Hatori
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No word hurts more than "Goodbye."
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Dec 27, 2009 13:25:09 GMT -8
Post by Hatori on Dec 27, 2009 13:25:09 GMT -8
There is some melancholly feeling that typically goes along with being home. You never know what has happened in you leave, how it will change those you love...Jursa could only hope that Akito would have held on to the little bit of good that he had to give her, and not succumb to the darkness as she was so well praticed in doing. There was also the chance that she had thought him dead in the war, and that she had moved on to a new guy. It had taken him long to return home, though not like most people. Some people would not be returning home at all. Some had died, some had lost their soul.
He bitterly walked down the road, scarred not only by the mark upon his back, but by the number of lives he had witnessed lost. Once, he hadn't been able to tolerate a dead body. But now, he had seen and carried so many of them, most of whom who had been friends, that it hardly seemed to matter anymore. For that matter, nothing really mattered anymore. Nothing but the earth beneath his toes, and the girl who was sitting just up the stairs from where he stood. Jursa hesitated a moment, hoping that she was how he had left her. A new haircut he could tolerate but a new man? He hoped that would be something he wouldn't have to deal with.
"Akito?" The voice was so quite, he could scarely hear himself as he came closer and closer towards her room. "It...It's me...Jursa," he said, sounding a bit stronger this time, though shaken from the war and the nerves that held him back from launching himself at Akito and kissing her senseless. Perhaps that option might have to wait until later.
For now, he eagerly awaited her at the door. When he would enter, little did he know there would in fact be another man there, though not as he had feared.
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Dec 27, 2009 14:07:22 GMT -8
Post by X on Dec 27, 2009 14:07:22 GMT -8
Although it had only been a few weeks or so since the blocks D’Noir had put up in her mind had crumbled, allowing her to remember all those memories of her childhood with Dante that had been suppressed for two long years. Despite how long it had been it didn’t feel strange for her to be close to him, despite the fact that he was cursed by the spirit of the cat. He was the only one she didn’t think of as an abomination though. What she thought of Dante did not affect her opinion on Kyo or anyone else. It was a lucky thing that Ren was away at the moment. If not, she’d somehow find out Dante had been there, and Akito wasn’t sure whether D’Noir had told Ren about her own mind blocks breaking. It didn’t seem either of them knew that Dante’s had broken. But then again, they did probably know by now. So maybe there wasn’t any danger in having him over. But still, it was fortunate. There was no chance of Ren harassing her at the moment—or her younger half-brother. Although, he seemed to act more like the oldest of them most of the time. Outside, there was snow gently falling, reminding her of the first time she’d shown Dante snow. Despite how much he seemed to hate water, the snow had been a fun time. She’d shoved him into a snow bank and she’d been pelted with snowballs.
At the moment, things were silent. She wasn’t talking to him, just sitting there, quiet, glad she could enjoy the company of him. They were sitting plenty close, but they didn’t seem to be facing each other. Akito assumed Dante was drawing, again, but she couldn’t be quite sure about it. She did hear some movement from him, but it could be anything. The servants would not be suspicious—it was common for Akito to call her juunishi to see her individually, even those cursed by the cats. But only from time to time.
Then thoughts of Jursa came. Though, with so much going on—the news that D’Noir and Ren would be—*shudder*— getting married soon, something that couldn’t be good, and then there was all the normal stuff, like sickness and near-death experiences and stressing about the curse—she hadn’t gotten to think about him much. She would have almost been thankful for that. But then, not thinking about Jursa was worse than when she did think about him. No, their memories weren’t painful. In fact, they were amazing, some of the best she had. But thinking about him reminded her that he’d left. Even if he hadn’t left because he wanted to be away from her, it hurt to think he’d gone off to war, where he could have very well been killed. It would have been better if he’d stayed, but he’d up and left, and even if Jursa might have written her, she wasn’t sure, because she didn’t look at any mail addressed to her. Not to mention even if she’d seen an envelope addressed to her from him, she’d be too afraid to find something bad. After all, what if he died?
”Akito,” she heard Jursa’s voice say almost meekly, quietly. Akito jumped in shock and disbelief. She must have been imagining things! She’d just been thinking about him, that’s why she thought she heard his voice. But then it sounded again. "It...It's me...Jursa."
She almost jumped up and ran to the door, so she could throw it open and leap into his arms, but instead she kept her composure. Didn’t need to be acting like some foolish little girl, now. ”Come in,” she said. Although she’d managed to look composed, her voice sounded breathless and shocked and, well, plenty of other emotions all mixed into two little words. This would be an interesting reunion. Especially when last time she’d seen Jursa, she’d hated Dante with a passion and had wished he were dead. After all, once upon a time, he’d tried to burn down her wing of the Main House, which was why he didn’t exactly live here anymore and instead with Shigure. They were both ashamed for how they’d treated each other ever since D’Noir had put up the blocks. She wondered if Jursa had noticed the scorch marks that still tattooed the carpet and walls with black. It had happened very soon after Jursa had left, so he wouldn’t have known about it. Patiently, Akito waited for the door to open. Dante would undoubtedly see her anticipation in her posture. He was definitely observant, in that way.
[So how's that? x3]
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Hatori
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No word hurts more than "Goodbye."
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Dec 27, 2009 14:48:31 GMT -8
Post by Hatori on Dec 27, 2009 14:48:31 GMT -8
Jursa's hand lingered at the door, feeling it open before him. His hand that had rested on the knob had no where left to go, and it hovered in the air briefly as if reaching for something, until is slowly touched back to his sides like an angel returns to the sky. His silence was the loudest thing in the room, asides the flowers out the door and down below, blowing in the gentleness of the air. It was all the energy he had to stand before Akito, and slowly withdraw his hand from before him, let alone muster the skill to talk back into his mind. Ever so softly, Jursa turned his head, evaluating the room. As Akito had probably expected, he saw the scorch marks, but it had been such a long year that he wasn't entirely surprised to find that he didn't even need to ask. Stories would be flowing out their mouths soon enough, provided he could convince his mouth to do more than gawk as it seemed to enjoy doing at the moment.
