tw: a child is slapped across the face & more gun-handling by a child

"elderberry wine iv"

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the cold can burn too, as bianchi discovers.

"PLEASE TAKE A PHOTO, MARTA."

Hayato, dressed in a little blue outfit and finished with chasing the birds that land on the garden lawn, stumbled onto the large blanket spread out beneath the shade of the tree's thick branches. Seated nearby, Uncle Toni lounged with an arm draped over his eyes. Marta knelt, skirts draped around her, on the blanket with a camera positioned toward them.

"Of course. Whenever you're ready, Miss Bianchi."

"Marta, you should be in the picture as well."

She acquiesced easily. "If that's what you wish, rosa."

"It is."

Bianchi handed Hayato a chilled half-full cup of tea, made sure he held it steady, then poured for herself. He stared at the cup in his hands with intense focus, green eyes wide and bright, but pale brows furrowed in concentration. Hiding her faint amusement, she cleared her throat and he slowly peeked up, gaze flicking between her and darting back down to check on the tea he was carefully balancing.

"Look at Marta, fratellino," she said.

He turned, like a flower searching for the sun, still clutching his cold cup with both hands. Bianchi lifted her cup and gave a small closed-lip smile around the rim. The tea is cool and perfect for the warm day. Marta raised the camera to her face and peered through the tiny, clear hole. She set the camera timer, settled at the edge of the blanket with her lips tilted up, and counted down.

"Tre."

Uncle Toni grunted and squinted past his arm.

"Due."

Bianchi lowered her cup, eyes still attentive on her brother.

"Uno."

Hayato shifted and glanced back to her with a beaming smile.

"Sorridi."

The shutter clicked close.

[elderberry wine]

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the FINAL part.

MOTHER DOESN'T LIKE that she spends so much time with Hayato. She tells her this over tea. The steam billows from the cups when a maid, not Marta, pours. Neither drink, it's still too hot. The cups stay on the table and simmer.

Bianchi looks down into her cup and doesn't understand her mother. Hayato is family, Father's son. He is her fratellastro.

(Doesn't that make half of him hers?)

When Bianchi says as much, Mother's palm whips out over the table and slaps her hard across the face.

She falls from her chair to the ground and lands clumsily with a tiny gasp. Her cheek throbs.

The maid in the corner looks away. The guard, not Uncle Toni, stares out the window. He doesn't move either.

It's the first time her mother has ever laid a cruel hand on her. (It's the first time Bianchi has stated her relation to Hayato so clearly.) She opens her mouth, jaw aching. The hand that went automatically to her cheek drifts to her chest.

Mother takes a sip of her tea and hisses lightly. It burned her, Bianchi thinks numbly.

She stumbles to her feet, dizzy. The pain makes her vision blur. She stands and blinks rapidly.

Mother sets the cup back down and pushes her chair back, walking to stop before Bianchi.

"Rosa. Bianchi. Mia figlia."

A warm hand touches her shoulder. She doesn't look up just stares blankly ahead at Mother's waist. Heat seeps through the fabric of her clothing and suddenly she hates that feeling, despises it, wants it off, off, off of her. She side-steps roughly and the fingers fall away. Spinning around to yank the door open, Bianchi runs from the room before Mother can see her cry.

The door slams shut and her tea ripples, untouched.

.

Marta brings ice in a cloth. Her hands are gentle, like always, as she presses it to Bianchi's swelling cheek.

Bianchi's lip wobbles.

She takes the ice and holds it firm enough to hurt. Her eyes well up with tears and some escape, but Marta doesn't say anything about it, just rubs her back and smoothly straightens up.

"Where are you going?" Her voice wavers.

Marta's shoulders tense. "I'm sorry, Miss Bianchi. Doña was clear I'm not to be in your company for the rest of the day after checking on you."

She closes the door silently behind her.

Bianchi is left alone.

She flings the cloth away from her. Chunks of ice fly everywhere, skidding across the wooden paneling. The cloth hits the wall with a thump and slides down to the floor in a sad clump.

After a beat, Bianchi glowers and shuffles over to pick up the wet cloth. Without the ice, her hand is just damp, not cold. She puts it up to her cheek anyway.

Puddles form on the ground as the ice melts.

