"Why do you keep running away?" The red-head tenderly placed a damp rag on
the fresh bruise decorating Hisoka's cheek. It hadn't been more than a
handful of hours since he was brought back to the main house and already
his father had sought to remind him of his place. He was too valuable as
the first born son to be allowed freedom. That simple fact had been
reinforced his entire life, always sheltered from the other children,
always made to believe he was sick and somehow different. He supposed his
family wasn't entirely wrong. As her hand gently stroked the cloth over
his face, flashes of her emotions filled his mind in a faint echo.
-Compassion. Care. Understanding.-
Wakaba was the only one that didn't feel some level of fear from the emerald eyed boy. Because of that, he could stand to be touched by her. She was the only one he would allow this near to him without withdrawing into himself. Maybe, because soon, she would be past all fear.
Trying to see through the swollen eye, he could dimly make out her face. -She's gotten so pale- "You shouldn't be pushing yourself for me." He said softly, leaning further back onto the mat, doing his best to ignore the sharp pain in his ribs.
Giving him what he was sure was a bright smile, she rung out the rag, sitting back on her heels. "It's no problem, really! I can't do much else around the main house, so the Mistress said I should tend to you. Besides," she winked, "It's never a chore to be in such fine company."
"Hmm." He muttered, his eyes fluttering closed with sleep.
The young girl smiled gently as she pulled the covers up around him. He had such an innocent look when he slept. He almost looked like the carefree teenager he should have been, would have been, if only he hadn't been cursed with this family.
Sighing, she gracefully rose to her feet and moved into the hall, pulling the bars of his cell shut with a soft "clink".
"Why do you keep running away?" Silk lips purred against his ear, with breath as wintry as the skin that framed them. "Do you not enjoy our games?"
He involuntarily tried to pull back, causing the chain around his neck to tighten. Immortal flesh could still be abused and he was far from matching his Master, his Creator, in strength. Thoughts tumbled against thoughts. He had known he was in trouble when he was greeted at the door, not by the Master himself, but one of his fellow fledglings.
There was no point in running from the soft beckoning hand and no mistaking the heartbreaking pools of emotion behind those soft, golden eyes.
As they walked towards the inside of the chapel, moving through the tall pillars of bone-white marble, past the staring faces of saints and sinners alike, captured in mosaic art, he found the weight of this place unbearable. It settled around his shoulders, the last bit of warmth he had felt at the sight of the youth, stolen away.
"I was checking up to see what was taking you so long. You know the Master cannot enter your mind as I can."
Tsuzuki's stomach lurched with a wave of nausea, realizing all too late what had been bugging him since leaving his home.
The sickness didn't settle as his friend continued.
"Of course, if I had known you were watching Bon, I would have made my excuses to the Master. That little slip of speaking was a warning to you. You've never call him "Bon." He shook his head with a sad sigh, causing the cascade of rich blonde hair to spill over his shoulder. "Why do you choose to suffer so?" He, like Tatsumi, chose to continue wearing glasses, but it had been at the order of the Master he did so. Such a reminder of irony was something that pleased their cruel father to no end. Watari had been a genius of alchemy before the Mater had pulled him from his life of science. How bitter it must have been to realize all that superstitious "nonsense" he had spent his whole life disproving, would become his cage for the rest of eternity.
Swallowing hard, Tsuzuki hardly recognized the harsh tones that created his voice. "How much does he know?"
The man walking before him paused, pushing open the massive double doors as if they were nothing more than tissue paper. The steel frames parted, revealing his Master's personal, sadistic playroom, which looked more the part of the dungeon. He knew without a doubt, he was going to be punished but would it include the life of his mortal companion.
"He knows you are watching someone and that person has caught your interest. That's all he was able to gather from my intrusion on your mind. You know how poorly secondary links work."
Tsuzuki slipped up against the wall. He needed no prompting, years of practiced pain had drilled this exercise into the very fabric of his being. Maybe at one point, he had sought to fight against what was to come next, but those memories were as distant and surreal as the ones of when he had walked under the sun as a mortal. The faint rustling of iron against iron whispered into the room. The thin studded metal chocker clamped around his neck, forcing his head back, his eyes rising to meet the angelic features cast in the unchanging colors of autumn. Even now, the faintest hint of smiling lines traced the edges of his lips and eyes. He must have been so filled with life and passion to still bear these suggestions of mortality.
"Did you tell him about-?"
