Bound
An Incomplete fanfic by Guy Under The Bridge
One, two, and then three perfect cuts. The pork-and-pheasant flatbread pies were almost ready. All they needed was to be bound together with wooden food pins.
One, two, three, four – she ran out of pins for the last one. There was nothing else that would suffice. The meat was slippery inside the flatbread, and if one wasn't bound, the contents were prone to spill out all. Asking a member of her family to cope with such a thing would doubtless cause a crack in the massive, crushing boulder that was domestic happiness in their household – and that was just not allowed.
Sherra, high-servant General to Great King Dynast itself, worried about such things now these days.
To the one who created the legendary blade the humans called the Evil Sword of Bezeld, making food pins was simplicity itself. She simply opened the breach into the physical realm just a fraction wider, and willed a piece of her form into the shape of a food pin.
There, all set.
Sherra, apron-clad, smiled the smile of someone who didn't care if they died anymore.
Her eldest child, passing through the kitchen, must have mistaken her expression for genuine good-humor. "Mother, can I go out and play with Lou?"
"Do as you will," she sighed in response, not looking at him. Gray was his name. That was what she might tell a Mazoku, and by so doing so risked failing Dynast-sama's orders somehow. But oh well, she thought, if she was ruined over it, maybe she would be better off that way.
Gray darted out, knowing well his mother's moods. Gray was terrified of his mother's bad temper, even though she had never hit him or raised her voice. The other wives in the neighborhood commented on how exceptionally well- behaved her children were, and wondered what her secret was. Sherra thought that it was simply because her offspring could never raise her irritation enough to give in to their crying and screaming for this-or-that unnecessary or out of bounds to them. When they grew older and wiser, they learned that their mother would simply not be moved, so they didn't try to break the rules.
Be back in time for lunch, she silently willed the message into her half- Mazoku brood.
Yes mother.
With the pies ready all that needed doing for today's lunch was the noodles. Emptying a dried bundle that had been prepared earlier in the week into a put of water, Sherra immediately caused the water to boil – an awesome extravagance going by the standards of the other households in the neighborhood which couldn't afford to waste so much firewood on every day's meal, and would have to go through the effort of cutting firewood to begin with. But Sherra didn't care what they thought, and exploited each and every opportunity to make her current existence just a little less tedious.
She felt that her youngest son, Eric, become restless with hunger. She immediately cooled the noodles to a simmer and bent space to Eric's room with a jar of toddler food. At the sight of her, little arms stretched out, demanding – nothing in specific, just demanding whatever it took to be satisfied. Sherra picked the toddler up and sat down to feed him.
She had never appreciated – had no idea, really – how much attention humans had to lavish on their offspring. It was a wonder in and of itself how there were so many humans in the world. Well, her own brood was sizable, four children including Gray and Eric. But she had too, and being what she was, she could eliminate much of the hassle of child-bearing normal human mothers had to endure. Sherra still carried the growing the children in her own body – but being what they were, it was possible for them to exist in the astral plane so she incubated them there. That concept had proved to be too much for their father to quite grasp.
Speaking of the man, he was home – early. Judging by the depression emanating from him, the early return would mean only one thing. Eric wasn't quite completely fed, so her devoted husband would have to wait a few minutes – priorities for maintaining a good household rarely arranged themselves conveniently.
After feeding Eric and putting him back in his pen, where he was probably going to fall asleep, Sherra walked down the stairs to confront her husband. It was a stupid ritual, but humans depended on it.
She found him sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of her chair; head bowed in pitiful defeat, a cloud of depression hanging over him almost like a physical object. With all her children disposed elsewhere, she didn't need to shoe any out, so she sat down in her designated chair and regarded her mate.
A blue eye that wasn't hidden by golden bangs looked up at her, filled with sorrow. "I got fired," he admitted straight away. Why couldn't he make up a lie and poison their perfect relationship? In fact, many of the housewives told tales of their husbands' lies. But, even if he did, Sherra knew all she could do was play along and not cause fights.
"A customer asked if she was too big for that dress…and I…I was only being honest!" he looked up pleadingly, as if trying to say I was honestly honest – honestly!