.

[sip]

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Uncle Toni chucks her under the chin. "Keep your head up, rosa."

He says nothing more.

She jerks her chin out of his grasp.

Bianchi doesn't need to be babied, but still—

She shakes her head and clears her thoughts. No matter.

Accepting the offered eye and ear protection, she puts both on. It's quiet on the shooting range and she spends hours there. Handling a gun, her gun, has become muscle memory. When she has it in her hands, it feels like she's holding the weight of the world.

She pulls the trigger on her exhale. The release of breath is slow, but her heart races.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Marta, back to the wall and hands in front of her, doesn't flinch at the sound of the bullets tearing through paper. Uncle Toni keeps his eye on the target. Arms crossed across his chest, his fingers twitch.

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[indulge]

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Dressing robe tied over her nightclothes, Bianchi exits the bath. She feels relaxed, a bit floaty. It's nice.

Her little smile flattens when she sees Mother in her room, sitting on her bed.

She inclines her head and continues her trek forward, "Madre."

"Mimmo," Mother says airily. She cups Bianchi's face and draws her in to kiss her cheeks.

Bianchi wonders if it's intentional that her mother sweeps past the left cheekbone to nuzzle the right. Regardless, she pulls back as soon as able.

"Why are you here, Madre?"

Mother holds up her hairbrush. "I can't say goodnight to my rosa?"

She stays silent and standing.

Mother looks at her, fondly. Expression indulgent, her eyes are almost calm.

"You," Mother waves a hand at Marta. "Bring a stool, then leave us."

Marta nods. She brings a stool and dips her head before leaving them.

"Sit, sit."

Bianchi sits.

Her hair spills past the seat of the stool. Mother divvies the length into sections and begins at the ends. For some reason, the familiar brushing movements make her eyes prickle with awareness— how irritating.

Some minutes later, Mother sets aside the brush and drags her fingers through her long hair gently. Her touch feels like repentance and apology.

Bianchi shivers.

.

The bruise that spanned the entirety of the left side of her face has since faded.

But Bianchi remembers.

She remembers the sudden pain, the abrupt loneliness and silent glance-overs that followed, and Bianchi doesn't forgive. The wound festers. She'll have to cut it out.

Eventually.

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[hangover]

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Hayato grabs onto her hands with an eager look and spins them in circles on the lawn. His smile makes her smile.

(Ring around the rosie,

a pocket full of posies.

ashes! ashes!

we all fall down.)*

She flops graceless to the ground and drags him down with her. He giggles. Bianchi pinches the soft of his cheek and sticks her tongue out at him. Hayato returns the motion and looks adorably cross-eyed. Sitting up, she attempts to pick out the grass from her braid. Hayato tries to help, but ends up dragging more grass bits through her hair.

"What's that, sorella?"

Hayato leans in suddenly, thorn-green eyes curious. He pokes at her bruise. Bianchi bears it with grace and takes his small finger in her hand.

"A bruise."

"Oh."

His lips pucker in contemplation and pout, jaw jutting out. Then, he darts forward to press a quick peck to her cheek. Hayato pats her face softly.

"Better?"

Bianchi laughed, warm and true. The sun refracts around them, splitting into droplets of rainbow and everything is washed gold.

She doesn't answer.

.

Poison. It must be.

She's been poisoned and so, he must be as well.

He is hers and she is his.

That's love, right?

... Right?

[end of "elderberry wine" arc]

...

[tbc]

notes:

a lot happened in this chapter. seems like bianchi's relationship with hayato is shaping up (it'd be a real shame if something were to happen to that- ) but she's already rather isolated and is now pushing the few people close to her away. the behavior of her parents, plus the one (1) count of physical abuse and lack of support/perceived indifference from marta and uncle toni about it, aren't helping bianchi's mental state. it might not be too obvious now, but i'm Very Excited for when bianchi's deep-rooted issues start becoming more externalized... :)

anyways, that's a wrap on the first arc! lmk what you thought 💖

there's most likely going to be an interlude before hopping into the next arc. until then~!

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sorridi - smile

fratellastro - half-brother

mimmo - derived from bambino, approximates to mean "child" or "baby"

* ~adaption of the nursery rhyme "ring around the rosie"