Title: The Anatomy of a Family
Day/Theme: 19th December/"The anatomy of a minotaur"
Series: Vampire Game
Character/Pairing: All, gen
Rating: PG-13/12
Words: 8x100
The family should be as parts of a body, all acting in concert to perform a movement.
Ishtar's chin was pointed. It came in useful sometimes – it gave her a determined look and it made Sir Keld give up on arguing with her when she lifted it – but mostly it just made her look ugly when she looked in the mirror.
"It's a strong chin," said Selen with a smile when she asked.
"It's Phelios's chin," said Duzell and Ishtar had never thought that he'd want to eat her before. His expression was a bit hungry, however, so she smacked him on the wrist just in case.
"It's a chin, Ishtar," said Darres and Ishtar relaxed, satisfied.
Yuujel had sharp eyes.
He saw a great deal and kept it to himself. He saw, for example, that Lucy wanted Ashley wanted Leene wanted Yuujel.
He tried to arrange matters to his personal satisfaction. He failed, a failure which ended in tears and blood and agony. He killed Ashley's laughter, Lucy's gentleness, and Leene's compassion. He ran away.
Later on, when he was far away from home but had not quite forgotten, he saw another situation which he felt that he could sort out easily.
But his sharp eyes saw further, this time, and so he held his peace.
Falan's smile is a deadly weapon, both to herself and other people.
Jened watched his child smile at him, full of boundless affection, and vowed to do whatever necessary to make her a queen. Other people suffered.
Illsaide saw her smile and fell wildly, insanely in love. He was desperate to have her, to see her smile again. He offered his life to Jened. Other people died.
Falan watched these things happen with a sinking heart and a rising melancholy. Falan despaired, as did the people in cages, but Falan did not die.
Falan smiled, a fixed and broken sight.
Illsaide's hands were bloody.
Not literally, of course, there was water enough in Ci Xeneth to wash it all away even without the damned rain. He would not take Falan's hands if his own were unclean; he would not dirty her for the world.
He had taken the world and he had tainted her. Falan was right to shrink from him, holding their bloodlines between them like a shield. She was right to weep, though she never had, only grown quieter and calmer.
Illsaide's hands were always bloody, for he had killed Falan's love for him when he slaughtered Merarim.
Seiliez had a dancer's feet, as Ramia had told him a hundred times. A whore's feet, made to dance her way into rich men's beds. A graceful toe for tapping her way into his purse. Seiliez had hated his feet. Not as much as he had hated his mother, or Laphiji, or himself. They were fit only for slight distaste.
He didn't hate his mother any more. He had never hated Laphiji, not really. Nowadays he merely disliked himself heartily.
And tonight, he walked down the passage to Laphiji's room, ready to dance his way into a rich man's bed.
When Laphiji first fell in love with Seiliez, he used to spend hours in front of a mirror, staring at his reflection.
His hair was dark and his skin pale. There was nothing that marked him as truly different from Seiliez but the symbol carved on his forehead and he traced it, whispering "not Phelios". Without the blood tie, there would be nothing that Seiliez could recoil from with justice.
Laphiji spent years concealing his feelings from Seiliez and never knew how well he had succeeded until the tournament. He wondered if it were the symbol that had done it.
Vord was very proud of his muscles.
He told people so and they laughed and he laughed with them, but he was serious. His muscles meant that he was powerful, even without St Phelios's shadow. He was formidable even without holy magic at his fingertips. He wasn't like Seiliez, fragile and insignificant without his family; he wasn't like Laphiji, whose greatest power came from the Shonay mercenaries. Vord was merely another man and one who might be cut off from his second family as quickly as he had been from his first.
Vord took care of himself. He had to.
In Lassen's opinion, he used his head better than anyone else in his entire family.
Look at Jened and Ramia, their ambitions that crumbled to dust before their eyes. Look at Falan, too weak to announce her love to the world, even when none could fight a marriage with a holy warrior. Look at Yuujel, not smart enough for all his erudition to realise the truth of what was going on. Look at Ishtar, always racing too far ahead, never bothering to check what was behind. Look at Laphiji. Look at Seiliez. Fools.
It was such a burden, being clever.