In the End Lies the Beginning - 1
IN THE END LIES THE BEGINNING - part 1 (probably out of 3)
NOTES:
This is a Pet Shop of Horrors fanfiction.
The characters belong to Matsuri Akino.
Pairings: Papa D/Vesca, Sofu D/Alex, D/Leon (not all of them in this particular part)
This fic is not about smut, neither is it a typical story. It centers around Papa D. For this reason, he is being called D throughout the fiction - please, don´t let that confuse you.
I admit, Papa D is my favourite character in the manga, mostly because I love misunderstood characters, and in my humble opinion he was horribly misunderstood - and the side story in PSOH Tokyo from his university years confirmed it for me. So, this is my own take on his life : you hear me, his entire life. Enjoy, comment, it will make the batbunny happy. The other two parts will follow later this week.
BTW: IF YOU THINK YOU HAVE SEEN THE BEGINNING SOMEWHERE: you have. I had posted, some time ago, only the intro. Feel free to skip it and keep on reading, or read it again, but don´t close the page, I assure you - the majority of this is brand new.
Silence, the oppressing, heavy kind of silence that bears the darkest foreboding - the silence before the storm.
The leaves of the ancient trees, reaching so high that their branches entirely cover the sky, thus wrapping all life underneath into eternal darkness, are soundlessly moving in a light breeze. It is neither chilling, nor warm. Life exists here without doubt, although it has chosen not to be seen or heard. At odd moments, the ear can almost catch a fragment of a sound... no... more like a feeling. A dreadful suspicion that countless unblinking reptilian eyes are observing the scene from their hideouts, that clawed paws are soundlessly treading on the mildly damp soil in smaller and smaller circles, that the branche above would, if need be, make way to flock of malicious beaked creatures without any forewarning.
In a world such as this, things aren't quite what they seem from the outside. Deep within, the stench of death that cannot be stopped lingers, filtering through the air like an ever-present truth. In a world where wolf eats wolf, an innocent, beating heart is the most tender and sought after of trophies.
And, amidst of the nightmare land, we find the most curious thing: a child. It may be five years old, but also two or three, the serene expression making it seem older. Definitely, it is still in pre-school age. The jet-black hair cut in the pot-like hairstyle that most boys wear until they find their own style is the only clue from which it can be guessed the child is male. From under the fringe, two eyes of an unusual violet color are observing the surroundings. The eyes seem to be the only thing about the boy that is moving, the only part of his body that is, somehow, alive.
The boy is sitting calmly, obediently in the middle of a tiny meadow, on a carpet of the softest fresh green grass, cushion-like moss and occasional cloverleaf. In a place never graced by a single sunray, such a perfect natural bed should not exist, and it is safe to assume it has been created there by an unknown force especially for the sake of the child. It is a if Nature herself wanted to accept the tiny one, cradle him in her arms and ease his earthly suffering.
For reasons unknown, he is wrapped into a kimono far too huge for a child of his age, one that must have belonged to a grown-up man or woman previously. It is pooling around him in the form of a small lake, snow-white, splashed with crimson... not quite flowers, not quite regular spots. Only on closer look one might find out, that those patterns have not been created by the tailor. They are painted by blood, flowing from wounds on the boy´s body, hidden from sight under the cloth.
It surely is a monstrous, intricate way to kill the small being, for if he will not bleed out soon, the fresh blood is going to attract the mysterious inhabitants of the primeval forest. The ancient beasts are drawn to it like moths to light, they are creeping out of their hideouts in the alleyways of death outside of society, and they are always hungry. And when they approach, a wild mix of scaled, winged or furry species, some of which are only known to humanity from myths and legends, the tree branches don´t need to stand apart, because they are passing right through them, through the leaves, through the trunks, unbound by a physical body yet frighteningly material in their appearance.
The universe stands still, holding a collective breath. Then, a child´s scream pierces through the darkness.
They say that before death, the entire life passes in front of your eyes in reversed order. If that is true, maybe there is logic in the way D regains all memories of who he was in his previous life, and who he would be forced to become again, chronologically. In maybe less than a minute, they return to him violently, parading one after another in a pathetic entourage - birth to death - and revealing the painful truth of his life.
****************
D is one year old. The softness of a newborn angel still clings to him, and he lives in a world full of wonders. His daily milk comes from the sacred Hathor herself, a Bird of Eden sings lullabies for him at night, a unicorn fulfills the role of his protector, mermaids teach him how to swim and a hellhound´s cubs are his playmates.
For his first birthday, he is allowed to eat solid food for the first time - the cake is small but delicious, shaped like a seashell. D plunges his chubby hands into it, giggling, then licks his fingers... and becomes addicted forever.
*
D is two years old. His jet-black hair is cut in the pot-like hairstyle that most boys wear until they find their own style. At this point, he knows how to walk, swim and fly, and he speaks with words more elaborate than human children use upon entering basic school. Gifted as he is, he still secretly finds the task placed upon his shoulders too difficult, too challenging.
He is perched on a chair way too high for him, legs dangling in the air, one arm hugging a dog twice his size. The Irish wolf-hound obediently sitting next to him licks D´s hand to express support. He had been carrying the boy on his back the entire day, before count D, his father, called them inside for a cup of tea. It is always tea-time in the pet shop. All matters, big or small, are best solved with a cup of warm aromatic liquid in one´s hands - one of the earliest lessons D has ever learnt. That particular matter belonged to the big ones, maybe too big for a child to take, but the count decided it was about time.
„We are the painters of unseen images. The singers of unheard songs. The caretakers of what has been lost. We are that which humans chose to ignore...“ D is listening to his father´s words tentatively, unaware that he would hear them times and times again in the future, until they became imprinted in his brain so deep that he wouldn´t be able to take a single breath without being reminded of their existence.
*
D is four. He is sitting on a wooden park bench next to his grandfather. The place is London, England, the season is late summer. The weather is perfect for spending a few pleasant moments outside: the wind about to bring Autumn is not yet strong enough, the sun is not as burning as in July. Both kami are licking ice cream - not a single cop, but as many as it was possible to squeeze on top of the biscuit cornet without them dropping over the edges.
There´s a small playground just in front of them, occupied by a group of kids of D´s age and older. Some of them are playing with dolls on the ground. A boy with flaming red hair is building a house out of twigs, sand and leaves. Two almost identical girls with cute pony tails - obviously twins, whose mother decided to enhance the similarities between them by dressing them in the same way - are pretending to be cooking dinner, a flower-sand-water-blueberry-flavored soup carefully mixed in a tiny plastic pot.