The first part of the ritual was over, and now it was time for part two – comforting. Sherra got off the chair and went to both knees before him, and he blinked in mild surprise, as if it was the first time she had ever done that.
"Telling you that there's such a thing as too much honesty wouldn't matter to you, would it?"
The blue eyes hardened with determination. "Of course! My Grandma said you had to be honest all the time!"
And now they widened as Sherra leaned forward as kissed him. "So, with your honesty, can you say that you'll find another job without fail?" she asked softly.
His expression soared, and she braced herself for the worst part of the ritual. "Mm! Without fail, I swear I will find another job and be a worthy husband! The word of Gourry Gabriev is without compromise!"
Fool human, she thought as they kissed again. Be as honest as you want, but can't you understand that you're living a lie?
Evidently not, as his hands had found the ties of her apron and were trying to undo the knot. Well, too bad, being a good wife didn't mean she had to satisfy his urge to mate whenever and wherever he felt like it. She warped space a little, escaping his grasp. "I wasn't planning on feeding you as well, so I'll have to go back and make some more," she said, straightening her apron.
"I'll help!" he chirped, having completely recovered from his bout depression.
Sherra stopped him with a finger placed on his lips. "You can help by gathering our children for lunch."
"Oh, okay!" he said, and zoomed outside.
Strange, she thought. The man seemed to like mating almost as much as eating, but nothing moved him like even a small gesture of affection. Of course, Sherra had none to give, but humans, great fools as they were, could only recognize the gestures of love.
She dumped another bundle of dried noodles into the simmering pot, and pulled out a bucket of iced mutton chops, which she thawed instantly, and began preparing the cutlets. Humans, in their weakness, had invented many little conveniences for themselves, such as the kitchen knife she wielded.
Although that man didn't need to work at such menial jobs, he had put a lot of store finding a way to support his family, and being the best father possible by being close by all the time. It honestly didn't matter to her if her so-called "husband" worked a job or not; as far as Sherra was concerned, he was good only for the flesh that provided the means to create children. In fact, if it was up to her, she would petrify him and cut little pieces off for that use. But then, if it was up to her, she wouldn't even be here.
Her precise cutting paused as unwelcome memories became to surface; those memories detailing her fall to this current level of existence.
Memories of her defeat…
She shook her head. No, she would not think of it. She was made to be a perfect servant in all that she did for her master and creator, so all she should think about is finishing her job properly. Then, Dynast-sama would find a better use for her.
Sherra was almost finished with lunch when a knock came at the door. Frowning, she opened the door to see her three offspring and her husband towering above them, slump-shouldered, with the cloud of depression back over his head. She fought a scowl when she noticed the two Sieryun peace officers flanking her family.
"Mrs. Gabriev? Your son has been reported in a fight," said the senior one, and a look down showed her two sets of wide blue eyes of the twins, and her oldest, who looked to the side, wearing a dark scowl.
"A man died in an accident related to the fight—"
All her efforts here would not be allowed to go to waste. "Inside," she ordered her family, and they obeyed at once, jumping from the peace offers' custody as if prodded by a jolt of lightning.
"Hey…!" Sherra closed the door behind her, and looked up at the two officers with barely-hidden cold fury, as if it took every bit of her willpower to stop from murdering the two men on the spot.
If looks could kill…
The junior one backed a step, and his partner held his ground stoically. As if from a hidden pocket, she produced a gold sigil. The two officers recognized it in plain shock.
"Make it go away," she bid them quietly, exactly with the same tone and attitude she used to brow-beat strong middle-class Mazoku who were individually powerful enough to destroy the entire city with ease.
She didn't wait for their response. She well knew that there was no one in the city who didn't understand the significance of the Royal Family sigil. Only the King's own officers could carry it. Moreover, it was often a symbol of royal assassinations, plots of the nobility to undermine the crown, and a whole range of related skullduggery. So, when faced with the sigil that should only be carried by the King's own deputies in seemingly irregular circumstances, any minor functionary or official in Sailune's capitol would know in an instant that their lives, family, or carriers were in mortal pearl.
