And now...cranky eight year olds!
May. 24th, 2005 08:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
moonsheenIt was too good to pass up.
Nothing had stopped the heir from crossing his arms and raising his heels as high as possible when the guests arrived. He was eight at the time and ugly as any infant bird, with his thin limbs, large eyes, and hair sticking out at all ends. In four years his parents would both die horribly and leave him leader of his clan, but at that particular moment he’d been kicking his feet next to his mother—a woman who seemed made up of nothing but sinew and bone and the ink in her tattoos as she gave her greetings with a throaty laugh and bid the then-Lord Kuchiki for a word out back. “Awfully stuffy in here, isn’t it? …you two play nice.” She’d really had the most obnoxious voice.
The boy next to her had grinned so wide it was possible to count each of his teeth and the gap of a molar.
This was Byakuya’s earliest memory of Shiba Kaien.
….Shiba Kaien, who’d rocked himself up, hopped over, and said, eyes fixed in a suspicious squint: “I think they want you to marry my sister.” He leaned close. “You gonna marry my sister?”
The boy’s breath had reeked, and his manner of speaking was harsh and unfamiliar, but the seven-year-old Byakuya could still see the outline of his father departing and so he stood his ground. “…no.”
The Shiba’s son had cocked his head. “Why not? She’s cute.”
“…what?”
“She is! She’s getting bigger too, mum says—what does mum say? Mum says she’ll be a “a real looker” when she grows up! …I don’t actually want you to marry her.” A hand fell on Byakuya’s shoulder. “Hiya.”
“Hello.”
“Nice meet to you?”
“Ah…”
“You don’t talk a lot do you?”
“What?”
“And you say ‘what’ a lot, don’t you?”
The hand was curling tighter, and Byakuya, beginning to understand the value of a tactical retreat, shuffled back an inch or two. “I…” he said carefully. “I think that you--”
“Bet you say that a lot too.”
Byakuya stared.
Kaien stared back.
Then he leaned in and poked him in the cheek. “…wow,” he said, with a whistle. “You. You have really big eyes.”
This was an indignity that could not be forgiven, and Byakuya pulled his head away and glared crossly. “That…has nothing to do with anything.”
“Oh!” The Shiba’s eyes had only glowed eagerly. “So you do talk!”
That had been enough. “I’m going to find my father now,” he began, and started to do just that, but a hand caught him at the chest and pushed him back.
“Why? Mum said ‘Play nice’! So we should play.” Receiving nothing but a blank stare, Kaien saw fit to elaborate: “You spin tops? …no? How ‘bout firecrackers? Guess not huh—oh what about--”
What followed was a listing of not only a good fraction of all games in existence, but very specifically all those that no respectful heir to any house of purported greatness should have ever considered. Shiba Kaien went over it quite animatedly, and with disturbing familiarity. Even his expressions seemed to Byakuya utterly foreign and inappropriate. He spoke too much. He spoke with too much.
“Oh oh oh Mahjong-! No? Tell me you don’t study all the time. That’s—you do kendo?”
At this, Byakuya raised his eyes: “…yes.”
Kaien rambled about a second more before the words sunk in: “…ah? That so?” He grinned again. “Me too! So let’s--”
“…we can’t do that though.”
“Eh?”
Byakuya closed his eyes matter-of-factly. “My father would not like it if I hurt you.”
The words were supposed to give more of an impression than they did—Kaien simply stayed frozen in the step he’d been in the process of making and then he crowed—obnoxiously, he had his mother’s laugh-- came back and slapped Byakuya across the back. Byakuya nearly stumbled: he was not used to being handled in this way.
He looked up, half bent over, to find the Shiba heir’s head hanging over his shoulder. One really could count the teeth in that grin. “…no seriously,” said Shiba Kaien, voice rolling with his chuckle. “Let’s go.”
Nothing had stopped the heir from crossing his arms and raising his heels as high as possible when the guests arrived. He was eight at the time and ugly as any infant bird, with his thin limbs, large eyes, and hair sticking out at all ends. In four years his parents would both die horribly and leave him leader of his clan, but at that particular moment he’d been kicking his feet next to his mother—a woman who seemed made up of nothing but sinew and bone and the ink in her tattoos as she gave her greetings with a throaty laugh and bid the then-Lord Kuchiki for a word out back. “Awfully stuffy in here, isn’t it? …you two play nice.” She’d really had the most obnoxious voice.
The boy next to her had grinned so wide it was possible to count each of his teeth and the gap of a molar.
This was Byakuya’s earliest memory of Shiba Kaien.
….Shiba Kaien, who’d rocked himself up, hopped over, and said, eyes fixed in a suspicious squint: “I think they want you to marry my sister.” He leaned close. “You gonna marry my sister?”
The boy’s breath had reeked, and his manner of speaking was harsh and unfamiliar, but the seven-year-old Byakuya could still see the outline of his father departing and so he stood his ground. “…no.”
The Shiba’s son had cocked his head. “Why not? She’s cute.”
“…what?”
“She is! She’s getting bigger too, mum says—what does mum say? Mum says she’ll be a “a real looker” when she grows up! …I don’t actually want you to marry her.” A hand fell on Byakuya’s shoulder. “Hiya.”
“Hello.”
“Nice meet to you?”
“Ah…”
“You don’t talk a lot do you?”
“What?”
“And you say ‘what’ a lot, don’t you?”
The hand was curling tighter, and Byakuya, beginning to understand the value of a tactical retreat, shuffled back an inch or two. “I…” he said carefully. “I think that you--”
“Bet you say that a lot too.”
Byakuya stared.
Kaien stared back.
Then he leaned in and poked him in the cheek. “…wow,” he said, with a whistle. “You. You have really big eyes.”
This was an indignity that could not be forgiven, and Byakuya pulled his head away and glared crossly. “That…has nothing to do with anything.”
“Oh!” The Shiba’s eyes had only glowed eagerly. “So you do talk!”
That had been enough. “I’m going to find my father now,” he began, and started to do just that, but a hand caught him at the chest and pushed him back.
“Why? Mum said ‘Play nice’! So we should play.” Receiving nothing but a blank stare, Kaien saw fit to elaborate: “You spin tops? …no? How ‘bout firecrackers? Guess not huh—oh what about--”
What followed was a listing of not only a good fraction of all games in existence, but very specifically all those that no respectful heir to any house of purported greatness should have ever considered. Shiba Kaien went over it quite animatedly, and with disturbing familiarity. Even his expressions seemed to Byakuya utterly foreign and inappropriate. He spoke too much. He spoke with too much.
“Oh oh oh Mahjong-! No? Tell me you don’t study all the time. That’s—you do kendo?”
At this, Byakuya raised his eyes: “…yes.”
Kaien rambled about a second more before the words sunk in: “…ah? That so?” He grinned again. “Me too! So let’s--”
“…we can’t do that though.”
“Eh?”
Byakuya closed his eyes matter-of-factly. “My father would not like it if I hurt you.”
The words were supposed to give more of an impression than they did—Kaien simply stayed frozen in the step he’d been in the process of making and then he crowed—obnoxiously, he had his mother’s laugh-- came back and slapped Byakuya across the back. Byakuya nearly stumbled: he was not used to being handled in this way.
He looked up, half bent over, to find the Shiba heir’s head hanging over his shoulder. One really could count the teeth in that grin. “…no seriously,” said Shiba Kaien, voice rolling with his chuckle. “Let’s go.”
(no subject)
Date: 2005-05-25 01:03 am (UTC)