D´s tongue is automatically moving up and down, then right and left, circling the ice cream. His body craves the sugar, his mind, however, is with the little humans. It seems to be intriguing, this playing. He ponders if he would be able to do it too. It doesn´t look that difficult. Maybe if his father recalled he has some errands and left him there alone for a while, he could…
„He will get divorced three times“, D´s father says casually, pointing at one of the boys, „and end up in prison, as it will be proven that he liked to beat up each of the wives on regular terms. And do you see those twins?“ he keeps on mercilessly. „They will grow up to become manipulative beasts, playing exchange games with men, until one of them - surprisingly - finds her true love, and the other kills her out of sheer jealousy.“
The ice cream seems to have turned sour.
*
D is six year old. Big enough to keep up with his father as they walk hand in hand through the slum. Nevertheless, he tries to stop and look over his shoulder every now and then, big violet eyes filled with anxiety.
Several months ago, the older kami decided D needed to see the world and closed the shop in order to take his son for a long journey around the globe. Instead of travelling to all the distant wonders of the world created by Nature or by human hands, the journey has turned into a field trip through a fun house full of the more twisted individuals of human descent. A show of evil and suffering.
In Egypt, it was not the pyramids but the grave robbers D was shown. In Kenya, the beauty of nature was overshadowed by ivory dealers. In Russia, instead of visiting the colorful churches, he had to watch the mafia at work and homeless people drinking themselves to death in the cold streets. He saw people being shot because they had attempted to flee to their families over the Berlin wall, innocents rotting in the unspeakably cruel prisons of Taiwan, clan wars in Harlem, out of which the most lucky ones came out „only“ with their mouths cut open from ear to ear.
Now, he is being dragged along a sloppy passage that doesn´t have any right to be called „street“. Adults seem to have disappeared from the settlement. Only children´s eyes are observing the duo from behind each and every corner. Waiting like dogs for a thrown bone. The kids are wearing nothing or close to nothing, though their bodies are hidden from sight, as dirt is covering them from head to toes. Their starved bellies are poking out in sharp contrast with their spider-like limbs. D doesn´t have anything to offer them, as much as he longs to, and fears the disappointment in those haunting eyes, therefore he diverts his own sight.
But his father pauses in his steps and forcefully lifts D´s head. „Do not be scared to observe human suffering, since it is well-deserved“, he preaches coldly. „There is no pity for the human animal, for it is capable of unfathomable cruelty.“
*
D is ten now. His hair falls past his shoulders, and because his fashion style copies the chinese robes his father often wears, he strongly resembles a little girl. Kneeling on the comfortable persian carpet the entire shop is decorated with, he carefully folds his clothing into an ancient looking suitcase. His movements are automatic and efficient. „Where are we going this time?“ he asks with feigned optimism, when his father comes in to check on him. As if it mattered. Wherever they go, it will always be the same. A tiny ironical smile settles on his lips, one that seems to be running in the family. During his short life, he´s helped to move the shop twenty-five times.
*
D is eleven. He stirs in his bed, yawning. Violet eyes snap open. The place is Vancouver, Canada. The time is 2.30 a.m. For a while, D isn´t sure what woke him up. Then a heated conversation, more like an argument, reaches his ears. A human in the shop, at this time? Has he come to attack them, kill them, because after all that´s what humans are best at?
Curiosity mixed with fear, he slips out of his room and tiptoes all the way to the one where his father usually sleeps. With a Chinese tea-cup pressed on the wood, he can hear his father clearly: „This has to end. You have chosen. I am tired of this little triangle, tired of you coming to me everytime you think you´re unable to stand her.“
Next, an unknown voice, soft but self-assured with an underlying layer of steel: „You always say this. Yet, you never throw me out. I wonder why that might be? Maybe you simply like this too much...“
Silence. A moan. Slurping sounds. Holding his breath, D looks through the keyhole... and sees... goodness! The older D is pressed against the wall, cornered by a blonde-haired male, whose hands are lost somewhere under D´s cheongsam, rhythmically moving. From under his lips, a trickle of blood trails down D´s pale neck. D´s expression is strained as if he were fighting an enormous inner battle, until he finally pushes the blonde away.
„The only thing that excited me about sex with you, Alex, is that you are not human. Yes, I admit, the fact that you MUST kill them in order to live made you very attractive in my eyes, but now it´s simply not enough. Would you, please, leave?“ The vampire turns around, D panics and retreats into darkness, forgetting the cup on the floor. In the morning, his father pours jasmine tea into the exact same cup, and as he places it in front of D, he looks at him for just a little while longer than usually. He doesn´t ask questions, neither does he provide any explanation.
*
D is fourteen years old, but he looks much older, almost adult. Customers tend to admire him and many often point out the similarity to his father - a dubious compliment, which D usually accepts with that well-practiced smile. He enjoys wearing such kind of make-up that enhances his violet orbs, and he also takes great care of his raven hair, now falling all the way to his hips - the only two features that set him apart from the elder D.
Expectation lingers in the air, because after countless years of daily preparations and thorough schooling, the older kami has decided it is about time D started to accept customers on his own, so that he could open his own store in a few years. The place is Paris, France. D´s first victim is a young woman, barely 19 years old, in whom he promptly recognizes a famous model. She removes her sunglasses with a gesture that aims to impress, and checks out the interior, upper lip curled up in disgust, as she has already grown accustomed to the luxury of five star hotels and Versace boutiques.
„You are count D ?“ she asks in an obnoxious voice without any greeting.
„My father is currently away on business, looking for new merchandise“, D explains calmly, „but maybe I can be of help? We sell everything from the usual cats and dogs to things that barely scrape the Treaty...“
„Right... well, I don´t think so, because frankly I want something that matches my own beauty...“
D smiles mysteriously and ushers her through the back door.
„A Phoenix is a very brave and most unusual first-time choice“, the older D says two days later, enjoying his first cup of tea back home. „I must say I was surprised.“ He folds the newspaper he has been reading and puts it aside, next to the plate with fruit tarts. On the front page, one can see a large photo of a burning house. Underneath, the title: BEAUTY IN FLAMES. The article informs the readers that Aude Pinacet, 19, a french top-model, is fighting for her life in the hospital after being burned severely during a fire in her country manor, the reason of which is completely unknown. Her face has been damaged beyond recognition and will be impossible to reconstruct even with the most expensive techniques available in cosmetic surgery nowadays. „However, you did very well indeed.“
D just smiles with a little nod, warming his ice-cold hands on the tea-cup. „Thank you, father.“ The smile, he thinks, is most convenient. Nobody could ever tell D has his own private fire eating him up from the inside, fuelled by all kinds of emotions, the strongest one being horror. Seeing the seed he had planted grow makes everything real, it is his doing, he alone condemned the girl to a miserable existence worse than death, and the knowledge is frightening. Under the horror, though, there is pride. His father who had never loved him, never praised him, finally acknowledged D was good at something! D cannot force his father to love him, but he makes a decision in that very moment that he will force the older Kami to at least respect him by performing his task with detached, cruel perfection. By winning in his father´s sick game. And at the very bottom, under fear and pride, a thin layer of twisted excitement and dark satisfaction can be found... a treat of a sadist in the making.
