Stroganoff
Fifth Wheel: Chervil
[Epilogue]
Disclaimer: You tell me.
Eat A Peach: Thank you. There might be a sixth to explain the whys.
Blades of Ice: Sorry for making you sad during the holiday. It wasn't meant to be this tragic. Chaos Daughter: Glad that I was able to take you there.
sf: I'll keep that in mind. I wanted to let the readers decide the whys and hows and debate it by themselves. YunCyn: Sorry about the first chapter.
Drelfinya: Thank you. Gonou appears in the first chapter, not Hakkai though.
I wasn't sure I was going to put this up, but people will ask: what about Goku's alternative? Try to guess his new master. *evil grin*
***
Deprivation and dehydration are no strangers to chapped, broken lips that long for the kiss of cool water and the pleasant tastes that accompany food. Sitting at the feet of a bare master to lick and beg with eyes that grasp at attention. Even if he did not look like a dog, he was leashed like any other.
Mischief was broken from him so long ago, fallen into disuse from neglect in the practice of such a delicate art. To exercise mischief was a blend of curiosity and childishness enough to be adorable but just beyond the line of severe punishment. Remembrance of thorny elders and their spiny scolding in pale, nightless rooms has dimmed by staring at empty grey walls, eroding the self. Trepidation from fear and respect, misuse and neglect dominate the child. Nostalgic without even meaning to: because he has not been taught how to live in immediacy and abandonment.
He is privileged enough to know the most baser of instincts and acquaint with desires that are nameless to him--unless you would call them Need and Want. Erring in everything because he has been told not to and so he must (and because he likes to).
Scumbled shadows paint the shallow framework of his downy face, sullied and limp from hours of unsmiling and empty contemplation. Empty because he questions in feeling and frustration because he cannot find the words to think thoughts. Golden eyes feed on the less-than-lovely sights of decay and the residue of disenchantment crawling the empty passageways. What was once firm, youthful muscle, primed for development under watchful, loving eyes to blossom into fullness and strength now becomes as wasted flesh. Speed, ferocity, zest, impulse were stripped--leaving mere reserves of ghostly emotions to feed the empty mind and miserable stomach.
He is not gaunt--not slender--not petite--but childishly slim. Managing to be baleful even from under the earth-row hair and enormous pupils swallowing the gold.
Meals are the only tangible joys (for him) the person on duty of course, is terrified. Feeding such an animal takes courage and a blind impatience to be rewarded scratches and bites. Bare feet rock the bars and saliva is omnipotent when the hapless have to participate in his native fury during feeding time. He is simple to understand; only in two states: Nothing and Hungry. No action he takes to as discipline. Hit him--he bites; scream--he stares. Cloying indulgences have suffocated whatever inebriation he must have possessed.
Only lately has he started to have a semblance of articulate ness. Something that his master has only recently started to inculcate--possibly to relieve some of the frustrations in communication.
"Sssuh . . . Sssauh--Saaaannssss . . . Shh-aaanssssoo--zzu-ah?"
The bunny doll jiggled enthusiastically, entangled in clapping hands. Oily cross-purposes weighing on his master's mind are difficult for him to muster. He only sees the food dangled in a condescending hand, laced with what?--just a mild sedative.
"That's right, can you say 'Sanzo'?"
Fifth Wheel: Chervil
[Epilogue]
Disclaimer: You tell me.
Eat A Peach: Thank you. There might be a sixth to explain the whys.
Blades of Ice: Sorry for making you sad during the holiday. It wasn't meant to be this tragic. Chaos Daughter: Glad that I was able to take you there.
sf: I'll keep that in mind. I wanted to let the readers decide the whys and hows and debate it by themselves. YunCyn: Sorry about the first chapter.
Drelfinya: Thank you. Gonou appears in the first chapter, not Hakkai though.
I wasn't sure I was going to put this up, but people will ask: what about Goku's alternative? Try to guess his new master. *evil grin*
***
Deprivation and dehydration are no strangers to chapped, broken lips that long for the kiss of cool water and the pleasant tastes that accompany food. Sitting at the feet of a bare master to lick and beg with eyes that grasp at attention. Even if he did not look like a dog, he was leashed like any other.
Mischief was broken from him so long ago, fallen into disuse from neglect in the practice of such a delicate art. To exercise mischief was a blend of curiosity and childishness enough to be adorable but just beyond the line of severe punishment. Remembrance of thorny elders and their spiny scolding in pale, nightless rooms has dimmed by staring at empty grey walls, eroding the self. Trepidation from fear and respect, misuse and neglect dominate the child. Nostalgic without even meaning to: because he has not been taught how to live in immediacy and abandonment.
He is privileged enough to know the most baser of instincts and acquaint with desires that are nameless to him--unless you would call them Need and Want. Erring in everything because he has been told not to and so he must (and because he likes to).
Scumbled shadows paint the shallow framework of his downy face, sullied and limp from hours of unsmiling and empty contemplation. Empty because he questions in feeling and frustration because he cannot find the words to think thoughts. Golden eyes feed on the less-than-lovely sights of decay and the residue of disenchantment crawling the empty passageways. What was once firm, youthful muscle, primed for development under watchful, loving eyes to blossom into fullness and strength now becomes as wasted flesh. Speed, ferocity, zest, impulse were stripped--leaving mere reserves of ghostly emotions to feed the empty mind and miserable stomach.
He is not gaunt--not slender--not petite--but childishly slim. Managing to be baleful even from under the earth-row hair and enormous pupils swallowing the gold.
Meals are the only tangible joys (for him) the person on duty of course, is terrified. Feeding such an animal takes courage and a blind impatience to be rewarded scratches and bites. Bare feet rock the bars and saliva is omnipotent when the hapless have to participate in his native fury during feeding time. He is simple to understand; only in two states: Nothing and Hungry. No action he takes to as discipline. Hit him--he bites; scream--he stares. Cloying indulgences have suffocated whatever inebriation he must have possessed.
Only lately has he started to have a semblance of articulate ness. Something that his master has only recently started to inculcate--possibly to relieve some of the frustrations in communication.
"Sssuh . . . Sssauh--Saaaannssss . . . Shh-aaanssssoo--zzu-ah?"
The bunny doll jiggled enthusiastically, entangled in clapping hands. Oily cross-purposes weighing on his master's mind are difficult for him to muster. He only sees the food dangled in a condescending hand, laced with what?--just a mild sedative.
"That's right, can you say 'Sanzo'?"