Turning back to go inside, she reflected again how such an assignment was best left to a Priest. Without the sigil, she would have been hard pressed to deal with such a potential disaster to her plans. When mentioning so much to Garu, the Priest had replied dryly: "Wit, intelligence, experience and ability cannot substitute for friends in high places."
Gourry had been waiting by the door, back against the door frame, as if listening in on her conversation. Sherra knew he was ready to give her backup in case of a fight, but it was hardly needed. She held back the glare she wanted to give him. "What were going to do without a sword?" she asked rhetorically, to which he responded by scratching the back of head embarrassedly. Even the mildest forms of expressing her disgust for him were denied to her, so she just walked away without so much as a sigh.
The rest of her family was cowering in the common room, whispering amongst themselves, as if terrified of their mother. She wasn't angry at them until they proved to have done something expressly outside the rules. As far as the reported death was concerned, Sherra didn't care an ounce for the life of the insect, whoever he was. Still, she would have to confront them.
But now, she had to finish lunch. The noodles had become a little soggy (amazing how skilled her eye had become at food preparation) but still edible – so she thought; the extent of the failure could only be measured by the gags at the table, as Mazoku did not have a sense of taste or smell.
Ross, Marcus, she communicated to the twins astraly, their names determined by their father, named after his uncles. At once, the patter of running feet could be heard, halting at the kitchen doorway, fright rolling off them in waves. The fear of children was barely useful, their wills yet not strong enough to really give anything worthwhile to a Mazoku. Also, too much fear would end up poisoning her household, and she couldn't allow that either.
"Take the food and set the table," she told them, and they jumped to it at once.
After picking up Eric, she entered the family room. Her family was sitting at the table, heads bowed and arms unmoving at their sides, making no effort at the food on the table. That angered her somewhat; if she had to go through the tedium of making food for them, they had better eat it! Only her husband was eating, but with nowhere near his normal enthusiasm.
But there was fear at the table, and some unexpected anxiety. Sherra would think that humans would want to do what brings them joy in times of suffering – like eating. She just plain didn't understand humans that well, though she felt she didn't need to as long as she said and did the right things.
"What happened?" she asked.
"It wasn't my fault!" her eldest exclaimed, practically jumping from his seat. Through the force of the denial, however, fear and guilt was evident, and Gray knew that he was being observed there, too. That made him all the more strident in his denials.
"It's always your fault!" hissed Ross. Marcus was silent.
"Shut up, shut up!! I didn't do anything!"
"I didn't ask if you were to blame, Gray, but what had happened," she said evenly.
Gray ducked his head, quieting. "I was hanging around with Lou, and one of the other houses blew up."
Hiding something. "What else, tell me," she commanded, here and there at the same time. Given a command in such a manner, none of her children could resist.
Gray's blue eyes averted from hers again. "Rowan's father was outside, saying bad things about Dad." The anger that emitted from him as he spoke those words would have been evident even she was not a Mazoku.
Being what he was Sherra's eldest child could affect the physical realm in ways a normal could not; likely. Likely, she thought to herself, Gray struck the man down in some fashion that caused an explosion. The ways in which even a weak Mazoku could do such an act were multitude. An altercation over his beloved father could certainly engender a response from Gray, and would explain the interest the civil guardsmen had with him.
Mindful of Gourry's sensibilities, she made a gentler expression. "Gray, if you didn't attack the man, than I believe you. It was an accident. Likely, the man was too busy maligning your farther to realize he had left a fire open, and a pot of oil fell in. –I believe you, Gray," she added at the end, with an affirming astral touch. That got through to him, and he became instantly calmer – but hiding something still, and hoping he wouldn't be caught.
Her husband still looked morosely into his food. "Darling, is there something wrong with the food I've made for you?" she asked with purposeful irritation.
He looked up, blinking. "Uh, no! It's delicious…!"
She glared at him sternly with and frowned mightily. That was a show for her children – they expected anger, so she gave it, but not directed at them, and so they could feel relieved. "Then eat it! If you make me waste any of the ingredients, it'll be your hide!"