And as Jursa scanned the house, from the futon to the man sitting near Akito, he savored the best for last, and slowly, almost agonizing, he glanced at the woman that had taken the breath from his lips and the heart from his always and ever throbbing chest. It was no surprise that he found the site of her to be breathtaking, for he always would no matter what life had done to appearance, as he would when her hair turned gray and the wrinkles of time over took the majority of her features. He had known he had loved her since he had met her, and while the war had done all it knew best to try and separate them, it would not work. Jursa could only hope Akito knew and might remember that no matter what happened, no matter what had burned the walls and floor of her home, he was there to protect her. Cherish her. Love her. He took a sharp breath in, trying to find words to speak.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale Exhale.
Breathe, Jursa. Breathe. It was all he could do at the moment, remind himself not to let her steal his breath factually as well as figmentively. Everything felt so hard, so difficult at times that he had to remember that it had been a whole year, and that that whole time he had been without Akito. Despite the fact that every moment she was not with him could be considered almost agony, he still felt the urge to be near her as strong as ever, and the difficulty to question what exactly had happened was a hard one to beat. He tried to find the words to say yet again, but remained painfully speechless. The questions slowly revolved around his mind as he attempted to sort through the clutter, and he looked once at Dante quizzically before glancing back over to the one who held his truest love. Had she been harming Dante? Was that why he was here? Jursa could not help but bite his lip, feeling a minor anger and the man who had once enraged Akito so much that she might occasionally scream, and his frustration grew even more as he had hoped Akito might with hold from harming people. Not that even he could deny Dante was worth the pain, for everything he had caused Akito.
But then again, the way they were looking at each other and acting around each other gave him cause to believe that perhaps they were not angry with each other, that they were in fact slightly civil. This was an unbelievable notion to him, and his puzzled expression could do naught but grow when he searched again the burned floor. Was this Dante’s fault? Then why was he sitting so calmly nearby, as if…Being at Akito’s was not unusual for him?
“Akito…What…Why is Dante here? Is everything all right?” he questioned, the hand that had previously been settled on the door clenched into a well-practiced fist, just on the protective side. He had to be sure that all was well before he lowered it, and in fear of what might happen to the girl he loved, that beautiful, wonderful girl, he kept his palm tight to his side. Jursa’s blue eyes remained shadowed in wonder, and a bit of the retrained violence that just might escape from him if that man had dared to lay hand or hatred upon Akito.
As it was, Jursa no longer knew what was expected or allowed from him. Back from the war, a veteran per say, he did not know if he could still call the girl before him his. Didn’t know if he might just be allowed to hold her hand, let alone anything else border lining love and all technicalities that came with it. And so, he was for one of the rare times with Akito, afraid. He held no idea, no notion or hint that she might accept him. No clue what to expect from Dante, nor if Akito’s heart had been battered to the point that she could no longer love him or be loved by him as he had always been with him. What of the mornings he had woken up at her house, having been a terrible cook, and make her cereal or on the rare days he felt like struggling in the kitchen, eggs and bacon in bed? What of the times he had protected her, watched over her sick form as she struggled for life on more than one occaision? What…What of the times he had loved her? It was his only wish, only hope that all of this could still exists. He missed the feel of her arms wrapped around him, the way she smiled that rare and beautiful smile when something went right. He even missed banishing Ren from her, as a man might banished the monsters from his fearful daughters’ closet. And now…Could he still do that? Could he be who he wanted to be, or was this truly to be the end as he had feared earlier today, walking up the steps to Akito’s home?
All that was left was to wait, wait for a sign, anything that she was okay. Any way to know that he could go back to being hers…That everything was going to be okay. But what if…What is it wasn’t? What if he had to forget her, move on? Of course he could never do that…But still…The questions soared his aching head.
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Dec 27, 2009 16:12:09 GMT -8
Post by Dante on Dec 27, 2009 16:12:09 GMT -8
It was nice, being back in the main house. Memories, not all kind, were soaked into the walls, and it gave him a sense of being home, something that Shigure’s just couldn’t cut. Of course, being around Akito was always nice as well; it was still hard to believe what D’Noir had done. D’Noir. Anger flashed through him for a moment, grip tightening on his pencil, before relaxing slightly, looking over and catching Akito looking at the snow. A memory flashed in front of his gaze for a moment, and a small smile flickered across his face as he looked back at the nearly full sketchpad; he was going to have to get a new one soon. ”I still can’t believe you pushed me into a snow bank.” Dante said softly, amusement dancing in his dark red eyes. Of all his memories, he would be willing to say that his childhood, the parts that he could remember anyway, were his favorite bits. Snow had been an interesting thing, and even now, he loved it, despite the fact it was frozen water. He didn’t have to swim in it, maybe that was why he didn’t mind it too much, aside from when it soaked his feet; he was never one for boots.
But…there were memories that were better off forgotten, though it was impossible. Glancing up once more, there was the constant reminder of what he had done, when he wasn’t himself. It was bad enough he had to deal with it, but having to see it every time he was able to come over here, it was a constant reminder of what he had become, of what he could become. To this day, he wasn’t certain who had been in control at that time, and it was because of that, he feared being around Akito too long. He didn’t know how long he would be able to be on the surface, Inferno was always dancing under him, waiting for the moment to escape, though it was times like these, when nothing was going on, that he was silent; a rare occurrence when it came to the explosive and without a doubt insane alter. Sighing slightly, troubled by his thoughts, Dante absently drew shapes on his pad, not too sure what this was supposed to be, but willing to go with it. Maybe he’d draw Akito something for Christmas, though he had already bought her something at one of the various stores he had visited.
The voice that called seemed to get stronger as it went on; but it was not one he knew. Like with all strangers, Dante didn’t trust the voice, and without making a noise, the cat was a gift and a curse, he put down his drawing pad, slowly reaching for something under his sweatshirt, and stepping back, until he was hidden by the shadows in the room, only his red eyes glowing in the darkness. His stance was one of protection, but also one of defense; he really didn’t like whoever it was speaking. It was only because he knew Akito’s name, seemed to be a bit, shocked really, did he pause and not step in front of Akito. It didn’t stop his eyes from narrowing though, brighter sparks flashing in them as he did so. This was something the other was interested in; fighting, bloodshed, gore. No though, he wouldn’t attack. He had more manners then that, and Akito, she seemed to be shocked as well. The voice was one of a male, maybe there was a reason he was here. Whatever the reason though, this was going to be quite the party, what with two protective people in the room, trying to protect the same person.
