October 24th - Werewolves ZOI
Title: Full Moon Crazy
Author: westenralane
Theme: Theme Twenty-four - Werewolves
Genre: Drama
Version: Silver Millennium
Rating: PG-13
Now the wolves and I have a battle on our hands,
and we try to battle well,
but in full moonlight,
we just fight amongst ourselves,
and reason never shows why.
- Josh Pyke “Feeding the Wolves”
There's fear in his eyes, tangible fear, and he's not entirely sure where it's coming from. Is it from the steady press of cool, sharpened metal against his exposed jugular, or from the half crazed, panting look of determination taking over Zoicite's angel face? There's something warm trickling down to the nape of his neck, and his fingers tingle as self preservation kicks in.
Jadeite has Zoicite, the less experienced swordsman, on his back in the next second, his rapier skittering across the damp grass. It's swallowed in the evening shadows, and Zoicite doesn't even bother trying to find it. It's gone. He just smiles, and part of Jadeite wants to punch his perfect teeth right out of his mouth, even though he already has the upper edge with his small boot knife mimicking Zoicite's earlier position under the jaw.
"Do it." Jadeite doesn't even realize he's being spoken to for a moment. He sees Zoicite's mouth moving, but the hum of adrenaline coursing through his veins is loud in his ears. "Do it," pants Zoicite. "Do it. You want to."
"Shut up," growls Jadeite. His throat is tight. Zoicite's greatest weapon is his words, and he refuses to let himself get distracted, keeping a steady grip on his dagger.
"Just press a little harder." Zoicite's almost laughing, something between a chuckle and a gasp. "Kill me. You're so close."
"What are you playing at?" He's suspicious. This isn't part of the game. This has never been part of the game.
"You couldn't do it," taunts Zoicite. His body is relaxing, long and lanky against the dark dirt, his face half obscure in what's left of the darkening daylight. "You coward. You couldn't kill me, even if you wanted." Jadeite presses just a little harder, and Zoicite laughs. "And you want to. You coward. You stupid, cowardly bastard."
"Fool!" Jadeite spits, fists clenching.
He's looking into Zoicite's face, all those lovely angles and the green of his narrowed eyes, muddled with something Jadeite's never seen before. For a moment, he thinks it might be hatred, pure and unbridled hatred. It's like it's seeping from his very core and pooling in those green eyes, dripping down the flare of his nose, and twisting his mouth up into a smirk. And Jadeite really doesn't understand what's happening, but suddenly he feels something of the same loathing, and his wrist twists. Zoicite's howl is gleeful, and Jadeite can't even hear himself think. Red is brushing against his fingertips.
And then Kunzite has him by the back of the collar, pitching him backwards. He wants to fight the older shitennou for a moment, but instead he takes a deep breath of cool, night air and throws the dagger to the side, out of his reach. Kunzite barely notices, his eerie, cold gaze watching Zoicite gasp on the ground like a beached fish.
"I told you to stand down," Kunzite addresses Jadeite without even looking at him. "Were you even listening?"
Jadeite can't reply. He's watching Zoicite, too, noticing that he doesn't look angry anymore. It's an instantaneous transformation, whatever was possessing him receding back to where it came leaving Zoicite writhing where he was, trying to regain control of himself.
"I'm sorry," whispered Jadeite after a moment. "I don't know what happened."
Kunzite seems almost angry. "What? Was that you down there or not? Would you like to blame it on the full moon?"
He nods up at the sky, where the moon hangs large and whole. It doesn't twinkle or warm, its pale face just stares down oppressive and omniscient.
"It's not his fault," says Zoicite suddenly. He's sitting up, that maniac expression still lingering around the crooked smile on his mouth. The shallow scratch on his neck is already starting to clot, but he's still pressing a shaking palm to the wound, even as he smiles. "You know what they say," he continues. "The light of a full moon can drive you mad. Especially when you sleep under it."
"That's superstition," replies Kunzite, a little annoyed. He helps Zoicite off the ground, anyway. "You were both just being reckless fools."
"Careless and crazy often hold hands and share deep, passionate kisses in the moonlight," says Zoicite, his tone half amused.
Kunzite frowns, his eyes flicking from Jadeite to Zoicite.