"H-hai!" He began cramming and attempting to compliment her cooking through mouthfuls. Her children giggled at the show, and began eating. The traumatic event of just a short moment ago was forgotten, as if a distant memory. She knew her children trusted her explicitly, and if she showed no concern for the outside situation of a man dying in a mysterious explosion from his own home, than they of course lost concern for the matter. After all, that part of them they inherited from Sherra told them their mother was the highest authority in everything and over everyone.
"Is Dad a 'kept man'?" asked Marcus with wide-eyed innocence.
Gourry chocked on his food, and Sherra just smiled as she made a hand free to rub her husband on the back as he tried to dislodge a morsel. The other was busy cradling Eric. She didn't need to eat, and her family knew that.
Night fell on Sieryun, and Gabriev family had to go to sleep. For Sherra, the sweet abyss of slumber enjoyed by mortal beings didn't exist, but it marked the end of her work for another day. Just two tasks remained. First, she tended to Eric to ensure his environment was in order and pushed her will into his still weak mind – calm she ordered, and thus settled, he went quickly to sleep.
Next she moved to the master bedroom, where Gourry sat on the edge of their bed, undressed expect for a pair shorts. His blonde hair hung over his face as he looked broodingly at the floor between his feet. Still thinking of what had happened, she saw.
She could fix that. With nothing but the light of a single candle to guide her, she smoothly stripped off her clothes. In her adult form, she knew that she was irresistible to human males. Her petite form was graced with generous curves, and was cute and desirable at the same time. Inducing in her husband the desire to mate was as simple as disrobing and making him look into her wide, cute eyes.
But, sometimes, he remained completely unmoved. She had gotten past questioning the perfection of her body on such occasions, learning that the man lost the desire for mating during times of emotional turmoil. But, this time, he was controlling his emotions (as some strong-minded humans can do) so she couldn't tell what he was feeling.
"Darling, are you thinking about what happened?" she asked softly, standing before him.
He nodded. "A man is dead."
Sherra scowled an expression that went unnoticed. "That man was fool. And if that accidental explosion didn't get him I'd have killed him myself for his words." She added the last part with a hint of amusement, hoping to take advantage of the affection he held for her.
"Was it so accidental? Despite what he said, he's been alive for more than thirty years. He had a wife –what's going to happen to her? No matter how early I had to be at work, his furnace was always burning and you could hear his hammering, and no matter how late I came back, his chimney was still smoking. It's been like that from the first day of moving in. I heard he worked hard for fifteen years to pay the debtors for his forge, and his first love ran off with a merchant's son. But he married and had two sons, one of them is in Sieryun's military academy – he could become a knight. What's going to happen to him?"
WHO CARES?!?! She wanted to shout. Sherra was inclined to kill off the man's wife and son just because their story was annoying her.
"He was a good man," Gourry continued, still looking at the floor. "He worked hard his whole life to be able to raise his family and please his parents. Me, I'm just some blond airhead who floats from one job to the next, but I have friends in the Palace, a big house and a beautiful wife. What he said about me is true, all of it."
Sherra actually had to spend a few moments to comprehend the logic behind agreeing with one's tormenter about your own failings. Her Mazoku mind could barely grasp the concept, and a lesser would simply dismiss it as nonsense. She thought about telling him about that man would look at her as she walked to market – she didn't mind the attention, to her simply re- affirmed the perfection of her form.
"And now he's dead—" he shivered "And was it an accident? I was there with our children, and now…we're sitting at home as if nothing had happened."
Sherra's husband may lack common sense, but his perception was incredibly keen. If he could recognize Sherra's own strike from out of astral side, he was certainly capable of noticing if Gray attacked. She had already planned on looking in on the event, but right now she had settle her husband because if he kept going down this path the seal on his mind might be broken.
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Well, that's it – for now. I may come back to it in the future if I get enough response. The reason for posting this unfinished is because I still feel it's a worthwhile story and I would hate to waste what I've done so far. I stopped working on it since my original fiction, Lady of the White Fleet, has been taking up all my writing energy and I'm so far into it that it would be too difficult switching gears in between projects.