Akito’s reaction though, threw him off slightly. Instead of being wary, as she always was, the name of ‘Jursa’ seemed to excite her, as though this was someone she had been waiting for a long time to see. He had sensed that she was worried about something, saddened almost, and that she was hiding something from him, something that had probably popped up when they had been under D’Noir’s spell thing, but he hadn’t ever been one to pry. Maybe he was going to meet this Jursa after all, from her posture she wanted to jump into his arms like a schoolgirl, and that explained more to him than and words would ever be able too. And then, Jursa entered the room, and Dante had to fight back a wave of darkness, though it was not so much for what the man was doing, rather, it was because of what he looked like. With blonde hair and blue eyes, he was a lot like D’Noir, a shadow of the past that was all too real to Dante, especially at the moment, when the man was going to marry Ren. It was a…painful…blow to an already on the edge patience.
Watching Jursa, and watching Akito, their feelings for each other were rather obvious, strait to the fist that Jursa had clenched, and the anger that was mirrored in his eyes. Fine, he could deal with anger, anger was an old friend. Eyes still sparked with light red, though it wasn’t glowing yet, Dante stepped out from his defensive stance in one smooth movement, dropping his hand, though he was not at ease. His distrust toward Jursa was obvious, just from the coldness in his gaze, the silence of his movements. If there had once been a laughing bit in his eyes as he joked with Akito, it was gone. He was a stranger to her right now, for this was the face he wore only around others, people that he didn’t know or trust, she had always seen the warmer, open side to him. Looking Jursa over in a manner that only Dante could accomplish, it seemed to him as though he wasn’t as needed as before; seems he wouldn’t have a reason to come over and deal with Ren as he had been before. Fine. He could live with Shigure, he had been doing it for as long as D’Noir’s blocks had been up, and nobody would know his block had broken either.
”You could ask me myself. I do talk.” Dante said softly, dangerously. He wasn’t looking at Akito, but he knew that she would see what he had come to in his gaze; she was one of the few who could read beyond the mask. Stepping backwards, Dante picked up his sketchbook, never taking his red gaze from Jursa’s blue gaze. Hostile? Some would see it that way, but a greater amount would see the protective sheen to his gaze, as he glanced at Akito. ”Don’t worry about me hurting her. I do worse to myself then I would ever do to her.” That was true enough; he had gotten shot a couple days ago, and with his various scars, he had obviously had a rough bit; you wouldn’t find him complaining though. ”I am her half brother, if you must know.” In the same tone, Dante seemed as though he wanted to leave, but with Jursa in the room, it was impossible for him. If they were going to get along though, it would be best maybe if one left; otherwise, with all the protectiveness of the same person in the room that happened to be in the air, someone was going to come to blows. ”I’m sure Akito could fill you in about that though, but not in too much detail. Some things are better left silent.” Dante said with a shrug, eyes darkening. He would watch this fiasco, but once it became too mushy, he was going to leave. He couldn’t stand the mushy stuff when it came to his half sister; someday he planned on hurting Kureno for what he did, he was still just planning that.
[/blockquote]
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Dec 27, 2009 21:51:52 GMT -8
Post by X on Dec 27, 2009 21:51:52 GMT -8
As soon as Jursa entered, it seemed that the room’s temperature had dropped a couple degrees. She’d never realized just how much Jursa and D’Noir looked alike. The blonde hair. The blue eyes. The tall build, too. It was a shock, really. It didn’t bother her, but it was no wonder Dante was so tense. And it had made sense with the way he’d reacted when he’d first heard the man’s voice. He didn’t know Jursa’s voice; it was only natural for her brother to feel that way about a stranger. But the fact that none of the tension in the room had faded yet certainly bothered Akito. After all, she loved Jursa romantically more than she’d ever loved Shigure, and certainly Kureno. And Dante was her half brother. Even if she had utterly despised him for two years, that’s because she’d been blinded by the blocks D’Noir had put up in her mind; that was something that angered her to no end. She hoped they’d either learn to like each other, or at least get along. Last thing she needed was for these two to basically hate each other.
Akito managed to silence what would have been a horrible, hacking cough. She feared things may just get worse if she started coughing. They’d both worry. She glanced from Dante to Jursa, still just sitting there on the floor, beside Dante who had stood up by now. Finally, she decided she might as well rise. It felt strange, sitting while everyone around her was standing. She swayed and almost had to lean on Dante when she nearly lost her balance, but managed to stay upright by herself. There was hardly ever a day when she wasn’t sick by now. She was lucky to have Hatori around to keep her well. Though it was irritating when he’d choose to hook an IV up to her when she refused to eat. Even if it was for her well-being, she’d rather he didn’t. It bothered her too much. But she definitely had to admit, if he weren’t around, there was a possibility that she’d be dead by now. Dante too. Just not in a way that kept her healthy. Like, when they were little she’d dragged him to the ocean and then she’d been playing in the waves when one had knocked her down and swept her out. He’d gone in after her. They’d both nearly died. And then Hatori had come in. Augh, those two seemed to do a lot for her.
She’d been about to open her mouth to answer Jursa’s question when Dante spoke instead. ”You could ask me myself. I do talk.” ”Don’t worry about me hurting her. I do worse to myself then I would ever do to her.” ”I am her half brother, if you must know.” ”I’m sure Akito could fill you in about that though, but not in too much detail. Some things are better left silent.” Akito sighed. Dante was unhappy, that much was absolutely obvious. And it certainly bothered her. Though she could be horribly cruel, everyone knew Akito tended to play favorites. Some still understand how Dante could possibly be at the top. It wasn’t something she could explain, either. But it was like he was the exception when she said that all cats were abominations. She couldn’t ever say that about him. Well, she could have a few weeks ago. But not anymore. She wondered how strange this would be for Jursa. The one member of the juunishi she told him she hated most he’d now have to get accustomed to her being close to.
