I have no freaking clue what this damn thing is called. I thought I found a better title but then I found several. HEEEELLLLLP MEEEEEE!
Kurama: psha! Yeah right. They're more likely to help me than you.
Shuttup Fox. I still don't think I have sufficient reviews to let you live and some of those I do have say that you should die. /now should those count for him or against him/
Kurama: meep! Help both of us. Review and help her find a title so she'll be happy and not kill me.
Yes my pet. Your chapters run short. MWAHAHAHAAAA!
you people know what you're reading-?- 6
general notes:
you got it. Bordering on R. bla bla bla.
Disclaimer:
not so general:
references to rape. Not lemon or even open (well, one is open), just there. Technically you don't even really have to read this. It's kind of a side note but it's still fun. You might actually see it somewhere else later if I get off my lazy ass to do something with it. We'll see.
The gates of life have closed on you…+
The definition of success…to win respect of intelligent persons and the affections of children… to give one's self; to leave the world a little better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition…
Ralph Waldo Emerson
+…And now there's just no return…+
6. Life Is Killing Me
Two hundred years ago, Kurama had felt himself die with his best friend. Before that he was, for the most part, a trumped up thief and troublemaker. It was that day that he became a cruel, Cold-blooded, heartless, brutal murderer in addition to those. A part of him was destroyed and a true demon was born: the legend of Youko Kurama. Had this happened in those days he would have killed Kuronue the second the weapon had been drawn against him and he would never have even though about the nature of this betrayal.
When Kurama was reborn, though, so was the part of him that had died long before he did. He had nearly killed it again before he realized that he'd ever had it; but, having been tended to and nurtured by humans, it did not die so easily this time and soon thrived in him again. He then realized what it was. Some would call it a heart but he never understood why they would associate such a thing with a bodily organ so easily fooled, repaired, and (these days any way) replaced. This was not the center of one's circulatory system but surely the center of something. It was a center of compassion, love, honor, and pride for more than one's balls. It was, of course, the center of negative feelings as well: hate, fear, pain, sadness.
He realized that without this center he was nothing more than a purposeless being with no more drive than that of lust and the instinctual desire to save one's ass. He also realized that he had almost lost it before as well: in the midst of so much hatred, rejection, corruption, and abuse of his youngest days. Being the miserable friendless loveless, parentless wretch he was…
+…You're wishing that the hands of doom…+flash back in case you can't tell+
A preadolescent looking boy stumbled through the dying forest. He knew that it was dying because the plants cried out to him knowing that he could replenish them. What was the point? They would start ding again shortly after he left. Besides, he was dying just like them. In what way exactly, he wasn't sure, but he knew he was and didn't care.
He'd been cast out yet again and his stomach had stopped growling days ago. In any other forest he could have gotten by but this one was dying, he was convinced, out of someone's shear desire that he die with it. He couldn't replenish a bush for the shear purpose of eating its fruit: the water wheel didn't turn that way (1).
He saw someone faintly in the distance (or at least he thought he did) that looked like they were coming his direction. He hoped to the gods that they would give him the dignity for them not to meet. He didn't doubt that this person would find some reason to hit him, beat him, curse him, kill him, or worse. Even if they were a man (which it was bound to be) he'd been told to many times that he was so pretty that it didn't matter.
/Just let me die with what dignity I have left./ he let himself pray though he wasn't sure to whom or why.
+…Could take your mind away…+no, the flashback is not over yet+
A tall, dark-haired, bat-winged man wearing clothing just as dark and scythes at his waist walked in a rather bouncy, carefree manner. By human standards he looked about twenty and one would have expected him to whistling or humming despite his aura (both physical and figurative) of strict leadership and strong tendency to kill anyone who might happen to get in his way. Over his shoulder was slung a full-looking haversack and perched atop his head with a ponytail poking out of its torn open top was a very battered, black, wide-brimmed hat.
His long, elfishly pointed ears twitched as he picked up a soft, shuffling footstep that was not his own. He whipped his head in its direction. Off in the distance, he saw a pale figure, in sharp contrast with the dark forest, stumbling along.
The man changed direction slightly so that, instead of passing them in the distance, he would meet them.
Border
The boy cursed whatever gods he might have prayed to as the man approached him.
"Hello."