*
D is nineteen, and his victims can be counted in hundreds. He is an excellent judge of human character and knows exactly what each of his customers desires, in which way they are most likely to breech the terms of purchase, what punishment would be the most appropriate and devastating for whom. He can spot the individuals with the darkest hearts on first sight and rid the world of them before they realize what is happening. Always.
Now it seems, though, that he has made his first mistake, which won´t let him sleep. He paces back and forth like a tiger in a cage, pondering where could his plan have gone wrong. The place is Edinbourgh, Scotland. The time is 5.00 am.
Evan Welch, a moderately famous but unusually sexually active painter specializing in nude portraits, came to him two months ago with a most delicate problem: he had fallen in love with a strange animal, who could either take a form of a water horse, or the one of a beautiful woman. D immediately recognized a kelpie in his story, a kind of water nix of Celtic origin, and agreed to find and deliver her to the young man. He expected the artist to be devoured right after courting, thinking such a death would be a fitting end for a guy was used to change mating partners more often than socks. However, two months have passed since and Evan is still alive. Most upsetting...
Thus, the morning finds D taking a cab to Evan´s villa, resolved to fix the failure even if it meant he would have to strangle Evan with his bare hands. When D arrives, the pair is already seated at the garden pond under a group of maple trees in full bloom. The kelpie´s lower body is submerged in the water, while Evan is occupying a checkered blanket on the shore - shirtless, in case he got wet. Lovingly, he leans forward, feeding the nix with raw meat and seaweed. She is staring at him with obvious adoration, licking his fingers without giving any sign of wanting to bite them off. Tame.
When D approaches, asking about the health of the pet, the kelpie glares, having guessed D´s dark intentions, and puts her arms around the human´s shoulders in a protective gesture. „Excellent, thank you“, Evan says with a bright smile, because he has not guessed anything, „you have made me the happiest man on the Earth.“ Unfortunately, D thinks for himself, that wasn´t my intention.
*
D is twenty years old, and although his lips show the usual smirk, he is frighteningly uncertain inside. Ever since he found out that human love does exist, or at least an illusion of love strong enough to last way beyond the expected deadline, D has been feeling confused, betrayed and frightened. His father always described the entire human race as monsters, piled proof after proof at D´s feet, made him believe it so firmly that now that he knows it doesn´t always have to be so, he has no clue what to begin with that particular piece of knowledge.
„I would like this one, Count...“, a weak voice addresses him. He lowers his eyes to the level of his waist, because that´s where the eyes of his most recent customer, a sickly girl in a wheelchair, are to be found. They are baby blue, innocent, tender and frightened, much like those of a cornered animal. She is pointing at a striped kitten, half blind and the weakest one of the lot. Even in her pitiful state, she still has the power, the inborn need to take care of another being, weaker than herself, and unmistakably chooses the one that requires help the most.
D´s smile weavers. He bites his lip. „I am afraid“, he says in a sweet tone, „that this is not the proper pet for you. If you allow me, I would like to show you something much more appropriate.“
And as he leads her into the labyrinth beyond the mysterious door, he realizes he has seen people like her before. People whose innermost wishes were not money, fame or sex, but love or acceptance. He had been, in fact, seeing them all his life - in his father´s pet shop and later in the one he opened on his own - but he had chosen to ignore them and their dreams and hopes. They were, after all, members of the human race, and that alone was a stain on their soul they couldn´t simply erase by acting with compassion. During this last year, though, his eyes begun to open towards them. He took a growing interest in them, and began to experiment. If he fulfilled their desires, even though it would essentially bring them happiness instead of death, would they eventually destroy this happiness by themselves? Would they bloom with love even more than before? Or would it not change them at all beyond painting a momentary smile on their faces?
„What is it?“ the girl eyes the strange animal suspiciously, although she has in fact already fallen in love with the chubby thing. „A very special kind - kerayal, also called power animal... There are only about ten still on Earth, but you certainly are worthy of giving this lovely one a home. If you want to keep this child, the rules are as follows: 1) always let him sleep in your bed, preferably by your side...“ .
...because, as D knows, that kind of animal absorbs the sickness of its owner bit by bit at night, oozing healing energy with every pore in exchange, so that in a few months a blind would see, a deaf would hear... and a disabled one would be able to stand up and make a few steps. He finds some comfort in telling himself that healing the girl will be just another experiment. Once she regains strength, will she still be kind and selfless, or will she cast those traits away and start taking instead of giving, enjoying the life she couldn´t have lived before? Still, he is plagued by guilt. Maybe he hadn´t been betrayed after all. On the contrary - maybe he is betraying his own race now.
*
D is twenty-one. For the special occasion, his hair has been braided into a complicated traditional Chinese updo, and he sports a flowing dress embroidered with gold that even royalty would long to get their hands on. The place is Hong Kong. The year is 1972. The day is Winter Solstice.
Having climbed a hill far away from the thousand lights of the city, both kami are observing the sky tentatively. In the streets they have left behind, the masses are carrying colorful dragons in a loud parade, celebrating Chinese New Year - rich and poor, old and young, all drunk on rice alcohol, all drunk on hope. Out here, wonders are happening on the sky: the stars seem to be shifting to form a spacious tunnel, where, slowly, two sparkling horns appear, followed by a large head with bulging eyes. Finally, the entire body of the celestial ox begins to make its way from the East to the West, and although its hooves are aflame, it carries itself slowly, with moderation.
When the spectacle is over, one can hear the younger D say: „I wonder what the year of the Ox will bring us...“ His voice is shivering slightly, for he is still awed.
„We will feel the yoke of responsibility coming down on us this year“, the older D answers, not leaving any space for wondering, for dreams. „No success can be achieved without conscientious efforts. The year of the Ox favors discipline. We will be rewarded for our efforts -- so long as we remember to do things the conventional way.“
D seems to be contemplating those words in silence, however, he is in fact pondering whether or not his father could be suspecting something, because what he has just said sounds remarkably fitting. After a long, heavy silence, he says: „I will be starting my studies at the university this year.“
„Excuse me?!!“
D sighs. So he wasn´t suspecting anything, after all.
„Such nonsense! What, pray tell, do you expect to learn from humans that I haven´t taught you?“ the older D rages. The younger one shrugs, looking away.
