snubbly testing the fabric between his fingers. “You're so old, perhaps you came here looking for an excuse to die?”
Oh. Oh. He’s angry.
“My Lord, please–” Numachi-san butts in, still stuck behind A-un. “He’s just an old man of the village, he’s, he’s grieving. I'm sure one of his daughters will come here soon when they notice he is gone.”
“The rice paddies are on the other half of the village. How did he sneak all the way here without notice?” And he lets the man go, who, to his credit, remains on his feet, albeit shaky. Rin just goes over to pet A-un's neck.
“Why are the rooms on the second floor closed off? Where do they lead?”
“Pardon?”
“Second floor. East wing,” he repeats.” And Rin sees it, the way Numachi-san goes rigid, the way Oji-san goes still, eyes wide and analyzing.
“The rooms and its doors are all locked off.”
“That's not what I asked.”
“They lead nowhere-”
“Rin.” She stands at attention, and comes when he beckons.
“She said she was aways from the inn when she fell into the opening of a tunnel. She followed it and it led to one of those rooms.” He articulated. Numachi-san’s eyes widen even more-in horror yes, but understanding. She looks away just as she meets the woman’s gaze.
“So, where do they lead?” When he looks back to Oji-san, Rin understands what he’s getting at.
He’s probably in his sixties to seventies. His legs are probably as thin and knobbly as his hands are, and to walk all the way here would have taken time and effort he didn't have. The sun would set soon, and it was the night of a new moon. How would he get back in time?
There were other tunnels leading in other directions.
Numachi-san wrings her hands, eyes wide. “Those were just…tunnels that my sons dug when they were younger. They're too big to use them now!” She adds hastily, when her Lord’s eyes narrow. “Just childhood endeavors, I assure you. I’ll, I’lll even show them to you, if you so wish…Its just–”
“Oto-san!” A shout behind draws their attention, at last the humans attention.
Come running up to the inn is one of the prettiest girls Rin’s ever seen. Her hair is pulled away from her face, sleeves tied away for work and face shiny with sweat–But her hair is so dark and shiny, and her face is pale and round like a full moon; A small mouth and thin eyebrows, like her features were painted on. Not like Rin with a few missing teeth, adult ones barely poking out. With her hair and its tendency to knot and poof, or her freckled face.
Maybe she’ll look like that when she gets older, if she starts taking better care of herself?
“Oto-san-!” She runs towards her father, whose face of shock turns to anger.
“Ohatsuhime! I told you to stay with your sister and go where she tells you, why are you-”
“She sent me here!” She yells, rushing forwards and grabbing his arm. She turns and bows profusely to Lord Sesshouamru.
“We are so, so, sooo sorry Lord. My father is going mad in his grief. We lost our mother years ago to the demon, so what happened with Takashi-kun,” she gasps, whether it be from exhaustion or the grief in her voice. “It's affecting us all, but that's no excuse for his behavior.”
“I maimed your brother for less.”
“...I-I understand-”
“Do you now? What will you offer me in recompense?” At this, Oji-san pulls his daughter back behind him. He draws a long blade, the size of his forearm, out of his sleeve.
“Nothing to you, Demon. Your issue is with me.” Rin could weep. He just made the worst mistake he could have.
His sclera are already bloody, and the golden yellow has faded to a bronzed orange, pupils muddy and dark, making his eyes look famished and enraged. He doesn't look angry, no, but calm. Calm and still with malice.
He articulates his words, slowly, clearly. Gooseflesh erupts on her skin. “My patience and my grace are not limitless–you've already depleted their stores. If I didn't trust myself not to kill you slowly and wake my vassal with your screams you would have been dead before you ever saw me.
“I did not kill your son. I don't concern myself with filth I've already tossed. If I had killed him, you never would have been left to worry who did it, but rather where he had gone. Now give me one reason why I should let you go?’ He was so still-He walks forward and they startle, following them as father and daughter tremble back.
“How will you convince me to let you leave alive?”
