Here ye go, installment three. For those that haven't ever read the story of Beauty and the Beast and want to, send me an email, and I'll send you the version I'm using.
Ah, I finished Two Swans (the . . . prequel/sequel thing to this story) and I'm thinking of starting a Sasunaru one using the Snow White idea. Hmm, hmm whatcha all think?
(x) means NOTE, which are below.
Title: The Dingo Ate My Baby
Chapter: Three
Genre: Fantasy/Romance
Characters: major: Hinata, Dingo, Shino, Kiba, Kurenai, Tsume minor: Hiashi, Neji
Relationships: onesided HinaShino
Notes:
1. In case you haven't already figured it out, this is Shino. I don't know what his voice sounds like (he's a silent little bugger, in'he?) so I'm making this up. Bwjajaja.
2. Ever hear anyone say that when those people that rarely get angry get pissed they get really pissed? Well, yeah. When Hinata gets annoyed, she gets annoyed. And then blushes furiously and runs away.
3. Yes, I know, she liked Naruto. Yeah, when she was twelve. Tell me you've liked the same person for five years and I'll tell you you're dedicated, stupid, or married. If she liked Naruto though . . . doesn't she like the louder type . . . like, say Kiba? I don't know. Hinata probably sees something of herself in Shino. Why did I even add this note? Sorry.
The grass and what looks like miles and more of more grass surround me. The wind blows lightly through my short hair, tinkling my neck gently. I enjoy the feeling, but as much as I enjoy petting the beast sitting beside me.
I have no idea how long my hands have been caressing the creature, and for some reason it does not seem to matter much. All that is important now is that I keep on doing it, because I can tell he likes it.
"What is your name?" I find myself asking, as if I really expect it to answer.
It does. "Names aren't important, not here. Call me Dingo, and I'll call you Beauty." This brings a twinge of discomfort to my face. I not want to the memories that that nickname brings. I assume that it is teasing me, like all the others. I feel Dingo move underneath my fingers, and all of a sudden, its face is mere inches away from my own. His mouth does not move, but somehow I know what he is saying.
"I think you're beautiful, Beauty."
I flush amply when it says this. I do not believe it for a second, but this is the first time in my life anyone has ever called me beautiful. It nearly breaks my heart.
"You're also far too quiet for my tastes. I mean, what's wrong?" The dingo's tongue is causing my face to become wet, and sticky, but I am torn about whether or not I really dislike this feeling.
"Where are we?" I manage to ask, and I surprise myself by not stuttering.
"Does it matter?" He replies bluntly, making himself comfortable on my lap. Despite his size, there is no discomfort on my legs, and his claws do not scratch through my skirt. He looks as if he is falling asleep.
"How is it you can talk?"
He picks up his head and merely by his look I can tell he is beginning to become displeased with me. Immediately, for it is my nature, I stubble around, trying to satisfy him. "I am . . . sorry. I-I did not—"
"Don't apologize to me. Ever." His tone is firm and demanding, but not cold like my father's.
"I am sorry. . . "
"I'm serious, Beauty. Stop acting contrite."
"I-Okay." I swallow the nearly habitual apology, quickly, before Dingo bites me.
And then I wake up. I lay there several seconds before I realize what woke me so suddenly. "Breakfast." The voice does not sound particularly energetic or particularly anything. It sounds rather bored, actually. His firm knock must have awakened me.
"What?" I murmur, rubbing sleep from my eyes as I sit up. Feeling the soft silk of the borrowed nightgown against my legs, I cannot help but smile. It feels so nice. I have never owned anything so soft before.
"Breakfast. I was set you to call you down for breakfast." Oh! I rush out of the bed, and pull open the door, glancing out at the figure outside. He is dressed in a completely different manner than the others, and it is a bit of a shock. He has a thick grey overcoat that covers a good part of his face, and blue non-descript pants underneath. Covering his eyes are a small pair of sunglasses, and I can see my reflection in them.
"I-I am not . . . changed y-yet," I stutter, and blush, looking down at the ground. I cannot tell if he is looking at me or at something else, and it makes me nervous. His expression does not show anything either.
"Do you know your way down?" His voice is deep and raw (x). I find myself liking it, perhaps because I have never heard a voice quite like it before.
