aesclepius
in
wk_100
Takatori Tetralogy: Prudence/Charity/Justice/Hope
Title: Takatori Tetralogy: Prudence/Charity/Justice/Hope
Team: Weiss
Word Count: 100 x 4
Characters: Takatori Reiji and sons
Notes: These feel awkward-in-a-bad-way to me, but I'm hoping that's just my achy head and sore throat. If it isn't, and you have any constructive criticisms, please let me know!
Prudence
It was shameful to admit it, even to himself and in the privacy of his bathroom, but something would have to be done about Masafumi. The boy was increasingly difficult to control, lacking respect for his family’s honor and deference to him as father. The four sluts were decorative, a flattering mimicry of his own entourage, but surely no match for them. Farfarello could filet the bitches, while Naoe took care of Masafumi. No son of his would be killed by a mad gaijin, however disappointing.
Takatori Reiji turned the tap, idly watching his nail clippings swirl down the drain.
Charity
Liott was posh and profitable, a good investment for his father. Masafumi knew this even before he arrived, but he had been given no choice about coming, so he wandered the grounds, silently raging at his father, at the waste of research time, at the world he was going to re-create.
He saw her body first, prostrate and naked, making him hard. Then he saw her face, right side swollen, red, oozing from innumerable cigar burns, and became harder still. But when she whimpered at his touch, he only crooned.
“I will make you new. Strong and beautiful and new.”
Justice
Hirofumi lay on his futon, pretending his eyes didn’t burn with unshed tears. He ached with thoughts of Mamoru, kidnapped, helpless, scared; of his mother, swallowing the loss of her baby along with a bottle of Tylenol; of Masafumi, even more withdrawn than before. But most painful were the thoughts of his father, bravely struggling to rescue his son, calm his wife’s despair, and represent his nation, while refusing to turn to his eldest son for help, reluctant to spoil his year abroad with bad news. Blinking wetly, Hirofumi swore to repay his father’s thoughtfulness and devotion with future service.
Hope
His days were mostly like they were before the Bad Men took him away. He still had school in the mornings, all by himself, ‘for security reasons.’ And later, he got to run around, learning how to fight with sticks and arrows. The arrows were his favorite: the pretty red teacher told him he was the best, better than even bigger boys. He didn’t like his new name, but he didn’t want her to get scary, so when she called for ‘Omi,’ he always answered. And maybe, if he got really good at the arrows, Otosan would want him back.
Team: Weiss
Word Count: 100 x 4
Characters: Takatori Reiji and sons
Notes: These feel awkward-in-a-bad-way to me, but I'm hoping that's just my achy head and sore throat. If it isn't, and you have any constructive criticisms, please let me know!
Prudence
It was shameful to admit it, even to himself and in the privacy of his bathroom, but something would have to be done about Masafumi. The boy was increasingly difficult to control, lacking respect for his family’s honor and deference to him as father. The four sluts were decorative, a flattering mimicry of his own entourage, but surely no match for them. Farfarello could filet the bitches, while Naoe took care of Masafumi. No son of his would be killed by a mad gaijin, however disappointing.
Takatori Reiji turned the tap, idly watching his nail clippings swirl down the drain.
Charity
Liott was posh and profitable, a good investment for his father. Masafumi knew this even before he arrived, but he had been given no choice about coming, so he wandered the grounds, silently raging at his father, at the waste of research time, at the world he was going to re-create.
He saw her body first, prostrate and naked, making him hard. Then he saw her face, right side swollen, red, oozing from innumerable cigar burns, and became harder still. But when she whimpered at his touch, he only crooned.
“I will make you new. Strong and beautiful and new.”
Justice
Hirofumi lay on his futon, pretending his eyes didn’t burn with unshed tears. He ached with thoughts of Mamoru, kidnapped, helpless, scared; of his mother, swallowing the loss of her baby along with a bottle of Tylenol; of Masafumi, even more withdrawn than before. But most painful were the thoughts of his father, bravely struggling to rescue his son, calm his wife’s despair, and represent his nation, while refusing to turn to his eldest son for help, reluctant to spoil his year abroad with bad news. Blinking wetly, Hirofumi swore to repay his father’s thoughtfulness and devotion with future service.
Hope
His days were mostly like they were before the Bad Men took him away. He still had school in the mornings, all by himself, ‘for security reasons.’ And later, he got to run around, learning how to fight with sticks and arrows. The arrows were his favorite: the pretty red teacher told him he was the best, better than even bigger boys. He didn’t like his new name, but he didn’t want her to get scary, so when she called for ‘Omi,’ he always answered. And maybe, if he got really good at the arrows, Otosan would want him back.