The daughter falls to her knees, weak with fear. Oji-san stands still, but not firm. “...My son is dead. My anger is justified–”
“And so is mine. You didn't think this through, did you?”
“You have a human child! Do-Do you want her to see this murder?!”
“Rin, get inside.” He doesn't break eye contact, and his hand starts to drip poison. “I can wait until you're far enough away.” Rin hesitates, feet stuck to the ground. Things were falling apart, fast, and maybe, maybe if she called out to you–
The girl, Ohatsuhime, crawls and kneels head to the ground. “I'm sorry! Please, please just allow me to leave with my father–”
“I’ll leave his corpse.”
“Alive, please! Whatever else we have, you can take, Just please–”
“My Lord!” And again, Numachi-san speaks up against the commotion, hands clenched so hard they’d immediately turn red if she released them.
Rin inwardly thanks her for the quiet her shout brings, even if the Lord has his sights set on her now. He’s really really angry–she wonders why. Does it have something to do with you? Are you okay?
Or maybe it's because of what this man said, insulting everyone, except the Lord. Except he did, like his son. Hotheaded and brash. Maybe these people were just prodding at his last nerve.
“...I will…I can tell you more about this town, about the tunnels and my husband–”
Oji-san protests. “Ayumi-chan-!”
“If you would just…let them go, without harm. Please.”
“You will pay for their release, with information.” Is the information worth the price of leaving them alive?
She sighs. “Shingetsu is the name the demon of this town took on, but that is not his birth name. My sons aren't close enough to know what it is though. And…there are more than just those three demons.” Oji-san and his daughter’s mouths drop open in horror, while Lord Sesshoumaru tilts his head in question. He steps away from the two of them, and Rin follows, silent, a shadow–reminder.
At least if he does attack, it won't get too bloody, not with her there…she hopes. She doesn't know how composed he is now. A-un whines as they brush past.
“...Leave. I’ve no more business with you.” A pause, before the girl is heaving her father up and rushing to escape the scene. When she looks back, Rin gives her a shy wave goodbye. Poor girl. She really is so pretty.
“...”
Numachi-san forces a smile. “...You seem agitated. Is your partner having complications? Giving you any trouble?”
“You know I will not handle any disrespect. You have words for me.” She nods.
“I’ll be brief. My husband wasn't faithful.”
“How many.”
“I'm not sure exactly, he was very secretive. But at least three.” She sighs, shudders. “According to my son, they too have white hair and wait for the new moon.”
“‘Too?’”
“The eldest has white hair, like his father.” Oh, so maybe it was one of them that killed the rice boy?
“And their mother?”
She only hesitates for a second, before answering. “She is a demon. And dead.”
Lord Sesshoumaru absorbs the information, before he seems like he spent enough words, waving his hand away as the poison dissipates. A last speck of poison, bright green, flicks out and she flinches horribly to avoid it. “Get inside, and make yourself useful-and scarce. Until I have need of you.” Another bow, and she is gone.
“...I don't trust that woman, and all her secrets. We might not stay here very much longer. But Jakne still has not returned.”
A-un trots forward, head lowered, a whine in his throat.
“You,” he tells Rin, “Smell like a hanyo, if only faintly. How long were you in that tunnel?”
“Not…very long.”
“You will show me. We’ll see if it's as untouched as she says. You,” he turns to A-un, “Shouldn't have run off like that. You left Rin alone–what if it was a decoy? What if she was a target?” He whines again and stamps at the ground.
“And Rin,” she already has her head down. “You're a child, not stupid. What possessed you to follow an underground tunnel in a haunted town? The moment you saw it go past a few feet you should have gone back. You shouldn't have even chased off A-un, let alone take his muzzles off.”
Tears erupt in her eyes as she nods along with the words.
“...I'm sorry.”
He clicks his tongue. “Don't be sorry, be smarter. You know better.”
“I’ll be better.” He sighs.
A hand comes down to smooth over her head in a pat, then another. When she looks up he is already turning away.
