Post by Kureno Sohma on Dec 21, 2005 11:43:15 GMT -5
Kureno could tell from her expression that she'd had a bad day. Nothing other than a stream of sorely unpleasant events could make her dark eyes simmer like thunderclouds rolling silently over the horizon. The set of her mouth was thin and tight, like the string on a guitar pulled taut, ready to snap at the slightest unfavorable change in pressure. She sat on the futon with her knees drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs, fine-boned hands gripping the opposite wrist so tightly that her knuckles were mottled.
"Are you alright, Akito?" he asked as he shut the bedroom door behind him, watching the motions of her hands anxiously.
She turned those glowering eyes to him, fingers tightening, digging into her own delicate flesh. "You're late."
Actually, he was early, but if she thought he was late, then he was late. "I'm sorry," he said.
Slowly, she began to run one of her fingernails over her skin. "Did you finish your schedule?"
He nodded, kneeling next to her. The pressure of that scraping fingernail was increasing, the scratching becoming quicker.
"Did you not find time to stop by and see me today?" she demanded, tendons in her hand suddenly prominent underneath her skin as she dug the nail into her already inflamed flesh.
"Akito, you're hurting yourself," he murmured, reaching out and taking her hands in his, almost having to forcibly pry them away from her body. Her fingers were chilled despite the warmth of the room. How long had she sat there waiting for him, without a coat or a blanket, letting her thoughts and emotions fester like poison until she had nearly worked herself into a fit?
Thankfully, her nail hadn't broken the skin, but a reddish-purple indentation crowned the top of the welt that resulted from scraping her easily-bruised flesh. He rubbed her hands between his, both to warm them and to soften her mood. Being angry all the time wasn't good for her health, not to mention the health of those around her.
"I didn't see you all day," she said quietly.
He kissed her fingers lightly. "I'm here now."
She sighed, tension draining out of her in a sudden rush. She scooted closer to him, and Kureno took her into his arms, sitting back and parting his legs so she could settle between them, pressing her face into the soft fabric of his pajama top. He never failed to wonder at how tiny she was, how fragile and breakable, as much in body as in mind. Akito was a cruel and intolerable woman who abused those that didn't deserve it, but she was also a lonely and sad girl who wanted a hug when she wasn't feeling well. She scorned her own femininity, but Kureno had seen her cast jealous glances at the maids' patterned silk kimonos and subtly-lacquered nails. She spoke harshly to him, but he knew it was only because she missed him when he was gone. Life at her side was much more bearable when he thought of it that way.
Kureno sighed into her soft hair, his lips touching strands that smelled of jasmine and winter. She shuddered and clutched him tighter, as if trying to disappear into him. Something must have greatly upset her today. It had to be her mother. Only the lovely visage of pure insanity that was Souma Ren could agitate her daughter to such an extent.
"Are you feeling well, Akito?" he asked, knowing of her tendency to fall ill when she became emotionally disturbed.
"No," she grumbled, still in a mood of sorts. "I'm tired."
"We should go to sleep," Kureno suggested.
"I'm not sleepy," Akito protested, even as she settled onto the blanket-laden futon, easing her feet underneath the covers. "I'm just tired."
Kureno slid into bed next to her, pulling the blankets up so they covered her slender shoulders. "We'll just lay down, then. Do you want me to turn out the lamp?"
"No, leave it on," Akito muttered with a vexed sigh as she drew the blankets tighter around herself, the rustling of the bedclothes like a symphony of whispers all around them.
"Good night, Akito," Kureno said, laying his head on the pillow next to hers and draping his arm gently over her body, feeling the sharp angle of her hipbone even through the layers of blankets. He hoped she wasn't losing weight again.
"Sing to me," she suddenly demanded.
Kureno jumped in surprise. "I don't know if I still can."
"Of course you can," she declared. "You still have a voice, don't you?"
"Yes, but..." he faltered, not wanting to mention the day the curse was broken, the day he became human, and lost the sky, his wings, and his Voice.
"Sing," she said again, and it was undeniably an order. "I want to hear your voice, Kureno. I didn't get to hear it all day."
So simple, what she was asking for, but to Kureno, the nature of the request was infinitely more meaningful. Before the curse was released, Kureno had the Voice. Perhaps it was a side effect from being possessed by the spirit of the Bird. He couldn't smell things a mile away like Shigure could, or hold his breath underwater for long periods of time like Hatori, but Kureno could sing. He could hit any note in any range despite the immaturity of his youthful vocal chords. Language was no barrier for him. He could feel the shape of the lyrics inside his head. They left impressions in his mind and heart like footprints in damp sand, filling him until they flowed off his tongue as smoothly was water.
