Lesson 25: Her Mother Taught Her to Tell
"All the rowboats in the paintings
They keep trying to row away
And the captains' worried faces
Stay contorted and staring at the waves
They'll keep hanging in their gold frames
For forever, forever and a day
All the rowboats in the oil paintings
They keep trying to row away, row away"
- "All the Rowboats", Regina Spektor
He stood at the head of a grand ballroom, and vaguely, he recalled it from his childhood. Its expansiveness hit him, as if looking at it from a lower perspective. As if looking at it with wonder and amazement (and fear), as he had when he first arrived in this strange, new, and vast estate that he would soon call home (be forced to call home, coherced). And yet, he was looking at it elevated, from a high level.
And Xanxus looked down and watched as people danced and laughed and greeted, all faces covered in masks and waving and shielding expressions only guessing at gleeful. Lions prowled, tigers and leopards danced between their feet. Waiting and soldering in bloodlust, as it wafted like music through the air, giving the people a tune to shuffle their feet to.
He found himself sitting in a throne, looking at this strange scene as if tinted in rose gold. But a much deeper red, far more violent, and yet this was normal to him, this was right, wasn't it? A man with long silver tresses, face covered with a mask like everyone else (but he was different wasn't he, he wasn't supposed to be faceless) bowed lowly before Xanxus. He extended his hand and allowed the man to place a ring upon it.
And Xanxus was fascinated with the way his blood burned so suddenly the moment the smooth metal slid against his skin. Lions increased their prowl, the tigers' great muscles tightened, the leopards nearly grinned and the people danced faster in anticipation.
Xanxus sat above them all, grinning almost emptily. He raised his hand, eyes trailing his arms. There were no scars.
"This is how it's supposed to be, isn't it?" a low, melodic voice kissed into his ear, voicing his inner concern. He looked to his left, seeing a woman without a mask. Dark skin immaculate, body draped in a red dress, hair, dark and loose and wild. She sat on the armrest, one arm draped around Xanxus, the other hand resting gently on a lioness, standing at her side.
Gold eyes glittered and turned on Xanxus, fixing him with a stare before the great beast moved forward all at once. The lioness pounced atop the man with silver hair, and tore his throat with one great opening and closing of her jaw.
And in this moment, the melody of bloodlust reached its climax, and music turned reality as the other predators of the room took to their prey. The dancers didn't even scream, their masks simply smiling as great claws and teeth tore in sacks of waltzing meat, simply to paint the floor a beautiful red.
Xanxus watched as blood stained the ballroom floor, his grin remaining empty. The woman beside him shifted towards him, and he could only faintly respond and encase her waist with his own arms as she straddled him.
"Isn't this what you wanted?" She asked as she too held him and leaned forward, his ears falling mute to his surroundings as he focused on what was only within arm's reach.
(were those screams, he was hearing? Vaguely above the growls and roars that dominated and echoed through the room. But no, but no, this was only music to his ears, only music, only music, vocal pain merely violins)
And as she gripped him and pushed back, their body's fell to the soft pilfer of a bed. His hands wandered across her back, and she allowed him to unzip her dress. And as it crimpled and fell around her, her lips pressed messily to his jaw and trailed downwards to his throat.
He felt the ring on his finger grow hot.
He felt his scars growing icily again across his skin, far more searing than the rejection of the ring.
He felt her teeth brace the skin of his neck, morphing sharp and fang like. Her felt her jaw widen and enclose around his neck.
She wrung back, ripping his throat from him,
And he screamed.
He woke, in cold sweat, his hands going to his throat immediately, gripping it as if he were to choke himself. Breathing heavily, he felt his hands fall away, one sliding down his bare chest and feeling the scars etched into his skin, forever remaining, forever marring. He ran a hand through his hair, throwing his legs over the side of his bed.
He looked, seeing an empty, glass bottle at his bedside. He picked up, the glass cold and texture scathingly smooth against his texture palm.
A moment, just before the silence became unbearable.
And he threw it against the wall with a strong and broken yell, rage drowning the beautiful sound of shattering glass.
"A pleasure," a melodic, low voice greeted as he closed the door, "to meet you, Ninth boss of Vongola."