“Come. You're going to show me that tunnel, and then you’re not allowed to be on your own. A-un, come.” A-un trots in front with Rin behind, and then her Lord, And even with his eyes white and gold again she feels like she's being stalked. But she’s alright. She’s safe now, from the dogs and their glinted fangs. It's only her Lord behind her, the man that brought her back to life, even if he feels like a danger to it sometimes.
Thunder rumbles overhead, with a crack of lightning.
__________
”Hello? Girls? Are you there?’ It's late at night, and dark within the mine tunnels.
This deep though, there are strains of rock within these walls, and those that jut out, that gleam, ever so faintly. They provide enough to see. The smell of sulfur is familiar, and he keeps his voice to a low reverb off the walls.
“I was supposed to come here with your older sister… but I think she went up ahead. She isn't very happy to see me right now.” There's a pause… scuffling and sounds of movement, before the twins appear, expressions identical in their shock and joy. They jump at him with open arms, and tackle him to the ground.
“You-?! You're here?!”
“You’re late!”
“So late!”
“And stupid!”
“Where were you? What happened, Where's your brother?!” They shout at the same time, and he holds up his hands in surrender, laughing.
“I’ll explain later. I wanted to check up on you two. Are you alright? Do you have everything you need? Is your sister here already?”
“Yeah, she came here before you, and… She’s fine.”
“...Don't pull my tail. How mad is she really?”
There's a great sound like hissing, like boiling hot water poured over cool rock. The sulfur scent intensifies.
“...Very.” They look at each other and shrug. “But we’re fine. We have everything.”
Remembering propriety, they slide back and fold their hands, allowing him to sit up. In the darkness, he can see the white of their eyes, the shine of their hair, reflecting what little light there is.
Now that he looks at them, the twins are looking a bit haggard. Their clothes are the slightest bit wrinkled, and their hair loose and untied. Sloppy.
But he shouldn't even be here right now, so he’ll disregard that.
“We’ve done this before lots of times. You know that Aniue.”
“But there hasn’t been many times I joined you though, this is…”
“We know,” they nod back, moving to hold hands. Always so well behaved and in sync.
They pause to listen, before the sound stops, then starts up again.
He leans closer, and the twins take the hint to squirm closer. “How is she, really?”
They look at each other, probably reading each other's thoughts, and turn back to him.
“Same as always. It's late now so she’s sleeping. Tomorrow we're going to clean the altar and check the rabbit traps to make stew. Rabbit stew is her favorite.”
“Yeah, it's Ohatsuhime’s favorite too. She’s staying with the apothecary since Numachi-chan is a bit…occupied.”
“Why do you call her that? We’ve known Ayumi-san for a while now. She’s nice.”
“I can't call her by first name, can I? She'll slap me with a slipper if I ever did.”
“Moms do have perfect accuracy, in that sort of thing,” a twin, Tamayorihime, he thinks, nods, before speaking again.
“Are you hungry? Are you okay no–”
He cuts her off with a sharp grin. “I'm fine.” That is Tamayorihime, he recognizes the burn on her wrist.
“You and Kiyomizu-kun got into such a big fight, I didn't think it would go so far! There was a lot of blood, we smelt it from so far and we thought–”
“No more. I’m. Fine. Kiyomizu is fine too, it's just a bit of a brotherly spat, you know?”
“Why does your hair look longer?” The other twin, Toyotahime.
“Because…? It grows? And I don't have a tie for it right now.” He draws a hand through the silver strands.
“...Wait, if Ohatsuhime is with the apothecary, then where is Kiyomizu-kun going to be staying?” He shrugs.
“Hell if I know. But you know he can't come here. A grown man would get lost in the tunnels here, and all the fumes would kill him in hours.”
“He wouldn't get lost, he knows his way around here,” And she looks around at the walls, the darkness, more tangible in the dull glimmer. Like you could reach out and grab a handful. Her tail rattles as she speaks.
“He spends more time here with mother than we do, after all.”
Outside, with a peal of thunder, it begins to pour.
