Atlas
Sesshomaru stared impassively at the sprawl of limbs and torso at his feet. From where the head should have been blood flowed freely, running between and around the dog-demon's boots. Without looking up, he called for his nearest retainer. "Hurry and clean it up, laggard." The wooden floor was of the finest oak, mustn't have it stained.
When he was shut in once more in his own quarters, Sesshomaru sank exhausted behind his low-rise, personal desk. Like an exoskeleton, his armor was shed, but he didn't bother to arrange it properly on its stand.
Steepling his fingers, he pressed his brow to his thumbs, ignoring the blood that crusted on the ridges. His shoulders shuddered.
Damn. There went another one.
Well, if the fool hadn't started arguing with him. That so-called captain should have known Sesshomaru's military experience wasn't lacking, he should have heeded the warnings, he should have listened to reason, he should have learned…to cooperate.
"Idiot!" Sesshomaru's open palm smacked into the table. His fingers fanned, talons skimmed along the surface without marring the finish. Collecting himself, the daiyokai dimly wondered whom he was actually cursing when it was he, Sesshomaru, who refused to listen to his captains, always taking matters into his own hands, wanting to do everything on his own. Like Father had.
But now he had just lost a precious piece of turf that had belonged to the Dog General. It wasn't so significant – just one mountain pass – but it had been his father's territory.
Inu no Taisho had been deceased a century now and somehow Sesshomaru remained baffled that couldn't match his sire's perfection. Not on his own. He never felt like he was up to par with his father's standing since. For the most part he tried to avoid dealing with any of the Great Dog Demon's past projects, unfinished or otherwise. Ryukotsusei stayed dormant, and he avoided the halfling bastard.
But more than anything, Sesshomaru wanted to be released from this burden. Just let this cup pass from him. Sesshomaru desired escape.
And what would Father say? Sesshomaru knew he'd never be able to face him in the afterlife if he'd admitted to giving up. To see his father's disappointment in eternity would to be condemned beyond the pits of hell. Certainly a coward wasn't the heir to the Western Lands.
Sesshomaru blinked, for the first time noticing the short blade that had materialized in his hand. He sheathed it, readjusting his robes over his exposed abdomen. A few moments later, the straps of his breastplate were secured once more.
The shoji screen clattered open, framing an upright figure again. Ready to bear the world, Sesshomaru squared his shoulders.
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A/N: Inspired by a Deviant Art piece of the same title: http(colon, double slash)zanne(dot)deviantart(dot)com(slash)art(slash)Atlas(dash)4678860 I wanted to give this story a happy ending (ie. have Rin trot into the room and alleviate some of Sesshomaru's stress with one of her winsome smiles), but I think it works better this way just as one of those depressing pieces that shouldn't have to work out. And I'm feeling more than a little inundated myself (but not suicidal – ha, ha). Though, either way, I think this drabble also gave insight to Sesshomaru's immaturity in that he's still learning how to manage what was left to him. (Inuyasha gets Tetsusaiga and a crappy childhood, Sesshomaru gets the one-trick-pony sword and the baggage of running a country – fair enough). Reviews?