Kirin - Prologue

[tripoverhercats]

This is a slight AU fic I've been chewing on for awhile.  I figured I'd start posting some of it in order to keep the muses active on it.  This will involve supernatural stuff, not as if that's a hard thing to stretch for in Weiss with all the psis, gene-spliced monsters and demon summoning that already exists in it.  Involoves a faint crossover with Rurouni Kenshin (purple eyed, redheaded swordsman... snort, oh yeah Ran is so descended from the Himuras) and I hope to keep it from becoming too silly powerful.  I's like to keep my Weiss boys recognizable, just with a little more edge against Scwhartz.  Commentary very welcome!

+++ Kirin

The family had come to the old shrine for a funeral service of some man his father knew. Aya had become fussy during the long ceremony and mother had taken her to the side; but Ran had stayed quiet and solemn next to his father, trying his very best to not disappoint him. After the priest was done, the gathering broke into small groups, a buzz of conversation filling the air.

“Go join your mother and sister.” His father’s command was brief, he was already turning to speak to one of his colleagues.

“Yes, Father.” Ran bowed, even if his father did not see it, others would and know that Fujimiya’s son was dutiful. He turned and began to walk towards the gardens that wound through the venerable temple and he heard the muted conversations as he passed.

“… such unusual eyes…”

“… can’t be pure-blooded, not with hair that color…”

“… wonder where the fault is from…”

Ran had heard these whispers before, even at age four he was aware that he was lacking, that there was a wrongness to him that made his father frown and quarrel with his mother. He passed through a torii gate marking the entrance to the inner shrine, remembering to clap three times and bow three times, as was proper. Oddly, the buzzing sounds of voices grew louder as he drew further away from the gathering.

“So young this one…”

“Bright spirit, old spirit…” That voice seemed to be right next to Ran’s ear. He turned, but saw no one. Biting his lip nervously, Ran began to hurry down the path. Shouldn’t he have reached his mother by now? She had been sitting just around the corner… he was sure.

“He is hunted, he will hunt.” Something tugged at the edges of his kimono, a wind snagged at his hair. The voices were very loud now, he clapped his hands to his ears. Pride fled in the face of the unknown.

“Mother? Mother! Where are you?” Then, greatly daring…”Father?” Something passed in front of him, hazy and swift. He stumbled backwards off the path, nearly splashing into a small pool of koi. There were things reflected in the water, beautiful, hideous, unearthly and all together terrifying. Where his own reflection should have been was a man with long, flame-red hair, a piercing gaze far sterner than any his father could have scowled and a sword. A sword that dripped bright red blood, staining the pool, staining everything. He screamed.

The Fujimiya boy had been missing for thirty-eight hours when his crumpled body was found next to the path leading into the garden. No one could explain how the child had reappeared there, someone should have noticed. Doctors found no physical trauma on Ran and the very modern thinking psychologist had explained away the boy’s ramblings as mental protection against whomever had briefly abducted the child.

After eight months of intensive therapy, Ran managed to stop seeing the spirits, stop hearing the voices. It was after all what the doctors and his parents wanted. It wasn’t real, everyone said so.

By the time Ran was six, he no longer remembered that he had ever once seen. He treated his sister’s fanciful tales with the same scorn as his father. Spirits were just a silly girl’s daydreams and outdated peasant superstitions.

When Ran was eighteen, his orderly, structured life exploded into a nightmare. His parents murdered, his sister run down and trapped in a comatose body, the perpetrator beyond the reach of the law. They came to him, work for us, they said, help us remove the guilty and one day you will have your vengeance.

He accepted the offer and the sword they gave him.

+++ Kitsune

He was different. Hair too light, too wavy, eyes the wrong color. Son of an absent American. The guards at the base turned him away again and again.

“When you gonna learn kid? You can’t come in here.”