The boy did not speak but whipped a blood red rose out of his silver hair and stood poised for attack.
The man surveyed the boy. He was preadolescent, little more than a child, and dawned no more than a tattered pair of beige pants from which a silver white tail protruded. The boy was scrawny beyond the effects of growth spurts and the man, half joking with himself, counted the boy's ribs. He was as well muscled as the situation would allow and the man could tell that, though starving, the boy could and no doubt would put up a good fight. He must have been in his share of them for all of the scars lying white on his pale body.
His eyes moved to the long, shining, silver hair flowing over the boy's shoulders and cascading down his scarred back and matching silver fox-ears poking out of it. He felt a surge of pity at the boy's beautiful face knowing the boy was right to be suspicious of him.
"That you got there," he nodded to the flower, "That's nice. What else can it do?"
The boy answered with a motion of his arm and wrist elongating the flower into a green, thorny whip. In a second motion he attacked, the weapon cracking and drawing a long, clean cut in the man's arm meant to do much more had the man not jumped back.
The man returned with his scythe aimed just above the boy's hand so that the conjured whip lay limp and useless on the ground. The scythe shot back to its owner and he returned it smoothly to his belt.
The boy dropped what was left of the whip and hung his head admitting defeat.
"Do what you will, sir," the boy lifted his head and glared strait into the man's eyes, "but I will not fear you."
The man realized what he meant. Taking pity (probably for the first time in his life) he stepped carefully forward. The boy didn't even flinch. When he reached the boy he knelt down and met his face. He gently brushed the silver bangs out of the way and looked into the boy's golden eyes. The boy still didn't move. He only stared back, hatred burning in his eyes—but at the same time, fear resided there; fear and pain and the wish not to be hurt again.
Taking even himself by surprise, he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around the boy in a careful hug.
The boy tensed but was still. Then he realized something: this was not the embrace he was used to. It was not lustful, hurtful, or mocking. This hug was honest and caring: meant to comfort him.
The man felt the boy ease. He held him for a moment longer then pulled away. He reached into his sack and pulled out a few fruits, biscuits, and a pouch of water.
"What's your name, kid?" he asked while doing so.
The boy looked startled for a second. No one had bothered to ask him that in a long time.
"I… have none… sir." he staggered out, "I've been called Revlis some places."
"Revlis… hmm, isn't that 'silver' backwards?"
The boy was taken aback again. "English. yes, sir." he answered politely.
"Well that's not a name, it's an alias."
"Then I guess I don't have a name."
"How old are you?"
"About 15." The boy replied after a moment's thought.
"Well, we can't have that now can we? Kids traipsin' around, no name, no… I'm assuming you've got no parents which is why you ain't got a name."
The boy nodded.
"well, like I said, we can't have you runnin' around with no name, no folks, and no food. I'm not exactly a very good dad-like person, and I certainly don't got a decent place to bring you to, so I wouldn't be much help in getting' ya the folks part but…" he handed the boy the rations; more decent and plentiful than the boy had received in ages. "As for a name, and I said I wasn't the dad type, but if I had a son I'd call him…" He paused in thought, " Kurama." he finished with pronounced conviction. "le'see, y're a youko, so you'ld be Youko no Kurama—Youko Kurama." he nodded, "That sounds right. Kay, kid, y're Youko Kurama."
"The youko don't like me. They wouldn't like me to say I was one of them."
"We'll that's just too bad for them. You are a youko and they'll just have to deal with it… so will you. It's important to have roots, whether you like them or not. Now, what else… Ah!" he stood up, undid the white sash around his waist, and wrapped it in a complex pattern around the boy's torso and shoulders so that it became a very baggy, shirt-like garment.
"Hmm…" he said, looking somewhat disappointed, "It's a bit big." That was an understatement. It was huge and looked absolutely ridiculous on the boy's small wiry frame. "It always works for me. Well, I suppose it's 'cause you're so scrawny," he paused in thought, "and so much shorter than me." he added seeing that the boy didn't even come up to the bottom of his ribs. "You're only, what, fifteen?" A nod. " Yeah, you can grow into it."
Despite his manners, the boy, recently christened Youko Kurama, stared in utter confusion at the odd behavior and mannerisms of this stranger. No one, human, demon, or reikai, had ever acted as such. It wasn't even that the man actually cared about him, but just the way he moved, spoke, and thought (you could tell how he thought because he did it out loud) was so different, so odd, that meaning of what he was doing was completely lost.
