A/N: A fiction in which whatever can go wrong normally does. Nobody's safe from that ^.^ (I must warn readers of my naturalistic tendencies early! This won't be too fluffy...)
Disclaimer: Saiyuki and its characters are not mine. I lay claim to Hoshimura Kaida, Keiji-dono, Jiro-san, Kozue-dono and other unfamiliar youkai that will appear, however.
Note: This fiction will actually be pretty organized if you make note of the chapter titles. Each chapter will focus around one of two people, either Keiji or Gojyo. Chapters involving Keiji will have titles starting with 'K' and 'G' is designated for those chapters centered about Gojyo. But that'll be pretty easy to figure out because this is written in third-person anyway.
Warnings: Violence, language, substance abuse (Come on, this involves Sanzo...), and shounen-ai. But even I have yet to really decide upon the pairings so I'm not putting those up front.
That's about it...welcome to chapter 1. It's basically just an introduction to Keiji and his place within the oddly complex hierarchy of his tribe. Because I felt like making it that way ^.^ Enjoy!
(Reviews encouraged - tell me if I suck!)
***
"Hai, Hoshimura-dono."
She grinned, showing fangs yellowed with age and honed with use. They gleamed dully in the sparse candlelight. "Please, Keiji-kun. Call me 'Oka-san.'"
Keiji flinched under the fall of his hair and nodded. "Hai, Hoshi...I mean, Oka-san."
She nodded, approval shining like the madness in her yellow-green eyes. "Dismissed."
Keiji turned and strode out of her tent as quickly as he dared. 'Oka-san,' he thought bitterly, passing and ignoring the frenzy of feeding to his immediate left. 'Right.' He made his way through the mess of roots and rocks to his own tent, nodding to a lower-level youkai set to guard the front flaps. The youkai squealed and raced away to take his place among the squabble for meat. Keiji turned his eyes from the scene, taking refuge in his own tent and seating himself upon the soft, worn pad that accounted for most of the ground cover. He pulled the outermost layer of furs from his shoulders, uncomfortable at the heat within his tent. The candles used for light created a stuffy atmosphere under the flaps of canvas. However, even having candles within this tribe, Keiji knew, was a luxury. He sighed and began to work at his boots.
A helmet rested at the head end of the pad, glinting in the flickering light of the candles. Anomalous among youkai, but effective in concealing his identity when in battle. When Keiji was coated in blood, his scent obscured, the helmet provided for him to be completely lost.
But outside of battle, outside of the blessed clash of fists and claws, Keiji could only rely upon his own stamina, his own pride, his family name. Even this, however, was withheld until he earned its prestige through intellectual prowess and physical technique. His own mother would not acknowledge her son until it proved advantageous to do so. Some of her underlings have yet to accept him.
Hoshimura Keiji, upon birth, had a brilliant shock of red hair in shades of dilute wine. The fuzz could not be mistaken for birthing fluids upon the opening of his scarlet eyes. His mother had been ignoring the pregnancy throughout the entire gestation period, adopting the hope that, if ignored, the baby would just go away. Upon realizing the baby would come, she killed his father in a fit of rage. No one else knew his true parentage except for the slave that washed him. She stifled her gasp as the child opened his eyes and stole him away, raising him as her own. Hoshimura Kaida, his biological mother, was all too eager to let him go.
Keiji grew up as a slave, eventually the whipping boy of the entire tribe. He recognized his looks in the face of his caregiver and was never led to believe the red hair and eyes he shared with her were anything other than biological. He realized the treatment of the other slaves was nothing compared to his and did what came naturally.
As his skills as a fighter improved, Hoshimura Kaida received complaints. Instead of killing him, she let it continue. Until Keiji proved himself useful. And he became accepted as Hoshimura Keiji, rightful son of the most influential female youkai in the tribe.
Keiji lay back, staring at the canvas above him. The conversation with his supposed mother had unsettled him, angered him. At once she brought to his attention the execution of the slave hanyou that had raised him, his beloved and the only mother he would acknowledge. Before the shock could wear off, she then explained to him his promotion. From Hoshimura to Keiji-dono. A veritable lord, in charge of his own pack. Tokuzen Kozue was the only other tribesman to hold such an honor. And Kozue was a pureblood.
