Hatchling
Title: "Hatchling"
Genre: General
Pairings: None
Rating: PG-13 for Violence, etc
Word Count: 1500
Warning: SPOILER for Post-Season2, and also blood, etc.
Summary: It's impossible to ignore the caw of a baby crow.
To Read:
It was a strange nest. The small crag deep in the mountainside served as an excellent spot, if a little drafty. Thick rugs piled generously on the cool limestone soon became damp and chill, and tapestries lined the slick walls in an effort to conserve heat. The fabric did little more than give the abode a lingering musk, but at the very least it made the cold rock look more like a home.
The baby crow cawed, throat strained and weak in the winters’ air. Steam rose from a pink mouth as he pressed out another caw. There was a slight rustling of inky black wings before the sire returned, morsel writhing in his beak.
“Feed,” he said.
Human souls were slippery, and always moving, changing, and twisting. The one the Crow had selected was no different, plucked from a man screaming for mercy. It was not a very refined meal. The Crow equated it to the kind of food you snatch from a market stall in a hurry. His young hatchling turned his face away, dainty nose wrinkled.
“If you do not feed, you will wither and die.”
“It’s disgusting.” He replied.
The Crow seethed a moment, about to claim the food for himself before the little Fledgling crept closer from the nest of blankets and pillows. He offered the meal in the cup of his palms.
“Feed,” There was a twitch of amusement now.
Cobalt eyes flickered crimson briefly, defiant as they glared toward their slave over stained white gloves. Little fingers touched the Crow’s wrists to steady his hands, and a little head bowed to eat. The Crow got a certain satisfaction from watching his Master suckle down the soul from his own hands. Starvation lead even the proudest to shame. Wouldn’t he know? The Crow thought, pondering his own Fall.
The Fledgling’s body started, shoulders twitching and the still-human gag reflex reacting to the slimy soul wriggling down his throat. Naturally the Crow wanted none of his hunt wasted, so he caught some of the mass into his own mouth, using considerable force and sharp teeth to grind the memories and thoughts of the mortal into a puree that would be far easier for the young hatchling to swallow.
He longed to swallow the soul, to devour it and savor the fullness of his belly, if only for a few moments. But the Crow had orders, and orders were to be obeyed. So he opened his mouth, and pressed it to the child’s. Moving the squirming tongue away with his own, he fed his hatchling. The boy squirmed, but soon hunger took over, and he took the soul in one gulp.
A tiny hand slapped him across the face, a trail of blood and saliva bridging between their mouths. He panted, dainty features skewed in rage and contempt.
“Young Master,” Sebastian began, “I believe it is time to learn to hunt.”
***
Ciel was still clumsy in this shape. Not that the form was new- a lithe young boy with milky skin and limbs stretching to a height he would never gain- it was that the power that sat inside was now too large for its host. Sebastian had leapt elegantly from rooftop to rooftop the way a child hops from stone to stone on a pond. Ciel had far exceeded his goal and found himself entangled in a waving banner, twisting and screeching in fury.
Sebastian was strongly reminded of the sunny afternoons of teaching Ciel the violin, and he compared it as such.
“Your power is like a note,” He explained, “Before you play you must decide the note, and how long it will ring in the air from the stroke of your bow.”
The parallel was lost on the young demon, who fell quite spectacularly into an awaiting garbage pail below. Ciel demanded Sebastian’s silence as he groomed bits of rotten fruit from his hair and suit, but the Demon could not keep from smiling at his Master’s failure. His superiority over his Master gave him the illusion of the smallest ounce of control.
***
“Come here,” Ciel called, beckoning.
It was a mockery of the Manor, this dank cave. There was always the smell of tea, and the smell of blood and of dirty water. The fine furniture and luxurious fabrics only covered the decay, like pasting wallpaper over a wall devoured by termites. Still, the pair kept up the façade, because opulence was what was normal for the pair.
Currently the little Crow lounged on a shredding velvet chaise, picking idly at the fraying upholstery. The Demon stooped to hear his Master’s orders, teeth gritted.
“Do I smell, demon?” He asked.
Sebastian was unsure how to answer. Orders forbade him from disobedience and from demeaning his master, but they also required him to be honest. A paradox, indeed.
“I do not smell any filth on you, my Lord.”
“No?” Ciel seemed astonished.
He rolled back one charcoal-grey silk sleeve, exposing the smooth, soft skin of his inner wrist. He examined the skin and bent to smell it. Then, he sank back onto the couch and ran the expanse of skin across Sebastian’s nostrils.
The smell of Ciel’s soul, fresh and tantalizing, slammed Sebastian between the eyes. He smelled like innocence, damnation, like tea and chocolate and sorrow, pride and stubbornness, peace and rage. He could not stop his mouth from salivating and his eyes glowing an unholy light, consumed by his hunger.
“Are you sure?” Ciel teased, tugging his sleeve back to cover the skin.
At times, Sebastian felt a bit of Alois still lingered inside him, left deep within the traces of his mind.
***
It had taken an inordinate amount of time, but finally, Sebastian decided he was ready. The pair of crows alighted in the shadows. It was an arcane form of hunting, Sebastian knew, but if he was to last eternity saddled to a brat, the child would have to learn to hunt.