At school, even the other poor children turned away. Teachers never called on the half-gaijin and he learned the secret of invisibility. If no one paid attention to you, you could do anything. He developed a reputation, of being naughty, being dangerous. It attracted a subtle attention, a little awe at the forbidden things he was getting away with. It inspired jealousy.

Blood tricked down his face, green eyes stared back defiantly at the older children. “When will you learn? You’re nothing here.”

The man his mother married cared nothing for the skinny bastard. He had gotten children of his own on her and as far as he was concerned, the sooner Yohji left his house, the better. He refused to let the boy carry his name. He was his mother’s sin.

“When will you learn, son? I have no place else to go.” He wanted to protect her, perhaps she would be safest if he left.

Another fourteen year old on the street was nothing new. This one was a touch harder than most, had already picked up the art of petty theft, but he was still one of thousands. Without benefactors, without protection, children like him were nothing more than prey for the hunters that roamed the streets.

“You’ll learn if we have to break you, kid. You’re ours.” A prick of a needle. Fear gave the thin form energy, remembered lessons turned his captors strength against them, he bolted for his escape hole the moment the grip loosened. Bury fast, bury deep, hide, escape. He shivered in the dark, riding out the disorienting haze of the drug. Such pretty lights…

Sometimes a helping hand isn’t false. The cop knew that the kid needed help, knew that simple charity would be suspicious. A little information, a little cash. Dropped hints about the money an investigator could make. Nudge the half-feral thing towards an internet café, pay for the kid’s time, see a spark blossoming.

“Yohji, when are you going stop pretending to be stupid and learn? You need the education to get the certificate. Sit back down and try again.” A voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “You know Asuka is going to be working this afternoon.” Ah, the kid could still blush. Shuuichi remembered being sixteen once too.

It was a night to celebrate. He was an adult, he got the license, he had a future. He had Asuka. A lot of alcohol, a little dancing and they were tumbling to the bed in his very own apartment. Their lovemaking had always been intense but tonight held an edge that he couldn’t explain.

A laughing smile. “Silly. When will you learn I’ll never leave? My pretty golden haired, green-eyed fox.” A kiss, deep and passionate, swiftly building heat between them. “Five more months, and I’ll have my own certificate too.”

Two years is a long time. Long enough to build a reputation, forge a business, test a partnership. Not nearly enough time for happily ever after. He lay crumpled on the ground, bleeding from the gunshots, watching as his love, his partner, his everything fled. Heard the guns fire again, heard her scream. His heart screamed with her.

Someone touched him. “Damn, he’s going into shock. Manx, get us to the hospital fast.“ He knew that voice from somewhere…

“The girl sir?“

“Gone. I didn’t know they had gotten themselves in so deep, or I’d have put the Crashers on them.“ Darkness chased him down. When are you gonna learn? Maybe if he tattooed it on, he’d remember.

+++ Tora

The doctor looked at the frazzled couple. “Really, there’s nothing wrong with him. He just has a lot of energy and drive. While he’s young, you might want to consider enrolling him in some activities. Sports or a dojo perhaps.”

“But he’s only three!” The woman had deep circles under her eyes and a nervous twitch from too many months chasing after an overexcited child.

“Yes, I know Mrs. Hidaka, but there are places that take children that young. And having young Ken exercise all that excess energy off is far better than the American method of drugging them insensible.”

The instructor at the dojo didn’t need much time to realize what he had on his hands. This much pure, natural talent needed a very careful hand. Ken didn’t need much in the way of teaching how to fight, the boy instinctively grasped techniques. What was necessary was reining in the competitive nature. Keeping him in the martial arts would be a mistake, his abilities would quickly grow into destructive arrogance.

“Team sports. He would do best inside of a group. He could compete against others but he would have to work with others, be a part of it instead of trying to conquer it.”

Kase looked down at Ken with all of his extra half inch of height. “I’ll show you! I’ll be the best ever! You’ll never score more goals than me!”

A light gleamed in Ken’s eyes. “Oh yeah? Well, I’ll just be a goalie and make sure you never score a single one!”