”Yes, yes,” Akito quietly said, ignoring all the statements but the last two. ”We are half siblings. I can’t say I was surprised when I… realized it. Because I’d known before. But then, around two years ago, someone blocked our memories of being close. Recently, an event occurred that caused the walls to break, and then we finally remembered.” That not-so-great memory played over in her head. She’d come to Shigure’s house. Ren had implied that she and Shigure had done something, so she’d been going to confront him. But he was away, along with everyone else but Dante. They’d gone to the ocean for God knows what their reason was. But she’d ended up running into Dante. Things hadn’t been good. He’d ended up losing his temper and slamming her against the wall, though he hadn’t actually hurt her. Then, before he could lose control he’d left. That had brought her memories back to the surface. She’d seen him do that before, not to her though. Ren. When he’d threatened her. So she’d chased after him, only to find he was heading toward the building he’d lived at once upon a time, before he’d gotten to the Main House. He’d gone up, fought D’Noir, and then the two had fallen out of the building. He’d started remembering things, and then D’Noir had torn the juzu beads off of Dante’s wrist. As soon as he’d hit the ground, he’d taken off. Though the night had ended okay, as in she’d finally caught up to him and they’d talked things over, the weather had not been kind to her and her body was still working at getting at least a little more well.
”Before the blocks were put up in our minds, we were actually close,” she explained. Though, it felt a little strange. Normally, she didn’t have to explain this. But Jursa would be confused, and it was best he got the basic idea. She sighed and smiled—sort of. It was more like the slightest upturn of the corners of her lips. For once, she was the one actually trying to ease the tension—something very strange, considering usually she was the cause of such an emotion. Though she was still angry with Jursa for leaving, and the worst part of her wanted to hit him. But she didn’t, because she was too happy to find that he was okay. She would start talking about how glad she was that he was back later. Along with some kissing. She wouldn’t do that in front of Dante, though. That seemed to bother him. It was probably because of the scene he’d walked in on between her and Kureno when she was about fifteen.
[FAIL! D8]
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Hatori
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Dec 28, 2009 0:40:48 GMT -8
Post by Hatori on Dec 28, 2009 0:40:48 GMT -8
It was everything Jursa could do to stay standing, as he choked down that last, bitter-sweet piece of news. They were related? By blood. It was an odd thing, how blood could tie people together, people who ought to hate each other. People who ought not to be able to tolerate each other, much less be protective of their counterpart as Dante appeared to be doing for Akito. It was a fact that Jursa was not entirely sure he found pleasing…He questioned the threads that bound them as siblings, and found himself contradicting just how they might manage to get along. How is one to live a moral and compassionate existence when one is fully aware of the blood, the horror inherent in life, when one finds darkness not only in one's culture but within oneself? And in this case, potentially in ones own sibling? Dante was dark…Then again, if there is a stage at which an individual life becomes truly adult, it must be when one grasps the irony in its unfolding and accepts responsibility for a life lived in the midst of such paradox. One must live in the middle of contradiction, because if all contradiction were eliminated at once life would collapse. There are simply no answers to some of the great pressing questions. You continue to live them out, making your life a worthy expression of leaning into the light. Perhaps Dante had begun to lean toward the light…Maybe he was now more truly an adult, despite the monster inside?
He turned his head toward the small window beside the door while he thought, non-responding while he remained ponderous and tentatively reached out to touch it, watching as his fingers made prints on the condensation that had formed on the glass. Outside, the white fog was hanging thick and damp in the air, accentuating the seasonally abnormal cold. He took in another deep breath and removed his fingers from the windowsill. He glanced down at his hand, turning it over, noting the unnatural lines of dirt that had begun to form between the creases of his knuckles and underneath the nails. He could measure the span of his life in the soft lines that indented the palm of his hands; however, time was no longer relevant to him. This day or that day had no value placed upon it, no importance. The only reason he knew to date the letters he had sent Akito as he fought long and hard in the war was because of a perennial sensation he felt not some three days past. His birthday had come and went like the rising and setting of the sun: noticed, but rarely appreciated. He wondered, absently, if he had aged greatly in these last few weeks. He reached up to touch his face, searching now for lines on his smooth alabaster skin. A black crow cawed outside, startling him from his ruminations.
He lowered his hand, frowning, and turned back to the others in the room, eyes still catching hold of the scorch marks on the floor. After a brief moment, the crowing finally subsided, and he was, once again, left to the quiet. They say silence has a way of becoming deafening if endured for too long. Deprived of human contact for little over a month, Jursa had avoided man altogether for risk of losing more people. War had a way of doing that to a man, and for an entire month Jursa had been living the life of a deaf man, while he sat alone in his rented home while away, saying nothing at all, doing naught but remembering the way the bodies bled out before they finally died. He glanced over to the window again, still unable to muster a voice. He had no idea what time it was. It was hard to tell on grey, foggy days like these. He could only guess at generalities of morning, afternoon, evening, or night. He assumed that it was close to midday as his stomach was doing somersaults in anticipation of food. He grimaced at his own predictable nature. He was Pavlov's dog in practice.
He wondered why he had stomached it for so long, why he even had an appetite. He had attempted, in vain, to starve himself, refusing to eat for the first three days of the month he hid in his room, but then hunger and desperation reared their ugly heads, and he finally gave in. Appetite and apathy took over, and he found no reason or cause for starving himself. It had been feeble and stupid of him, to even consider starving himself. He had so much to live for, if only even then he had found the courage to come home and face the broken fragments of a world full of goodness he had forgotten. He laced his fingers behind his head and resumed his staring competition with the burns. What had happened to his poor Akito’s home?
Broken and disillusioned as he might have believed himself to be, he still held a strong surge of protection for the one who could be the only happiness in his shattered world. If it hadn’t been for the hope of seeing her, Jursa would have given in to those who say that the body cannot survive without the mind. Yet how long does it take to break a man? How long? It had only been a month, but to Jursa it had begun to feel like an eternity wasted on brooding and missing her. Belligerent insanity was almost inevitable. He scowled as he remembered just how painful it could be, feeling unloved. Jursa’s upper lip twitched. He had thought he wanted a reprieve from his solitude, but he had not expected someone like Dante to be with his anchor to the communicative world. He hadn’t expected to see the vindictive and spiteful cat, full of vinegar. He smiled internally at the thought. Their conversations would be horrible because Dante seemed to trust Jursa no more than the later did himself. On the other hand, it would also be entertaining because as desperatly as Dante was trying to appear superior to him, he found that the cat could be easy to set off, and potentially despised being ignored. He could have a lot of fun with that. It would make up for his lack of entertainment for the past month. And so, grinning, he turned back on Dante.