Keiji closed his eyes, pressing his eyelids hard against the tears threatening to spill down the sides of his brown cheeks. His ears stung at the fresh, unwanted gold rings piercing the skin. Marks of merit in sudden promotion. In one list of edicts he was transplanted, his mother replaced, his safety severely threatened. "Does she mean to kill me?" he murmured to himself, suddenly amused by the series of events. "It is effective, pitting me against those who want my position." His eyes snapped open at the sound of footfalls outside his tent. He pushed himself upright, muscles tensed in paranoia influenced by his particular line of thought.
"Keiji-dono?" someone called, the gruff voice unused to the honorific when referring to Keiji.
Keiji frowned at the title and snapped, "What?"
A handsome pureblood with a broad, brown face and shaggy, black hair pulled back the front flap, bowing before poking his head in. "Hoshimura-dono summoned me to your tent, Keiji-dono. I am Akagawa Jiro, your new second-in-command." His golden eyes were serious, but his voice held a lilt of amusement. Keiji ignored the sleight in the face of the current of irritation coursing through him and merely nodded.
"Is that all, Jiro-san?"
"Not quite, Keiji-dono. Word has it there is a party of travelers camped on the northern outskirts of the forest. One of them is rumored to possess something highly valued by Hoshimura-dono. And she wants you to retrieve it, Keiji-dono."
Keiji clenched his fists, biting back a scathing remark along the lines of 'Oka-san' being a bitch and thus being entitled to treat her son like a dog. "Is that all you know?"
Jiro shrugged slightly, evidently comfortable in the presence of his supposed better. "He is a monk and the others are youkai. Dangerous, all of them."
"Not dangerous enough. If you have nothing more to tell me, you are dismissed. We head out at dawn." Keiji almost smirked at the romanticism of the statement.
"Hai, Keiji-dono."
Keiji watched as Jiro left him, heard the youkai shout Keiji's orders to whomever he was supposed to lead. With a frown, he ran his hand through the shaggy length of his hair, brushing the ends of it from clinging to the wetness of his eyes. "Keiji-dono," he muttered, a sneer curling the end of the title.
He snuffed out each candle between his fingers, sucked absently at the heat each wick left, and lay back in the darkness with no intention of sleeping.
Disclaimer: Saiyuki and its characters are not mine. I lay claim to Hoshimura Kaida, Keiji-dono, Jiro-san, Kozue-dono and other unfamiliar youkai that will appear, however.
Note: This fiction will actually be pretty organized if you make note of the chapter titles. Each chapter will focus around one of two people, either Keiji or Gojyo. Chapters involving Keiji will have titles starting with 'K' and 'G' is designated for those chapters centered about Gojyo. But that'll be pretty easy to figure out because this is written in third-person anyway.
Warnings: Violence, language, substance abuse (Come on, this involves Sanzo...), and shounen-ai. But even I have yet to really decide upon the pairings so I'm not putting those up front.
That's about it...welcome to chapter 1. It's basically just an introduction to Keiji and his place within the oddly complex hierarchy of his tribe. Because I felt like making it that way ^.^ Enjoy!
(Reviews encouraged - tell me if I suck!)
***
"Hai, Hoshimura-dono."
She grinned, showing fangs yellowed with age and honed with use. They gleamed dully in the sparse candlelight. "Please, Keiji-kun. Call me 'Oka-san.'"
Keiji flinched under the fall of his hair and nodded. "Hai, Hoshi...I mean, Oka-san."
She nodded, approval shining like the madness in her yellow-green eyes. "Dismissed."
Keiji turned and strode out of her tent as quickly as he dared. 'Oka-san,' he thought bitterly, passing and ignoring the frenzy of feeding to his immediate left. 'Right.' He made his way through the mess of roots and rocks to his own tent, nodding to a lower-level youkai set to guard the front flaps. The youkai squealed and raced away to take his place among the squabble for meat. Keiji turned his eyes from the scene, taking refuge in his own tent and seating himself upon the soft, worn pad that accounted for most of the ground cover. He pulled the outermost layer of furs from his shoulders, uncomfortable at the heat within his tent. The candles used for light created a stuffy atmosphere under the flaps of canvas. However, even having candles within this tribe, Keiji knew, was a luxury. He sighed and began to work at his boots.
