Author's Notes (12/03): This is a work-in-progress fic about Zoisite's indoctrination into the Dark Kingdom and the eventual development of the relationship between him and Kunzite. The narrative switches from chapter to chapter: the first chapter is from Zoisite's POV, the second in Kunzite's, and back and forth. I hope it's not terribly confusing and it should be fairly obvious as to who is who. :) I plan on writing a prequel to all this eventually, haha. Enjoy!
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BEAUTIFUL LIAR
Training Days
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They call it the Academy. In theory, we're supposed to learn how to become great warriors. Tactitians. Rational thinkers. Generals. Kings.
What you really learn here is how to survive. The best teachers are your own peers, out to spill your blood, and the only graduation is making it out alive.
I don't remember life before this. None of us do, from what I can tell, although most of us don't make it our business to go around interrogating the others about their former lives. Remember, we're aiming for an A in survival, and being too open and too friendly is like signing your own death warrant around here. But I get the feeling that no one really knows where he came from before this. I certainly don't. There is only now, and as bleak and hopeless as now is, it has to be better than getting your ass pasted to the wall, or torn into pieces by those wishing to move up in rank.
I learned it the hard way.
It took me time to fit in. To blend. To become faceless in a sea of men. Even now I'm not so sure I am. It's hard to go by unnoticed when you're built like me.
Trust me, being the most feminine-looking creature in an army of violent, prospective demon lords is not an easy lifestyle.
I would say that my own beauty has made my life a living hell, but then again I'm already living in hell. Good to know the universe still has a sense of irony about it.
I remember my earlier days here, with my whitewashed memory and confused emotions. They would trundle us off into the barracks, rooms filled with bunks that were occupied by men. Of course, my preferences happened to lie in that direction, so I suppose I should have been more grateful for my luck ... only it wasn't luck at all. It was brutal. Vile. Disgusting, really. Men like this looked at me and only saw one thing: a beautiful face attached to a body they could probably ignore the reality of long enough to get themselves off.
And I refused to take any part in that.
Not like my refusals did much good. In the early days, we hadn't been trained in combat, and at any rate my stature was too diminuitive for training to boost very much. I was a good head shorter than most of the men there with a slim, lithe frame. My shoulders were relatively narrow by comparison, my hands were delicate and uncalloused. But it was my face that was my undoing, with the light skin and the large eyes.
There were some horrible instances. I remember the pain from being held down with hands that gripped my wrists so tightly that dark bruises remained for days. I remember the way they caressed my face, and I would shiver and grow cold with disgust. I would lie awake at night in my bunk, clutching the coarse military-issued blanket, running my fingertips across my cheeks and dreaming of putting my fist through one of the tiny glass windows, picking up a shard, and slicing my face off. It was the only thing I could come up with that I thought might cease their constant attacks. They wouldn't want me without my face.
As training commenced, however, I grew wiser.
I wasn't the worst fighter, but I was far from the top. And really, there was no way I could reach the top, not at my size. Pitting me against anyone in the ranks resulted in an unfair fight, and never in my favor. In fact, the only thing that kept me from being slaughtered was my own unwillingness to admit defeat.
That, and I played dirty. Really dirty.
I remember one particular instance when a much bigger, much stronger soldier was my sparring partner; when the instructor paired us together, he gave his friends a knowing look and I braced myself. I knew I had two options; I could stand there and let him kick the shit out of me, or I could at least fight back and hope to get a couple of decent injuries in before getting the shit kicked out of me.
And so when he approached me, I immediately acted coy. I blinked up at him with my huge, green eyes and looked as innocent and pathetic as I could muster. He looked confused, and then ashamed; he probably felt that beating me up would have equated slapping a woman around, and beyond that he was probably thinking kindness in the training room would earn him a night in my bunk. And sex was so, so rare in the Academy, and probably all of the Dark Kingdom. After all, there weren't many women around, and those who did exist were either youma or really scaly.
At any rate, my act was enough to throw him off his guard. He fought very gently with me, almost affectionately, as though we were having a friendly domestic spat. And of course I played it for all I was worth. Shaking my head briskly so that my long hair fell around my face to full effect, batting my eyelashes, pouting with mock indignance. Such a game.
I waited until the instructor signaled for break before making my move. My partner grinned at me slyly, giving me a private wink, before turning his back to me.
After this occasion, most people learned to never turn their back on me.
I had been half-crouched, and now I sprang forward in a powerful leap. My legs were strong and well-muscled for my size, as I spent a lot of my extra time running and doing stretches to keep myself lean and fit. My body was more powerful than it looked, albeit not quite enough to be properly defensive, and my exercises had improved my agility. I landed a strong kick in my opponent's back, more than enough to fell him and wind him; he plummeted to the stone floor, his slack and surprised jaw hitting the rocks with a loud crack.
I sprang on top of him, flinging one arm around his neck and losing no time in choking him against the crook of my elbow. By this time, two of the generals had noticed what I was doing and rushed over to pull me off. I snarled as they grasped me by the shoulders and dragged me away from my victim, who was struggling into a sitting position, coughing blood.