"I . . . yes. I do." With a mere nod, he walks off, towards the right and presumably down the stairs towards the dining room. I shut the room with a quiet click, and I lean against the door, trying to control the color in my face. He was . . . cute. Is he going to be sent to get me every day? I do not see myself attracting him, or even a possible relationship with him, but I can do what I have always done with crushes . . . admire from afar.
I realize I did not ask his name. Cursing my timidity, I stumble over to the wardrobe, realizing my body is still half asleep. Wake up, Hinata!
Okay, I think, looking over my choices in the closet. Dark colors, I decide quickly, and I pull out three dresses experimentally. The first one is too loose—and though that is how I usually like my clothing, that is not the way I wish to go today. For once in my life I want attention drawn to me. I want to have someone gaze at me like I am worth giving a second glance to.
The second one is not too bad, but a little long along the bottom. I put it aside, just in case. The third one is not something I would wear to a very formal party, much less to breakfast. It is not something I would wear to anything less than a brothel, really. And I do not plan on working there any time soon. I put the first dress and the third back into the closet, turning to the second.
Well, I know how to sew, why do I not put that skill to use? I search for several minutes for a sewing needle and something I could use as thread. When I finally do—deep, deep in the bottom of some unused drawer; people in this castle do not sew a lot it seems—it takes a lot longer than I thought it would to shorten it.
When I put the dress on, I see it is satisfactory. More than that. It is lovely. Definitely worth a second glance from that boy.
I rush to the bathroom to splash a little bit of water on my face when . . . I actually seem my face. I look horrible. My hair is an absolute mess, and there are dark bags underneath my eyes. Well, there is nothing I can do for my face, but at the least I can make my hair look less mussed up.
I eventually manage to untangle it, and make it look neat, at least. Finally, I set off towards the dining room.
When I reach it, I find the table almost completely empty, except for two plates. One, I am guessing is mine. I took so long he is not there!
I slump down into my seat, and stare at my food blankly. No doubt it has gotten cold, too. This definitely is not a good start to my day.
"There!" I hear a loud cry behind me, and I quickly pivot my head around only to see Kiba standing there, pointing an accusing finger in my direction. "You! My mother thought you must have gotten lost, so she said Oh go look for our guuuuuuest, Kiiiiiiba. And here you are, eating happily as if you didn't just cause me to miss breakfast!" He sits himself down in front of the other plate, and glares at me from across the table.
"I-I am sorry . . . " I mutter, looking down at my food as pick at the meat.
"What'd you get all dressed up for, anyway?" He is probably giving me an odd look. I do not even care, I tell myself carefully. I am going to refuse to look at him. That will be my plan.
"I . . I do not k-k-know." Smooth, Hinata. Smooth.
"You look . . . nice. I guess. For a girl with no chest to speak off."
I glance up at him sharply, at this, and my temper (x) gets the best of me. I am sick of his damn comments. "I have breasts!" I cry defensively. I do! They are not big, but they are there!
And then I realize I just told a near stranger that I have breasts. I let out a strangled cry as I fly out of my seat and out of the room, as quickly as possible.
Definitely not a good start to my day.
At dinner I simply shovel food into my mouth, not looking up at anyone. This time I specifically made sure I would take less than five seconds getting ready, and my stew greeted me in a warm and steaming fashion.
The conversation around me is just that . . . around me. But I am not in it, and no one tries to include me in their conversations in the least. If you know me at all, you will be right in guessing that I did not make an attempt to include myself.
When I rise from my seat, after thanking someone under my breath for the meal, Tsume reaches out with a rough, yet oddly feminine hand to stop me. "Do you think you can be happy here, Hinata?"
She speaks so bluntly, and that is something that I am oddly used to. No Hyuga beats around the bush, and they say what they need to wrapped up in a neat little package of direct.
"I . . ." I do not know exactly how to answer. After all, I have been here all of two days, and how can I make a decision like this in so short a time? But what I have seen in this place—not counting Kiba—has been delightful. "I th-think I . . . can."
"Good," she replies firmly, a large grin following her words. It is the grin of an alpha female, the grin of a mother, the grin of hope and undisguised pride. I do not like reading so deeply into things, though, so I glance away in a different direction. As soon as she lets go of my arm, I murmur a low farewell and exit the room hastily.
The way she had asked it . . . would this be my home forever? Kiba had made it painfully clear that they were not going to kill me, but it had not occurred to me that I would remain here. But when I think about it, climbing the stairs to my room carefully, I realize I had not lied. I really could be happy here, among these people that most would easily consider savages. Savages or not, though, they are kind and they accept me readily.
