Missing Mother
Written by: RinoaDestiny
Comments: This was posted as a snippet on the KoF Discord in light of Mother's Day coming up tomorrow (5/12/2019). A chat about Mother's Day and KoF characters led me to Iori and the absence of a mother his entire life. Cue this short piece...
Mother's Day for Iori was always a holiday he preferred to gloss over. While the rest of Japan celebrated with food and presents, he stayed home, smoking cigarettes and absentmindedly flipping through the channels of mindless entertainment on his large-screen TV. It wasn't that he didn't care. It was just impossible to when his mother died giving birth to him – the first murder he ever committed in his life – and that he didn't know much about her. He didn't even know her face. From what he found out later, they'd taken him away before she died.
His father was the one who named him. He scoffed. Iori sounded like a nice name, until he realized the import of the meaning his old man imposed on him. The character for his name meant "hermitage" and from what his old man pounded into his head as a child, he was meant to be alone. He wasn't meant for a normal life with a wife down the line, children to cherish, and growing old. His entire purpose in life was a weapon aimed at the Kusanagi clan and their latest heir, Kyo Kusanagi.
By this point, Iori found it tiresome. All the death threats started sounding hollow, all the fighting – was it because he just liked it? – with the knowledge that his time was limited. He hadn't changed much since he was fifteen but gaining some years and perspective altered things. He reflected more, spent more hours pondering over certain meaningless details that wouldn't do much for him in the long run.
His mother, for instance. He thought about her sometimes when this day rolled around.
Did he take after her? He wasn't always violent, had a sweet nature before. It certainly didn't come from his old man. Would she be pleased with him – was she against the Kusanagi as well? – or would she be disappointed about him now? It was strange to think this way when he usually didn't give two fucks about how people perceived him. Yet, here he was – the channels going by – shaping an idea about the mother he never knew.
Sentimental. He was getting sentimental. Perhaps he was getting old.
He was twenty-five. In the Yagami lifespan, that approached ancient.
Some cooking channel came on and Iori hit the power button, turning the TV off. He tossed the remote aside on his bed, making a soft indent in the blankets. One pack of cigarettes was already finished, the box lying crumpled on the floor. He went for the second one, tapped a cigarette out, lit it – ignored the brief second of pain as his flame flared to life – and sucked smoke down. While life went on outside, framed by the window facing him, he gazed at sunlight and clouds.
Wasn't sure why he cared. Why he even thought about her.
He didn't know his mother. Never did.
Still found himself missing her – could never explain why. He didn't even know her name.
Not that it mattered anyway. He was still Iori.
He was always meant to be alone.