“I did not mean to come across as though I didn’t believe you had a tongue, your grace.”Jursa mock-bowed at Dante, his expression dark.
“Forgive me for choosing to speak to someone I’ve missed very much for an entire year before opting to approach your Lordship and speak to you directly.” He let the ghost of a sneer adorn his face. He knew it was a mistake; he was just adding fuel to the fire. Old habits die hard. Again he looked to the floor while he tried to regain his composure, attempting whoel-heartedly to remember himself, who he was and how he might be able to regain the control over his own personality. With shock, Jursa realized how dark he sounded, and bitterly sighed in defeat.
“I am sorry if I seem rude to you…It’s just I spent so much time and effort protecting Akito from you only to come back and find it was for nothing. I just…I am trying to put aside all bitterness. I have seen too much this past year, more so this past month, and it will take time to return to myself.”
With a pause, Jursa closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing again. He opened his gaze, growing silent once more, his eyes gazing at nowhere in particular, although an observer might assume he was staring at the vase in front of him. Suddenly he looked older than just any normal man his age. His eyes were expressionless, but his eyebrows were set in a firm line, almost heavy – it was hard to tell whether he was raging inside, weary, or both. His own best friends from the war, Lois Radley’s death was still a mystery; although it had been announced by the Government that he had tragically committed suicide, his wife Felicity had burst out very vehemently that her husband had been murdered by the enemy, only restraining herself in time when Jursa showed up and insisted that no more reporters or any other “shifty little creatures” should interfere with the Radley affairs.
It was safe to say that yes, war had hardened him too much. Jursa’s mind kept wandering back and forth, left and right, in fact, he didn’t exactly know what he was thinking about. His feet were just dragging themselves along closer towards the couch, where he finally just gave in and collapsed. The buzz around him made by his own thoughts was only making his headache worsen exponentially. Then, with a swift motion, he got up again and strode to where Dante was standing. He didn’t know why he wanted to go there, he just felt like he should. Like everybody else in the room, he had many questions, but he didn’t know what to ask, and he didn’t know who to ask. T he emotions in him were threatening to spill out, but Jursa couldn’t figure out what they were either. Frustrated at the complexity of thoughts in his mind, and the amalgamation of all kinds of emotions within him, he increased his pace, almost running towards the wall where the nearly-invisible door was instead of Dante.
Jursa could not help himself when all of a sudden tears were flowing from his eyes and he stormed out the door, leaving it open behind him while he leaned against the railing. It was just too much, this fear that Akito wouldn’t accept him.
It was too much, being unable to control himself. Too much, trying to hide his tears from what he had seen the last year and what he had left to lose: Akito. When he was facing the sky, he felt a thrilling chill sweep through him, causing him to wrap his jacket around him closer. He could see the trees in the distance, weighed down heavily by the fall of thick snow, which was piling up on the Sohma’s grounds as well, and on his clothes and hair.
The way the snow fell, seemed to remind him of the day he first saw snow fall in summer...
“Mother! This is absolutely crazy, it’s snowing in summer!”
Jursa burst into the living room of the Firenze house, almost excitedly, but there was no one. Strange, he thought, she was here just a few minutes ago. There was a rather loud noise from above, which startled Jursa, and he leapt to his feet to run upstairs.
Along the way, he could gradually hear his mother’s voice, which was almost hysterical, shouting, “No! No! NO!!”. The incessant sobs that came after almost shattered Jursa’s heart – his mother was the world to him, why was she so upset! Who made her...
He was face-to-face with a bizarre scenario: his mother was burying herself at a mans feet, shuddering with every sob, while the man, his own Uncle stared stoically down at her.
A ball of fury unleashed in Jursa, as he flew forward to push his startled Uncle aside, yelling, “Don’t you dare touch my mother!! What did you do to her!”
“Jursa!” Uncle Tharon Firenze finally got hold of his senses as the enraged boy was pushing him nearer the window. He managed to land a hit on Jursa and the young blonde boy was flung against the wall opposite, his countenance barely concealing his rage. “Get a grip on yourself!”
“WHY IS MY MOTHER CRYING?!” demanded Jursa, his eyes wild with rage and pain, as he flew to his mother’s heaving side. “What the bloody hell did you...”
“Jursa, your father is dead.”
The air suddenly constricted his throat!
Jursa gasped.
“Jursa, Jursa!” His mother’s and Tharon’s voices were intertwined, almost melding into the background of cries, wails, pleas...
“Please!” He could almost hear his father’s pathetic voice, calling out.
“Jursa, your father was murdered by Sam Westing,” It was Uncle Tharon’s voice again, but in the darkness. “He knew a secret about Sam that he shouldn’t have got to know...”
“Please!” His father’s once-authoritative voice now reduced to a pathetic whimper. “Please...”
Jursa felt his breath freeze inside him, as he sank down into the snow, not caring that he was soaking his clothes in the ice. The voices were revolving around in his head, his mother’s cries, Tharon’s utterances, his father’s pleas...all of it was hurting his head, hurting! Jursa’s hands automatically gripped his head, as he closed his eyes tightly, willing everything to change within one second. But he could still feel the cold of the ice, causing him to shiver and shudder. He wasn’t sure whether it was really the cold, or the pain inside him.
His father was never the most kindly man on earth. In fact, Jursa hated him to the core. He was always away, attending to matters with the war, matters against the family enemy, Sam Westing, leaving Jursa and his mother by themselves most of the time. Whenever he returned, he would expound on his expectations for Jursa to be top in everything in life, to be kind to absolutely everyone and cause himself pain when he hurt people, to be a strong and powerful man in the ways of all things right. But now that he was dead, Jursa found himself staring into the eyes of his father, imagining their stern gaze to be wiltered into a pleading one, and found his heart bleeding just to think of it. Despite hating him, Jursa had to admit he respected his father for being a loyal man, and how he always thought of Jursa first, ensuring that he would have an advantage in everything from young. He knew that it was because of his father’s teachings that he had blossomed into an intelligent and sharp man. It was because of his father that there ever was a Jursa Firenze.