„That is what I would like to find out.“ He makes an attempt to excuse his wish by a lie: „By studying the enemy, growing familiar with their behavioral patterns, I will be able to eradicate them in better, more intricate ways. I will be able to use their own means against them.“ The truth is that the customs his father relies on are too heavy, too stiff for him, much like the festive hairstyle. His hair cannot wait to spill down his back in a raven black waterfall, and in a similar way, D is counting the minutes until he will be able to see the world without his hand being held... figure out what his real purpose here is, explore possibilities, understand human hate and maybe love... if it exists.
„Perhaps it is worth a try“, the older kami says with a devious smile, his eyes looking down on his son as if he were a worthless vermin. „You have been very disappointing this last year - showing all your weaknesses, exactly as I feared. Apparently, the shop doesn´t suit you. Maybe you will discover at least SOME WAY in which you could be of use to our purpose.“ With that, he promptly gets up and aims for where the city is slowly falling asleep, leaving D under the tree: lonely, torn between anger, tears and joyful expectation.
*
D is twenty-two. During the past year, he exchanged his antique robes for more modern garments, careful to always keep a touch of his descent visible, so that an argument with his father would be avoided. Sometimes, he chooses to wear square, black framed glasses. In his opinion, they make him look sophisticated. He is sitting in the library, running his impossibly long nail across the pages of a heavy book, covered in dust. Every couple of minutes he reaches to the right, where several plastic cups of hot chocolate from the university vending machine are lined up on the table. With added sugar. (Three times.)
Being a college student has one big advantage: he can spend the entire day in the campus. After all the years of being observed and punished for mistakes day and night, this alone feels like heaven. His father never asks about D´s university performance, it is of no interest to him. The professors aren´t pestering him either, everything here depends on how much or how little you want to learn. And D wants to learn everything. The library has quickly become his most favorite place. Of course, he has access to nearly the same amount of books at home, but those have strictly limited subjects: mythical animals, magic and bloody history of the world.
He hasn´t made friends, mainly because the kids know he is the smartest, which is not easily forgiven in the Asian society, built on sweat. The obedient Chinese kids who entered the university after having spent years in one of the prominent high schools marked by crude drill, punishments and heavy load of work, used to not expressing their thoughts and wearing uniforms which made them perfect copies of each other, present a special sort of humans. D understands they are quite similar to a herd of sheep, but without the kind natures of the wooly animals. They envy D his success, although they are polite and respectful, which makes them… fake.
“Excuse me…?”
“Yes?” D lifts his eyes from the book and smiles. The shop keeper of the university canteen - a small elderly woman who has a soft spot for him - is standing in front of the table, holding a plate with two large, glorious donuts with maple syrup in her hands.
“I will be closing in half an hour and wanted you to have these when I realized you haven´t stopped by today. I know you love them!”
D checks the time hastily: really, it is half past five. “That is SO very sweet of you!” he almost purrs, getting up to accept the donuts with a deep bow. “I have completely forgotten about the time! It really does fly.”
“Not a problem. You shouldn´t be studying so hard, dear, try to have a break before you make yourself ill!”
D smiles, mouth full of donut. “I will take care of myself, promise.” There ARE good people, after all. Where would he be without his daily fix of donuts? The world, in that very moment, couldn´t be more beautiful.
*
The place is still Hong Kong, the season is early summer. The university gardens are blooming, bathing in sun. D is twenty-three years old and he has just earned his four year degree in medicine - two years too early. He is frowning at his own image in the fountain. His hair is completely hidden under a square cap far too big for his head and the university gown he´s wearing looks frighteningly like a royal blue tent, ballooning around his slender body. Nobody knows there´s a snake hidden under it, providing friendly mental support.
“Hey, it´s alright. We all look like idiots in these”, says an unfamiliar voice next to him.
D gives the kid a haughty look. It may be he doesn´t like the way they made him dress, but no one else is allowed to have him for less than perfect.
“Have I asked about your opinion?” he lifts his eyebrow, freezing the student to the bone before turning his back to him.
Out of all the young men and women that have gathered on the lawn for a group photo, D is the only one who looks like he doesn´t belong. Yet he also happens to be the only one carrying a red diploma with golden font under his right arm, as these colors are reserved for those who never obtained anything but A´s during their studies.
D might not have learnt anything about human feelings or the existence of love, however, he did learn the basics of anatomy, toxicology, dissection, biochemistry, immunology, genetics, histology, surgery, cardiology, microbiology, necrology, traumathology, transplantation and tropical diseases. That itself is more than impressive. He fell in love with science, its possibilities, its mystery, the chances of combining it with magic, and all that made him momentarily forget about his original plan to pursue understanding of human minds, not just their bodies. He feels very deeply now that this is the meaning of his life on Earth: to explore all the fields of medicine and use them in restoring nature. Especially genetics can be explored in his opinion, although one should not discard toxicology and good old surgery either. And he has a reason to celebrate, because a one of a kind opportunity to explore them has just been offered to him.
He arrives home early that day, slightly light-headed.
“May I cherish the knowledge that my son´s foolishness is finally over?” the older D asks sweetly instead of greeting, when the younger one enters the kitchen. Both the diploma and the university hat are carefully hidden from sight in his bag.
“You may not”, D says, his voice devoid of any fake softness.
His father is leaning over the counter, chopping huge chunks of raw meat, that is not quite pork, yet not beef either, into smaller pieces. At the unexpected answer, he stops his action and turns to D. His face is a huge question mark.
D watches the knife now lingering a few inches above the counter, watches the blood dripping down from its tip. Drop. Drop. Drop. He doesn´t say anything, because no question has been asked. It takes some time for him to mellow down under the cold metallic gaze of the older D´s golden eyes.
“The dean asked me to continue my studies at an affiliated university in the USA. I will receive a full stipendium. It is an honor.”
The older kami frowns and lets the knife fall on the counter. Clink.
“Forget about that nonsense, finish this for me and feed the Sirens. I want you to meditate tonight instead of sleep, ponder the meaning of the word honor. If it still means the same for you in the morning, we will have a longer discussion.” With that, he leaves the room, robes flying about as he walks with anger.
For a while, D wishes to be like the human kids from his university, the kids whose parents came to the graduation ceremony with flower bouquets and were… proud. Then he wipes his brain clean of such thoughts, picks up the knife and begins to slice the meat with perfect, well-measured movements of his delicate hand. Just like he had learnt in “introduction into surgery”. Human meat is on the table, cut it up. Automatically. Only now nobody will ask him to sew it back together. Which is good - it means less work. An ironical smirk settles on his lips as his hand keeps moving in even intervals.