“But, we’re on the same team!” He gave the other boy a push. “I won’t be trying to score against our goalie!”

Ken pushed back. “Maybe, but I’ll stop more goals than you’ll ever make. Just you wait and see!”

By the time Ken was ten, people were noticing him. His school wasn’t the best, but Ken pushed them into the championships with his goalkeeping. Rare was the score against him, he defended his net, his turf fiercely. He pushed Kase along with him, the other boy playing almost beyond his capabilities.

J-League snapped them both up and there Kase realized that he really wasn’t good enough. That Ken would always be better, that very soon, Ken would be leaving him behind.

When the offer came Kase was more than ready.

Ken was more than ready to jump at Kase’s lead on finding out the truth. Being banned from the League had cut him to the bone, why couldn’t they see that Ken never would have done something to taint the game, to play unfairly? To get the proof, the facts, Ken would dive into hell for that.

Be careful what you wish for…

He woke in a sterile white room, drifting on pain medication that blunted the terrible raw wounds. He could smell antiseptic, the icy bite of air-conditioning, the faint odor of burned meat.

“Hello, Mr. Hidaka.” He turned he head to see a vision of scarlet. “My name is Manx.”

+++ Kumo

Shuuichi Takatori cradled his nephew to his chest as he closed the door to his home behind him. Rage burned in him, that Reiji would abandon a son like that, apparently having two spares meant the loss of one was no big deal. For Shuuichi, any child of Kikuno’s was precious. Reiichi was well on the way to ruining the elder two, but just maybe, he could salvage Mamoru.

“He didn’t pay.” The boy’s voice was a whimper now. “He didn’t come.”

“That’s fine, Omi. I came, didn’t I?”

Reddened eyes turned up. “Omi? Who’s Omi?”

“That’s you.” The name I always wanted to give a son. “You’re Omi.”

“No… no. I’m…” The boy frowned a bit, struggling to recall himself through the haze of fear and exhaustion. “I’m…”

“Omi.” Shuuichi repeated it again. “Trust me, little one. You’re Omi.” He felt the boy’s head sag against his collarbone, too tired to stay awake any longer.

He sat in his study, through the late night, pulling files, old plans. “I’m going to do it, I’m going to stop Reiji and I’ll use the old man’s tools to do it if I have to.”

“Sir?” His assistant looked up, her brow furrowing. “I thought you wanted Kritiker to fall apart with your father.”

“I did. But I’ll use it instead. Take it and bring the whole nest down from inside.”

“… and Omi?”

Shuuichi held up a folder, labeled with a single word. Weib . “Do you remember Momoe?”

Omi frowned intently, fingering the dart until it fit smoothly in his hand. “I don’t understand Momoe. Why did they let him go? The witnesses said they saw him kill the girl.”

“The defense lawyers managed to get the testimony invalidated, and the case fell apart.” The old woman sat in the late afternoon sun, tending to the greenhouse plants. “Blue.”

Omi whirled and sent the little dart flying towards the small blue-painted target. A solid thunk rewarded his aim and he smiled. Missing a target meant extra chores.

“So the murderer gets off free? Nothing else is going to be done?” Brows furrowed over dark blue eyes. “That isn’t right. It isn’t.”

Momoe looked up. “So what do you think should be done?”

Omi frowned, his teeth worrying at his lower lip. “He should have to pay, Momoe. He should have to pay for being evil.”

“But no one is going to make him pay anymore Omi.”

“That’s… that’s wrong.”

“If that man was here, right now in front of you, would you make him pay? Knowing that he was evil, and knowing you would be the one to kill him.”

Omi’s head dipped and he fingered his darts. “I’d do it.” He whispered. “I’d stop him.”

Momoe sighed softly. “I see.” Her voice was sad. “I think you would, at that.” Oh what a web we’ve tangled Shuuichi. I’ve taken the boy you gave me and at a bare fourteen years of age, he’s ready to become your assassin.

It was time to begin.