It was then that he remembered where and who he was…He was supposed to be nice, not laying in the snow outside of Akito’s house, wallowing in his self pity. He stood up, ignoring the chill and cold around him.
“I...I’m so sorry I just… I can’t control myself sometimes. I’ve been through too much it’s…It’s a curse of my own that you will never be able to understand.”
His eyes started to regain light, and he closed them again before offering out his hand to Dante.
“I apologize for my childish display. It will not happen again. My enemy Sam is dead and I ought not to be brooding. I should be in the house, celebrating the return of Akito’s lover, and the return of the half brother she always deserved. I trust two people as protective as us may as well be on the same side, eh?”
He smiled lightly, before blushing a bit.
“I really can be a bit stupid at times. It drives me crazy. I’m lucky I can get a girl like your sister to stick around, hm? But you can trust be not to hurt her. I did alright before you were here for her, and I will do alright while you’re here.”
Jursa turned his smile back to Akito, voice husky.
“Don’t think I have forgotten you, Akito. I’m only alive today because inadvertently, you protected me. I knew I had a reason to get out of that war alive. And…Well…I missed you.”
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Dec 28, 2009 2:28:05 GMT -8
Post by X on Dec 28, 2009 2:28:05 GMT -8
Akito visibly stiffened when Jursa reacted to Dante’s words. Never… she’d never heard him talk like that. Well, maybe to Ren, but never to someone she was close to. Sure, maybe it was justified in some ways, but it angered her to hear such words said to her half brother. Her fists had clenched, but were hidden. But anyone who was paying attention would see how rigid she’d gone. She’d been about to lose her temper and control and say something that might just sting to Jursa without really thinking when he apologized, and somehow she calmed down a little. The way Jursa was acting—probably how the war had affected him—almost made Akito want to cry, just because things were stressful right now. Ren and D’Noir… Illness… and now the possibility that Dante and Jursa may not easily get along. Although it wasn’t the most important thing, she just wished that Dante would stop being distrustful and Jursa would calm down. But that was selfish of her, though she wouldn’t admit that to herself. She couldn’t blame Dante for not trusting the older man. And she couldn’t blame Jursa for not having the greatest temper. It would probably pass later on, anyway. Jursa was still himself, if not a little different.
As Jursa shuffled over to the couch, looking weary and more than unhappy, Akito half reached out, and hesitated. For once, he looked like the one who might break, not her. He didn’t look fragile. It was just… something about Jursa. She was shocked when he suddenly got up and nearly ran for the door. Then the tears started coming from his eyes, and she felt her own widen in absolute disbelief. She’d never seen him shed tears around her. Not that she could recall. Her hands clenched once more, clutching the fabric of her male’s yukata in frustration, because she had no idea why he was crying. She had no idea what he was thinking. There was no way for her to possibly get him to calm down, possibly help him. Tears almost sprung into her own eyes, but she blinked them away before they could really be noticed.
This should have been a happy time. She should have been overjoyed that Jursa—her Jursa had returned, glad that something hadn’t killed him. But it was hard to be happy right now. After all, Jursa was crying, and Dante was obviously irritated and upset in several other ways—to say the least. Akito continued to keep her fists clenched tight, glad that for once the cloth of her yukata was in the way so it would be difficult to accidentally dig her sharp finger nails into her palms and cause bleeding. She walked until she got to the doorway, again feeling that she couldn’t get near him, that she might make whatever grief he was feeling even worse. ”Stop crying,” she mumbled low under her breath pleadingly. Though he would likely not hear her, she said it anyway. She grit her teeth, tears coming again. Though she was obviously not the one who seemed to be tormented by thoughts at the very moment, she knew how to cry for others. Honestly, she wasn’t as bad as some might say. Okay, well, she could be to most people. But not to these particular two.
She watched as Jursa collapsed into the snow past the porch, and it took all her strength to restrain herself from flinging herself at him and trying to find a way to make him stop being so upset. She wanted to kiss him and hold him, even if it meant lying in the freezing snow, something she was not dressed for. All she wore were the linens wrapped tightly around her torso, a thin yukata over that, and that was basically all she had to keep warm. But going out in the cold like that was no stranger to her.
How relieved she was when he seemed to finally stop his crying and come back inside. When he finally gave a smile—a real smile, the one that actually caused her heart to quicken like some stupid girl with a huge crush on a boy—she ended up calming down as well. She looked away when he said how lucky he was to have her. Obviously, she disagreed. No matter how highly she pretended to hold herself, she really just hated herself, something that would take a lot of work to change. The girl watched with something close to a ghost of hope as Jursa smiled at Dante. She knew that it was likely that Dante would never be able to fully trust Jursa, but she hoped they could get along. It would make her glad. Even if loving Jursa was pointless. After all, she’d be dying soon. That would put him through too much pain than she could bear to give him.
She finally really met Jursa’s eyes when he looked at her once more. They weren’t a cold, icy blue like D’Noir’s; instead they were thankfully warm and they belonged to him and couldn’t be compared to anyone else’s. ”I… I missed you, too,” she said, voice cracking a little thanks to a sore throat. She sighed and, since he was close enough, laid his head against his chest, willing him to put his arms around her. Oh, please, please, please. She just wanted to feel it again, feel him holding her. She hadn’t felt it for a year now, and it was impossible to describe just how much she’d missed him. She hoped her being so close to Jursa wouldn’t make Dante feel too uncomfortable. Hm. It seemed she was notably more considerate around these two than around plenty others.
[EPIC fail. I'm sorry. Forgive me. XD]
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Dec 28, 2009 11:01:25 GMT -8
Post by Dante on Dec 28, 2009 11:01:25 GMT -8
Oh, there was a hate in the cold blue eyes of so called Jursa. Those familiar cold eyes, that lean build, the hair, matched with the fact that he had just had a run in with the monster who looked alike; could we not say that was like a slap in the face for Dante? This was an enemy though that he couldn’t fight though, Akito had made it that way. He could see that she loved him, and it was because of that in which he didn’t do anything to the other man; still though, self control was hard to come by. Good thing he was used to seeing the hate in people’s gazes, used to see the distrust, used to seeing their disgusted gazes as they looked at up. Nobody seemed to care if that may or may not affect him, and in ways, he supposed it did. After all, why would one want to be social when they were so sure that they were going to be hated upon sight? But if this one wanted to play with fire, then he wasn’t going to stay down. Maybe once he would have been more so calm, once everyone settled down, but that ship was long gone.