TO BE CONTINUED
NOTES:
This is a Pet Shop of Horrors fanfiction.
The characters belong to Matsuri Akino.
Pairings: Papa D/Vesca, Sofu D/Alex, D/Leon (not all of them in this particular part)
This fic is not about smut, neither is it a typical story. It centers around Papa D. For this reason, he is being called D throughout the fiction - please, don´t let that confuse you.
I admit, Papa D is my favourite character in the manga, mostly because I love misunderstood characters, and in my humble opinion he was horribly misunderstood - and the side story in PSOH Tokyo from his university years confirmed it for me. So, this is my own take on his life : you hear me, his entire life. Enjoy, comment, it will make the batbunny happy. The other two parts will follow later this week.
BTW: IF YOU THINK YOU HAVE SEEN THE BEGINNING SOMEWHERE: you have. I had posted, some time ago, only the intro. Feel free to skip it and keep on reading, or read it again, but don´t close the page, I assure you - the majority of this is brand new.
Silence, the oppressing, heavy kind of silence that bears the darkest foreboding - the silence before the storm.
The leaves of the ancient trees, reaching so high that their branches entirely cover the sky, thus wrapping all life underneath into eternal darkness, are soundlessly moving in a light breeze. It is neither chilling, nor warm. Life exists here without doubt, although it has chosen not to be seen or heard. At odd moments, the ear can almost catch a fragment of a sound... no... more like a feeling. A dreadful suspicion that countless unblinking reptilian eyes are observing the scene from their hideouts, that clawed paws are soundlessly treading on the mildly damp soil in smaller and smaller circles, that the branche above would, if need be, make way to flock of malicious beaked creatures without any forewarning.
In a world such as this, things aren't quite what they seem from the outside. Deep within, the stench of death that cannot be stopped lingers, filtering through the air like an ever-present truth. In a world where wolf eats wolf, an innocent, beating heart is the most tender and sought after of trophies.
And, amidst of the nightmare land, we find the most curious thing: a child. It may be five years old, but also two or three, the serene expression making it seem older. Definitely, it is still in pre-school age. The jet-black hair cut in the pot-like hairstyle that most boys wear until they find their own style is the only clue from which it can be guessed the child is male. From under the fringe, two eyes of an unusual violet color are observing the surroundings. The eyes seem to be the only thing about the boy that is moving, the only part of his body that is, somehow, alive.
The boy is sitting calmly, obediently in the middle of a tiny meadow, on a carpet of the softest fresh green grass, cushion-like moss and occasional cloverleaf. In a place never graced by a single sunray, such a perfect natural bed should not exist, and it is safe to assume it has been created there by an unknown force especially for the sake of the child. It is a if Nature herself wanted to accept the tiny one, cradle him in her arms and ease his earthly suffering.
For reasons unknown, he is wrapped into a kimono far too huge for a child of his age, one that must have belonged to a grown-up man or woman previously. It is pooling around him in the form of a small lake, snow-white, splashed with crimson... not quite flowers, not quite regular spots. Only on closer look one might find out, that those patterns have not been created by the tailor. They are painted by blood, flowing from wounds on the boy´s body, hidden from sight under the cloth.
It surely is a monstrous, intricate way to kill the small being, for if he will not bleed out soon, the fresh blood is going to attract the mysterious inhabitants of the primeval forest. The ancient beasts are drawn to it like moths to light, they are creeping out of their hideouts in the alleyways of death outside of society, and they are always hungry. And when they approach, a wild mix of scaled, winged or furry species, some of which are only known to humanity from myths and legends, the tree branches don´t need to stand apart, because they are passing right through them, through the leaves, through the trunks, unbound by a physical body yet frighteningly material in their appearance.
The universe stands still, holding a collective breath. Then, a child´s scream pierces through the darkness.
They say that before death, the entire life passes in front of your eyes in reversed order. If that is true, maybe there is logic in the way D regains all memories of who he was in his previous life, and who he would be forced to become again, chronologically. In maybe less than a minute, they return to him violently, parading one after another in a pathetic entourage - birth to death - and revealing the painful truth of his life.
****************
D is one year old. The softness of a newborn angel still clings to him, and he lives in a world full of wonders. His daily milk comes from the sacred Hathor herself, a Bird of Eden sings lullabies for him at night, a unicorn fulfills the role of his protector, mermaids teach him how to swim and a hellhound´s cubs are his playmates.
For his first birthday, he is allowed to eat solid food for the first time - the cake is small but delicious, shaped like a seashell. D plunges his chubby hands into it, giggling, then licks his fingers... and becomes addicted forever.
*
D is two years old. His jet-black hair is cut in the pot-like hairstyle that most boys wear until they find their own style. At this point, he knows how to walk, swim and fly, and he speaks with words more elaborate than human children use upon entering basic school. Gifted as he is, he still secretly finds the task placed upon his shoulders too difficult, too challenging.
He is perched on a chair way too high for him, legs dangling in the air, one arm hugging a dog twice his size. The Irish wolf-hound obediently sitting next to him licks D´s hand to express support. He had been carrying the boy on his back the entire day, before count D, his father, called them inside for a cup of tea. It is always tea-time in the pet shop. All matters, big or small, are best solved with a cup of warm aromatic liquid in one´s hands - one of the earliest lessons D has ever learnt. That particular matter belonged to the big ones, maybe too big for a child to take, but the count decided it was about time.
„We are the painters of unseen images. The singers of unheard songs. The caretakers of what has been lost. We are that which humans chose to ignore...“ D is listening to his father´s words tentatively, unaware that he would hear them times and times again in the future, until they became imprinted in his brain so deep that he wouldn´t be able to take a single breath without being reminded of their existence.
*
D is four. He is sitting on a wooden park bench next to his grandfather. The place is London, England, the season is late summer. The weather is perfect for spending a few pleasant moments outside: the wind about to bring Autumn is not yet strong enough, the sun is not as burning as in July. Both kami are licking ice cream - not a single cop, but as many as it was possible to squeeze on top of the biscuit cornet without them dropping over the edges.
There´s a small playground just in front of them, occupied by a group of kids of D´s age and older. Some of them are playing with dolls on the ground. A boy with flaming red hair is building a house out of twigs, sand and leaves. Two almost identical girls with cute pony tails - obviously twins, whose mother decided to enhance the similarities between them by dressing them in the same way - are pretending to be cooking dinner, a flower-sand-water-blueberry-flavored soup carefully mixed in a tiny plastic pot.
