#kyozo

Eyeing the sharp-edged tools, Ferazhin shifted on her stool as Kyozo leaned over her. He set a lump of grey wax down on the table, tapping it with one finger. “This is what you will begin learning on.”

“I have done a little painting,” she said, chewing her lower lip. “I’ve never attempted sculpture.”

“You do not need to be an artist for this. Merely proficient.” Kyozo’s hand alighted on her shoulder, fingertips digging in. “Are you going to argue with me over this, Ferazhin?”

Alternate urges pulled at her. Instinctively, she did not want to. His tone had made the entire situation clear: disobey and disappoint, which would lead to...correction. Nebari’s displeasure increased every time she returned to him with any bruises; having wasted an entire weekend away from him simply to work out her anger over that... rude Au Ra that had visited the Tonberry... Ferazhin didn’t want any of their upcoming time to be unpleasant. 

On the other hand, that precise desire to do as she was told had been what that odious man had pointed out. Exploited, even. Ferazhin couldn’t quite express the level of relief she’d felt when she’d finally been dismissed from that agonizing situation. That she’d waited to be dismissed was the problem.

Weighing the two, she huffed out a short, sharp breath and focused on the tools. Best to just do whatever Kyozo wished and ensure Nebari would greet her with open arms and not a scowl. “No. What do I have to do?”

“Begin with a basic body shape.” An excitement glittered in his eyes that made her faintly nauseous. “Start there. Two arms, two legs, a head. Make it recognizable.”

“...an Au Ra?” Ferazhin looked over the available tools, eyed the roughly rectangular lump of wax. Horns could be tricky; she didn’t have the slightest idea how to sculpt. 

“Whatever. Just so long as it’s roughly a person.” He shifted behind her, moved in close enough that Ferazhin felt his body heat through his kimono. “Get used to how the wax feels, what it takes to shape it. You’ll be using it for a while.”

How did this have anything to do with magic...? Manipulating wax had nothing in common with manipulating aether. And Kyozo’s excitement... It felt dreadfully out of place. Ferazhin’s stomach tightened. 

A nudge against her back, pressure between her shoulders... And her hair wasn’t laying quite flat against her b-

Her eyes widened. 

“Ferazhin?”

Bile rose in her throat; she swallowed hard, grimacing at the awful taste. Working her mouth, Ferazhin shifted on the stool, leaning closer to the table. “Yes?”

“Did you hear me?”

And felt you, kami help me. “Yes. You said I need to get used to how the wax feels as I’ll be using it for a while.” Now she didn’t dare ask why.

Kyozo’s hands slid over her shoulders, gripped once and fell away. He paced to the window; she glanced quickly, saw he wasn’t looking at her and snatched a handkerchief from her sleeve to quietly gag into it. He’d hurt her before, but kami save her, she’d never felt such revulsion in her life. Even that arrogant, barbaric Au Ra at the Tonberry was preferable. 

“Get to work, Ferazhin,” Kyozo said, clutching the windowsill. 

Eager to get the lesson over with--and get out of this closed room that now smelled of his arousal--Ferazhin snatched the first tool that came to hand and hacked at the wax. 

Whatever this lead to, it would be well worth the effort if it meant she never felt that again.

Brow furrowed, Ferazhin turned the omamori over, feeling the fabric with great care. “...I... I lost all of mine,” she said, glancing up at Kyozo. “But you know these are worthless for me now.”

Impatience restrained, expressed only with a sigh, he sat beside her. “Because you believe the kami have rejected you, eh?”

Laying the omamori down on the rock between them, she tucked her hands under her thighs and looked away. Not that it did any good; her expression remained visible and even had it not, Kyozo knew precisely what it was. And what it meant. 

“Ferazhin, do you think the kami cannot see into your heart? Or cannot see that you have sincerely repented your mistake?” Honey, and then vinegar. “If they’ve abandoned you for your thoughtlessness, have you considered praying to the Twelve?”

She flinched. “...no. Once. I... It didn’t feel like...”

“Like you were being heard?”

Her lashes fluttered rapidly as she looked up; Kyozo saw the telltale glint of rising tears and picked the omamori up, laying it on her lap. “I understand, Ferazhin. Do you not recall? This is why I chose you. Not only for your instinctive understanding of aether but for the fact that what you do cannot possibly harm your standing with either kami or Twelve.”

Kyozo smiled benevolently, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You’ve already ruined yourself in their eyes, so what you do now doesn’t matter at all.”

With her motionless beneath his hand, Kyozo had an easy time of opening one of her icy hands and laying the omamori into it. “Keep it, regardless, my dear. A memento of what is now long past and beyond recovery.”