An Incomplete fanfic by Guy Under The Bridge
One, two, and then three perfect cuts. The pork-and-pheasant flatbread pies were almost ready. All they needed was to be bound together with wooden food pins.
One, two, three, four – she ran out of pins for the last one. There was nothing else that would suffice. The meat was slippery inside the flatbread, and if one wasn't bound, the contents were prone to spill out all. Asking a member of her family to cope with such a thing would doubtless cause a crack in the massive, crushing boulder that was domestic happiness in their household – and that was just not allowed.
Sherra, high-servant General to Great King Dynast itself, worried about such things now these days.
To the one who created the legendary blade the humans called the Evil Sword of Bezeld, making food pins was simplicity itself. She simply opened the breach into the physical realm just a fraction wider, and willed a piece of her form into the shape of a food pin.
There, all set.
Sherra, apron-clad, smiled the smile of someone who didn't care if they died anymore.
Her eldest child, passing through the kitchen, must have mistaken her expression for genuine good-humor. "Mother, can I go out and play with Lou?"
"Do as you will," she sighed in response, not looking at him. Gray was his name. That was what she might tell a Mazoku, and by so doing so risked failing Dynast-sama's orders somehow. But oh well, she thought, if she was ruined over it, maybe she would be better off that way.
Gray darted out, knowing well his mother's moods. Gray was terrified of his mother's bad temper, even though she had never hit him or raised her voice. The other wives in the neighborhood commented on how exceptionally well- behaved her children were, and wondered what her secret was. Sherra thought that it was simply because her offspring could never raise her irritation enough to give in to their crying and screaming for this-or-that unnecessary or out of bounds to them. When they grew older and wiser, they learned that their mother would simply not be moved, so they didn't try to break the rules.
Be back in time for lunch, she silently willed the message into her half- Mazoku brood.
Yes mother.
With the pies ready all that needed doing for today's lunch was the noodles. Emptying a dried bundle that had been prepared earlier in the week into a put of water, Sherra immediately caused the water to boil – an awesome extravagance going by the standards of the other households in the neighborhood which couldn't afford to waste so much firewood on every day's meal, and would have to go through the effort of cutting firewood to begin with. But Sherra didn't care what they thought, and exploited each and every opportunity to make her current existence just a little less tedious.
She felt that her youngest son, Eric, become restless with hunger. She immediately cooled the noodles to a simmer and bent space to Eric's room with a jar of toddler food. At the sight of her, little arms stretched out, demanding – nothing in specific, just demanding whatever it took to be satisfied. Sherra picked the toddler up and sat down to feed him.
She had never appreciated – had no idea, really – how much attention humans had to lavish on their offspring. It was a wonder in and of itself how there were so many humans in the world. Well, her own brood was sizable, four children including Gray and Eric. But she had too, and being what she was, she could eliminate much of the hassle of child-bearing normal human mothers had to endure. Sherra still carried the growing the children in her own body – but being what they were, it was possible for them to exist in the astral plane so she incubated them there. That concept had proved to be too much for their father to quite grasp.
Speaking of the man, he was home – early. Judging by the depression emanating from him, the early return would mean only one thing. Eric wasn't quite completely fed, so her devoted husband would have to wait a few minutes – priorities for maintaining a good household rarely arranged themselves conveniently.
After feeding Eric and putting him back in his pen, where he was probably going to fall asleep, Sherra walked down the stairs to confront her husband. It was a stupid ritual, but humans depended on it.
She found him sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of her chair; head bowed in pitiful defeat, a cloud of depression hanging over him almost like a physical object. With all her children disposed elsewhere, she didn't need to shoe any out, so she sat down in her designated chair and regarded her mate.
A blue eye that wasn't hidden by golden bangs looked up at her, filled with sorrow. "I got fired," he admitted straight away. Why couldn't he make up a lie and poison their perfect relationship? In fact, many of the housewives told tales of their husbands' lies. But, even if he did, Sherra knew all she could do was play along and not cause fights.
"A customer asked if she was too big for that dress…and I…I was only being honest!" he looked up pleadingly, as if trying to say I was honestly honest – honestly!