Leaning back, Dante simply watched; manner as cold as the snow outside, silent as usual. The tension in the air was pretty much crackling, something was going to break, and he didn’t plan to be the one to break. To leave, maybe, yes. He wasn’t going to go to blows with this man; he just wasn’t worth it. Absently, some part of Dante noted that with his anger, thoughts that were not necessarily his own seemed to bleed into his mind. They weren’t exactly thoughts though, more like general feelings. Hate, anger, the frustration when Dante wasn’t going to go and hit the other man, all wrapped up in one tight bundle, a mind bomb if you wanted to use that analogy. Despite the rollercoaster of dark thoughts within him, Dante’s expression, aside from the dancing bits of light red in his dark gaze, was as still as a statue, and just as cold. He had moved from his simply normal expression to the one he took on when he was dealing with someone he didn’t like. Mostly when it came to D’Noir; how fitting it was really. Maybe there was a connection, a dark part of his mind whispered.
Was anything from his mind not dark though? It had always been that way, sure there were times when he seemed almost normal, just before Jursa had entered for example, he had been light, smiling ever so faintly, and grinning at the faint memory that Akito had brought up. It was times like that which he clung to; knowing in moments like those that he wasn’t insane; no insane person would be able to have a good time like that. There were a few fears of which Dante had, but probably the worst was the fact he had no idea if he was insane, or sane. Or if he was actually going insane, he just couldn’t allow it. He had too much work to do to be insane; he had to protect Akito from Ren and D’Noir. After that, he could go insane all he wanted, his job would have been done. Insanity would only be a hindrance for him when he went off to do that, laughing at the walls in the middle of the night wasn’t exactly the most…exciting, option that he had after all. Besides, he never laughed, it was always his other, never himself. Even in their childhood memories, he had never laughed, just softly chuckled occasionally.
It was always the scorch marks that they stared at; a constant reminder of what had happened when he wasn’t himself. Why must those scars torment him as well? The time had come and gone a long time ago, and it didn’t help that Akito had never gotten the woodwork fixed up. It was like a train wreck really; you couldn’t look away, despite the fact that you really, really wanted too. And as he watched the posture of the other man, it was obvious, as obvious as when he had been looking him in the cold blue eyes, that he hated Dante as much as Dante hated one of his enemies, which this man was quickly becoming one of those; and it wouldn’t be long until he would probably run into him once more, something that if things continued going this way, that would not end well, for either of them. It was only for now, only because Akito so obviously cared for the blonde man, did he choose to stay silent, though he wanted to do something; hate was a powerful emotion that spread like a sponge in water. There was no way for anyone not to feel the emotion in the room.
The grin on the other man’s face was something that Dante disliked immediately, though it didn’t show. Many people made assumptions about him before even speaking to him, mostly from his various scars running through his hands, and up and down his pale skin along his arms; those were faint. He had worse scars on his torso and back, things that would horrify most people. The worst part, he didn’t even know how he had gotten most of them; they had always been there, even in his first memory. It was a part of his past that was before he had even met Akito, something similar to a dark cloud really, in his mind he could only see, or feel rather, a block, much like he had felt when he hadn’t had any memories of Akito. He knew, who had done this to him, and maybe that was part of the reason he was hunting D’Noir, the man that he was son of, torturer of his mind, so much harder than he was hunting Ren, who was pretty much where he thought she was going to be, nowhere near as elusive as D’Noir, thankfully.
”Please. I am nothing to you as I am nothing to everyone else. After all, I’m not even of the zodiac, am I? Nothing but a hideous monster that is to be ridiculed, acting as though there is nothing there. I applaud your bravery; most would have simply walked away, not wanting to deal with the monster. You see, even without the beads, people still think monster as soon as they see me. Good to see you are in that crowd.” Dante said coolly, watching Jursa. Oh yes, everyone thought him to be a monster, he knew that. It’s because that was what he was, a monster. An abomination, something that shouldn’t be allowed the walk to earth, and not because of his curse, but just because of not who, but what he was. It was one of his greatest faults, Dante’s belief that he was nothing but a monster, something that needed to be wiped off the face of the earth; probably why he was constantly putting himself in danger, because he simply thought that he didn’t belong, anywhere. It bothered Akito, obviously, but it wasn’t as though it was something she could change with a snap of her fingers.
And people like Jursa really didn’t help things either. Watching Jursa, there was nothing in his gaze, nothing but hate in his gaze, but aside from that, Dante might as well have been a statue on the porch for all the emotion he was giving off. Going cold, it was something that he had learned a long time ago, when it was either go cold or go insane and loose whatever you have left of yourself. He didn’t remember what had happened to him, no, but he could explain why he acted the way he did sometimes. This time, he was cold, and if he was correct in his guessing, it was because if he wasn’t cold, he was going to hit someone, or something. He had already done enough here, with the scars of the past to torment him, he didn’t need to add to that. But in order to do that, he knew that he should probably leave. But, he wasn’t going to, not without at least some dignity. He may be a cat, he may be an abomination, a monster if you wanted to call him that, but he did have pride in his actions. When it came to protecting Akito of course.
But did she really need protection here? The man seemed to be sincere, for the most part, and he had seen Akito’s gaze when she had first heard his voice, the joy in it. He was probably, as usual, just being the dark spot on an otherwise sunny day; something that he seemed to be good at. It seemed as though the spirit of the exiled cat fit him in more ways than he had first thought. How ironic; though these thoughts were not going to go anywhere good. It would be best if he kept his mind blank, but was that possible? He had never been able to silence his inner thoughts, no matter how hard he always tried too. It was a constant battle, one that would never end, he was always fighting himself. He didn’t know the difference between himself and his other some days; he didn’t know what silence in the mind was like. Who is to say that he had a reason to be a dark spot? He didn’t know himself as well as other people knew themselves, instead, he only knew what a bad day was, and what a good day was.