A simple enough thing, fostering hope with bright words, but fostering resignation and despair without utterly crushing someone into uselessness was a skill of which Kyozo was particularly proud. And her bowed head, the mute nod, the slow clasp of her fingers about the omamori tickled him utterly. 

Just enough to keep her malleable and I’ll have an excellent chance of turning acolyte to master, given enough years.

“Now that we’ve that out of the way, why don’t we go into the forest and we can discuss how to charge your lightning spells?”

Steam rose from the tea, scenting the tense air sweetly. 

Kyozo’s arms rose, crossed over his chest and he clenched his teeth. “The least you could do is say thank you.”

All he could see of her was the delicate bridge of her nose, the ivory scales above it. Ferazhin’s head remained lowered, her gaze presumably fixed on the dango and green tea he’d set before her. 

“If you’re throwing a well-bred tantrum over the fact that I will not allow you back to your male before we’ve finished your week’s lessons...” He let his voice trail off, leaving the unspoken threat to her imagination.

Ferazhin lifted a hand, grasped a stick of dango and rolled the sweet dumplings about for a moment. “Why are you giving me this?” 

Her tone lacked the supercilious edge he’d come to expect from what he quietly termed ‘a princess tantrum.’ Kyozo quirked a brow. “From what I recall of your family, Junsei was quite fond of dango. And Tomoe made it quite often to sate his sweet tooth.”

If she flinched at hearing her parents’ names, he couldn’t see it. “I haven’t eaten dango since before I left home.”

“Hardly surprising considering how difficult it is to acquire properly made dango in this... area,” Kyozo retorted. A little irritation crept into his tone. “Now say thank you and eat what’s been put before you.” He rather hoped this Nebari would appreciate the reinforcement training he was providing. Especially considering he would only benefit from it in certain ways. 

...now if he could only find a pretty little miqo’te who was amicable to a bit of rope...

“No, thank you.”

Kyozo’s brow went up. “What?”

“I said no thank you.”

“I heard that plainly. And yet, you were given a command, Ferazhin.”

Her hand moved, faster than he’d expected it to, and the plate flipped over the edge of the table. A stick of dango rolled away; the teacup had chipped. Green tea spread across the floor, soaking into the edge of his favorite tatami mat. 

Kyozo drew a slow breath and held it, fighting the urge to grab her by the horn and simply beat her against the nearest wall until she behaved. Only when the urge had subsided did he exhale. “Explain yourself.”

Ferazhin crossed her arms, put her nose in the air and turned away from him. Had it not been for the quivering of her upper arms, he would have given in and beaten her bloody for being so intractable. Kyozo, however, had not reached such a point in his life without being observant. 

“This tantrum of yours has to do with your time with your male,” he said shortly. “And I suspect it is all your doing as you are clearly refusing to accept your own inclinations.”

“You don’t plan on explaining yourself, I take it.”

Kyozo leaned back on his elbows, adjusting his posture. Rocks were only slightly softened by thick blankets; he certainly didn’t wish to be uncomfortable while Ferazhin took six hours to tell him something that would require two minutes. 

Her hands cupped her elbows; she averted her face. The telltale flick of her tail wasn’t necessary. He already knew she’d arrived walking very slowly and with a particular sway to her hips that bespoke a very, very vigorous weekend. 

“Did he not pleasure you?” Kyozo quirked a brow, watching the rigidity of her spine, the abrupt lash of her tail. “Ah, so that is not the problem. What is?”

She couldn’t look at him. Would not look at him as the last two and a half days flooded through her mind. Moments stood out abruptly, gleaming behind her eyes and she lingered on them, biting her lower lip. 

His gaze slid over her as the water did, tracking what felt like each individual droplet across her skin. The ache spreading through her hips and abdomen felt suddenly less like pain and more like...metamorphosis. 

The steady rhythm of his breathing, the great heat of his body beside her, the feeling of his arm beneath her loosely clasping hands... She had never felt so safe. So...unburdened. Sleep had never come so quickly or so sweetly.

A touch of dye, a moment’s reprieve before Kyozo demanded her presence. Alone, she felt the bruising on her throat beneath her scales and loathed herself for having given in so... completely. 

Shifting her weight, Ferazhin gave her head one quick, sharp shake. “There is no problem,” she said, watching sand blow about, dancing in meaningless, hypnotic whirls. 

“You’re lying. And you’re terrible at it.” Kyozo sighed, adjusting his position. Yet again. Why she couldn’t simply give him the full explanation at once instead of forcing him to drag it out of her... “You bedded him. Repeatedly, that much is obvious. He pleasured you, albeit likely not adequately as a Xaela can hardly be expected to know much of the bedchamber arts. And you’re able to walk. You have days of lessons ahead, Ferazhin. Best be clear with me now.”

Her teeth worried at her lower lip; her head dropped. “...I don’t want to talk about it” was audible, but just barely.