The first part of the ritual was over, and now it was time for part two – comforting. Sherra got off the chair and went to both knees before him, and he blinked in mild surprise, as if it was the first time she had ever done that.
"Telling you that there's such a thing as too much honesty wouldn't matter to you, would it?"
The blue eyes hardened with determination. "Of course! My Grandma said you had to be honest all the time!"
And now they widened as Sherra leaned forward as kissed him. "So, with your honesty, can you say that you'll find another job without fail?" she asked softly.
His expression soared, and she braced herself for the worst part of the ritual. "Mm! Without fail, I swear I will find another job and be a worthy husband! The word of Gourry Gabriev is without compromise!"
Fool human, she thought as they kissed again. Be as honest as you want, but can't you understand that you're living a lie?
Evidently not, as his hands had found the ties of her apron and were trying to undo the knot. Well, too bad, being a good wife didn't mean she had to satisfy his urge to mate whenever and wherever he felt like it. She warped space a little, escaping his grasp. "I wasn't planning on feeding you as well, so I'll have to go back and make some more," she said, straightening her apron.
"I'll help!" he chirped, having completely recovered from his bout depression.
Sherra stopped him with a finger placed on his lips. "You can help by gathering our children for lunch."
"Oh, okay!" he said, and zoomed outside.
Strange, she thought. The man seemed to like mating almost as much as eating, but nothing moved him like even a small gesture of affection. Of course, Sherra had none to give, but humans, great fools as they were, could only recognize the gestures of love.
She dumped another bundle of dried noodles into the simmering pot, and pulled out a bucket of iced mutton chops, which she thawed instantly, and began preparing the cutlets. Humans, in their weakness, had invented many little conveniences for themselves, such as the kitchen knife she wielded.
Although that man didn't need to work at such menial jobs, he had put a lot of store finding a way to support his family, and being the best father possible by being close by all the time. It honestly didn't matter to her if her so-called "husband" worked a job or not; as far as Sherra was concerned, he was good only for the flesh that provided the means to create children. In fact, if it was up to her, she would petrify him and cut little pieces off for that use. But then, if it was up to her, she wouldn't even be here.
Her precise cutting paused as unwelcome memories became to surface; those memories detailing her fall to this current level of existence.
Memories of her defeat…
She shook her head. No, she would not think of it. She was made to be a perfect servant in all that she did for her master and creator, so all she should think about is finishing her job properly. Then, Dynast-sama would find a better use for her.
Sherra was almost finished with lunch when a knock came at the door. Frowning, she opened the door to see her three offspring and her husband towering above them, slump-shouldered, with the cloud of depression back over his head. She fought a scowl when she noticed the two Sieryun peace officers flanking her family.
"Mrs. Gabriev? Your son has been reported in a fight," said the senior one, and a look down showed her two sets of wide blue eyes of the twins, and her oldest, who looked to the side, wearing a dark scowl.
"A man died in an accident related to the fight—"
All her efforts here would not be allowed to go to waste. "Inside," she ordered her family, and they obeyed at once, jumping from the peace offers' custody as if prodded by a jolt of lightning.
"Hey…!" Sherra closed the door behind her, and looked up at the two officers with barely-hidden cold fury, as if it took every bit of her willpower to stop from murdering the two men on the spot.
If looks could kill…
The junior one backed a step, and his partner held his ground stoically. As if from a hidden pocket, she produced a gold sigil. The two officers recognized it in plain shock.
"Make it go away," she bid them quietly, exactly with the same tone and attitude she used to brow-beat strong middle-class Mazoku who were individually powerful enough to destroy the entire city with ease.
She didn't wait for their response. She well knew that there was no one in the city who didn't understand the significance of the Royal Family sigil. Only the King's own officers could carry it. Moreover, it was often a symbol of royal assassinations, plots of the nobility to undermine the crown, and a whole range of related skullduggery. So, when faced with the sigil that should only be carried by the King's own deputies in seemingly irregular circumstances, any minor functionary or official in Sailune's capitol would know in an instant that their lives, family, or carriers were in mortal pearl.