”Worse has been said.” Dante said, tone blank, as he leaned back against the wall, looking cold still; it was better this was. If he was to be reserved, then maybe there wouldn’t have to be a fist fight over trying to protect the same person. In truth, Dante really wasn’t up to a fight right now, he was trying to gather up all the things he would need to try and go hunting on the banquet, since he was obviously not going to be attending. After all, as he had said, the cat wasn’t in the zodiac; therefore, they weren’t allowed to celebrate as everyone else was with the turning of the year. They had no year. Maybe it was because they were what they were, that all cats seemed to be so bitter, and angry, all the time. It was a constant fight against the world, trying to be something that you weren’t, trying to fight what fate had left for you, the remnants of all the good stuff that everyone else had gotten. It was like a Christmas where the only gifts that they had forgotten to buy was yours.
As the man collapsed on the couch, Dante’s posture loosened slightly, but not for long, as within moments, the man got up, and began to stride toward him. There was a lot of different emotion in his gaze, things that were only quick glimpses here and there, things that maybe would have interested the dark cat, but now, he was too busy being on the defensive. Standing up, he watched Jursa, eyes narrowed, and it seemed right at the last moment, the other man turned, and went for the door. He wasn’t simply striding to the door now, it was almost as though he was running, trying to escape something. Trying to escape, something that Dante knew very well what it felt like. Maybe his experiences were different from Jursa’s though, that he was willing to bet. However, trying to escape something, was still trying to escape something, and as soon as Jursa was out the door, Dante’s gaze seemed to be slightly less narrow, though he wouldn’t look at Akito. Instead, he walked over to where the coat rack was, and grabbed his jacket. Nothing much could keep him here, and besides, he had seen the longing in Akito’s eyes. He was nothing but an intruder here right now.
Wasn’t that all he ever was though? Maybe it was time that he stopped living with Shigure, he found his own place to live. That way, he could be as he was supposed to be. He was in his own self hate right now he knew, but he needed the distraction. And self hate was something that he was able to deal with, everything else here was as though it was a rollercoaster of bad. Maybe things had just started off wrong, it was hard to tell. And then the fact that Akito was who they were both trying to protect, that wasn’t good either. Yes, things had started off bad, Dante knew, but again, that was just typical of him being him. He had a curse, two it seemed, one of the cat, one of bad luck. Watch, on the way back to where he was living, he was probably going to either get hit, or hit someone. It was just the way this day was pointing too. He hoped not though; getting guts off the bike wasn’t going to be a pleasant job, and not one he wanted to attempt really.
He watched as Akito ran out there, and looked away. Snow; he remembered his first snowfall as well as the rest of them. That had been marked with memory, it seemed as though this day was going to be pretty much the same. Of course, that was the way it usually was; everything he remembered had to have had something happen, it couldn’t just be a good memory. Not anymore anyhow. Why was that? Why must everything be marked by darkness? It was a constant thing with him, and no matter how hard he fought, it seemed as though there was no way he would ever be able to fully put it away, just like a bad sweater you’d rather forget, but know that you’ll never be able too. Hand tightening into a fist, Dante felt his pencil snap, sharp edges driving into his palm, and he forced himself to unclench his hands, stuffing the pencil in his pocket. Sharp edges were not a good idea; it had only been out of luck, for once good, that he hadn’t cut his palm with the breaking of his pencil; absently he noted that he was going to have to buy another one soon, he was down to his last pack. Why must he always break his pencils?
And then, the man called Jursa came back into the house. Dante was back where he had been when the man had left; leaning against the wall, simply watching, not acting unless spoken too. Some thought his attitude to be superior to everyone, but that was the last thing Dante ever felt about himself. If anyone knew how he valued himself, how he thought himself to be nothing but something lower than the dirt on one’s shoes, then maybe they would get a faint understanding about the madness, that was contained for now, that was constantly streaming through his mind. Having voices in your head, did that make you schizophrenic? Or did it count if you had a mentally insane alter ego who could appear pretty much any time that he chose too? Paired up with possible amnesia, not being able to remember anything past meeting Akito, and you had a lovely mess up there, didn’t you? You are born with a spark, but you never know how long that spark was going to burn, or when it was going to flare out.
There was a different light in the man’s eyes now, as he returned. It was brighter, and whatever dark cloud that had been following him seemed to have left, though Dante didn’t relax anymore then he had been before, though he didn’t give off an air that was as hostile as it had been before. ”Huh, I can say I understand the control part.” Dante muttered softly, knowing that his eyes were still flecked with light red; the flecks weren’t glowing as strongly as before though. With the apology, Inferno was bored, there was going to be no bloodshed here, he roused himself for no reason. Dante didn’t know why he still stuck around, things like this usually drove him back, into the shadows of his mind, but there was no fighting mentally right now, maybe he was just sticking around for the display. After all, what was not better then bloodshed, but still acceptable? A good show of course! Something that Dante wasn’t going to rise too, or maybe the expression was fall too, it was hard to say. Watching Jursa for a moment, Dante stood up from the wall, and accepted the handshake. ”My own behavior was not at the best either. You are lucky, your enemy is dead.” Dante said quietly, red eyes still on Jursa’s blue ones. ”You’d better, because if you hurt her, I’ll have to track you down too.” There was a touch of humor in Dante’s tone, but the threat was serious. It would be better if the two were on the same side, yes, but that didn’t mean they were going to be best friends. However…for now, Dante would tolerate the other man. After all, if it kept Ren away from Akito, he supposed it was all good. Observing the interaction between Akito and her lover, it was rather obviously, time for him to leave. He wasn’t pleasant to be around with Akito when things started to get all touchy; it brought back bad memories of what he had once accidentally walked in on.
”I’ll be off.” He said, walking for the door. As he got to the frame though, he paused, thinking about something. He was going to trust Akito not to give out the details of what battle he was fighting, but he had to tell her something before he left. She would get it. ”Akito. On the New Years banquet, make sure your zodiac is all there, the ones allowed to come. I’m going to go hunting for him. I doubt I’ll find him, but if I do, there will without a doubt be a fight. I don’t want anyone getting hurt that doesn’t deserve it.” And with that, Dante exited, knowing that she wasn’t going to be happy about that. But if he could get to the beast, then maybe he would be able to stop the wedding, and with that, maybe the whole fiasco.
At least, one could try. [/blockquote]
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