Yami no Matsuei - Hisokafic - Life
Oct. 8th, 2005 04:29 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mikkenekoBlame ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
asidian for rekindling the YnM spark.
Life
Fandom: Yami no Matsuei
Pairing: None, Hisoka-centric
Warnings: Angst
When Hisoka was eleven, the household hired a new maid. She was different from the others in a number of respects; for one, she'd been younger, in her twenties rather than the bedraggled, experienced matrons they usually hired; for another, she'd been college-educated. She was a summer worker, in fact, hired as a favor to one of his father's colleagues to fill her summer break days and provide a little income and a prestigious reference on her resume.
He knew from the moment she crossed the threshold, long before he ever actually set eyes on her, that she was different from the other household workers. Their minds were tight and narrow, dark with superstition and stubborn old habits. They dreaded the basement and the monster to dwelt there; they signed and muttered wards and went to purify themselves every time they had to set foot down there. Her mind was wide open and light, like a clear shallow pool, and bubbling over with ideas and new experiences and curiosity.
Hisoka had not even known that people like her were possible.
It was inevitable that she would find him eventually, no matter how strictly her employer forbade her from crossing the downstairs threshold. She was young and bold, and beholden to him only for a summer; she did not fear his wrath. That too amazed Hisoka.
He was surprised, when he met her face to face, to find her quite pleasantly ugly; her face was round and plump, her eyes too wide-set, and her mouth and lips broad and uneven. Her clothes never seemed to fit quite right, as if her body had changed shape since she bought them and her clothes had stayed the same. Her hair was unevenly chopped, in a shape that suited neither fashion nor tradition.
She was the most beautiful person he had ever known.
Maria, as was the girl's name, found him a fascinating mystery. Hisoka did not mind; it was the most positive portrayal of himself that he had ever seen through another's eyes. She never spent long with him, fearing discovery, but she was genuinely sympathetic to his situation, the first to ever imply that there was something wrong about the way he was treated. She brought him company and conversation, she brought him small seasonal flowers and she brought him little snacks.
And she brought him books.
Those books, above and beyond anything else, opened up the world to him. The only reading he had ever done before was under the hand of a strict, sour, fearful old taskmaster who had overseen his basic education -- it would be too shameful, for a Kurosaki not even to know how to read or write -- and criticized him harshly for the slightest failure. He had read only from textbooks, or ancient Chinese commentaries, and the texts were as dull and dry as cardboard.
These books were a bite of fresh fruit, a cool breeze, a spring rainfall. They brought the world into his basement. They taught him the life that existed outside of the four walls of his household, and in doing so, taught him the outrage, the misery, the unfairness that was his pitiful existance.
In the second week of July, Maria stopped coming to visit him. An old, family butler came downstairs to retrieve the precious cache of books, and beat his hands and face with a riding crop when he tried to hold them close. He cried that night, not from pain, but because he knew -- though no-one had told him, to think that any secrets in this house could be kept from him was laughable -- that Maria was gone.
His father had discovered her, thundered and shouted at her, pulled her uneven hair. She was gone in disgrace, her work record permanently defiled, her family cut off from the pride and the prestige of the Kurosaki household.
All for the crime of not fearing him.
Before dawn, his tears had stopped. Because no matter how his father might rage, what was done could not be undone. What was learned could not be unlearned.
He knew, now, that a larger world existed outside. He knew that the way his family treated him was not normal, was not right. Further, he knew that while they had the power to keep and control him now, they could not do so all his life.
Someday, a stretch of time almost a lifetime away, he would turn twenty. Once he did that, he could be free. He could escape this prison -- what a novel concept, escape -- and they would not be able to take him back. He could run to the police -- or just run, farther and faster than anyone could reach him. He could start over, as a penniless but willing worker. And most importantly of all, he knew now, as he had not before, that the majority of people out there were not like him. They could not see inside his head, they could not hear his thoughts. And if he did not tell them what he was, they would never know.
Escape. Freedom. Normality. Work, friendship, love.
Life.
That was to be his. Someday. He had only to endure this solitude until then. His family could destroy, utterly defile the years of his childhood and his adolescence, but his adulthood would be his. His to take and seize and hold, and live, free from pain. There was no-one in the world who could stop him from claiming his full and happy future.
With a new patience, with new eyes, Hisoka settled against the cold stone wall and waited for the dawn.
~fin
asidian for rekindling the YnM spark.Life
Fandom: Yami no Matsuei
Pairing: None, Hisoka-centric
Warnings: Angst
When Hisoka was eleven, the household hired a new maid. She was different from the others in a number of respects; for one, she'd been younger, in her twenties rather than the bedraggled, experienced matrons they usually hired; for another, she'd been college-educated. She was a summer worker, in fact, hired as a favor to one of his father's colleagues to fill her summer break days and provide a little income and a prestigious reference on her resume.
He knew from the moment she crossed the threshold, long before he ever actually set eyes on her, that she was different from the other household workers. Their minds were tight and narrow, dark with superstition and stubborn old habits. They dreaded the basement and the monster to dwelt there; they signed and muttered wards and went to purify themselves every time they had to set foot down there. Her mind was wide open and light, like a clear shallow pool, and bubbling over with ideas and new experiences and curiosity.
Hisoka had not even known that people like her were possible.
It was inevitable that she would find him eventually, no matter how strictly her employer forbade her from crossing the downstairs threshold. She was young and bold, and beholden to him only for a summer; she did not fear his wrath. That too amazed Hisoka.