His grip tightened on his sceptor, and his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting of his office, heavy curtains successfully filtering the light, suppressing it as it strained through the glass of the windows. He relaxed, if only slightly, seeing the woman sitting casually and sideways in his own chair, one leg splayed over an armrest, and despite having greeted him, her eyes on the picture frame she was holding in her hand.
Timoteo smiled, if stiffly and hobbled forward and to a lesser chair. Still injured heavily, with actual need to use his cane, he fell with difficulty and likely pain into one of the chairs facing his desk. Ausiliatrice remained where she was.
"Usually," Timoteo commented, almost if he were chuckling, "people say that with actual pleasure. Although I mean it when I say that it is a pleasure to meet you, Ausiliatrice. However," he said with a glint that nearly resounded a scoff from her, "I do wish it was under different circumstances."
"How did you get in?" He asked seriously, becoming much more cold as opposed to the warmth that lingered in his tone earlier.
"My means of entry is currently reconnecting with her former student. Your," she made a point in expressing, "mist guardian. But that doesn't matter."
"You're here," The ninth addressed with a small nod, "and the only reason I haven't notified my guardians of such a break in is that you're the daughter of an old and loyal friend."
"You also don't think I'll attack you, which is wrong," Ausiliatrice called out (and this sent a cold and striking shiver along the ninth's spine), turning the picture in her hands to him, "I see your three sons here. Massimo," she labeled, tapping their faces lightly with elegant fingers as she listed them, "Enrico, and Frederico. Drowned, shot, and burned. Your wife died shortly after your youngest was born. From natural causes?" She said lastly, referring to the smiling woman standing with the three boys. The ninth's head barely dipped as he spoke.
"You don't need to remind me, dear," He said evenly, "What are you doing exactly, relaying this to me?"
"Oh, I'm just counting, Timoteo," She said, putting the frame down and looking him straight in the eyes (oh how peculiar, how chilling, seeing this exact image, these exact eyes once more, reliving such a fresh memory), "Can you count?"
"I believe I can," He muttered, watching as she rose and went to inspect a bookshelf instead.
"Apparently not," she corrected, picking up an ornate gun and inspecting it and it's label (a gift, Timoteo noted, from the Second's time that was left unneeded and unused).
"I'm taking Xanxus with me, and would like for you to take no action against it," She stated, not even bothering to turn and look him in the eye for such a statement.
"And you expect me to just let you do so?" He questioned, possibly dared in a calm, but stone manner.
"I expect you," she said, turning slightly and only enough to barely look him in the eyes, "to allow him time to calm himself and reflect on his actions before confronting him about them. And be aware that I'm only telling you this because it would be troublesome if the Vongola reacted to him leaving his current cage you've set and locked for the time being."
Telling. Not asking. She was very distinct in her wording on that.
"Think of it," she purred as she set the gun down and turned to him, a predatory smirk playing coy on her lips, "as a free bodyguarding job. Just know that I won't let him out of my sight, and that with me, he certainly won't cause any more trouble until he's back."
"And why should I let you take my son?" He asked cautiously.
"Because I'm going to anyway," she said simply, then detailed, "and it's not me taking him. He certainly can choose to stay caged and fuming, but I certainly think it would be beneficial for all parties if he comes with me, and certainly will be less property damage." And here, the ninth winced at the thought of the already stacking payments, just with Xanxus's return to the Varia headquarters.
"And," she continued, her voice strong and striking, "you certainly can't help him. He's like me. And lucky for you, I feel empathy for those like me."
"Like you?" He asked.
"Outcasts," she answered simply. And she began to walk towards the door.
"Now that you know, do as you please," she said before leaving, "Just be glad I was polite enough to let you know what I'm doing before I do so; few get that courtesy."
And as the shut door resounded through office, the ninth was left to his thoughts as the sound faded.
A chuckle humbly echoed from the caverns of his chest.
"She truly is just like you, Reborn."
It was haunting, seeing a figure so fresh from his dream (nightmare, nightmare, nightmare, he did well to keep his hand from going to his throat), sitting so casually in a chair in his office.
"Why the fu-"
"I let her in," his second-in-command snapped, standing at the side of the desk. He sneered, the bandaged of his face moving along with its features. Xanxus's own bandaged fist unclenched, his fingers freeing in uncertainty for a moment, and then tightly knitting together once more in confusion and anticipation.
