Rating: T for substance abuse and mild violence.
Eh, this chapter kind of spirals away from the previous ones. I was hesitant writing it, since it gets dark in places, but that's life, and the contrast between Thor and Siegfried's younger selves pasts needed to be written. Take care.
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A creaky wooden door opened and shut. Even with the lightness that it was closed with, disturbed dust floated down from the ceiling and made who had just entered the large single room cough. Hibiki covered his mouth with his arm, but could not completely muffle the sound that resulted when he placed his worn backpack on the floor.
A dark shape in the corner stirred, and this time it was Hibiki's turn to freeze. He looked like a rabbit caught in headlights as the blanket slid off of the rising shape, revealing a large and unkempt middle-aged man. His hair was a dark black, as well as the thick stubble on his chin. But his eyes, although bearing an addict's abundance of swollen red blood vessels in the white area, had the same light blue iris as Hibiki's. Still, not only did his bloodshot eyes prove him to be a constant drug user, but his movements attested to a drunkard as well.
"Yo woke mee -hic- up." He slurred, then let loose another hiccup.
"Sorry, daddy." Hibiki said cautiously, edging around him. "I'll just go to my closet now and I won't bother you-" He had no chance to finish his sentence as a large hand swung around, fingers iron-stiff, and hit him in the back of his neck. For a grown man to hit a child in that area, it was a killing move. Hibiki went down with a loud gasp and lay motionless on the floor. His father swayed uncertainly on the spot for a moment before turning around- and in that moment Hibiki's eyes opened.
"Animato..." He whispered to himself as he rose off the floor and executed a neat kick, sending his father flying across the room. With a crash, the huge man hit the wall and slid down, unconscious. Sighing, Hibiki continued on his way. "I'm sorry, daddy, but you're scary when you're like that." He murmured as he passed the prone body.
Hibiki was just glad that he was an only child; he doubted that any other kid could take his father's blows and live, much less emerge from the house relatively unhurt. He had a rough time of it for a few years himself, but slowly he got better at dodging the attacks just enough so that his father would think he had hit him. If he had outright dodged, it would ignite a rage. Yet he had needed to invent a way to take out his dad should things get too serious.
Serious, indeed. If he hadn't been on his guard just then he would have died. Hibiki rubbed the area thoughtfully as he entered a small closet and shut the door behind him. It didn't hurt. The real hurt would come after the measly dinner the two of them always shared. Daddy wouldn't hit him again today after his thirst for violence had been satiated. It was hunger that hit him the hardest, awakened by whatever food he had managed to scrounge on the walk back home.
Hibiki sighed and stretched out as best as he could in the small space. He spent most of his time shut in the closet. Time worked differently in that space. There in the darkness it was just him and his ever-complaining stomach for hours that felt like days. Yet right outside the closet was a sleeping, and very drunk, tiger.
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Chiaki walked sedately up the cobbled stone path. It was early spring now; the sakura trees were in full bloom. Turning to the right, he cut across a well-tended lawn and ignored the main entrance to the dojo, instead taking a side door.
"Mommy! I'm home!" He yelled, slamming it behind him. A very tall woman with long brown hair done up in a gleaming bun turned around. She was not like a delicate willow; she was more like a sturdy sequoia. Her arms must have hid some impressive muscle, because she put down the knife she was using to chop up garlic and picked up Chiaki, bookbag and all, embracing him.
"Oh, I'm so glad you're home!" She cooed.
"Aww, don' be like that, mommy!" Chiaki protested, but kissed her on the cheek all the same. As soon as she put him down he asked, "Is daddy still teaching?"
"Yes." She resumed cooking as she diced the garlic into professionally congruent cubes. "Today we're eating with some of his students in an hour." There was a loud thud and a crash from some room adjacent to theirs. The room shook. Chiaki's mother laughed. "They sure are a lively bunch!"
"It's sumo wrestling, righ', mommy?" Chiaki asked, setting his backpack on the floor. His mom nodded, her eyes and arms focused on pouring the garlic cubes onto a sizzling pan with some orange pepper. "Won't I be practicin some today? If daddy has time for me?"
"Daddy always has time for you!" A voice boomed. A gigantic man with Chiaki's lively brown eyes opened the sliding door at the other end of the kitchen. "In fact, why don't you come watch our practice now, Chiaki? Your brother is wrestling noowww..." He trailed off.
"Ooh! Ooh! Please, can I? We didn't have any homework today, so c- I mean, may I?"
"Go ahead." His mother smiled at him even as a spring breeze from a nearby window wafted the delicious aroma of her cooking underneath everyone's noses. "And close the door behind you, so nobody will get too hungry before it's time to eat!"
"All right!" Chiaki cheered. He ran for the door, but his father blocked the way. Chiaki pouted. "Do you want me to try tha' front-line tackle on you now, daddy?"