"Both of you sleep with your curtains drawn tonight," he suggests.
Author: westenralane
Theme: Theme Twenty-four - Werewolves
Genre: Drama
Version: Silver Millennium
Rating: PG-13
Now the wolves and I have a battle on our hands,
and we try to battle well,
but in full moonlight,
we just fight amongst ourselves,
and reason never shows why.
- Josh Pyke “Feeding the Wolves”
There's fear in his eyes, tangible fear, and he's not entirely sure where it's coming from. Is it from the steady press of cool, sharpened metal against his exposed jugular, or from the half crazed, panting look of determination taking over Zoicite's angel face? There's something warm trickling down to the nape of his neck, and his fingers tingle as self preservation kicks in.
Jadeite has Zoicite, the less experienced swordsman, on his back in the next second, his rapier skittering across the damp grass. It's swallowed in the evening shadows, and Zoicite doesn't even bother trying to find it. It's gone. He just smiles, and part of Jadeite wants to punch his perfect teeth right out of his mouth, even though he already has the upper edge with his small boot knife mimicking Zoicite's earlier position under the jaw.
"Do it." Jadeite doesn't even realize he's being spoken to for a moment. He sees Zoicite's mouth moving, but the hum of adrenaline coursing through his veins is loud in his ears. "Do it," pants Zoicite. "Do it. You want to."
"Shut up," growls Jadeite. His throat is tight. Zoicite's greatest weapon is his words, and he refuses to let himself get distracted, keeping a steady grip on his dagger.
"Just press a little harder." Zoicite's almost laughing, something between a chuckle and a gasp. "Kill me. You're so close."
"What are you playing at?" He's suspicious. This isn't part of the game. This has never been part of the game.
"You couldn't do it," taunts Zoicite. His body is relaxing, long and lanky against the dark dirt, his face half obscure in what's left of the darkening daylight. "You coward. You couldn't kill me, even if you wanted." Jadeite presses just a little harder, and Zoicite laughs. "And you want to. You coward. You stupid, cowardly bastard."
"Fool!" Jadeite spits, fists clenching.
He's looking into Zoicite's face, all those lovely angles and the green of his narrowed eyes, muddled with something Jadeite's never seen before. For a moment, he thinks it might be hatred, pure and unbridled hatred. It's like it's seeping from his very core and pooling in those green eyes, dripping down the flare of his nose, and twisting his mouth up into a smirk. And Jadeite really doesn't understand what's happening, but suddenly he feels something of the same loathing, and his wrist twists. Zoicite's howl is gleeful, and Jadeite can't even hear himself think. Red is brushing against his fingertips.
And then Kunzite has him by the back of the collar, pitching him backwards. He wants to fight the older shitennou for a moment, but instead he takes a deep breath of cool, night air and throws the dagger to the side, out of his reach. Kunzite barely notices, his eerie, cold gaze watching Zoicite gasp on the ground like a beached fish.
"I told you to stand down," Kunzite addresses Jadeite without even looking at him. "Were you even listening?"
Jadeite can't reply. He's watching Zoicite, too, noticing that he doesn't look angry anymore. It's an instantaneous transformation, whatever was possessing him receding back to where it came leaving Zoicite writhing where he was, trying to regain control of himself.
"I'm sorry," whispered Jadeite after a moment. "I don't know what happened."
Kunzite seems almost angry. "What? Was that you down there or not? Would you like to blame it on the full moon?"
He nods up at the sky, where the moon hangs large and whole. It doesn't twinkle or warm, its pale face just stares down oppressive and omniscient.
"It's not his fault," says Zoicite suddenly. He's sitting up, that maniac expression still lingering around the crooked smile on his mouth. The shallow scratch on his neck is already starting to clot, but he's still pressing a shaking palm to the wound, even as he smiles. "You know what they say," he continues. "The light of a full moon can drive you mad. Especially when you sleep under it."
"That's superstition," replies Kunzite, a little annoyed. He helps Zoicite off the ground, anyway. "You were both just being reckless fools."
"Careless and crazy often hold hands and share deep, passionate kisses in the moonlight," says Zoicite, his tone half amused.
Kunzite frowns, his eyes flicking from Jadeite to Zoicite.
"Both of you sleep with your curtains drawn tonight," he suggests.