Of course, Kureno didn't sing for just anyone. Often the head maid would drag him away from his homework to sing a squalling newborn Akito to sleep. Since Ren wouldn't come near her daughter, Akito never came to know the comforts of her mother's voice. She only knew Kureno's.
"Kureno," Akito urged.
He swallowed and wet his lips anxiously, trying to feel the song in his head. One of the latest CD's he'd bought contained a contemporary rendition of a European medieval melody. He could hear it now, the harmonious rise of the female vocals...
He began.
Foweles in þe frith
þe fisses in þe flod,
Shigure used to call him "Akito-chan's songbird." Kureno didn't mind the title. He liked singing to Akito. When the fitful two-year-old refused to go down for a nap, he would carry her out into the garden and sing Japanese folk songs softly in her ear, all the nearby birds gathering to listen as well. Akito always fell quiet at the sound of his voice, large gray eyes watching him in amazement until her eyelids finally began to close...
And I mon waxe wod.
Mulch sorwe I walke with
for beste of bon and blod.
She watched him now in the same fashion, like he was the center of her universe and all that existed was the sound of his voice. The melodies, the tune, and the lyrics, however foreign, came to him with surprising ease, and though he despaired that he no longer felt that ethereal, soaring sensation that swamped his being when he sang as the Bird of the Zodiac, he could tell from her expression that she loved what she heard. That was all that mattered. Kureno hadn't been born to sing for himself.
"More," she whispered, when the faint echoes of the melody's final note had faded into silence.
Kureno couldn't have stopped if he wanted to.
Music. He loved it all, from the nursery rhymes he learned as a child to the electronic throb of club music. Rhythm and blues imported from America. Techno mixes from Europe. Japanese pop and rock. He loved music without instruments or background vocals. There was a special soul-wrenching feeling he got from hearing naked vocals trembling and rising without any support, the singer powerfully alone as they sang their words into a void.
Of course, he also loved compositions where vocals and background music intertwined like passionate lovers, locked in a dance as enthralling and captivating as a siren's song. The sharp crescendos in the more soulful tracks made his heart swell in his chest, but there were other songs where the beauty was spread even, like the constant pressure of a gentle hand.
These songs flitted through his mind like wayward birds, lyrics and harmonies spilling from his lips to his attentive audience. Akito liked foreign-language songs. Understandable lyrics tended to distract her, interfering with the beauty of the rhythm.
Sing for me a song of life's visage
Sing for me a tune of love's mirage
Deep desires, sleep untold
Whispers that echo the desert of my soul
Native English speakers told Kureno that although his English was excellent, he spoke the language with a series of odd inflections, almost as if he were singing or chanting the words. Unsurprising. Kureno had picked up a good deal of English from the music he listened to.
My name is Ariel and I want to be free
It is your sorrow that has made a slave of me
Forgive me, forgive me
But you are all I know
Forgive me for leaving
He was grateful Akito didn't understand English.
However, he could see her eyes moisten at the amount of sadness she felt in the songs. He wondered what her reaction would be if she knew the sorrow she heard in the music was Kureno's.
I know you're tired
From the violence of the storm
I love you
I love you
But you are all I know
Forgive me
With the inquisitiveness of a child, she reached out and touched his face, as if caressing his skin would somehow allow her to grasp the grief behind the words that made Kureno want to weep. She touched him like he was something amazing and beautiful, something she feared to hold in her hands lest it break into a dozen shards. Kureno understood. He had similar thoughts when she was at her most vulnerable.
Come into these arms again
And lay your body down
The rhythm of this trembling heart
Is beating like a drum
It beats for you, it bleeds for you
It knows not how it sounds
On and on he went, until his throat felt raw and dry. He gave until he could give no more, and his voice trailed off into nothing, the whispers of the lyrics and vocals in his head growing vague and indistinct. What still remained of his unnatural gift receded until hunkered just out of reach, like a ghost in the dark.
Akito stared at him, heavy-eyed with languor. "One more, Kureno."
He brushed his knuckles across her smooth cheek, pushing away the strands of dark hair that dared to mar the sweet perfection of her pale skin. "Which one?"
"That one," she whispered, eyelashes shuttering closed over her eyes. "The one you sang to me the day he died."
He. Akira.
Kureno was surprised that Akito had mentioned it after all these years, but he knew it wasn't because the pain had grown more bearable for her. Akito was by far the most twisted, most broken of all the cursed ones. Pain was her true, constant companion. Kureno couldn't compete with it.