D´s tongue is automatically moving up and down, then right and left, circling the ice cream. His body craves the sugar, his mind, however, is with the little humans. It seems to be intriguing, this playing. He ponders if he would be able to do it too. It doesn´t look that difficult. Maybe if his father recalled he has some errands and left him there alone for a while, he could…
„He will get divorced three times“, D´s father says casually, pointing at one of the boys, „and end up in prison, as it will be proven that he liked to beat up each of the wives on regular terms. And do you see those twins?“ he keeps on mercilessly. „They will grow up to become manipulative beasts, playing exchange games with men, until one of them - surprisingly - finds her true love, and the other kills her out of sheer jealousy.“
The ice cream seems to have turned sour.
*
D is six year old. Big enough to keep up with his father as they walk hand in hand through the slum. Nevertheless, he tries to stop and look over his shoulder every now and then, big violet eyes filled with anxiety.
Several months ago, the older kami decided D needed to see the world and closed the shop in order to take his son for a long journey around the globe. Instead of travelling to all the distant wonders of the world created by Nature or by human hands, the journey has turned into a field trip through a fun house full of the more twisted individuals of human descent. A show of evil and suffering.
In Egypt, it was not the pyramids but the grave robbers D was shown. In Kenya, the beauty of nature was overshadowed by ivory dealers. In Russia, instead of visiting the colorful churches, he had to watch the mafia at work and homeless people drinking themselves to death in the cold streets. He saw people being shot because they had attempted to flee to their families over the Berlin wall, innocents rotting in the unspeakably cruel prisons of Taiwan, clan wars in Harlem, out of which the most lucky ones came out „only“ with their mouths cut open from ear to ear.
Now, he is being dragged along a sloppy passage that doesn´t have any right to be called „street“. Adults seem to have disappeared from the settlement. Only children´s eyes are observing the duo from behind each and every corner. Waiting like dogs for a thrown bone. The kids are wearing nothing or close to nothing, though their bodies are hidden from sight, as dirt is covering them from head to toes. Their starved bellies are poking out in sharp contrast with their spider-like limbs. D doesn´t have anything to offer them, as much as he longs to, and fears the disappointment in those haunting eyes, therefore he diverts his own sight.
But his father pauses in his steps and forcefully lifts D´s head. „Do not be scared to observe human suffering, since it is well-deserved“, he preaches coldly. „There is no pity for the human animal, for it is capable of unfathomable cruelty.“
*
D is ten now. His hair falls past his shoulders, and because his fashion style copies the chinese robes his father often wears, he strongly resembles a little girl. Kneeling on the comfortable persian carpet the entire shop is decorated with, he carefully folds his clothing into an ancient looking suitcase. His movements are automatic and efficient. „Where are we going this time?“ he asks with feigned optimism, when his father comes in to check on him. As if it mattered. Wherever they go, it will always be the same. A tiny ironical smile settles on his lips, one that seems to be running in the family. During his short life, he´s helped to move the shop twenty-five times.
*
D is eleven. He stirs in his bed, yawning. Violet eyes snap open. The place is Vancouver, Canada. The time is 2.30 a.m. For a while, D isn´t sure what woke him up. Then a heated conversation, more like an argument, reaches his ears. A human in the shop, at this time? Has he come to attack them, kill them, because after all that´s what humans are best at?
Curiosity mixed with fear, he slips out of his room and tiptoes all the way to the one where his father usually sleeps. With a Chinese tea-cup pressed on the wood, he can hear his father clearly: „This has to end. You have chosen. I am tired of this little triangle, tired of you coming to me everytime you think you´re unable to stand her.“
Next, an unknown voice, soft but self-assured with an underlying layer of steel: „You always say this. Yet, you never throw me out. I wonder why that might be? Maybe you simply like this too much...“
Silence. A moan. Slurping sounds. Holding his breath, D looks through the keyhole... and sees... goodness! The older D is pressed against the wall, cornered by a blonde-haired male, whose hands are lost somewhere under D´s cheongsam, rhythmically moving. From under his lips, a trickle of blood trails down D´s pale neck. D´s expression is strained as if he were fighting an enormous inner battle, until he finally pushes the blonde away.
„The only thing that excited me about sex with you, Alex, is that you are not human. Yes, I admit, the fact that you MUST kill them in order to live made you very attractive in my eyes, but now it´s simply not enough. Would you, please, leave?“ The vampire turns around, D panics and retreats into darkness, forgetting the cup on the floor. In the morning, his father pours jasmine tea into the exact same cup, and as he places it in front of D, he looks at him for just a little while longer than usually. He doesn´t ask questions, neither does he provide any explanation.
*
D is fourteen years old, but he looks much older, almost adult. Customers tend to admire him and many often point out the similarity to his father - a dubious compliment, which D usually accepts with that well-practiced smile. He enjoys wearing such kind of make-up that enhances his violet orbs, and he also takes great care of his raven hair, now falling all the way to his hips - the only two features that set him apart from the elder D.
Expectation lingers in the air, because after countless years of daily preparations and thorough schooling, the older kami has decided it is about time D started to accept customers on his own, so that he could open his own store in a few years. The place is Paris, France. D´s first victim is a young woman, barely 19 years old, in whom he promptly recognizes a famous model. She removes her sunglasses with a gesture that aims to impress, and checks out the interior, upper lip curled up in disgust, as she has already grown accustomed to the luxury of five star hotels and Versace boutiques.
„You are count D ?“ she asks in an obnoxious voice without any greeting.
„My father is currently away on business, looking for new merchandise“, D explains calmly, „but maybe I can be of help? We sell everything from the usual cats and dogs to things that barely scrape the Treaty...“
„Right... well, I don´t think so, because frankly I want something that matches my own beauty...“
D smiles mysteriously and ushers her through the back door.
„A Phoenix is a very brave and most unusual first-time choice“, the older D says two days later, enjoying his first cup of tea back home. „I must say I was surprised.“ He folds the newspaper he has been reading and puts it aside, next to the plate with fruit tarts. On the front page, one can see a large photo of a burning house. Underneath, the title: BEAUTY IN FLAMES. The article informs the readers that Aude Pinacet, 19, a french top-model, is fighting for her life in the hospital after being burned severely during a fire in her country manor, the reason of which is completely unknown. Her face has been damaged beyond recognition and will be impossible to reconstruct even with the most expensive techniques available in cosmetic surgery nowadays. „However, you did very well indeed.“
D just smiles with a little nod, warming his ice-cold hands on the tea-cup. „Thank you, father.“ The smile, he thinks, is most convenient. Nobody could ever tell D has his own private fire eating him up from the inside, fuelled by all kinds of emotions, the strongest one being horror. Seeing the seed he had planted grow makes everything real, it is his doing, he alone condemned the girl to a miserable existence worse than death, and the knowledge is frightening. Under the horror, though, there is pride. His father who had never loved him, never praised him, finally acknowledged D was good at something! D cannot force his father to love him, but he makes a decision in that very moment that he will force the older Kami to at least respect him by performing his task with detached, cruel perfection. By winning in his father´s sick game. And at the very bottom, under fear and pride, a thin layer of twisted excitement and dark satisfaction can be found... a treat of a sadist in the making.