Turning back to go inside, she reflected again how such an assignment was best left to a Priest. Without the sigil, she would have been hard pressed to deal with such a potential disaster to her plans. When mentioning so much to Garu, the Priest had replied dryly: "Wit, intelligence, experience and ability cannot substitute for friends in high places."
Gourry had been waiting by the door, back against the door frame, as if listening in on her conversation. Sherra knew he was ready to give her backup in case of a fight, but it was hardly needed. She held back the glare she wanted to give him. "What were going to do without a sword?" she asked rhetorically, to which he responded by scratching the back of head embarrassedly. Even the mildest forms of expressing her disgust for him were denied to her, so she just walked away without so much as a sigh.
The rest of her family was cowering in the common room, whispering amongst themselves, as if terrified of their mother. She wasn't angry at them until they proved to have done something expressly outside the rules. As far as the reported death was concerned, Sherra didn't care an ounce for the life of the insect, whoever he was. Still, she would have to confront them.
But now, she had to finish lunch. The noodles had become a little soggy (amazing how skilled her eye had become at food preparation) but still edible – so she thought; the extent of the failure could only be measured by the gags at the table, as Mazoku did not have a sense of taste or smell.
Ross, Marcus, she communicated to the twins astraly, their names determined by their father, named after his uncles. At once, the patter of running feet could be heard, halting at the kitchen doorway, fright rolling off them in waves. The fear of children was barely useful, their wills yet not strong enough to really give anything worthwhile to a Mazoku. Also, too much fear would end up poisoning her household, and she couldn't allow that either.
"Take the food and set the table," she told them, and they jumped to it at once.
After picking up Eric, she entered the family room. Her family was sitting at the table, heads bowed and arms unmoving at their sides, making no effort at the food on the table. That angered her somewhat; if she had to go through the tedium of making food for them, they had better eat it! Only her husband was eating, but with nowhere near his normal enthusiasm.
But there was fear at the table, and some unexpected anxiety. Sherra would think that humans would want to do what brings them joy in times of suffering – like eating. She just plain didn't understand humans that well, though she felt she didn't need to as long as she said and did the right things.
"What happened?" she asked.
"It wasn't my fault!" her eldest exclaimed, practically jumping from his seat. Through the force of the denial, however, fear and guilt was evident, and Gray knew that he was being observed there, too. That made him all the more strident in his denials.
"It's always your fault!" hissed Ross. Marcus was silent.
"Shut up, shut up!! I didn't do anything!"
"I didn't ask if you were to blame, Gray, but what had happened," she said evenly.
Gray ducked his head, quieting. "I was hanging around with Lou, and one of the other houses blew up."
Hiding something. "What else, tell me," she commanded, here and there at the same time. Given a command in such a manner, none of her children could resist.
Gray's blue eyes averted from hers again. "Rowan's father was outside, saying bad things about Dad." The anger that emitted from him as he spoke those words would have been evident even she was not a Mazoku.
Being what he was Sherra's eldest child could affect the physical realm in ways a normal could not; likely. Likely, she thought to herself, Gray struck the man down in some fashion that caused an explosion. The ways in which even a weak Mazoku could do such an act were multitude. An altercation over his beloved father could certainly engender a response from Gray, and would explain the interest the civil guardsmen had with him.
Mindful of Gourry's sensibilities, she made a gentler expression. "Gray, if you didn't attack the man, than I believe you. It was an accident. Likely, the man was too busy maligning your farther to realize he had left a fire open, and a pot of oil fell in. –I believe you, Gray," she added at the end, with an affirming astral touch. That got through to him, and he became instantly calmer – but hiding something still, and hoping he wouldn't be caught.
Her husband still looked morosely into his food. "Darling, is there something wrong with the food I've made for you?" she asked with purposeful irritation.
He looked up, blinking. "Uh, no! It's delicious…!"
She glared at him sternly with and frowned mightily. That was a show for her children – they expected anger, so she gave it, but not directed at them, and so they could feel relieved. "Then eat it! If you make me waste any of the ingredients, it'll be your hide!"