"Well, let's see… name: Youko Kurama, food, folks—well, that's a problem. But you've got a name, clothes," he sniffed the air, "relatively clean," he ran his fingers shamelessly through the boy's hair, making him flinch, and discovered a less than expected but still undesirable amount of tangles and knots, "with a nice comb you should be set." He pulled a comb from his pocket and handed it to the boy. " 'Kay," he pointed in the direction he'd come from, "there's a cute, little town that way. They're real nice down there. There's a stream just outside the town. Wash up there before you go in. Don't leave without someone to look after ya, 'kay?"
"But if I get someone to take care of me, why would I leave?" Kurama replied, confused by the man's logic.
"You might get some passer to take you in."
"Oh, OK."
"Now remember: your name's Youko Kurama."
"OK… what's yours?"
"Why?"
the boy shrugged.
"It's Victor Levi Kuronue." he said proudly, "Kuronue's the family name." he added with consideration for differences in name order.
The boy nodded, "Thank you, Kuronue-sama."
"My pleasure." Kuronue responded picking up his sack of loot, for he was, in fact, a thief.
"No, that's not what I meant. Well, the food, clothes, name… all that is great and I thank you but…" he looked down at his feet, "Thank you for… not… having me."
The meaning of the word 'having' brought Kuronue back to reality. Had this boy been so abused that he expected everyone he met to beat, insult, or—yes—rape him? That was, after all, what he'd meant by the word.
Suddenly, a pity even stronger, deeper, and, by his definition, more dangerous and annoying than the first cut through the thief. Despite the danger in it, it was the last straw. He was a horrible roll model. He lived with a nomadic band of thieves and mercenaries: heartless murderers. It was no place for a kid and he was nobody to take one there, but he could not stand for this. This kid wasn't going to find a home and at the very least needed someone to make sure that no one would have him anymore. Maybe he'd find somewhere on the road to drop the kid off. No matter what, that annoying so-called 'heart' wouldn't let him just walk away hoping that this kid would find somewhere to stay.
"That's it." He burst out, startling the kid, "you're coming with me." He grabbed the boy's shoulder and pulled him along a little more violently than he ment to.
"Where? Why?" blurted the startled fox.
"You're gonna live with me for a while. You're a growing, starving kid. As nice as those villagers are, they wouldn't understand."
"Where do you live?" Kurama couldn't suppress his curiosity.
"All over the place. The band travels a lot."
"Band? As in band of thieves?"
"Yeah, those are stolen goods y're eatin'. Get used to it."
+…And you don't care if you don't see again…+now the flashback is over+
…But everything was in the past. He was a different person than he'd ever been. It didn't matter what he would have done. What was he going to do now? What could he do?
He wasn't sure. What he knew now was that what had happened didn't matter now; What did matter was that eternal, philosophical, and possible unanswerable question…
… Why?
+…The light of day+
(singing softly as she types)
Everything around you
What's it coming to?
God knows as your dog knows
Bog blast all of you.
Nothing more to do.
Living just for dying;
Dying just for you.
I love that song. Let's test your early 1980's pop culture. What song are the title and borders from? Hint: find the missing line.
Neways. I've changed my name and my bio.
Review or the Fox dies. Seriously, the next chapter is the deciding one. You find out whether or not he dies. So review.
SemeDesu- I'm sorry that you feel that way about the Fox. I actually kind of like him, but not quite as much as reviews. I'm also sorry that it's wordy. That's not the first time I've been told that, but that's how I write and it's what I like to read too. I hope it's not too wordy for you to stop reading. And you're right about the borders and song. I don't think you needed me to tell you that but whatever. I think some people might get it because of the "Monty Python ik den Holi Gralen" (sp?), but, once again, whatever. Thanks for reviewing.
OK. I think I bored you all to death last time w/ notes so I'll keep it short.
I don't know what the name is going to be yet, so it's going to stay. I'll tell you when I'm gonna change it. I have officially changed my name to Doomschneider now (as if you haven't noticed).
Oh, and sp correction. I think I said something completely different than I meant to last time so: Lebe is actually Lieben.
Lieben Sie von Doomschneider
Out
3-04-05