He began the last song.
Rock a bye baby on the tree top,
When the wind blows the cradle will rock,
When the bough breaks the cradle will fall,
And down will come baby, cradle and all
"Are you alright, Akito?" he asked as he shut the bedroom door behind him, watching the motions of her hands anxiously.
She turned those glowering eyes to him, fingers tightening, digging into her own delicate flesh. "You're late."
Actually, he was early, but if she thought he was late, then he was late. "I'm sorry," he said.
Slowly, she began to run one of her fingernails over her skin. "Did you finish your schedule?"
He nodded, kneeling next to her. The pressure of that scraping fingernail was increasing, the scratching becoming quicker.
"Did you not find time to stop by and see me today?" she demanded, tendons in her hand suddenly prominent underneath her skin as she dug the nail into her already inflamed flesh.
"Akito, you're hurting yourself," he murmured, reaching out and taking her hands in his, almost having to forcibly pry them away from her body. Her fingers were chilled despite the warmth of the room. How long had she sat there waiting for him, without a coat or a blanket, letting her thoughts and emotions fester like poison until she had nearly worked herself into a fit?
Thankfully, her nail hadn't broken the skin, but a reddish-purple indentation crowned the top of the welt that resulted from scraping her easily-bruised flesh. He rubbed her hands between his, both to warm them and to soften her mood. Being angry all the time wasn't good for her health, not to mention the health of those around her.
"I didn't see you all day," she said quietly.
He kissed her fingers lightly. "I'm here now."
She sighed, tension draining out of her in a sudden rush. She scooted closer to him, and Kureno took her into his arms, sitting back and parting his legs so she could settle between them, pressing her face into the soft fabric of his pajama top. He never failed to wonder at how tiny she was, how fragile and breakable, as much in body as in mind. Akito was a cruel and intolerable woman who abused those that didn't deserve it, but she was also a lonely and sad girl who wanted a hug when she wasn't feeling well. She scorned her own femininity, but Kureno had seen her cast jealous glances at the maids' patterned silk kimonos and subtly-lacquered nails. She spoke harshly to him, but he knew it was only because she missed him when he was gone. Life at her side was much more bearable when he thought of it that way.
Kureno sighed into her soft hair, his lips touching strands that smelled of jasmine and winter. She shuddered and clutched him tighter, as if trying to disappear into him. Something must have greatly upset her today. It had to be her mother. Only the lovely visage of pure insanity that was Souma Ren could agitate her daughter to such an extent.
"Are you feeling well, Akito?" he asked, knowing of her tendency to fall ill when she became emotionally disturbed.
"No," she grumbled, still in a mood of sorts. "I'm tired."
"We should go to sleep," Kureno suggested.
"I'm not sleepy," Akito protested, even as she settled onto the blanket-laden futon, easing her feet underneath the covers. "I'm just tired."
Kureno slid into bed next to her, pulling the blankets up so they covered her slender shoulders. "We'll just lay down, then. Do you want me to turn out the lamp?"
"No, leave it on," Akito muttered with a vexed sigh as she drew the blankets tighter around herself, the rustling of the bedclothes like a symphony of whispers all around them.
"Good night, Akito," Kureno said, laying his head on the pillow next to hers and draping his arm gently over her body, feeling the sharp angle of her hipbone even through the layers of blankets. He hoped she wasn't losing weight again.
"Sing to me," she suddenly demanded.
Kureno jumped in surprise. "I don't know if I still can."
"Of course you can," she declared. "You still have a voice, don't you?"
"Yes, but..." he faltered, not wanting to mention the day the curse was broken, the day he became human, and lost the sky, his wings, and his Voice.
"Sing," she said again, and it was undeniably an order. "I want to hear your voice, Kureno. I didn't get to hear it all day."
So simple, what she was asking for, but to Kureno, the nature of the request was infinitely more meaningful. Before the curse was released, Kureno had the Voice. Perhaps it was a side effect from being possessed by the spirit of the Bird. He couldn't smell things a mile away like Shigure could, or hold his breath underwater for long periods of time like Hatori, but Kureno could sing. He could hit any note in any range despite the immaturity of his youthful vocal chords. Language was no barrier for him. He could feel the shape of the lyrics inside his head. They left impressions in his mind and heart like footprints in damp sand, filling him until they flowed off his tongue as smoothly was water.