"You bastard!" he growled at me, and I noticed one of his teeth was missing from where he'd hit his face on the hard stone floor. I smiled grimly and the other soldiers simply stared, awed. It felt good to finally be noticed for something other than a bed toy.
"What the hell was that?" one of the generals shouted at me, a tall, blonde man. I knew him. Jadeite. He wasn't just a general, he was also one of the shitennou, the Queen's top four leading men. Of course, he was also the lowest-ranking of the four, which was why he occasionally got stuck with the grunt work of supervising the trainees. Not a glamorous life, but then again he never exactly struck me as glamorous.
I shrugged, delicately pushing my hair over my shoulder. "Defensive strategy. Isn't that part of general combat, sir?" I said, a bit snidely.
Jadeite's eyes narrowed into sparking blue slits. "I hardly think an unwarranted sneak attack qualifies as 'defensive', you little rat," he said, sneering.
I gazed up at him through my lashes, innocently. "Little rat?" I said, chuckling. "Is that the best you have for me?"
Jadeite grabbed me roughly by the shoulder, hoisting me to my feet. He leaned his face in, inches from my nose. "That little 'maneuver' may throw these assclowns off their guard, but it won't work with me, pretty boy," he hissed. "Now get out of my sight."
I smiled maliciously before turning briskly on one heel and striding out of the training room, leaving the rest of the trainees to whisper and stare.
What Jadeite said had been true; my 'maneuvers' wouldn't work on him, and maybe on one or two other men in the Academy as well. But they were rare, rare exceptions in a world of men so long deprived of sex and beauty, and I knew that 99% of the time, I would be able to beguile my enemies with my face long enough to earn an the opportunity to stab them in the back. Or kick them, as the case may be.
It was then I realized that my twisted fantasies of destroying my visage and ending the humiliating nighttime episodes with my bunkmates would never come true. Not as long as I wished to advance in rank. Not as long as I wished to survive this place. I had little brawn, and therefore I was forced to rely on brain. And a more than ample supply of beauty.
I changed some things, though. I stopped wearing my hair down and confined the flowing mass to a lengthy ponytail; it moved me from feminine to more or less androgynous, which helped alleviate some of the continual violation. I held my shoulders straight and stood as tall as I could manage. But above all, I became spiteful. Dangerous. Devilish in every sense of the word. The others slowly became aware that I had it in my power to kill them, and kill them I would, even if I had to fight with tooth and nail and whatever else I could get my hands on in order to do so.
It was still so dangerous, living in a world of such physicality when I had been blessed with a lovely face and a soft voice instead of strength.
But then I made yet another important discovery about myself.
Magic.
-----
BEAUTIFUL LIAR
Training Days
-----
They call it the Academy. In theory, we're supposed to learn how to become great warriors. Tactitians. Rational thinkers. Generals. Kings.
What you really learn here is how to survive. The best teachers are your own peers, out to spill your blood, and the only graduation is making it out alive.
I don't remember life before this. None of us do, from what I can tell, although most of us don't make it our business to go around interrogating the others about their former lives. Remember, we're aiming for an A in survival, and being too open and too friendly is like signing your own death warrant around here. But I get the feeling that no one really knows where he came from before this. I certainly don't. There is only now, and as bleak and hopeless as now is, it has to be better than getting your ass pasted to the wall, or torn into pieces by those wishing to move up in rank.
I learned it the hard way.
It took me time to fit in. To blend. To become faceless in a sea of men. Even now I'm not so sure I am. It's hard to go by unnoticed when you're built like me.
Trust me, being the most feminine-looking creature in an army of violent, prospective demon lords is not an easy lifestyle.
I would say that my own beauty has made my life a living hell, but then again I'm already living in hell. Good to know the universe still has a sense of irony about it.
I remember my earlier days here, with my whitewashed memory and confused emotions. They would trundle us off into the barracks, rooms filled with bunks that were occupied by men. Of course, my preferences happened to lie in that direction, so I suppose I should have been more grateful for my luck ... only it wasn't luck at all. It was brutal. Vile. Disgusting, really. Men like this looked at me and only saw one thing: a beautiful face attached to a body they could probably ignore the reality of long enough to get themselves off.
And I refused to take any part in that.
Not like my refusals did much good. In the early days, we hadn't been trained in combat, and at any rate my stature was too diminuitive for training to boost very much. I was a good head shorter than most of the men there with a slim, lithe frame. My shoulders were relatively narrow by comparison, my hands were delicate and uncalloused. But it was my face that was my undoing, with the light skin and the large eyes.
There were some horrible instances. I remember the pain from being held down with hands that gripped my wrists so tightly that dark bruises remained for days. I remember the way they caressed my face, and I would shiver and grow cold with disgust. I would lie awake at night in my bunk, clutching the coarse military-issued blanket, running my fingertips across my cheeks and dreaming of putting my fist through one of the tiny glass windows, picking up a shard, and slicing my face off. It was the only thing I could come up with that I thought might cease their constant attacks. They wouldn't want me without my face.