"H-hai!" He began cramming and attempting to compliment her cooking through mouthfuls. Her children giggled at the show, and began eating. The traumatic event of just a short moment ago was forgotten, as if a distant memory. She knew her children trusted her explicitly, and if she showed no concern for the outside situation of a man dying in a mysterious explosion from his own home, than they of course lost concern for the matter. After all, that part of them they inherited from Sherra told them their mother was the highest authority in everything and over everyone.
"Is Dad a 'kept man'?" asked Marcus with wide-eyed innocence.
Gourry chocked on his food, and Sherra just smiled as she made a hand free to rub her husband on the back as he tried to dislodge a morsel. The other was busy cradling Eric. She didn't need to eat, and her family knew that.
Night fell on Sieryun, and Gabriev family had to go to sleep. For Sherra, the sweet abyss of slumber enjoyed by mortal beings didn't exist, but it marked the end of her work for another day. Just two tasks remained. First, she tended to Eric to ensure his environment was in order and pushed her will into his still weak mind – calm she ordered, and thus settled, he went quickly to sleep.
Next she moved to the master bedroom, where Gourry sat on the edge of their bed, undressed expect for a pair shorts. His blonde hair hung over his face as he looked broodingly at the floor between his feet. Still thinking of what had happened, she saw.
She could fix that. With nothing but the light of a single candle to guide her, she smoothly stripped off her clothes. In her adult form, she knew that she was irresistible to human males. Her petite form was graced with generous curves, and was cute and desirable at the same time. Inducing in her husband the desire to mate was as simple as disrobing and making him look into her wide, cute eyes.
But, sometimes, he remained completely unmoved. She had gotten past questioning the perfection of her body on such occasions, learning that the man lost the desire for mating during times of emotional turmoil. But, this time, he was controlling his emotions (as some strong-minded humans can do) so she couldn't tell what he was feeling.
"Darling, are you thinking about what happened?" she asked softly, standing before him.
He nodded. "A man is dead."
Sherra scowled an expression that went unnoticed. "That man was fool. And if that accidental explosion didn't get him I'd have killed him myself for his words." She added the last part with a hint of amusement, hoping to take advantage of the affection he held for her.
"Was it so accidental? Despite what he said, he's been alive for more than thirty years. He had a wife –what's going to happen to her? No matter how early I had to be at work, his furnace was always burning and you could hear his hammering, and no matter how late I came back, his chimney was still smoking. It's been like that from the first day of moving in. I heard he worked hard for fifteen years to pay the debtors for his forge, and his first love ran off with a merchant's son. But he married and had two sons, one of them is in Sieryun's military academy – he could become a knight. What's going to happen to him?"
WHO CARES?!?! She wanted to shout. Sherra was inclined to kill off the man's wife and son just because their story was annoying her.
"He was a good man," Gourry continued, still looking at the floor. "He worked hard his whole life to be able to raise his family and please his parents. Me, I'm just some blond airhead who floats from one job to the next, but I have friends in the Palace, a big house and a beautiful wife. What he said about me is true, all of it."
Sherra actually had to spend a few moments to comprehend the logic behind agreeing with one's tormenter about your own failings. Her Mazoku mind could barely grasp the concept, and a lesser would simply dismiss it as nonsense. She thought about telling him about that man would look at her as she walked to market – she didn't mind the attention, to her simply re- affirmed the perfection of her form.
"And now he's dead—" he shivered "And was it an accident? I was there with our children, and now…we're sitting at home as if nothing had happened."
Sherra's husband may lack common sense, but his perception was incredibly keen. If he could recognize Sherra's own strike from out of astral side, he was certainly capable of noticing if Gray attacked. She had already planned on looking in on the event, but right now she had settle her husband because if he kept going down this path the seal on his mind might be broken.
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Well, that's it – for now. I may come back to it in the future if I get enough response. The reason for posting this unfinished is because I still feel it's a worthwhile story and I would hate to waste what I've done so far. I stopped working on it since my original fiction, Lady of the White Fleet, has been taking up all my writing energy and I'm so far into it that it would be too difficult switching gears in between projects.