Rooted
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*Here,* said the brittle fingers that plucked imploringly at his clothes and snapped, crumbling into the thick grey dust that enshrouded the land he remembered as verdant forest. *These are our bones; here is where we died, and here where we lie is naught but barren ground, unfit even for our seeds. We were loved once, and valued allies, look what has become of us. Go away,* whispered the dead, *there is nothing for you here.*
Irritable, he shook the dust off and cast his vision further afield through his third eye, refusing to be distracted from his goal by the fleeting emotion like... deja vu? No, this search was nothing like the other, that desperate quest for his lost sister which had driven him to bargain with Shigure for the evil eye. This time, it was his object who had hidden himself away and refused to be found.
*Go away, go away, go away,* the wind mourned.
Somewhere on this wracked plain was a tiny hut, silent and dark as all the land around. Would his target be there? It seemed far too obvious. Cold stars twinkled above him, creating the illusion of movement; the closest thing to life there was to be seen.
He found his way there and hesitated momentarily at the darkened window, foolishly nostalgic, before he moved on and knocked on the door. There was no answer, as he had expected. Never one for much patience, he let himself in. Yes. There was in the corner a shadowy form, a great creature made small by the cramped space and dark, who had towered over Hiei and laughed to see him so touchy about his size.
"Kurama," he growled, seeing that the fox-demon had made no move to acknowledge his presence. Was he even alive still? The darkness-- He didn't trust his temper or the dry wood of the shack enough to start a light with his power. Instead, he fumbled in his cloak for the light-globe Mukuro had given him. It was far too bright, blinding him with its glare and wantonly spilling its light outside, where there was nothing to benefit by it. His liege-lady liked her toys.
The white spots before his eyes faded, allowing Hiei to see the fox-demon seated before an incongruous battered folding table of clearly human origin, shading his eyes, which glowed golden in the reflected glare from the globe. The harsh fluorescence bleached the life from Kurama's pale skin, gleamed in the long silver hair, and etched harsh shadows into the sharp planes of his face.
This true form was not the one he was accustomed to, nor was it one either of them liked.
"Are you out of your mind?" He might have said more. Instead, he glared around the small room in disgust, taking in the uncharacteristic clutter of mostly human artefacts.
"I did consider the possibility," said Kurama calmly. "A hormonal imbalance, a human ailment of some sort. I changed back to this form, as you can see. But it was all myself." The fox-demon smiled then, a gentle, weary smile more suited to the delicate prettiness of his human face.
He'd seen such an expression once before, early in their acquaintance. It chilled him more than the cold cruelty the demon form could be capable of, and he wanted to-- to *do* something. To shake some sense into the fool. "A human, with a lifespan counted in decades. Damn it, Kurama," he burst out, frustrated. "She injured herself on your account once and you want to die for her twice? She is *dead*. Do you think you can bring her back by burying yourself out here, defenceless?"
Kurama looked surprised, even a little taken aback by his anger, as if it had been unexpected, or he had expect some other complaint. Then he shook his head, bemused, and stared into the blinding light. "I'd forgotten about that," he remarked, and Hiei could almost believe it, except that Kurama *had* made the trade with the Mirror of Darkness, his life for his human mother's, and lived today only because Yusuke had thrown himself into the mix on nothing more than characteristic thoughtless impulse, offering half of his own life. Occasionally Hiei still found himself half-amazed that both of them were still alive, and resented them bitterly for it. But Kurama was still speaking, explaining to the light, so Hiei shook himself from his dark thoughts and listened. "I came here because I couldn't trust myself."
"What?"
The grimace might have been a smile. "I could have kept Shiori alive forever, and she would never have known. She would lived in a happy dream." The words came out haltingly, hushed and ashamed. "I wanted to."
He could. Hiei knew the plants Kurama would use for that, having seen them used for less confused purposes; justice of a sort, and a gift he had asked for Mukuro. Thought of the thousand years the fox-demon had already lived, and other short-lived human friends. Of himself, and his many brushes with death. The golden eyes watched him coldly, awaiting his response, or judgement. *Fool,* he thought, uncertain who he meant, and deliberately took his hand off the hilt of his sword. "Hn."
"You should leave," said Kurama, and seemed sincerely unhappy.
It was disquieting, to recognise the familiar look on an unfamiliar face, but the strangeness grew less, as he began to recollect flashes, incidents, when qualities he'd associated with one form were apparent in the other. He could become accustomed to the idea that the spirit that animated the demon form was the same as that in the human form. If only Kurama could. He found himself... annoyed. "You have an overly nice conscience. Fix whatever you did to the forest. It's a sorry sight."
Wide-eyed with surprise now, a very human look that he began to like on the inhuman features. "What?"
"Sometimes," he said calmly, "I think of killing Yukina's idiot husband. Sometimes. Let's go."
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Comments, complaints, cowpats all welcome.