"No, no, you'd just ruin your nice school clothes!" The man chuckled. "Don't worry, this troll's toll for continuing on your journey is just a simple question. Tell me one new vocabulary word that you learned today during private study. In a sentence."
"Okay!" He chirped. "Umm... I got one! 'Swiftly'. The little boy swiftly dodged around his daddy and ran to watch the amazing sumo wrestlers at their work!" With that, he pushed in a chair and scooted around his father and out the door.
"Hahaha! Good spirit, son!" His father laughed, and chased after him, rolling the door shut once more.
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Hibiki sighed yet again as he sat down at the dinner 'table'. In reality, he had just spread out a cloth and tried to make the bread rolls look as appetizing as possible. At least his father wasn't there. He sometimes got those blissful hours of an empty house. The welfare checks mostly went to alcohol, but to pay off drug money his dad would fight for some gang or other. He was a formidable fighter, too, when he wasn't drunk. Often after excursions like today's Mr. Kugenin would come back with bloodstains on his clothes and a switchblade still open in his hand, sometime late into the night. Once he was gone for two days straight. Not that his son ever minded. Quite the opposite.
'Whenever daddy comes back, his tone- his notes are completely different. He's fresh from the fight. I can hear like, an accent on the note of the surprise attack, and the exciting accelorandoes of the chase. Of course... it doesn't last long, since he always brings that yucky looking powder back... but while it lasts, it's beautiful!'
Hibiki wolfed down the stale bread with barely a wince at the taste. The knife and gun were gone from his dad's blankets today, which meant he was out doing something really important. The boy would have time to do the one thing that had kept him relatively sane all of his young life.
He went back to his closet, but this time he delved deep into a heap of old child-care documents of questionable origin and retrieved a rectangular case. Opening up, he lovingly took out a 1/4 size violin, bow, and chinrest, fitting the supporting piece on. The violin wasn't really his. But it wasn't stolen, either. He had beat up a thief running away with it one day, and the oppertunity was just too good to pass up. He had taken the standard-issue violin home and hidden it somewhere where his father never would look.
"La La La LAA lalaaa... la la la LA lalaa..." Hibiki sung a few notes before putting bow to string. His fingers moved easily over the fingerboard, fluttering here and there like little butterflies when little trills were artistically added to the piece. His kindergarten teacher loved to play classical music whenever she could get the chance, and so he had developed a love for it. She had even begun to teach him some instruments that once belonged to her son, who was now in college. Those instruments were old, but tried and true, and had fitted him perfectly. Ms. Seika had taught him names of things in music, too. Crescendo, decrescendo. He loved the language. Then the nice lady had moved, and the sub replacing her did little to try and follow in her footsteps.
The violin and Hibiki continued to sing as one, while outside the daylight slowly dimmed.
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"Thank you for today's meal!" Three of Mr. Yuma's white-robed students bowed.
"It was no problem, dearies." Mrs. Yuma called after them as they left. "Ah, I do enjoy seeing them growing into fine, healthy adults. I remember when they were your age, Chiaki!"
"My age..." Chiaki muttered. He nearly choked on his apple juice as he remembered. "Oh, right! Mommy, daddy, GUESS WHAT?"
"WHAT?" His father yelled back, caught by the infectious excitement in Chiaki's voice. But his little charade had the intended effect; after hearing his father's bellow, the boy realized just how loud he was being himself.
"Sorry!" he amended himself. "But anyways, guess what? I made a new friend today! He's a new student- Hibiki-chan. He's kinda weird, but really nice, and really cool! We both like a lot of the same things, and we both do our own training-"
"He does another martial art? What kind?" Mr. Yuma asked, his interest piqued.
Chiaki shook his head. "I have no idea. He doesn't look like he could do much though, since he's so skinny. I'm kinda worried about him. I know it sounds really mean, but I bet he can't afford a good enough lunch."
"Then invite him over here for dinner tommorow!" Chiaki's mother interrupted. "The more, the merrier, eh?"
"Really?" Chiaki's eyes shone.
"I'd like to meet him, myself." His dad chipped in. "So it's settled. Tommorow your friend's coming over after school."
"Hm..." For the first time, Chiaki's brother, Bak, spoke. He was a tall lad of around thirteen, slightly less massive than the rest of his family. A good deal less of his muscle was hidden by fat, which made him a bit scarier to look at than his father, even if he wasn't as good of a wrestler as him. His dyed black hair with brown streaks was eternally messy, and his eyes were a darker brown than his younger brother's bright ones. "Say, dad. Wouldn't it be better for me to spar with the kid? You might step on him by accident, and I'm- no offense to you, dad, but I think I'm a bit more agile."
"Hey! Don't insult daddy, nii-chan!"
"-Nii-san!" Bak corrected him irritably.
"Eh heh heh, it's good, Chiaki." Mr. Yuma chuckled nervously. "I agree, Bak, you're not exactly suited for traditional sumo combat wrestling due to that speed of yours. But you're going to have to be careful not to hurt Hibiki-kun, okay?"
