[Yami no Matsuei] "Bleeding Snow" (PG)
Dec. 4th, 2013 10:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mtxref_ficAuthor's Note: Written for < lj user="adventchallenge">'s "Snow". Featuring Yukitaka Muraki and his newborn grandson Kazutaka; I'm following this up from Wanting Her Hand and the alternate tack I took from my usual headcanon on Muraki's parents.
Happy 49th birthday, Muraki, you dear smirking bastard.
The snow that had started to fall that afternoon kept Jirou Shidou -- even now, Yukitaka had a hard time thinking of his son in law as anything more than his student -- stuck in the city, according his phone message he called in earlier that evening. Thus, it fell to Yukitaka to attend to his daughter's lying in that night.
The snow continued to fall and the wind blew more fierce as her labour continued, her wails matching the pitch of the shrieking gusts outside.
Then all fell silent in that moment when Yukitaka drew the child free of her body, holding the infant up, cradled in his hands, up into the lamplight. A boy. A grandson to carry on the family name and to inherit the family fortune if his idiot father's gambling problem did not chip away more of it. A child as pale and delicate as his mother.
Most newborns pink, hairless, shriveled baby monkeys, but not this one, not his grandson. This one had his mother's smooth, pale skin and her fine silken hair, thistle down covering the child's skull, but dense thistle down.
"What did that wastrel student of mine decide to name the tyke, if he gave you a son?" Yukitaka asked Yukiko, once he had cleaned the child and tied off the cord, once the child lay swaddled and cradled in his mother's tired arms.
"Kazutaka," she replied, her grey eyes fixed on her son's face. "His father hoped he would have a peaceful life."
"Adding to our flock of hawks [< I> taka < /I>]?" Yukitaka asked. He hardly expected much else of her husband: he had not much in the way of imagination. And he could not expect the daughter that Sariel had helped him to create to have the most original ideas either. She seemed a child herself, a child holding her first doll and examining it to see it had no flaws.
"He'll be hungry: see that he nurses, like I showed you," Yukitaka prompted.
She blinked, her pale eyes hollow with confusion, then nodded, remembering what he had taught her and adjusting her nightgown, put the child to her breast, trying to ease the child's jaws over her nipple.
The infant pulled away, drawing in an irritated snuffle.
"Hmm. Well, there'll be time enough later; might not be ready for it just now. World's too big and strange, and the storm outside might have him nervous," Yukitaka said. "You must be tired: go on, let yourself rest. You'll need your strength."
She gave him a delicate smile. "Yes, sir," she said, closing her eyes and letting her head settle on her pillows.
He took the child, his grandson Kazutaka, from her arms and finding a thick blanket, wrapped it about the child's tiny form.
The storm had abated and the clouds had parted enough to show the face of the moon, full and bright and hanging at the zenith, soft light turning the gardens to ivory and ebony and silver. Yukitaka had young Sakaki bring his heaviest overcoat and help him into it, the child tucked into the front of it. Holding Kazutaka pressed to his heart, he stepped out into the garden. Sariel had told him that the moonlight would revive and refresh one of his kind or their offspring, and it remained to be seen if it would work for a hybrid child of a human and a Watcher.
The child stirred in Yukitaka's arms, opening his eyes, his violet-tinged silver eyes, still getting their color, his head shifting as if he would look at the sky.
At that moment, a cloud moved the face of the moon, blotting out the light for a moment. A reddish tinge suffused the edges of the cloud. Another moment, then the veil lifted, uncovering the face of the moon, now gone the color of blood in a heavily scabbed wound, bathing the yard in an eerie red light that threw everything into strange relief. The child let out a contented sigh, raising his tiny, mittened hands toward the light, as if he would reach for the moon, then he settled against his grandfather's heart, falling into a satisfied slumber.
And at that moment, Yukitaka knew his grandson had emerged as no ordinary child, more than a human and yet very human. The boy would grow to strength that would surpass a humans, and yet he would know weaknesses no human could experience.
He only hoped he would live long enough to tell the boy about the darkness from which he had descended. That fool of his father could not tell him about the strange legacy that his wife came from. He had never believed it, even when Yukitaka had shown him the files from the experiments that had given rise to Yukiko. How would he believe enough to tell the boy what he was.