Of course, Kureno didn't sing for just anyone. Often the head maid would drag him away from his homework to sing a squalling newborn Akito to sleep. Since Ren wouldn't come near her daughter, Akito never came to know the comforts of her mother's voice. She only knew Kureno's.
"Kureno," Akito urged.
He swallowed and wet his lips anxiously, trying to feel the song in his head. One of the latest CD's he'd bought contained a contemporary rendition of a European medieval melody. He could hear it now, the harmonious rise of the female vocals...
He began.
Foweles in þe frith
þe fisses in þe flod,
Shigure used to call him "Akito-chan's songbird." Kureno didn't mind the title. He liked singing to Akito. When the fitful two-year-old refused to go down for a nap, he would carry her out into the garden and sing Japanese folk songs softly in her ear, all the nearby birds gathering to listen as well. Akito always fell quiet at the sound of his voice, large gray eyes watching him in amazement until her eyelids finally began to close...
And I mon waxe wod.
Mulch sorwe I walke with
for beste of bon and blod.
She watched him now in the same fashion, like he was the center of her universe and all that existed was the sound of his voice. The melodies, the tune, and the lyrics, however foreign, came to him with surprising ease, and though he despaired that he no longer felt that ethereal, soaring sensation that swamped his being when he sang as the Bird of the Zodiac, he could tell from her expression that she loved what she heard. That was all that mattered. Kureno hadn't been born to sing for himself.
"More," she whispered, when the faint echoes of the melody's final note had faded into silence.
Kureno couldn't have stopped if he wanted to.
Music. He loved it all, from the nursery rhymes he learned as a child to the electronic throb of club music. Rhythm and blues imported from America. Techno mixes from Europe. Japanese pop and rock. He loved music without instruments or background vocals. There was a special soul-wrenching feeling he got from hearing naked vocals trembling and rising without any support, the singer powerfully alone as they sang their words into a void.
Of course, he also loved compositions where vocals and background music intertwined like passionate lovers, locked in a dance as enthralling and captivating as a siren's song. The sharp crescendos in the more soulful tracks made his heart swell in his chest, but there were other songs where the beauty was spread even, like the constant pressure of a gentle hand.
These songs flitted through his mind like wayward birds, lyrics and harmonies spilling from his lips to his attentive audience. Akito liked foreign-language songs. Understandable lyrics tended to distract her, interfering with the beauty of the rhythm.
Sing for me a song of life's visage
Sing for me a tune of love's mirage
Deep desires, sleep untold
Whispers that echo the desert of my soul
Native English speakers told Kureno that although his English was excellent, he spoke the language with a series of odd inflections, almost as if he were singing or chanting the words. Unsurprising. Kureno had picked up a good deal of English from the music he listened to.
My name is Ariel and I want to be free
It is your sorrow that has made a slave of me
Forgive me, forgive me
But you are all I know
Forgive me for leaving
He was grateful Akito didn't understand English.
However, he could see her eyes moisten at the amount of sadness she felt in the songs. He wondered what her reaction would be if she knew the sorrow she heard in the music was Kureno's.
I know you're tired
From the violence of the storm
I love you
I love you
But you are all I know
Forgive me
With the inquisitiveness of a child, she reached out and touched his face, as if caressing his skin would somehow allow her to grasp the grief behind the words that made Kureno want to weep. She touched him like he was something amazing and beautiful, something she feared to hold in her hands lest it break into a dozen shards. Kureno understood. He had similar thoughts when she was at her most vulnerable.
Come into these arms again
And lay your body down
The rhythm of this trembling heart
Is beating like a drum
It beats for you, it bleeds for you
It knows not how it sounds
On and on he went, until his throat felt raw and dry. He gave until he could give no more, and his voice trailed off into nothing, the whispers of the lyrics and vocals in his head growing vague and indistinct. What still remained of his unnatural gift receded until hunkered just out of reach, like a ghost in the dark.
Akito stared at him, heavy-eyed with languor. "One more, Kureno."
He brushed his knuckles across her smooth cheek, pushing away the strands of dark hair that dared to mar the sweet perfection of her pale skin. "Which one?"
"That one," she whispered, eyelashes shuttering closed over her eyes. "The one you sang to me the day he died."
He. Akira.
Kureno was surprised that Akito had mentioned it after all these years, but he knew it wasn't because the pain had grown more bearable for her. Akito was by far the most twisted, most broken of all the cursed ones. Pain was her true, constant companion. Kureno couldn't compete with it.
He began the last song.
Rock a bye baby on the tree top,
When the wind blows the cradle will rock,
When the bough breaks the cradle will fall,
And down will come baby, cradle and all