Yup, this is dead. Time to accept the inevitable truth that I have no idea where I'd planned on going with this.
As a peace offering, and a farewell gift, here's what I have lying around my Doc Manager after being written up ages ago:
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Age 3-
Back at the park, this time on a reasonably breezy and not-too-chilly spring day.
Age 4-
Age 5-
"You're wrong," Kyoya's saying now, in a strange tone of voice that's less sharp than usual, that's sounds a bit strangled. "You're acting all wrong. Stop being such a herbivore. You're a carnivore, Sawada Atsuko."
Atsuko just blinks muzzily, feeling like her mind's too fluffy but that's alright because everything's kinda numb right now and oh hey does that tree look fuzzier than usual I wonder why-
Something shiny and silver impacts her heavily on the side, and she totters unsteadily before falling heavily to the ground.
Blinking again, only now she's seeing sky, Atsuko makes no move to get up.
The ground felt oddly comforting in it's solidity and stolidity; it only swayed slightly when she tried to stand and walk, right?
Raven-feather fringe invades her vision, and she blinks for a third time at the nebulous gray flowers blooming in Kyoya's face.
Silly Kyoya.
Why's she looking so weird at her?
She's still Atsuko.
"The fire," her friend starts, words soft and low and gaining speed with each breath, hysterical speed spawning hysterical rage that crashes down likes a force of nature.
Which, really, she kinda is like.
("The fire you make dance.")
All the adults in Namimori are scared of her, but then again they're all stupid and weak and hate-
No, no, no.
Why hate?
("It's warm. It's always warm and almost hot but it never burns you or me.")
Hate is bad, Atsuko, she chides herself.
("You're cold now, and empty.")
Then she remembers to tune back in to what Kyoya was saying, because it's also bad to ignore others.
("Show me that fire that makes you superior with your hate and my rage.")
She doesn't know why it's bad just that she knows it is and she has to follow that insistent nagging voice in her head even if it's frankly really annoying and whiny and sounds deliriously similar to a distorted version of herself-
("I do not associate with herbivores. If you persist in acting like one when I know you're a carnivore-")
What was she thinking again?
("-if you don't draw out that fire that makes you strong like me, that proves you worth my time-")
Memory gaps like that are getting more common, and, frowning faintly in consternation, Atsuko misses the rest of Kyoya's words, up until:
"-then I'll just bite you to death."
This is familiar, very familiar, and no amount of annoyingness and whininess can prevent her mouth from opening automatically and spouting off, "I'd like to see you try, little chickadee."
Kyoya's eyes darken with the sort of vicious glee that seems even more familiar but she can't quite place it and she barely manages to throw herself to the side in time to dodge another snapping snake of quicksilver pain, reflexes taking over into the routine of dodge and duck and drop-kick-
... what reflexes?
Atsuko pauses at the worst possible time, suspended in midair with one leg sweeping up to curve right back down into a slam.
Stumbling, she falls awkwardly, landing with something definitely twisted.
She wants to cry since it really hurts, and would, if it weren't for some more insistent voice (voice-what-voice-there-is-no-voice) telling her in a no-nonsense way that she is not to cry, that pain is all mental, that she is strong and not weak and Hibari Kyoya does not respect weaklings just like she (I-me-who-what) does not respect weaklings in fact she hateshateshates-
"Weak," an imperious voice declares above her, a ring of regret going overlooked, because...
She is suddenly mad, irrationally and unreasonably angry, full up on vim and vigor and spite that clears her mind to a knife-edge and shakes off the phantom dizziness plaguing her body and seizes her heart with raking talons, sending worms of white-hot rage wriggling down her spine and writhing into her muscles that are on fire on fire on fire-
and burning with incandescent flames so unmistakably bright orange, an eye-blinding neon sort of orange, one that repulses and attracts in uneven pulsates.
Her body spasms once, twice, then she arcs her back like a lightning strike just electrified her nerves and she shrieks like the banshees of death themselves.
Atsuko doesn't care since now she can think straight again and she thinks very quite rather firmly that what she cares about is sending a straight punch into that sneering raven-feather girl's smug idiotic face because Kyoya is wrongwrongwrong Atsuko is not weakweakweak Atsuko is strong and Atsuko is mighty and Atsuko hates with her soul lit ablaze in defiant streamers that scream rebellion to the heavens themselves.
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Hibari Kyoya can sense about five bones shattering upon first hit through the agony of a million glowing-pain needlepoints and knows she'll wake up with a gigantic ugly spiderweb of obsidian spun carelessly over her porcelain doll visage.
None of that matters, nothing at all.
The carnivore is back and whatever illness paralyzing her is clearly gone so finally she isn't alone anymore.
She hasn't been alone since she met that younger carnivore (just because carnivores have no need of companionship doesn't mean that partnering doesn't make hunting easier and life better and chests all peculiarly and pleasantly warm), and reverting back to loneliness at the top of her kingdom, even for barely half-an-hour, was an experience she has no wish to repeat soon.
She's found strong pack, and she can spar and fight, and Hibari Kyoya never wanted anything more out of stretching her wings to fly in the sky.
Sawada Atsuko stares gloweringly at her, gaze unfocused and watching something not present, hunkered over with huge, heaving breaths and nails digging into palms, somehow not staggering despite the fatigue from fending off the illness and her two prior major injuries.
Fire burns the air, licking restlessly around her fists, at her forehead, circling with deceptive delicateness up her arms, wreathing her shorn-short curls in the spat sparks of a dying sun.
Her packmate is beautiful.
Kyoya struggles up from her knees, breathing just as raspily with blood specks flecking the spittle she coughs out, and her back is a sore of festering aches from being shoved forcefully into a tree trunk with roots deeper than hers.
Her packmate immediately swivels her head towards her, locating and locking-on within milliseconds, eyes still unfocused, but now cloudy with a fierce, dangerous kind of feralness.
Breathing, breathing, breathing.
The younger carnivore is waiting to see if she'll attack or submit, Kyoya realizes.
Well, then...
"You've got a long way to go until I'll submit to a younger carnivore," she whispers, and propels her limp vessel forwards through sheer power of will, pulling back her lips to show all her teeth. "Respect your elders, young one."
Packmate roars and rears up, slashing mercilessly and leaving trails of smoky afterimages, curls stiffening with an orange-ish sheen like the proud spikes of a lion's mane, gender be damned to the seven spheres of Hell.
Excellent, she wants to purr, she wants to sing like the skylark she is inside.
Kyoya can't wait until Sawada Atsuko is strong enough to subjugate her, Kyoya can't wait to teach her growing up into that fearsome strength in her fire.
Because man, there's nothing Kyoya likes better than a good bloody fight.
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(Nothing now, nothing then, nothing... there?)
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Age 7-
In time, Sawada Atsuko's growl of, "you're pissing me off," becomes as notorious as Hibari Kyoya's catchphrase, "I'll bite you to death."
People still prefer to brave her instead of the Disciplinary Committee's Head, though, since at least Sawada gives a warning instead of a blunt, certain fact.
She's also the one more likely to ignore them and not attack unprovoked.
Their friendship is the thing of tag-team nightmares, and more than a few secret yuri fantasies.
Rumors aren't helped by their hungry hisses of "beautiful" and savage snarls of "smoking" during their legendary battles.
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Age 8-
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Age 9-
"A regular ball o' sunshine," he agrees sarcastically.
Off to the side, Yuu scoffs.
"More like a vibrating ball of pent-up rage and tension," she mutters, flicking through the newest pile of student essays to grace her desk, adding, "a regular little touchy psycho, maybe."
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Goodbye, farewell. I hardly knew thee, dear readers.