*
D is nineteen, and his victims can be counted in hundreds. He is an excellent judge of human character and knows exactly what each of his customers desires, in which way they are most likely to breech the terms of purchase, what punishment would be the most appropriate and devastating for whom. He can spot the individuals with the darkest hearts on first sight and rid the world of them before they realize what is happening. Always.
Now it seems, though, that he has made his first mistake, which won´t let him sleep. He paces back and forth like a tiger in a cage, pondering where could his plan have gone wrong. The place is Edinbourgh, Scotland. The time is 5.00 am.
Evan Welch, a moderately famous but unusually sexually active painter specializing in nude portraits, came to him two months ago with a most delicate problem: he had fallen in love with a strange animal, who could either take a form of a water horse, or the one of a beautiful woman. D immediately recognized a kelpie in his story, a kind of water nix of Celtic origin, and agreed to find and deliver her to the young man. He expected the artist to be devoured right after courting, thinking such a death would be a fitting end for a guy was used to change mating partners more often than socks. However, two months have passed since and Evan is still alive. Most upsetting...
Thus, the morning finds D taking a cab to Evan´s villa, resolved to fix the failure even if it meant he would have to strangle Evan with his bare hands. When D arrives, the pair is already seated at the garden pond under a group of maple trees in full bloom. The kelpie´s lower body is submerged in the water, while Evan is occupying a checkered blanket on the shore - shirtless, in case he got wet. Lovingly, he leans forward, feeding the nix with raw meat and seaweed. She is staring at him with obvious adoration, licking his fingers without giving any sign of wanting to bite them off. Tame.
When D approaches, asking about the health of the pet, the kelpie glares, having guessed D´s dark intentions, and puts her arms around the human´s shoulders in a protective gesture. „Excellent, thank you“, Evan says with a bright smile, because he has not guessed anything, „you have made me the happiest man on the Earth.“ Unfortunately, D thinks for himself, that wasn´t my intention.
*
D is twenty years old, and although his lips show the usual smirk, he is frighteningly uncertain inside. Ever since he found out that human love does exist, or at least an illusion of love strong enough to last way beyond the expected deadline, D has been feeling confused, betrayed and frightened. His father always described the entire human race as monsters, piled proof after proof at D´s feet, made him believe it so firmly that now that he knows it doesn´t always have to be so, he has no clue what to begin with that particular piece of knowledge.
„I would like this one, Count...“, a weak voice addresses him. He lowers his eyes to the level of his waist, because that´s where the eyes of his most recent customer, a sickly girl in a wheelchair, are to be found. They are baby blue, innocent, tender and frightened, much like those of a cornered animal. She is pointing at a striped kitten, half blind and the weakest one of the lot. Even in her pitiful state, she still has the power, the inborn need to take care of another being, weaker than herself, and unmistakably chooses the one that requires help the most.
D´s smile weavers. He bites his lip. „I am afraid“, he says in a sweet tone, „that this is not the proper pet for you. If you allow me, I would like to show you something much more appropriate.“
And as he leads her into the labyrinth beyond the mysterious door, he realizes he has seen people like her before. People whose innermost wishes were not money, fame or sex, but love or acceptance. He had been, in fact, seeing them all his life - in his father´s pet shop and later in the one he opened on his own - but he had chosen to ignore them and their dreams and hopes. They were, after all, members of the human race, and that alone was a stain on their soul they couldn´t simply erase by acting with compassion. During this last year, though, his eyes begun to open towards them. He took a growing interest in them, and began to experiment. If he fulfilled their desires, even though it would essentially bring them happiness instead of death, would they eventually destroy this happiness by themselves? Would they bloom with love even more than before? Or would it not change them at all beyond painting a momentary smile on their faces?
„What is it?“ the girl eyes the strange animal suspiciously, although she has in fact already fallen in love with the chubby thing. „A very special kind - kerayal, also called power animal... There are only about ten still on Earth, but you certainly are worthy of giving this lovely one a home. If you want to keep this child, the rules are as follows: 1) always let him sleep in your bed, preferably by your side...“ .
...because, as D knows, that kind of animal absorbs the sickness of its owner bit by bit at night, oozing healing energy with every pore in exchange, so that in a few months a blind would see, a deaf would hear... and a disabled one would be able to stand up and make a few steps. He finds some comfort in telling himself that healing the girl will be just another experiment. Once she regains strength, will she still be kind and selfless, or will she cast those traits away and start taking instead of giving, enjoying the life she couldn´t have lived before? Still, he is plagued by guilt. Maybe he hadn´t been betrayed after all. On the contrary - maybe he is betraying his own race now.
*
D is twenty-one. For the special occasion, his hair has been braided into a complicated traditional Chinese updo, and he sports a flowing dress embroidered with gold that even royalty would long to get their hands on. The place is Hong Kong. The year is 1972. The day is Winter Solstice.
Having climbed a hill far away from the thousand lights of the city, both kami are observing the sky tentatively. In the streets they have left behind, the masses are carrying colorful dragons in a loud parade, celebrating Chinese New Year - rich and poor, old and young, all drunk on rice alcohol, all drunk on hope. Out here, wonders are happening on the sky: the stars seem to be shifting to form a spacious tunnel, where, slowly, two sparkling horns appear, followed by a large head with bulging eyes. Finally, the entire body of the celestial ox begins to make its way from the East to the West, and although its hooves are aflame, it carries itself slowly, with moderation.
When the spectacle is over, one can hear the younger D say: „I wonder what the year of the Ox will bring us...“ His voice is shivering slightly, for he is still awed.
„We will feel the yoke of responsibility coming down on us this year“, the older D answers, not leaving any space for wondering, for dreams. „No success can be achieved without conscientious efforts. The year of the Ox favors discipline. We will be rewarded for our efforts -- so long as we remember to do things the conventional way.“
D seems to be contemplating those words in silence, however, he is in fact pondering whether or not his father could be suspecting something, because what he has just said sounds remarkably fitting. After a long, heavy silence, he says: „I will be starting my studies at the university this year.“
„Excuse me?!!“
D sighs. So he wasn´t suspecting anything, after all.
„Such nonsense! What, pray tell, do you expect to learn from humans that I haven´t taught you?“ the older D rages. The younger one shrugs, looking away.