A helmet rested at the head end of the pad, glinting in the flickering light of the candles. Anomalous among youkai, but effective in concealing his identity when in battle. When Keiji was coated in blood, his scent obscured, the helmet provided for him to be completely lost.
But outside of battle, outside of the blessed clash of fists and claws, Keiji could only rely upon his own stamina, his own pride, his family name. Even this, however, was withheld until he earned its prestige through intellectual prowess and physical technique. His own mother would not acknowledge her son until it proved advantageous to do so. Some of her underlings have yet to accept him.
Hoshimura Keiji, upon birth, had a brilliant shock of red hair in shades of dilute wine. The fuzz could not be mistaken for birthing fluids upon the opening of his scarlet eyes. His mother had been ignoring the pregnancy throughout the entire gestation period, adopting the hope that, if ignored, the baby would just go away. Upon realizing the baby would come, she killed his father in a fit of rage. No one else knew his true parentage except for the slave that washed him. She stifled her gasp as the child opened his eyes and stole him away, raising him as her own. Hoshimura Kaida, his biological mother, was all too eager to let him go.
Keiji grew up as a slave, eventually the whipping boy of the entire tribe. He recognized his looks in the face of his caregiver and was never led to believe the red hair and eyes he shared with her were anything other than biological. He realized the treatment of the other slaves was nothing compared to his and did what came naturally.
As his skills as a fighter improved, Hoshimura Kaida received complaints. Instead of killing him, she let it continue. Until Keiji proved himself useful. And he became accepted as Hoshimura Keiji, rightful son of the most influential female youkai in the tribe.
Keiji lay back, staring at the canvas above him. The conversation with his supposed mother had unsettled him, angered him. At once she brought to his attention the execution of the slave hanyou that had raised him, his beloved and the only mother he would acknowledge. Before the shock could wear off, she then explained to him his promotion. From Hoshimura to Keiji-dono. A veritable lord, in charge of his own pack. Tokuzen Kozue was the only other tribesman to hold such an honor. And Kozue was a pureblood.
Keiji closed his eyes, pressing his eyelids hard against the tears threatening to spill down the sides of his brown cheeks. His ears stung at the fresh, unwanted gold rings piercing the skin. Marks of merit in sudden promotion. In one list of edicts he was transplanted, his mother replaced, his safety severely threatened. "Does she mean to kill me?" he murmured to himself, suddenly amused by the series of events. "It is effective, pitting me against those who want my position." His eyes snapped open at the sound of footfalls outside his tent. He pushed himself upright, muscles tensed in paranoia influenced by his particular line of thought.
"Keiji-dono?" someone called, the gruff voice unused to the honorific when referring to Keiji.
Keiji frowned at the title and snapped, "What?"
A handsome pureblood with a broad, brown face and shaggy, black hair pulled back the front flap, bowing before poking his head in. "Hoshimura-dono summoned me to your tent, Keiji-dono. I am Akagawa Jiro, your new second-in-command." His golden eyes were serious, but his voice held a lilt of amusement. Keiji ignored the sleight in the face of the current of irritation coursing through him and merely nodded.
"Is that all, Jiro-san?"
"Not quite, Keiji-dono. Word has it there is a party of travelers camped on the northern outskirts of the forest. One of them is rumored to possess something highly valued by Hoshimura-dono. And she wants you to retrieve it, Keiji-dono."
Keiji clenched his fists, biting back a scathing remark along the lines of 'Oka-san' being a bitch and thus being entitled to treat her son like a dog. "Is that all you know?"
Jiro shrugged slightly, evidently comfortable in the presence of his supposed better. "He is a monk and the others are youkai. Dangerous, all of them."
"Not dangerous enough. If you have nothing more to tell me, you are dismissed. We head out at dawn." Keiji almost smirked at the romanticism of the statement.
"Hai, Keiji-dono."
Keiji watched as Jiro left him, heard the youkai shout Keiji's orders to whomever he was supposed to lead. With a frown, he ran his hand through the shaggy length of his hair, brushing the ends of it from clinging to the wetness of his eyes. "Keiji-dono," he muttered, a sneer curling the end of the title.
He snuffed out each candle between his fingers, sucked absently at the heat each wick left, and lay back in the darkness with no intention of sleeping.