"Don't worry." Bak waved him off. "It's not fun beating up little kids. I'll go easy on him while you guys see how he fights."
Mrs. Yuma pursed her lips, but did not comment.
'Being honest with myself, I don't know how my sweet baby Bak grew up this way.' She admitted to herself. 'He sounds like he's saying that it would be fun to hurt people his own age and older.'
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With a contented smile on his face, Hibiki gently put the violin down. Suddenly, slow clapping sounded behind him. He whirled around, eyes wide. Standing in the doorway was his father, staring at him and clapping. His eyes were unreadable.
'No! My... my violin! My treasure... he saw it! He... he was watching me play! No... it's all over for me now.' He reached behind him, and protectively held the violin close to his thin chest.
"I won't let you take it!" He said defiantly. He would have said more, then he heard the notes surrounding his dad. They weren't fuzzy and indistinct, like they would have been if he was drunk or high. They weren't quick and powerful, either, like they would have been if he had just been fighting. These notes were slurred, yes, but on a softer scale, all naturals instead of a dischordant combination of high sharps and low flats. They were definitely his father's notes on a different scale.
"It's all right." The man said unexpectedly. Mr. Kugenin walked over and crouched down by his son, who shrank back, eyeing him warily. "Why in hell did you hide this damn thing from me? You play like a damn saint, kid." Suddenly he stood up. "Keep playing." he ordered. "You can have my dinner afta' that. I ate at a bud's place."
"Really?" Hibiki sounded hopeful. His dad nodded and bent down to ruffle his long hair before heading for his blankets. From there, he leaned himself against the wall and stared at his son intently. His intense eyes were slightly disconcerting, but Hibiki shook it off. He appreciated these moments where his dad was not under the influence of anything, when he finally remembered that this brat in his house was his son.
With a smile spreading across his face, Hibiki lifted the violin once again, extending his wrist. The bow slid across the strings in a long series of half notes before beginning slurs. He kept vibrato to a minimum to make the piece sweeter sounding.
"Pachebel's Canon." His father stated. "Your mother often requested me to play this with her in duets. Of course that bitch-" Hibiki winced, one of his notes jarring as the bow shot up a little bit too high- "...always made me play second violin, but we still did sound like angels, ya know. It was the life." Mr. Kugenin stopped and then pulled the blankets tighter around himself. "Of course, that was before we had you." He added nastily.
Hibiki wisely remained silent. After a moment, the dangerous spike in notes beginning to play out around his father relaxed as his violin's music began to work its magic. The sharps changed back into naturals. There was no way he'd be able to keep this up all night. He'd have to play lullabies until his father slept and thus hopefully avoid another fight.
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Thor looked down at his thumbs as Siegfried finished his part of the story. He still felt uncomfortable hearing about it after all these years. The both of them had put the past long behind them, and his friend was clearly not the least bit uncomfortable talking about it now.
'I guess it's just disturbing hearing him say it all so matter-of-factly.' He thought ruefully. 'We both had such different lives back then, didn't we, Sieg?'
"Oh, god..." Takeda had his head in his hands. "What would I give right now to punch that bastard for you, Siegfried."
"It's all right." Siegfried said amiably. "I still cared for him, and still do. I haven't met someone with his melody ever since."
"But- !" Ukita protested. He had joined them and was raising a fist in the air. Kisara, noting his agitation, hesitantly put a hand on his wrist and lowered it back to his side.
"Relax, Ukita." She didn't meet his eyes, but her blush was as clear as the boy's whose arm she was touching. "Let's just listen to the rest of his story, all right? I..." Kisara desperately searched for something to alleviate the odd looks she was getting. "I'd really like to find out how Siegfried progressed from that to having 20 cats at his mansion!"
"I want to hear more about Thor's family!" Kenichi said brightly. "Thor-kun, you have a brother? I had no idea."
Thor's eyes widened slightly, and he stopped twiddling his thumbs as he met Kenichi's curious, bright gaze. There was a long silence. A squirrel chattered angrily at a rival as they chased each other over the branches of the trees to their right.
"Thor-kun?" Kenichi sounded slightly nervous. 'I'm sorry if I insulted you, or anything..."
"No, it's fine." Thor chuckled, scratching his neck. 'Great, now I'M the one getting awkward stares.' "Let's just wait until we get up to that part of the story, Kenichi-kun."
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Alright, I bet you all are wondering as to why they seem so out of character... well, they're kids. Not exactly up to killing others just yet, although you can tell Siegfried is obviously already starting to lean torwards attacking others for inspiration. Thor's not quite there yet, but in the next chapter you'll find out as to why he doesn't just sumo-wrestle the bullies and totally kick their asses.
I like writing Thor. He's a cool guy, and Siegfried's strange personality is too hard putting into paper. I have much more fun, believe me, recording the memories of the easy-going, relaxed former 7th Fist than the... well, there's no words really to describe Sieg.