„That is what I would like to find out.“ He makes an attempt to excuse his wish by a lie: „By studying the enemy, growing familiar with their behavioral patterns, I will be able to eradicate them in better, more intricate ways. I will be able to use their own means against them.“ The truth is that the customs his father relies on are too heavy, too stiff for him, much like the festive hairstyle. His hair cannot wait to spill down his back in a raven black waterfall, and in a similar way, D is counting the minutes until he will be able to see the world without his hand being held... figure out what his real purpose here is, explore possibilities, understand human hate and maybe love... if it exists.
„Perhaps it is worth a try“, the older kami says with a devious smile, his eyes looking down on his son as if he were a worthless vermin. „You have been very disappointing this last year - showing all your weaknesses, exactly as I feared. Apparently, the shop doesn´t suit you. Maybe you will discover at least SOME WAY in which you could be of use to our purpose.“ With that, he promptly gets up and aims for where the city is slowly falling asleep, leaving D under the tree: lonely, torn between anger, tears and joyful expectation.
*
D is twenty-two. During the past year, he exchanged his antique robes for more modern garments, careful to always keep a touch of his descent visible, so that an argument with his father would be avoided. Sometimes, he chooses to wear square, black framed glasses. In his opinion, they make him look sophisticated. He is sitting in the library, running his impossibly long nail across the pages of a heavy book, covered in dust. Every couple of minutes he reaches to the right, where several plastic cups of hot chocolate from the university vending machine are lined up on the table. With added sugar. (Three times.)
Being a college student has one big advantage: he can spend the entire day in the campus. After all the years of being observed and punished for mistakes day and night, this alone feels like heaven. His father never asks about D´s university performance, it is of no interest to him. The professors aren´t pestering him either, everything here depends on how much or how little you want to learn. And D wants to learn everything. The library has quickly become his most favorite place. Of course, he has access to nearly the same amount of books at home, but those have strictly limited subjects: mythical animals, magic and bloody history of the world.
He hasn´t made friends, mainly because the kids know he is the smartest, which is not easily forgiven in the Asian society, built on sweat. The obedient Chinese kids who entered the university after having spent years in one of the prominent high schools marked by crude drill, punishments and heavy load of work, used to not expressing their thoughts and wearing uniforms which made them perfect copies of each other, present a special sort of humans. D understands they are quite similar to a herd of sheep, but without the kind natures of the wooly animals. They envy D his success, although they are polite and respectful, which makes them… fake.
“Excuse me…?”
“Yes?” D lifts his eyes from the book and smiles. The shop keeper of the university canteen - a small elderly woman who has a soft spot for him - is standing in front of the table, holding a plate with two large, glorious donuts with maple syrup in her hands.
“I will be closing in half an hour and wanted you to have these when I realized you haven´t stopped by today. I know you love them!”
D checks the time hastily: really, it is half past five. “That is SO very sweet of you!” he almost purrs, getting up to accept the donuts with a deep bow. “I have completely forgotten about the time! It really does fly.”
“Not a problem. You shouldn´t be studying so hard, dear, try to have a break before you make yourself ill!”
D smiles, mouth full of donut. “I will take care of myself, promise.” There ARE good people, after all. Where would he be without his daily fix of donuts? The world, in that very moment, couldn´t be more beautiful.
*
The place is still Hong Kong, the season is early summer. The university gardens are blooming, bathing in sun. D is twenty-three years old and he has just earned his four year degree in medicine - two years too early. He is frowning at his own image in the fountain. His hair is completely hidden under a square cap far too big for his head and the university gown he´s wearing looks frighteningly like a royal blue tent, ballooning around his slender body. Nobody knows there´s a snake hidden under it, providing friendly mental support.
“Hey, it´s alright. We all look like idiots in these”, says an unfamiliar voice next to him.
D gives the kid a haughty look. It may be he doesn´t like the way they made him dress, but no one else is allowed to have him for less than perfect.
“Have I asked about your opinion?” he lifts his eyebrow, freezing the student to the bone before turning his back to him.
Out of all the young men and women that have gathered on the lawn for a group photo, D is the only one who looks like he doesn´t belong. Yet he also happens to be the only one carrying a red diploma with golden font under his right arm, as these colors are reserved for those who never obtained anything but A´s during their studies.
D might not have learnt anything about human feelings or the existence of love, however, he did learn the basics of anatomy, toxicology, dissection, biochemistry, immunology, genetics, histology, surgery, cardiology, microbiology, necrology, traumathology, transplantation and tropical diseases. That itself is more than impressive. He fell in love with science, its possibilities, its mystery, the chances of combining it with magic, and all that made him momentarily forget about his original plan to pursue understanding of human minds, not just their bodies. He feels very deeply now that this is the meaning of his life on Earth: to explore all the fields of medicine and use them in restoring nature. Especially genetics can be explored in his opinion, although one should not discard toxicology and good old surgery either. And he has a reason to celebrate, because a one of a kind opportunity to explore them has just been offered to him.
He arrives home early that day, slightly light-headed.
“May I cherish the knowledge that my son´s foolishness is finally over?” the older D asks sweetly instead of greeting, when the younger one enters the kitchen. Both the diploma and the university hat are carefully hidden from sight in his bag.
“You may not”, D says, his voice devoid of any fake softness.
His father is leaning over the counter, chopping huge chunks of raw meat, that is not quite pork, yet not beef either, into smaller pieces. At the unexpected answer, he stops his action and turns to D. His face is a huge question mark.
D watches the knife now lingering a few inches above the counter, watches the blood dripping down from its tip. Drop. Drop. Drop. He doesn´t say anything, because no question has been asked. It takes some time for him to mellow down under the cold metallic gaze of the older D´s golden eyes.
“The dean asked me to continue my studies at an affiliated university in the USA. I will receive a full stipendium. It is an honor.”
The older kami frowns and lets the knife fall on the counter. Clink.
“Forget about that nonsense, finish this for me and feed the Sirens. I want you to meditate tonight instead of sleep, ponder the meaning of the word honor. If it still means the same for you in the morning, we will have a longer discussion.” With that, he leaves the room, robes flying about as he walks with anger.
For a while, D wishes to be like the human kids from his university, the kids whose parents came to the graduation ceremony with flower bouquets and were… proud. Then he wipes his brain clean of such thoughts, picks up the knife and begins to slice the meat with perfect, well-measured movements of his delicate hand. Just like he had learnt in “introduction into surgery”. Human meat is on the table, cut it up. Automatically. Only now nobody will ask him to sew it back together. Which is good - it means less work. An ironical smirk settles on his lips as his hand keeps moving in even intervals.
TO BE CONTINUED