Part 2 of 2
I think you're all going to hate me now—I don't think many people got what I was hinting at ^_^;;;; Keep an open mind—this isn't how I usually think about the characters either ^_~
As for the timeline question, this is set somewhere in the 40's (after Sesshoumaru claimed Toukijin).
He's watching me again, the old fool.
I give him a stern glare but he only shies physically, not mentally—those pus-ball eyes are still fixated on me, making my skin crawl. I don't mind him raising his eyes to me, not usually, but something upsets me about the way he is staring right now. How his beak-mouth is twitching into something resembling a frown.
How, if he didn't know any better, I'd swear he were pitying me.
I turn away quietly in the simple routine we've become accustomed to; I do not speak and he takes my silence and makes his own meaning out of it. He immediately begins babbling about starting the dinner fire, and I leave him to his self-instigated frenzy. What he actually thinks is no concern of mine, but I will not have him show pity. I cannot afford that luxury to anyone.
Least of all myself.
I reach up and sink my claws into the tree trunk behind me, losing my thoughts for a moment in the simple act of shredding. I am not normally so needlessly destructive, but today I feel restless, and I cannot think. We have changed positions twice this night already, and still I cannot relax. Irrational, really—the border is watched, and none of the Eastern Lord's guardians would dare cross the lines of my territory. I've heard Lord Suiichi is somewhat less strict on the issue, but I care little for his pleas for free passage. I think the fat bastard is still surprised we held out after my father died—I doubt his plans ever included bargaining for rights in these lands.
My left side is tingling again, more painfully than usual, and I cannot hide my annoyance any longer—I bury my claws into the tree, making it scream. I thought once—foolishly, of course, but who could blame me---that the limb would grow back, but those faint, ghostly twinges remain what they are—ghosts. And no matter how much of my false-self I change, the ghosts still keep haunting me, and I cannot replace it.
What is done to the true-self is done permanently, but I cannot deny my guilt in the matter. I wanted to fight him as myself, not in this lying false-form, and Father's sword was too powerful for me.
The tree shudders above me, and I finally release it. It continues to tremble, but does not fall.
A slight breeze licks my check, making me shiver down to my toes, and I faintly realize I am still wet from my bathing. As I reach down to grab a spare cloth, I notice my reflection staring back at me in my armor. Handsome. I like this particular false-form, it suits me better than first ones I tried. Perhaps next time the moon cycle goes around my power will have increased enough to broaden these shoulders, or shorten the hair—I have never liked how long it turned out. I care for it dearly, but the length hints at my gender too much for my comfort. And I despise the human fashion of keeping it up in a hair tie—there are so many better things to do with it.
Sometimes, I let the little one tie it into braids.
She is playing with Jaken right now—or, bothering him, more accurately---and it's hard to ignore their antics although I'd like to. She reminds me of myself, I think, knocking that foppish hat off —and he smacks her. Also a familiar sight, and unwelcome.
"Jaken…" I warn once in my gravely voice, and he starts his usual groveling, which I promptly ignore. Rin giggles and kicks him, and it's even harder not to laugh seeing the old man tip face-forward into the ground. I frown instead, but it's difficult.
Damn that girl, she complicates everything.
"Rin, stop bothering Jaken."
She nods at me and picks up his hat at once, although there's little hope she'll return it peacefully. As I suspected, she snatches it away from his outstretched claws immediately before tearing off into the underbrush. Kids.
Jaken is staring at me again, and I don't bother to repress the growl this time. I know I must be acting strange tonight, but the anger is beginning to overwhelm me. I huff angrily and turn quickly to avoid breaking my composure. I can still hear him behind me, shifting back and forth on those leathery-sounding legs of his, but finally he seems to come to a decision and crashes heavily into the brush.
"Girl! Get back here! Why, I never--!"
Yes, Jaken…I grin to myself. You never stop being annoyed. The world could be ending tomorrow, and your first concern would still be that stupid hat, just because Father gave it to you. Hell, I bet you'd marry it if you cou--
A new scent slices through the clearing, shattering my thoughts in an instant, and I reach for Toukijin instinctively. Hot, gritty, earthy sweat interlaced with a delicate scent not unlike my own; kin-scent mixed with something steely and acrid. The combination is strong enough to make my nose itch, but I refuse to scratch at it. I have only one family member left, and only he could be coarse enough to stink of humans.
The half-breed is coming.
Somewhere in the back of my head I hope Jaken has the sense to take Rin out of range before Inuyasha gets too close, although I don't expect this fight to go badly. There are other scents trailing after his, mostly human by the sourness, and if his bitch is anywhere near I'm sure he can be suitably distracted.