“That one.”
The poor mortal Sebastian had chosen was a middle-aged woman out on an evening stroll.
“She smells,” Ciel complained, “I want to form a contract.”
“You are too small,” Sebastian chided, “You cannot form a contract yet, young master.”
He sniffed in irritation, then looked to his Butler for guidance.
“Approach her. Instinct shall assist with the rest.”
So the boy wandered out after his prey, trotting to her side. Soon she slipped her fat hand over his and lead him along to find his home. What was a boy doing out so late? He couldn’t hear, of course- his father had hit his head too hard, and he was slightly deaf. Come closer. When the woman leaned down to speak into his ear, Ciel made his first kill.
There was a strange swell deep in the recesses of Sebastian’s chest, but it was a presentiment he could not name.
***
What many demons were simply created with, Ciel learned in an impressively short amount of time. Sebastian noted that Ciel’s manner of movement was particularly elegant as he wound through the streets in a black and grey blur. He pointed his little toes like a dancer, and the delicate mannerisms of his hands turning shadows were still innocent. Even his caws, once rough and rude, had become charming, easy to ensnare prey. He had become quite an enchanting Demon, Sebastian decided.
***
“Help me, please,” he cried, blood pouring from his body, “I don’t want to die!”
If Ciel had learned anything in his short life, it had been that the human heart possessed kindness and malice in the same sinewy heartbeats. It took no time at all for a kind family to take pity on the poor, ragged boy missing an eye and coated in blood. He enjoyed the warm baths, but declined meals, as he claimed he was too weak, and no longer hungry. Ciel had learned how to lie from the Prince of Liars.
He would wait until the family slept- quite often one at his side, as if attending the deathbed of an innocent child. And there he would feed, quite hungry after all. If he remembered, he would thank the still bodies for their hospitality as he stepped over them to rejoin his Butler waiting outside.
“Well done, young Master.”
Ciel took Sebastian’s arm, curling his fingers in the crook of his elbow. Black nails dug into the fiber, like tiny talons.
“I want to go home,” Ciel sighed.
He coiled his body like a spring and leapt easily along the edge of a stone wall. He didn’t stumble, didn’t fall. He landed as lightly, barely making a sound. Sebastian hung back a moment, jaw slack. The long black feathers of flight had long grown in. The hatchling could leave the nest. Yet Ciel glanced over his shoulder, expectant .
“Come, Sebastian.”
And the Fledgling took flight, sable wings disappearing into the night sky. The Crow, as always, was not far behind.
Genre: General
Pairings: None
Rating: PG-13 for Violence, etc
Word Count: 1500
Warning: SPOILER for Post-Season2, and also blood, etc.
Summary: It's impossible to ignore the caw of a baby crow.
To Read:
It was a strange nest. The small crag deep in the mountainside served as an excellent spot, if a little drafty. Thick rugs piled generously on the cool limestone soon became damp and chill, and tapestries lined the slick walls in an effort to conserve heat. The fabric did little more than give the abode a lingering musk, but at the very least it made the cold rock look more like a home.
The baby crow cawed, throat strained and weak in the winters’ air. Steam rose from a pink mouth as he pressed out another caw. There was a slight rustling of inky black wings before the sire returned, morsel writhing in his beak.
“Feed,” he said.
Human souls were slippery, and always moving, changing, and twisting. The one the Crow had selected was no different, plucked from a man screaming for mercy. It was not a very refined meal. The Crow equated it to the kind of food you snatch from a market stall in a hurry. His young hatchling turned his face away, dainty nose wrinkled.
“If you do not feed, you will wither and die.”
“It’s disgusting.” He replied.
The Crow seethed a moment, about to claim the food for himself before the little Fledgling crept closer from the nest of blankets and pillows. He offered the meal in the cup of his palms.
“Feed,” There was a twitch of amusement now.
Cobalt eyes flickered crimson briefly, defiant as they glared toward their slave over stained white gloves. Little fingers touched the Crow’s wrists to steady his hands, and a little head bowed to eat. The Crow got a certain satisfaction from watching his Master suckle down the soul from his own hands. Starvation lead even the proudest to shame. Wouldn’t he know? The Crow thought, pondering his own Fall.
The Fledgling’s body started, shoulders twitching and the still-human gag reflex reacting to the slimy soul wriggling down his throat. Naturally the Crow wanted none of his hunt wasted, so he caught some of the mass into his own mouth, using considerable force and sharp teeth to grind the memories and thoughts of the mortal into a puree that would be far easier for the young hatchling to swallow.
He longed to swallow the soul, to devour it and savor the fullness of his belly, if only for a few moments. But the Crow had orders, and orders were to be obeyed. So he opened his mouth, and pressed it to the child’s. Moving the squirming tongue away with his own, he fed his hatchling. The boy squirmed, but soon hunger took over, and he took the soul in one gulp.
A tiny hand slapped him across the face, a trail of blood and saliva bridging between their mouths. He panted, dainty features skewed in rage and contempt.
“Young Master,” Sebastian began, “I believe it is time to learn to hunt.”