"Come, let's take you back to your mother: she'll be awake and looking for you," he said, heading back into the house
Happy 49th birthday, Muraki, you dear smirking bastard.
The snow that had started to fall that afternoon kept Jirou Shidou -- even now, Yukitaka had a hard time thinking of his son in law as anything more than his student -- stuck in the city, according his phone message he called in earlier that evening. Thus, it fell to Yukitaka to attend to his daughter's lying in that night.
The snow continued to fall and the wind blew more fierce as her labour continued, her wails matching the pitch of the shrieking gusts outside.
Then all fell silent in that moment when Yukitaka drew the child free of her body, holding the infant up, cradled in his hands, up into the lamplight. A boy. A grandson to carry on the family name and to inherit the family fortune if his idiot father's gambling problem did not chip away more of it. A child as pale and delicate as his mother.
Most newborns pink, hairless, shriveled baby monkeys, but not this one, not his grandson. This one had his mother's smooth, pale skin and her fine silken hair, thistle down covering the child's skull, but dense thistle down.
"What did that wastrel student of mine decide to name the tyke, if he gave you a son?" Yukitaka asked Yukiko, once he had cleaned the child and tied off the cord, once the child lay swaddled and cradled in his mother's tired arms.
"Kazutaka," she replied, her grey eyes fixed on her son's face. "His father hoped he would have a peaceful life."
"Adding to our flock of hawks [< I> taka < /I>]?" Yukitaka asked. He hardly expected much else of her husband: he had not much in the way of imagination. And he could not expect the daughter that Sariel had helped him to create to have the most original ideas either. She seemed a child herself, a child holding her first doll and examining it to see it had no flaws.
"He'll be hungry: see that he nurses, like I showed you," Yukitaka prompted.
She blinked, her pale eyes hollow with confusion, then nodded, remembering what he had taught her and adjusting her nightgown, put the child to her breast, trying to ease the child's jaws over her nipple.
The infant pulled away, drawing in an irritated snuffle.
"Hmm. Well, there'll be time enough later; might not be ready for it just now. World's too big and strange, and the storm outside might have him nervous," Yukitaka said. "You must be tired: go on, let yourself rest. You'll need your strength."
She gave him a delicate smile. "Yes, sir," she said, closing her eyes and letting her head settle on her pillows.
He took the child, his grandson Kazutaka, from her arms and finding a thick blanket, wrapped it about the child's tiny form.
The storm had abated and the clouds had parted enough to show the face of the moon, full and bright and hanging at the zenith, soft light turning the gardens to ivory and ebony and silver. Yukitaka had young Sakaki bring his heaviest overcoat and help him into it, the child tucked into the front of it. Holding Kazutaka pressed to his heart, he stepped out into the garden. Sariel had told him that the moonlight would revive and refresh one of his kind or their offspring, and it remained to be seen if it would work for a hybrid child of a human and a Watcher.
The child stirred in Yukitaka's arms, opening his eyes, his violet-tinged silver eyes, still getting their color, his head shifting as if he would look at the sky.
At that moment, a cloud moved the face of the moon, blotting out the light for a moment. A reddish tinge suffused the edges of the cloud. Another moment, then the veil lifted, uncovering the face of the moon, now gone the color of blood in a heavily scabbed wound, bathing the yard in an eerie red light that threw everything into strange relief. The child let out a contented sigh, raising his tiny, mittened hands toward the light, as if he would reach for the moon, then he settled against his grandfather's heart, falling into a satisfied slumber.
And at that moment, Yukitaka knew his grandson had emerged as no ordinary child, more than a human and yet very human. The boy would grow to strength that would surpass a humans, and yet he would know weaknesses no human could experience.
He only hoped he would live long enough to tell the boy about the darkness from which he had descended. That fool of his father could not tell him about the strange legacy that his wife came from. He had never believed it, even when Yukitaka had shown him the files from the experiments that had given rise to Yukiko. How would he believe enough to tell the boy what he was.
"Come, let's take you back to your mother: she'll be awake and looking for you," he said, heading back into the house