He was surprised, when he met her face to face, to find her quite pleasantly ugly; her face was round and plump, her eyes too wide-set, and her mouth and lips broad and uneven. Her clothes never seemed to fit quite right, as if her body had changed shape since she bought them and her clothes had stayed the same. Her hair was unevenly chopped, in a shape that suited neither fashion nor tradition.
She was the most beautiful person he had ever known.
Maria, as was the girl's name, found him a fascinating mystery. Hisoka did not mind; it was the most positive portrayal of himself that he had ever seen through another's eyes. She never spent long with him, fearing discovery, but she was genuinely sympathetic to his situation, the first to ever imply that there was something wrong about the way he was treated. She brought him company and conversation, she brought him small seasonal flowers and she brought him little snacks.
And she brought him books.
Those books, above and beyond anything else, opened up the world to him. The only reading he had ever done before was under the hand of a strict, sour, fearful old taskmaster who had overseen his basic education -- it would be too shameful, for a Kurosaki not even to know how to read or write -- and criticized him harshly for the slightest failure. He had read only from textbooks, or ancient Chinese commentaries, and the texts were as dull and dry as cardboard.
These books were a bite of fresh fruit, a cool breeze, a spring rainfall. They brought the world into his basement. They taught him the life that existed outside of the four walls of his household, and in doing so, taught him the outrage, the misery, the unfairness that was his pitiful existance.
In the second week of July, Maria stopped coming to visit him. An old, family butler came downstairs to retrieve the precious cache of books, and beat his hands and face with a riding crop when he tried to hold them close. He cried that night, not from pain, but because he knew -- though no-one had told him, to think that any secrets in this house could be kept from him was laughable -- that Maria was gone.
His father had discovered her, thundered and shouted at her, pulled her uneven hair. She was gone in disgrace, her work record permanently defiled, her family cut off from the pride and the prestige of the Kurosaki household.
All for the crime of not fearing him.
Before dawn, his tears had stopped. Because no matter how his father might rage, what was done could not be undone. What was learned could not be unlearned.
He knew, now, that a larger world existed outside. He knew that the way his family treated him was not normal, was not right. Further, he knew that while they had the power to keep and control him now, they could not do so all his life.
Someday, a stretch of time almost a lifetime away, he would turn twenty. Once he did that, he could be free. He could escape this prison -- what a novel concept, escape -- and they would not be able to take him back. He could run to the police -- or just run, farther and faster than anyone could reach him. He could start over, as a penniless but willing worker. And most importantly of all, he knew now, as he had not before, that the majority of people out there were not like him. They could not see inside his head, they could not hear his thoughts. And if he did not tell them what he was, they would never know.
Escape. Freedom. Normality. Work, friendship, love.
Life.
That was to be his. Someday. He had only to endure this solitude until then. His family could destroy, utterly defile the years of his childhood and his adolescence, but his adulthood would be his. His to take and seize and hold, and live, free from pain. There was no-one in the world who could stop him from claiming his full and happy future.
With a new patience, with new eyes, Hisoka settled against the cold stone wall and waited for the dawn.
~fin
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-10-08 07:44 am (UTC)And your OC's perfect. :)
no subject
Date: 2005-10-13 02:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-08 10:58 am (UTC)This makes me wonder what they were doing with the poor kid.
no subject
Date: 2005-10-08 11:17 am (UTC)I'm not clear on the timing in the anime, but in the manga, Hisoka first encountered Muraki at age thirteen. Muraki raped him, tortured him, put the curse on him, and then messed with his memory of the event; when Hisoka started to sicken, Muraki established himself as Hisoka's "doctor" and repeated the treatment for three years before Hisoka finally died at age sixteen.
To sum up: Hisoka's life sucked major donkey balls.
(It actually seems kind of unlikely that his family would have put him in a hospital, considering how A) rich and B) secretive they were about him, but it's a common theme in fanon. Argh, I need to go review all the source material again. XD)
no subject
Date: 2005-10-08 11:30 am (UTC)Though, one thing: Someday, a stretch of time almost a lifetime away, he would turn eighteen.
In Japan, one is legally an adult at the age of 20, not 18. Just wanted to point that out.
no subject
Date: 2005-10-08 03:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-09 03:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-13 02:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-13 02:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-08 11:36 pm (UTC)I adore him, though it sucks that his life is probably so very much better now that he's ... er, dead.
Liked this.
no subject
Date: 2005-10-13 02:20 pm (UTC)What on earth is your icon from? :D
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Date: 2005-10-13 04:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-09 03:00 pm (UTC)That final line just kicks me in the chest with the sort of boot that has a blade hidden in the toe. Hisooooka. ;_;
no subject
Date: 2005-10-09 08:03 pm (UTC)You've broken my brain. Again. And it was sooo good.
Damn you. >_<
no subject
Date: 2005-10-13 02:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-13 12:47 pm (UTC)That was to be his. Someday. He had only to endure this solitude until then. His family could destroy, utterly defile the years of his childhood and his adolescence, but his adulthood would be his. His to take and seize and hold, and live, free from pain. There was no-one in the world who could stop him from claiming his full and happy future.
With a new patience, with new eyes, Hisoka settled against the cold stone wall and waited for the dawn.
GAAAAH! <3
no subject
Date: 2005-10-13 02:17 pm (UTC)Wow, I thought I was the only Hisoka fan out there. ^_^; Thanks for proving my wrong!
no subject
Date: 2005-10-13 08:28 pm (UTC)Deeefinitely not the only Hisoka fan out there. o_o Would love to read more YnM fic by you. It's actually been a while since I read any YnM fic at all, but now I feel like going on a rampage ...