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*Here,* said the brittle fingers that plucked imploringly at his clothes and snapped, crumbling into the thick grey dust that enshrouded the land he remembered as verdant forest. *These are our bones; here is where we died, and here where we lie is naught but barren ground, unfit even for our seeds. We were loved once, and valued allies, look what has become of us. Go away,* whispered the dead, *there is nothing for you here.*
Irritable, he shook the dust off and cast his vision further afield through his third eye, refusing to be distracted from his goal by the fleeting emotion like... deja vu? No, this search was nothing like the other, that desperate quest for his lost sister which had driven him to bargain with Shigure for the evil eye. This time, it was his object who had hidden himself away and refused to be found.
*Go away, go away, go away,* the wind mourned.
Somewhere on this wracked plain was a tiny hut, silent and dark as all the land around. Would his target be there? It seemed far too obvious. Cold stars twinkled above him, creating the illusion of movement; the closest thing to life there was to be seen.
He found his way there and hesitated momentarily at the darkened window, foolishly nostalgic, before he moved on and knocked on the door. There was no answer, as he had expected. Never one for much patience, he let himself in. Yes. There was in the corner a shadowy form, a great creature made small by the cramped space and dark, who had towered over Hiei and laughed to see him so touchy about his size.
"Kurama," he growled, seeing that the fox-demon had made no move to acknowledge his presence. Was he even alive still? The darkness-- He didn't trust his temper or the dry wood of the shack enough to start a light with his power. Instead, he fumbled in his cloak for the light-globe Mukuro had given him. It was far too bright, blinding him with its glare and wantonly spilling its light outside, where there was nothing to benefit by it. His liege-lady liked her toys.
The white spots before his eyes faded, allowing Hiei to see the fox-demon seated before an incongruous battered folding table of clearly human origin, shading his eyes, which glowed golden in the reflected glare from the globe. The harsh fluorescence bleached the life from Kurama's pale skin, gleamed in the long silver hair, and etched harsh shadows into the sharp planes of his face.
This true form was not the one he was accustomed to, nor was it one either of them liked.
"Are you out of your mind?" He might have said more. Instead, he glared around the small room in disgust, taking in the uncharacteristic clutter of mostly human artefacts.
"I did consider the possibility," said Kurama calmly. "A hormonal imbalance, a human ailment of some sort. I changed back to this form, as you can see. But it was all myself." The fox-demon smiled then, a gentle, weary smile more suited to the delicate prettiness of his human face.
He'd seen such an expression once before, early in their acquaintance. It chilled him more than the cold cruelty the demon form could be capable of, and he wanted to-- to *do* something. To shake some sense into the fool. "A human, with a lifespan counted in decades. Damn it, Kurama," he burst out, frustrated. "She injured herself on your account once and you want to die for her twice? She is *dead*. Do you think you can bring her back by burying yourself out here, defenceless?"
Kurama looked surprised, even a little taken aback by his anger, as if it had been unexpected, or he had expect some other complaint. Then he shook his head, bemused, and stared into the blinding light. "I'd forgotten about that," he remarked, and Hiei could almost believe it, except that Kurama *had* made the trade with the Mirror of Darkness, his life for his human mother's, and lived today only because Yusuke had thrown himself into the mix on nothing more than characteristic thoughtless impulse, offering half of his own life. Occasionally Hiei still found himself half-amazed that both of them were still alive, and resented them bitterly for it. But Kurama was still speaking, explaining to the light, so Hiei shook himself from his dark thoughts and listened. "I came here because I couldn't trust myself."
"What?"
The grimace might have been a smile. "I could have kept Shiori alive forever, and she would never have known. She would lived in a happy dream." The words came out haltingly, hushed and ashamed. "I wanted to."
He could. Hiei knew the plants Kurama would use for that, having seen them used for less confused purposes; justice of a sort, and a gift he had asked for Mukuro. Thought of the thousand years the fox-demon had already lived, and other short-lived human friends. Of himself, and his many brushes with death. The golden eyes watched him coldly, awaiting his response, or judgement. *Fool,* he thought, uncertain who he meant, and deliberately took his hand off the hilt of his sword. "Hn."
"You should leave," said Kurama, and seemed sincerely unhappy.
It was disquieting, to recognise the familiar look on an unfamiliar face, but the strangeness grew less, as he began to recollect flashes, incidents, when qualities he'd associated with one form were apparent in the other. He could become accustomed to the idea that the spirit that animated the demon form was the same as that in the human form. If only Kurama could. He found himself... annoyed. "You have an overly nice conscience. Fix whatever you did to the forest. It's a sorry sight."
Wide-eyed with surprise now, a very human look that he began to like on the inhuman features. "What?"
"Sometimes," he said calmly, "I think of killing Yukina's idiot husband. Sometimes. Let's go."
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Comments, complaints, cowpats all welcome.