As training commenced, however, I grew wiser.
I wasn't the worst fighter, but I was far from the top. And really, there was no way I could reach the top, not at my size. Pitting me against anyone in the ranks resulted in an unfair fight, and never in my favor. In fact, the only thing that kept me from being slaughtered was my own unwillingness to admit defeat.
That, and I played dirty. Really dirty.
I remember one particular instance when a much bigger, much stronger soldier was my sparring partner; when the instructor paired us together, he gave his friends a knowing look and I braced myself. I knew I had two options; I could stand there and let him kick the shit out of me, or I could at least fight back and hope to get a couple of decent injuries in before getting the shit kicked out of me.
And so when he approached me, I immediately acted coy. I blinked up at him with my huge, green eyes and looked as innocent and pathetic as I could muster. He looked confused, and then ashamed; he probably felt that beating me up would have equated slapping a woman around, and beyond that he was probably thinking kindness in the training room would earn him a night in my bunk. And sex was so, so rare in the Academy, and probably all of the Dark Kingdom. After all, there weren't many women around, and those who did exist were either youma or really scaly.
At any rate, my act was enough to throw him off his guard. He fought very gently with me, almost affectionately, as though we were having a friendly domestic spat. And of course I played it for all I was worth. Shaking my head briskly so that my long hair fell around my face to full effect, batting my eyelashes, pouting with mock indignance. Such a game.
I waited until the instructor signaled for break before making my move. My partner grinned at me slyly, giving me a private wink, before turning his back to me.
After this occasion, most people learned to never turn their back on me.
I had been half-crouched, and now I sprang forward in a powerful leap. My legs were strong and well-muscled for my size, as I spent a lot of my extra time running and doing stretches to keep myself lean and fit. My body was more powerful than it looked, albeit not quite enough to be properly defensive, and my exercises had improved my agility. I landed a strong kick in my opponent's back, more than enough to fell him and wind him; he plummeted to the stone floor, his slack and surprised jaw hitting the rocks with a loud crack.
I sprang on top of him, flinging one arm around his neck and losing no time in choking him against the crook of my elbow. By this time, two of the generals had noticed what I was doing and rushed over to pull me off. I snarled as they grasped me by the shoulders and dragged me away from my victim, who was struggling into a sitting position, coughing blood.
"You bastard!" he growled at me, and I noticed one of his teeth was missing from where he'd hit his face on the hard stone floor. I smiled grimly and the other soldiers simply stared, awed. It felt good to finally be noticed for something other than a bed toy.
"What the hell was that?" one of the generals shouted at me, a tall, blonde man. I knew him. Jadeite. He wasn't just a general, he was also one of the shitennou, the Queen's top four leading men. Of course, he was also the lowest-ranking of the four, which was why he occasionally got stuck with the grunt work of supervising the trainees. Not a glamorous life, but then again he never exactly struck me as glamorous.
I shrugged, delicately pushing my hair over my shoulder. "Defensive strategy. Isn't that part of general combat, sir?" I said, a bit snidely.
Jadeite's eyes narrowed into sparking blue slits. "I hardly think an unwarranted sneak attack qualifies as 'defensive', you little rat," he said, sneering.
I gazed up at him through my lashes, innocently. "Little rat?" I said, chuckling. "Is that the best you have for me?"
Jadeite grabbed me roughly by the shoulder, hoisting me to my feet. He leaned his face in, inches from my nose. "That little 'maneuver' may throw these assclowns off their guard, but it won't work with me, pretty boy," he hissed. "Now get out of my sight."
I smiled maliciously before turning briskly on one heel and striding out of the training room, leaving the rest of the trainees to whisper and stare.
What Jadeite said had been true; my 'maneuvers' wouldn't work on him, and maybe on one or two other men in the Academy as well. But they were rare, rare exceptions in a world of men so long deprived of sex and beauty, and I knew that 99% of the time, I would be able to beguile my enemies with my face long enough to earn an the opportunity to stab them in the back. Or kick them, as the case may be.
It was then I realized that my twisted fantasies of destroying my visage and ending the humiliating nighttime episodes with my bunkmates would never come true. Not as long as I wished to advance in rank. Not as long as I wished to survive this place. I had little brawn, and therefore I was forced to rely on brain. And a more than ample supply of beauty.
I changed some things, though. I stopped wearing my hair down and confined the flowing mass to a lengthy ponytail; it moved me from feminine to more or less androgynous, which helped alleviate some of the continual violation. I held my shoulders straight and stood as tall as I could manage. But above all, I became spiteful. Dangerous. Devilish in every sense of the word. The others slowly became aware that I had it in my power to kill them, and kill them I would, even if I had to fight with tooth and nail and whatever else I could get my hands on in order to do so.
It was still so dangerous, living in a world of such physicality when I had been blessed with a lovely face and a soft voice instead of strength.
But then I made yet another important discovery about myself.
Magic.