Genre: Song-fic
Song: Tool – 'Sober'
Rating: PG/PG-13
Character: Clahadour
Spoilers: Deals with subjects in vol. 3 and 4, so if you aren't that far yet, don't read it.
Summary: Internal monologue/song-fic that takes place before Merry sees Clahadour
Author's Notes: Formatting was a task; I finally decided on bolding the inner monologue, italicizing the lyrics, and bolding and italicizing the conversation at the end. The deciding factor was that I wanted the lyrics to guide the monologue, not be the focus.
From the song, I cut out the lyrics that used Christian references. From the manga, I chose the lines that illustrated the points I was trying to make and paraphrased them. Once I hit the lines, [I will find the center in you, I will chew it up and leave], I decided that I wanted to explore what Kuro's center was, who had found it, chewed it up, and left him like that; warped and twisted. Hence the background; you can take it or leave it as you wish.
I don't own One Piece or it's characters; that's the good fortune of Eiichiro Oda. But the way the words go together – that's all mine.
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Sobriety
[There's a shadow just behind me, shrouding every breath I take.]
The moon, a crescent tonight, is incapable of illuminating every patch of blackness on the earth. In the shadows I have lain; a cat watching its prey, waiting with only a twitching tail to betray it…
[Making every promise empty, pointing every finger at me]
I let my tail twitch too strongly today. It was foolish to meet Jango out in the open. If anyone but that village boy had seen us, I would have had to force my hand. That would have made my plan more difficult to accomplish.
[Waiting like a stalking butler, who upon the finger rests]
Difficult…no more difficult than these past three years, though I buried myself willingly. I was always in control of the urge to fall away into that space between living and dying, where I become the breath of the Angel of Death, where I pass invisible through crowds and touch men, women, and children on the shoulder, dealing out oblivion to all equally.
[Murder now the path called 'must we']
Difficult…no more difficult than the years that came before it. Even then I frothed against the bit. Making decisions and thinking for the pack of men that gathered in my wake like so much ocean trash; it was tedious.
A dog needs a master, though, and in the end it is the master who decides the fate of the dog.
[Why can't we not be sober? I just want to start this over.]
A few more hours and I will bare my talons.
[Why can't we drink forever? I just want to start this over now.]
The blood will flow and I will drink my fill.
[I am just a worthless liar, I am just an imbecile.]
It is my reward for working and nursing and cleaning and organizing and bowing and scraping and caring, so that they would trust in the man Clahadour.
He'll be dead shortly.
[I will only complicate you; trust in me and fall as well.]
Playing the fool while fooling them all; they never knew that they invited the fox into the hen house, the wolf into the sheep's pasture.
I don't care for that metaphor. I am not a 'dog' person.
[I will find the center in you, I will chew it up and leave.]
Strange, she's never once asked for a pet, when that's really all I can remember of my childhood – my pet.
I had a black kitten. I first saw it crouched at the side of the path I was taking. I stooped down and snapped my fingers to get its attention, but it was absorbed in what lay in front of it. I lost patience with the animal that dared ignore me and stepped forward…
…to see the greedy pink tongue lapping up blood and pin-like milk teeth shredding open the chest of a small songbird. It was so beautiful it made my heart wrench; the elegant cat carefully and methodically devouring its prey.
I took it home and hid it away in my room, easy enough to do under the glazed eyes of my father. And I quickly discovered that while my kitten would eat whatever I brought it, it did not delight in its feeding like when I had first found it. So I sought to provide it pleasure.
It was a chore, catching live things, but it was worth it to observe my kitten. It would watch the field mouse scramble along the bare boards of the floor, waiting until the mouse was mad with terror, perfectly still except for the twitching of its tail.
My father, however, was a dog man. When he burst into my room during one of his drunken stupors and found us together, he took my kitten by the tail and hurled it against the wall.
Tiny splatters of blood, pink like a tongue.
Then I showed my father that some kittens are tigers and all cats have claws.
[I will work to elevate you just enough to bring you down.]
My claws are sharp enough to cut through all the ties that bind.
But I haven't cut them yet because a cat finds no pleasure in eating the heart of something that is already dead.
Nursing Kaya to health has been the most gratifying part of this farce.
She is my songbird, yellow and pale and with hollow brittle bird bones that snap at the slightest pressure. She is my mouse, alone, in a cage. She is my goldfish, trapped in a bowl.
And she is alive because I wish her to be.
[trust me]
The lamb has come.
"The mistress is sleeping?"
[Trust me]
"Anniversary? Indeed…"
[Trust Me]
"There's a crescent moon tonight. Nights like these make my blood run hot."
[TRUST ME]
The glasses rest in my hand, light and fragile, like the one who gives the gift to me.
Will I play with her first, as my kitten did the mouse? Stalking her through the long halls, watching her run from room to room, testing doors that are locked, windows that are latched, crying for help that will never come. Pacing my pursuit so that I can stretch each second into another eternity, observing her as she grows weaker while her panic threatens to burst her heart against her ribcage, seeing her eyes go blank and dull from truths that she will realize in her last moments …
I haven't decided yet.
[I want what I want.]
The glass and metal twist and break under my heel like so many dry brittle bones.
[I want what I want.]
"I accept her gift – and the gift of this house as well."
[I want what I want.]
"There's no reason to continue this charade. It has been a long time, these 3 years..."
[I want what I want.]
Blood splatters on the carpet, black rivulets in the stark moonlight knifing through the room.
My period of sobriety has ended; it is time to drown myself anew.