"No." Giving him a faintly sad smile, he gave a final tug to the thick leather straps, binding his arms to the cold stone of the walls. "Nor will I. Your continued attention is more of a death warrant than anything I could speak. Take your punishment and learn from it, Tsuzuki. Of his entire coven, he values you the most. None of us are as jealously guarded, nor as strictly watched. Had Tatsumi not pleaded on your behalf, you would still be tied here." "He. he did what?" This was the first time he had heard anything about the oldest of Muraki's Children. Surely he was nothing more than a cold and heartless extension of the master? If anything, he was always indifferent to Tsuzuki.
"Don't tell him I said anything." Watari almost chuckled, picking the thoughts effortlessly from his friend's mind. "He's as distant as you think, but not as unfeeling." Giving him a final encouraging smile, he turned away in a flare of ginger colored hair, vanishing almost at once.
Seconds later, he felt, more than heard the approach of his Master.
How many hours had past since then, he could only guess. Blood made for poor sand and his body was no hourglass, for anguish was the only measure of time that would count here.
"Who is she, my beloved?" The lips lowered to his neck, brushing against the soft skin, resting against the steady pulse of the vein there. Gods, how he hated that voice, speaking with all the lazy tones of a well fed jungle cat, just as raping on his senses as anything physical could ever be. "Of course," he continued, each word causing his lips to caress him, "I could force one of the others to tear it from your mind. But they don't have the same. tender. touch, I do. No, I don't think anyone else deserves to break you. How delightful that you've allowed yourself something else I can destroy."
Blood tears rose up to rim his eyes in a blur of crimson against violet. Threatening to spill at the thought of what this monster would do if he ever got a hold of Hisoka. Death could be the very best he could hope for.
"I think you and I shall need a few days together, at least." Seconds later, a sharp white flame of pain shot up from his neck, pulling at his sanity as well as his lifeblood. There was nothing passionate about his Master's feasting. No sharing of emotions, no bond. His Master didn't feed on them for such reasons. For him, it was like branding his property, taking back the unnatural strength he had gifted them with, one mouthful at a time. Feeling the first tug of weakness, his head slumped forward, pulling harder against the leather chocker. He felt himself being raised up, the press of lifelessly chilled arms encircling his waist. Darkness filled his eyes, even as the tears held therein spilled free in streaks of cherry down his ashen face.
He didn't need a mental link with Muraki, the message was all too painfully clear as he finally gave into the blessed hold of unconsciousness.
-You are mine. Forever.-
-Compassion. Care. Understanding.-
Wakaba was the only one that didn't feel some level of fear from the emerald eyed boy. Because of that, he could stand to be touched by her. She was the only one he would allow this near to him without withdrawing into himself. Maybe, because soon, she would be past all fear.
Trying to see through the swollen eye, he could dimly make out her face. -She's gotten so pale- "You shouldn't be pushing yourself for me." He said softly, leaning further back onto the mat, doing his best to ignore the sharp pain in his ribs.
Giving him what he was sure was a bright smile, she rung out the rag, sitting back on her heels. "It's no problem, really! I can't do much else around the main house, so the Mistress said I should tend to you. Besides," she winked, "It's never a chore to be in such fine company."
"Hmm." He muttered, his eyes fluttering closed with sleep.
The young girl smiled gently as she pulled the covers up around him. He had such an innocent look when he slept. He almost looked like the carefree teenager he should have been, would have been, if only he hadn't been cursed with this family.
Sighing, she gracefully rose to her feet and moved into the hall, pulling the bars of his cell shut with a soft "clink".
"Why do you keep running away?" Silk lips purred against his ear, with breath as wintry as the skin that framed them. "Do you not enjoy our games?"
He involuntarily tried to pull back, causing the chain around his neck to tighten. Immortal flesh could still be abused and he was far from matching his Master, his Creator, in strength. Thoughts tumbled against thoughts. He had known he was in trouble when he was greeted at the door, not by the Master himself, but one of his fellow fledglings.
There was no point in running from the soft beckoning hand and no mistaking the heartbreaking pools of emotion behind those soft, golden eyes.
As they walked towards the inside of the chapel, moving through the tall pillars of bone-white marble, past the staring faces of saints and sinners alike, captured in mosaic art, he found the weight of this place unbearable. It settled around his shoulders, the last bit of warmth he had felt at the sight of the youth, stolen away.
"I was checking up to see what was taking you so long. You know the Master cannot enter your mind as I can."
