Ah, another story, at last. I'm still writing my life note story (for people who read all my stories, not just a certain genre; probably only my sister...) and I've been planning a children of the corn story as well as a fruits basket one also. Both this and my future stories will have my own characters, but, hey, I at least try to develop them.
It's funny, I had to watch the movie, the first one, in my French class a months ago (French words, no subtitles) and the entire time I kept thinking of the TV show. Midway through the movie I remembered the 'super cute' villain with the arm of bone and the eel. I couldn't remember the name though, went home, searched for it and now here I am. I think I'm just destined to love the villains and anti-heroes.
Disclaimer: I don't own anyone, or anything, but that which I create.
"Fayyim, honey, this is Qasim. He'll be your father from now on." Imital smiled softly, a smile of reassurance that did not quite succeed, peering down at her daughter as she spoke and gently pet at Fayyim's hair with her hand as they stood in the sitting room of Qasim's expansive home. Fayyim's wide eyed gaze at Qasim belied the fact that her right eye could only discern a fuzzy image of him, a product of an injury, and not the hair that had been brushed meticulously over it. What her left eye saw was a hulking old man whose nose was a bit long, eyes set a bit crooked in his face, and with a belly to match his height.
"F-f-f-father?" Fayyim stuttered out through barely parted lips, bewilderment touching the word lightly. Never had she had a father before, and never had she expected to have one.
"Yes honey, father. He and I will be wed in just a few days." A joy filled her voice, a near perfect replication of the same joy of all women whose anticipation of their wedding day has drawn near. The girl once more looked towards her mother, once again struck by her appearance. No longer in the rags they had both been wearing hours before, rags that had lasted them for as far back as Fayyim could remember, her mother wore, rich, silken, garb native to the area, just as the young girl did, in a more subdued, cotton version.
"It is good to meet you Fayyim, tell me, how old are you?" Qasim had knelt down, an uncomfortable movement do to his rotund midsection, so that he was closer in height to Fayyim when he spoke, an alternative motive plain enough for all to see. The petite girl wished he had not, knelt or spoken, the day was oppressively hot, as was nearly every day, and the stench of sweat permeated the air surrounding him and when he spoke his breath smelled of fish and wine.
"F-five..." Fayyim smiled and held out her hand, displaying four bony fingers and thumb.
"Good, you're old enough to help me with my work."
"Qasim!" Imital's word sharply left her mouth.
"Quiet Imital! I'm taking in your bastard daughter, but she isn't staying for free. Besides," At this he extended his hand and patted her cheek, nearly brushing against the edge of the pale scars adorning the upper right portion of her face. "I'll be teaching her all about my work, do you know how often I turn down apprentices, this is an opportunity she never would have otherwise. What other man would bother to train someone who could not pay for the apprenticeship?"
"I-" Imital did not finish her sentence, she had nothing to say, Qasim was right.
"Umm..." Both adults gazed at Fayyim now and Fayyim did not want to continue, but felt she should. "What do you do?" At this Qasim's smile broadens and a few brown teeth appear as the scent of rot leaves his mouth.
"Magic."