"Get the fuck out," he stated then repeated, gesturing roughly to Squalo, "I said get the fuck out, scum!"
"Fine, you shitty boss!" He screamed back, reflecting just as much anger, grumbling darkly as the two passed. The door slammed as soon as Xanxus sat in his gran chair, red eyes pinning down black, and black doing just the same.
"What do you want?" he said simply, his tone barely making it a question. And she lifted her chin easily, revealing a bit more of her throat (and Xanxus did not know if that calmed or heightened his apprehension more).
"If I said to help, then it would come across as offensive," and from the way his nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed, she was right, "but I am here to establish an understanding."
He carefully reviewed her once more, eyes perhaps lingering too much in many places (her throat, her throat and how it was bared).
"We're alike," and he snorted at the statement. Days before, he would have been nearly too aggressively eager to agree. But now?
"You have blood," he nearly spat, betrayal in his words, "Mammon told me who your father is."
"You sound offended," she shot back, "which is absurd. I'm a bastard, and no matter who the man who fucked my mother was, that's not exactly a title to bare proudly."
"I lost the only blood important to me when her corpse shriveled in a fire," Ausiliatrice stated coldly, "any other possibilities have yet to prove themselves to me. I grew up only with a woman who shouldn't have been allowed to raise a child, and yet she did it, and here I am today, grateful for the dead. Living family can go fuck themselves for all I care," she said, referring to Esmeralda's side, "and my father certainly didn't claim me then, so why should that mean shit now? Claim is heavy, isn't it?"
And at this, his scars tingled and prickled.
"You want somebody to blame," she told him, "and you can't exactly shoot the Vongola Ninth in his fucking face, and it's not like that exactly worked the first time –"
and here, his expression turned to glowering
" – so let's take it out on your actual blood."
Xanxus studied her once more, all without his eyes leaving hers. Reflected, he saw many things, strength and the fire that first inspired him, still bright and minted and present; but he saw pain too. Regret. A child on the streets, living with a mother undeserving of a child, and he saw a child that formed as consequence of that. That grew strong as consequence of that, because they had to. Strength born of need and then molded to greater potential from addiction to that power.
"Let's go on a little field trip," she said with a grin reminding him why she was a predator, reminding him why she was like him.
(why she could understand, and why he wouldn't mind her with him)
"Fine. Where're we going?"
Her smile was coy and verging on playful.
"To church."
"She slept with the wolves without fear, for the wolves knew a lion was among them."
-R.M. Drake
AN:
I made a (tumblr) blog for this story! It's under the url she-has-her-fathers-eyes if you guys want to check it out. Feel free to ask questions, and even maybe request some things like headcanons and such. I may post sketches on it as well, when I get time, and Ill be able to keep you guys updated on when I can update.
I would actually label this as more of a prologue to the next chapter. Sorry it's so short, bit I kind of wanted to get soemthing else out this weekend, I want to spend more time on the next chapter, since it's important and delicate to deal with. I'll be on break for a majority of next week, so I should have more time to work on it, and I'm excited to get it out, since it has the "God Help the Outcasts" scene.
Review Response:
Guest: Haha, glad that the chapter made you happy! Not really glad for the reality hitting you at the end, but I'm not apologetic about it either, lmao. Thanks for the review!
Guest: Yeah, he was back for a little while, and now we're back on track with him being dead. But I did have fun adding more layers to Mateus. And bruh, I love "The Woman from Italy" but "If He Had Lived" is one of my favorite episodes. Thanks for the review!
BlackSky: Bruh. My man, friend. The sooner you accept the fact that I will never tell you about harmonizing the happier you will be. Bruh. And I'll put Reborn's thoughts on Mateus in part 2. Probably. But it was very fun writing Mateus again. And Mateus is a total dad when it comes to Mukuro, Ken, and Chikusa. But now we're back to canon! And lmao, I'm just thinking of Reborn and Esme arguing over who gets Ausil when. Thanks for the review!
Circle: Thank you for the review! Glad that you thought it was lovely
Question:
What do you imagine Ausiliatrice's voice to sound like?
Have I ever said that I imagine Auslitrice's voice almost exactly like Garnet's from Steven Universe voice? Becuase that's how I imagine it.
-Evenly