***
Ciel was still clumsy in this shape. Not that the form was new- a lithe young boy with milky skin and limbs stretching to a height he would never gain- it was that the power that sat inside was now too large for its host. Sebastian had leapt elegantly from rooftop to rooftop the way a child hops from stone to stone on a pond. Ciel had far exceeded his goal and found himself entangled in a waving banner, twisting and screeching in fury.
Sebastian was strongly reminded of the sunny afternoons of teaching Ciel the violin, and he compared it as such.
“Your power is like a note,” He explained, “Before you play you must decide the note, and how long it will ring in the air from the stroke of your bow.”
The parallel was lost on the young demon, who fell quite spectacularly into an awaiting garbage pail below. Ciel demanded Sebastian’s silence as he groomed bits of rotten fruit from his hair and suit, but the Demon could not keep from smiling at his Master’s failure. His superiority over his Master gave him the illusion of the smallest ounce of control.
***
“Come here,” Ciel called, beckoning.
It was a mockery of the Manor, this dank cave. There was always the smell of tea, and the smell of blood and of dirty water. The fine furniture and luxurious fabrics only covered the decay, like pasting wallpaper over a wall devoured by termites. Still, the pair kept up the façade, because opulence was what was normal for the pair.
Currently the little Crow lounged on a shredding velvet chaise, picking idly at the fraying upholstery. The Demon stooped to hear his Master’s orders, teeth gritted.
“Do I smell, demon?” He asked.
Sebastian was unsure how to answer. Orders forbade him from disobedience and from demeaning his master, but they also required him to be honest. A paradox, indeed.
“I do not smell any filth on you, my Lord.”
“No?” Ciel seemed astonished.
He rolled back one charcoal-grey silk sleeve, exposing the smooth, soft skin of his inner wrist. He examined the skin and bent to smell it. Then, he sank back onto the couch and ran the expanse of skin across Sebastian’s nostrils.
The smell of Ciel’s soul, fresh and tantalizing, slammed Sebastian between the eyes. He smelled like innocence, damnation, like tea and chocolate and sorrow, pride and stubbornness, peace and rage. He could not stop his mouth from salivating and his eyes glowing an unholy light, consumed by his hunger.
“Are you sure?” Ciel teased, tugging his sleeve back to cover the skin.
At times, Sebastian felt a bit of Alois still lingered inside him, left deep within the traces of his mind.
***
It had taken an inordinate amount of time, but finally, Sebastian decided he was ready. The pair of crows alighted in the shadows. It was an arcane form of hunting, Sebastian knew, but if he was to last eternity saddled to a brat, the child would have to learn to hunt.
“That one.”
The poor mortal Sebastian had chosen was a middle-aged woman out on an evening stroll.
“She smells,” Ciel complained, “I want to form a contract.”
“You are too small,” Sebastian chided, “You cannot form a contract yet, young master.”
He sniffed in irritation, then looked to his Butler for guidance.
“Approach her. Instinct shall assist with the rest.”
So the boy wandered out after his prey, trotting to her side. Soon she slipped her fat hand over his and lead him along to find his home. What was a boy doing out so late? He couldn’t hear, of course- his father had hit his head too hard, and he was slightly deaf. Come closer. When the woman leaned down to speak into his ear, Ciel made his first kill.
There was a strange swell deep in the recesses of Sebastian’s chest, but it was a presentiment he could not name.
***
What many demons were simply created with, Ciel learned in an impressively short amount of time. Sebastian noted that Ciel’s manner of movement was particularly elegant as he wound through the streets in a black and grey blur. He pointed his little toes like a dancer, and the delicate mannerisms of his hands turning shadows were still innocent. Even his caws, once rough and rude, had become charming, easy to ensnare prey. He had become quite an enchanting Demon, Sebastian decided.
***
“Help me, please,” he cried, blood pouring from his body, “I don’t want to die!”
If Ciel had learned anything in his short life, it had been that the human heart possessed kindness and malice in the same sinewy heartbeats. It took no time at all for a kind family to take pity on the poor, ragged boy missing an eye and coated in blood. He enjoyed the warm baths, but declined meals, as he claimed he was too weak, and no longer hungry. Ciel had learned how to lie from the Prince of Liars.
He would wait until the family slept- quite often one at his side, as if attending the deathbed of an innocent child. And there he would feed, quite hungry after all. If he remembered, he would thank the still bodies for their hospitality as he stepped over them to rejoin his Butler waiting outside.
“Well done, young Master.”
Ciel took Sebastian’s arm, curling his fingers in the crook of his elbow. Black nails dug into the fiber, like tiny talons.
“I want to go home,” Ciel sighed.
He coiled his body like a spring and leapt easily along the edge of a stone wall. He didn’t stumble, didn’t fall. He landed as lightly, barely making a sound. Sebastian hung back a moment, jaw slack. The long black feathers of flight had long grown in. The hatchling could leave the nest. Yet Ciel glanced over his shoulder, expectant .
“Come, Sebastian.”
And the Fledgling took flight, sable wings disappearing into the night sky. The Crow, as always, was not far behind.