His scent practically burns in my nose, and I can already taste the bile in the back of my throat. Despicable, this creature approaching. Everything I ever worked for, every goal I had ever set---all of it, taken for the sake of one simple hanyou. He shames me without knowing it, which is perhaps the worst insult of all, but like all the others I must endure. I do not understand my father's wishes, but I can respect his request not to kill the hanyou.
But for the sake of my territory, I will--
Then, as quickly as it came, the scent fades.
For a moment I don't know how to react, but eventually my head stops spinning and my breathing slackens, and life comes into focus again. My thoughts are full of broken sentences, questions spinning in circles: How did the scent--where is he going--what are they—
I shake my head firmly, trying to override the instinctive impulse to hunt, and the violent urge begins to fade. The stench of their cat-beast is strong now, and I realize they're airborne, passing over. I do not like it, but at least they do not seem to be dallying. Probably just hopping the border. Funny, I can't remember scenting their transport animal before—
---or much of anything, besides my brother.
I would like to go after them, but my better senses tell me I should wait—at least until I know more about the last encounter. It still sends a chill down my spine, remembering that sudden, noxious spike of energy radiating out of him. Can he become a full demon, and take my territories from me? The thought has crossed my mind, especially with the power of the succession sword. I cannot believe he neglects it, tossing it around so haphazardly. It shames him, and were we on better terms I should lecture him severely.
But then, how can the half-breed know what shame is, anyway?
He was not the one who stood before his weeping mother and asked for his brother's clothing. He was not the one who came before his father in perfect obedience and pledged undying allegiance. He was not the one who discarded his name for a dead boy's.
He has no right.
My hand is closing over Toukijin's hilt in a death grip and I can practically *feel* my eyes reddening. No good, my temper is getting the better of me---father would be so displeased. He was never as brazen as I, and he always acted carefully. I sigh and lean back against the injured tree, trying desperately to calm down. Still…
Damn, but I wish he were here.
My eyes are starting to sting, and I have the nasty feeling I might be crying again. The shame is overwhelming, and I contemplate gouging out the offending tears before they can fall---I can always regenerate. I must be close to my heat cycle, or I wouldn't be so easily swayed.
I will secret myself in the mountains when the time comes, deep in a cave away from prying noses, and I lay naked and trembling on the cold stone until it's over. There can be no pride to me then, no honor or guiding force beyond that bone-deep want, no needs beside the stomach-churning, bestial instinct to rut. I fight it until it feels like I am tearing myself apart, and then I fight even more; my false-form becomes almost completely transparent, so close am I to transforming. But I never, ever lose my control, and I never leave the cave until the cycle is over.
My whole life is about control, and I must not lose it now.
It would be easier if I didn't have the half-breed around to remind me.
I suppose it's illogical to hate someone for what they don't know, but I suppose that's what offends me the most when I think about it—that the fool doesn't even know what I did for him. Although granted, it's not as though he'll ever find out: most of the ones who ever knew are dead, or too smart to say anything. I suppose Myouga knows, but there's little fear he will tell on me. I know Toutousai remembers, which is most of the reason I hate the old man (besides his complete and utter incompetence). Inuyasha wasn't born though, so I cannot blame him for forgetting the day Sesshoumaru died.
It has been so many years since I've been Ayame that I can hardly remember either, but bad memories linger like a terminal illness—they never quite leave you, and eat at your insides over the years. It ate up my mother until she too was buried, cut into her mind until I was the dead instead of my brother.
Sesshoumaru? Where are you? It's time to go to bed…Sesshoumaru, stop playing! Don't hide from your mother!
She never stopped blaming Father for being away when the ambush happened; she never stopped missing her eldest, and I was the only one who could see how our household was going to ruins. For the love of our mother, I went to our father; for the sake of our territory, I claimed my brother's place. And it frightens me still, how the simple act deceived her completely. I could not control my scent or my false-form then, but she still leeched onto me as though I were actually her son.
As if I had never existed.
My mother died with Sesshoumaru, and there was nothing I could do to bring her back. And so I continue the only way I can—holding our lands in my father's name, as a boy that died long before me.
I wonder if the hanyou even knows he had another sibling. My father always favored him, so maybe he heard the story—though I doubt it. And I cannot tell him--his existence still angers me. Until he was born, I thought I could do it…I could be Sesshoumaru. And then…
Father, I do not understand your ways. Haven't I served you well? Isn't that good enough?
I grip Toukijin's hilt harder and snarl into the darkness, wildly calling for Inuyasha to come back. I want him to face me, I want him to try that fancy sword on me. I want to see his face as this new sword slices through that infernal, mocking blade. I want to see Tessaiga snapped in two.
I can forgive a mongrel's existence, but I cannot forgive the insult of that sword.
Father gave me the weaker weapon because I am female.
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