Back in my room, I begin getting ready for bed. I hear them below, just beginning to get rowdy after their supper sake, but I cannot see myself joining the females that laugh among the men. So instead, I lift the covers from my bed and slip on my nightgown. Even so, I am not tired in the least.
Lying there, staring at my ceiling is not the most interesting thing that has ever happened to me. This boredom, logically, should come hand in hand with drowsiness, but my eyes get no heavier. I am beginning to regret my decision to turn in for the night so early when I hear a clear knock on my door.
This brings me back to the morning, when that boy had come to call me down. Hoping against all hope, I pray to whatever god or goddess there may be that he has returned. Perhaps to ask me to join him downstairs? I would even warm at the thought of him just asking my name. Anything would be acceptable as long as he sees me. This time I can even take the chance to ask him his name. (x)
I pull the door open, but the person standing outside my door is not even male. My heart sinks dramatically, even though there was no evidence to say that there was even the slightest chance the boy even remembered our morning meeting.
"Hinata?" I try to place the face with a name . . . Yes! She is the woman who first led my father and I up to my room. He had called here . . . Yuuhi?
"Yuuhi?" But at this, the woman—Yuuhi?—shakes her head furiously.
"No. I don't go by that name any more, as I told Hiashi—your father. Call me Kurenai." She extends a thin, though slightly battered, hand in my direction and I take it gingerly.
"How did m-my father know . . . you?" I ask, letting my curiosity get ahold of me.
She looks uncomfortable, and I am about to tell her it is okay, she does not have to answer, but she beats me to it. "I used to live at Konohagakure. One day, on a mission, I got separated from the rest of my team, probably just as your father did. I also took an item that did not belong to me—a necklace I thought my mother would like—and just as your father, I was given a choice: return to the castle alone or with someone that shares my blood. Obviously, I chose the former, and . . .here I am."
"What . . . what did my f-father take?"
"A rose." The rose he handed to me when he had returned. I had left it back home, and I regretted that decision now. The least I could have done was return it.
"Did y-you want . . . to ask me s-something?" Suddenly this appearance seems very random. I wonder why she came by in the first, when I still hear all those people down below, seemingly having a grand ol' time.
"Yes. There are training groups here, where I am one of the instructors. I work with the most talented, and though you have not gone through the instruction the others have, I am sure, being the daughter of Hiashi Hyuga, you have gone through some intensive work. I can see the chakra around you is strong, nearly as much so as Kiba's."
Kiba? Yes, I noticed the chakra around him, but it was so common at home, and even here that I have stopped paying the chakra auras any mind.
She is . . . offering to train with me. I am no stranger to training, as Kurenai has noted, but this will be a new experience for me. She does not seem to have the high expectations my father always did. Can it be . . . that I will finally be recognized as a person of power in my own right without having to be eternally compared to those stronger than me?
It will not matter here if I am not as strong as Kiba, because it is in his right to be stronger. It will not matter if I am the weakest in the group because they do not expect a single thing of me.
"Will you join us, Hinata?"
Is it a choice, really? The castle is large and full of rooms which in turn are full of things, but it is not quite enough to keep me occupied, oh, my whole life? At least this way I can forget everything. That has always been the way with me when I train. I just hit and punch and sweat my shy little heart out until I cannot think about anything but the flowering pain in my gut.
She understands, I think, without me having to tell her a single thing. "I will send Kiba up to call you in the morning, about two hours after dawn. Please be ready." She steps away, probably downstairs again to join the others, I would guess. I close the door behind her, and I sit down right where I stand.
I am beginning to feel as if I can belong here. I could feel at home in this place, in a way I never, ever, could feel back in Konohagakure, surrounded by my own people.
Downstairs, I can faintly hear the voices of the others, and they are enjoying themselves. The laughter is loud and hearty—probably thanks to all the beer they all have consumed by now. And I wish I could somehow bring myself to go down there, and act like one of them. I do not care if I have to give up my title as a Hyuga—after all my people have all but abandoned me, have they not? It will feel nice to belong without the pressure of always having to become better than I can ever hope to become.
I fall once again into a peaceful sleep, only to be greeted by the soft, wet nose of Dingo as we sit side by side on a dune of sand.