Tsuzuki's stomach lurched with a wave of nausea, realizing all too late what had been bugging him since leaving his home.
The sickness didn't settle as his friend continued.
"Of course, if I had known you were watching Bon, I would have made my excuses to the Master. That little slip of speaking was a warning to you. You've never call him "Bon." He shook his head with a sad sigh, causing the cascade of rich blonde hair to spill over his shoulder. "Why do you choose to suffer so?" He, like Tatsumi, chose to continue wearing glasses, but it had been at the order of the Master he did so. Such a reminder of irony was something that pleased their cruel father to no end. Watari had been a genius of alchemy before the Mater had pulled him from his life of science. How bitter it must have been to realize all that superstitious "nonsense" he had spent his whole life disproving, would become his cage for the rest of eternity.
Swallowing hard, Tsuzuki hardly recognized the harsh tones that created his voice. "How much does he know?"
The man walking before him paused, pushing open the massive double doors as if they were nothing more than tissue paper. The steel frames parted, revealing his Master's personal, sadistic playroom, which looked more the part of the dungeon. He knew without a doubt, he was going to be punished but would it include the life of his mortal companion.
"He knows you are watching someone and that person has caught your interest. That's all he was able to gather from my intrusion on your mind. You know how poorly secondary links work."
Tsuzuki slipped up against the wall. He needed no prompting, years of practiced pain had drilled this exercise into the very fabric of his being. Maybe at one point, he had sought to fight against what was to come next, but those memories were as distant and surreal as the ones of when he had walked under the sun as a mortal. The faint rustling of iron against iron whispered into the room. The thin studded metal chocker clamped around his neck, forcing his head back, his eyes rising to meet the angelic features cast in the unchanging colors of autumn. Even now, the faintest hint of smiling lines traced the edges of his lips and eyes. He must have been so filled with life and passion to still bear these suggestions of mortality.
"Did you tell him about-?"
"No." Giving him a faintly sad smile, he gave a final tug to the thick leather straps, binding his arms to the cold stone of the walls. "Nor will I. Your continued attention is more of a death warrant than anything I could speak. Take your punishment and learn from it, Tsuzuki. Of his entire coven, he values you the most. None of us are as jealously guarded, nor as strictly watched. Had Tatsumi not pleaded on your behalf, you would still be tied here." "He. he did what?" This was the first time he had heard anything about the oldest of Muraki's Children. Surely he was nothing more than a cold and heartless extension of the master? If anything, he was always indifferent to Tsuzuki.
"Don't tell him I said anything." Watari almost chuckled, picking the thoughts effortlessly from his friend's mind. "He's as distant as you think, but not as unfeeling." Giving him a final encouraging smile, he turned away in a flare of ginger colored hair, vanishing almost at once.
Seconds later, he felt, more than heard the approach of his Master.
How many hours had past since then, he could only guess. Blood made for poor sand and his body was no hourglass, for anguish was the only measure of time that would count here.
"Who is she, my beloved?" The lips lowered to his neck, brushing against the soft skin, resting against the steady pulse of the vein there. Gods, how he hated that voice, speaking with all the lazy tones of a well fed jungle cat, just as raping on his senses as anything physical could ever be. "Of course," he continued, each word causing his lips to caress him, "I could force one of the others to tear it from your mind. But they don't have the same. tender. touch, I do. No, I don't think anyone else deserves to break you. How delightful that you've allowed yourself something else I can destroy."
Blood tears rose up to rim his eyes in a blur of crimson against violet. Threatening to spill at the thought of what this monster would do if he ever got a hold of Hisoka. Death could be the very best he could hope for.
"I think you and I shall need a few days together, at least." Seconds later, a sharp white flame of pain shot up from his neck, pulling at his sanity as well as his lifeblood. There was nothing passionate about his Master's feasting. No sharing of emotions, no bond. His Master didn't feed on them for such reasons. For him, it was like branding his property, taking back the unnatural strength he had gifted them with, one mouthful at a time. Feeling the first tug of weakness, his head slumped forward, pulling harder against the leather chocker. He felt himself being raised up, the press of lifelessly chilled arms encircling his waist. Darkness filled his eyes, even as the tears held therein spilled free in streaks of cherry down his ashen face.
He didn't need a mental link with Muraki, the message was all too painfully clear as he finally gave into the blessed hold of unconsciousness.
-You are mine. Forever.-