Taglist: @tanspostsblog @xmenteria
(˵ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°˵) So what did you think~~
Poetry: Ono no Komachi / Ariwara no Narihira / Ariwara no Narihira
“Why don't you just tell them?” Phainon blinks slowly, willing the stars to stay in his vision. It's the only time he gets to see them in Okhema. He doesn't answer before Hyacine speaks again.
“For relief, or closure at least. You're not Mydeimos, you will die if this goes on.”
Full name, huh? She's serious. “...That why we have the surgeries scheduled-”
She whirls around from her supplies. “Even a Chrysos heir can't undergo so many surgeries back to back to back! It used to be two or three times a year, but now it's nearly every month!”
Phainon sighs, the taste of green cloying in the back of his throat. So he rises, and Hyacine rushes to push him down on his cot.
He grabs her wrist as she pushes against his shoulders.
“You know why, Hyacine. It's better this way.”
“No?! Isn't it? For either of you! The roots were starting to grow in your bronchial tubes, Phainon. We could lose you.”
“You won't."
“We will,” she succeeds in pushing him down. “And they will too. At this rate, sooner rather than later.”
It puts a sour taste in his mouth, and she just raises an eyebrow at him, no longer pretending to clean a horribly cluttered work station. She just grabs a pen from her desk, her clipboard, and walks back over.
“Seeing as you're awake now, let's go ahead and ask the necessary things. Can you tell me-”
“Phainon of Aedes Elysiae, Aglaea’s pupil. We studied at the grove under Professor Anaxa’s School of the Nourosporists. I am a Chrysos' heir, part of the flame chase journey, aiming to retrieve Nikador’s coreflame of strife.”
“Well you certainly add unnecessary strife to both our lives,” she mutters under her breath. “But it's good to see you're cognizant.”
“...Was it really that bad?”
“...Yes, it was. But I don't doubt you’ll be back at the end of the month for me to remove the excess growth again. The rate of progression has advanced…drastically.
“Play your cards right though and maybe you can last two months. But this isn't sustainable. What kind of warrior can fight without breath, Phainon? Even if I remove the root of all this now, I don't know if your lungs will suffer any lasting damage.”
“I know. It's just..they’re-” He coughs, just once, but a petal sticks to the back of his throat, and he coughs it up bitterly. Camelias.
She sets her clipboard down and moves to sit at his side. Her eyes are clear and kind, and he knows the worst part of this whole thing is coming.
“Phainon, it’s all still there, the root of it all, but I removed a lot. I need to see where your illness is now.
“...Can you-”
“Yes, Hyacine.” She looks like she wants to say something else. But she just shakes her head.
“What is their name?”
“Certainly not mine.”
“Favorite color?”
“Changes by day.”
“...Sweet or savory.”
“Savory, then sweet. But never both at the same time.” Hyacine sighs, closes her eyes, bruise purple bags under them and her mouth grim. But her smile is patient when she opens them back again, pats his arm.
“I know you just woke up, you must be tired, so let's make this quicker, hm? How about you describe them to me?”
“That's…very open ended.”
“Try. For me, okay?” She sits up only to grab her clipboard and pen before she plops back down, waiting.
How does he describe you? Does he speak about the shine of your hair, the apples of your cheeks? Your open mouthed laughter, the way your tongue shimmers like a prize? How he envies your hands, that they are not in his?
His voice is quiet, barely there. “Beautiful. Inside and out.”
“Can you give me something definite?”
“I can’t.”
“Just one thing, please?”
Titans it burns. “Hyacine, please, I can't."
“...Did I take too much?” She rests her hand above the surgical line, a scar along his sternum.
Did you forget?
“No.” Not unless she reached further past the foliage, grasped the root of it all and pulled out his heart and guts.
But he knows she didn't. Won't. It's the only reason he trusts her enough to trim his vines and flowers.
He doesn't even know he's crying until she's patting away the tears with the soft corner of a blanket. He’s groggy, forlorn, and heartsore and even now, he feels a new bud of longing swelling where he's most tender.
It's past the curtain fall hour. There's no one else to see. Hyacine’s voice is kind as ever.
