#gripping you by the shoulders so hard it draws blood care about saki care about saki care about saki

[ssruis]

There’s a certain subset of tenmas fans that I have no respect for and those are the ones who don’t gaf about saki and only talk about tsukasa and toya. First of all both tsukasa and toya would literally do anything for saki. Secondly toya + saki have a unique relationship that is so interesting stop watering it down to be the same as Tsukasa’s relationship w toya. Finally: what else is there to like about tsukasa besides his bond with his sister. Colopale was so right when they went “we have to include a scene with tsukasa and saki in the beginning of the main story or else ppl will hate this guy” because I thought he was so obnoxious until I read some of his interactions with saki and then he became one of my favorites.

[toloveawarlord]

Pt. 2

Wow, to be honest, I was astounded by how well received part one was! Thank you so much for loving Alara as much as I do!

This took a while and the word count is nearly 3,000 so strap in for a long one. I struggled to find the perfect spot to end this one so it’s a bit longer than part 1.

Tagging: @plumpblueberry for always supporting me and @ihavenotfallenyet who asked to be tagged! ^_^

The cracks of thunder rattled the mansion with its monstrous noise, causing her chest to tighten with each boom, as if it stepped in time with the stomps of her stepfather growing ever closer. Any second he would appear, ripping her away from this place. Alara all but jumped into Arthur’s lap when the door was thrown open. Her small hands trembling as they clutched onto the sleeve of his jacket.

“There was no need to come through my window like that!” The irritation in his voice pointed to the other resident beside him that wore clothes she was not familiar with.

“Newt, old boy, you’ve given the girl a fright,” Arthur chastised with a grin to lighten the heavy cloud hanging over the child. As her grip lessened, he hooked a finger under her chin to get her full attention. “Those two live here as well. There’s not a need for those teary eyes, yeah?”

“I’ve told you to stop calling me that. My name is Isaac.” Taking the chair beside Arthur, Isaac glanced at the child out of his peripheral vision. Sebastian hadn’t given a real reason as to why he wanted an old shirt, but it was clearly the one she wore.

The other man approached her chair directly. “Ahh, a wonderful little soul has found her way into our humble home. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Saki-chan.” He took one of her hands and brought it to his lips for a gentle kiss, bringing a smile to her face once again.

“That’s not my name, mister.” Alara answered, giggling at his antics, nonetheless. Everyone that she had met were so kind to her, having so much attention had her worries scattered away. If only momentarily, she was happy.

Sebastian interrupted the commotion, wheeling out a cart of delicious foods of all varieties. “Please, have a seat, dinner is already late.” The hint of disapproval in his voice didn’t deter the young girl from returning to her pancakes.

The chatter around the table remained light, talks of their days and giving information about themselves led the child into the conversation. Allowing her to decide what she might tell them about herself. None wanted to bring that terrified expression back to her, even without knowing the extent of the circumstances.

Alara perfectly fit in with the lot, finding their professions and personalities intriguing, a mismatched bunch. Never in her short life had so many different people been in one room. The comfortable feeling settling inside her brought an ache along with it, but she didn’t know why. Like she’d been stuck in a China glass house, snatched right out of a doll shop.

Her swiping of the syrup off her cleared plate was interrupted with door opening once again. There were more men living here, and the lively atmosphere hadn’t broken around her, so a moment passed before the electricity in the air began to spark around her.

One word.

Her own name… in that voice…

It shattered the glass house around her, bringing the raging storm crashing down around the ruins. Her shoulders rose, head ducking down as if avoiding the ceiling that would crash atop her at any second.

The slush of each step like the strike of a whip against her skin. She shrunk down into the chair with every squish of his soaked shoes, lower into the seat as if wishing it would swallow her up and take her far away from him. Her fingers entangled in her raven locks, twisting hard to prove that this was real. Green eyes wide open, afraid of what happen should she shut them, but never rising from the view of her own lap.

“I’m terribly sorry for the trouble she’s caused you.”

Apologizing. Always apologizing on her behalf. Why? Why did every choice she make result in her mother apologizing about her? She followed the rules, yet it never stopped his constant shouting at her, never dissuaded that whip he wielded with the sharp tip. Begging, pleading, her mother on her knees, hands clasped.

Apologizing.

He’d never once ceased because of those words.

“I’ve been out in the storm searching all over, worried that something terrible had happened. I’m Oscar Arnette, her father, well, step-father but I love her like she was my own.” He spoke with a laugh, as if relieved to have found her. A fake smile plastered across his face.

You should have never brought her here! All she does is cause me grief!

Keep her locked in her room!

You foolish, insolent child!

Those were words of love? Words spit at her as if she were a speck of dirt marring his clean home, one he couldn’t wash away. Yelled in anger, in absolute hatred, tearing her heart and mind into crumbled pieces.

That is love?

Look at you! My beautiful girl! Come give your mama a big hug!

You are more special than any of the stars in the sky!

Her mother’s words. So differently spoken, always with a warm smile as bright as the sun itself, that chased away all the bad memories from her day. The only one who looked at Alara as a child that was wanted.

“I’m so confused,” Her whisper barely audible at all. Oscar’s calm tone explaining how he’d come to find her clashed louder than the thunder above with her memories etched with his shouting on those days he beat her till she went numb. Did he love her? Was that love?

Napoleon rose from his chair, blocking his advancement towards her. Heavy tension fell over the silent room. A declaration that they did not intend to simply let him take her. “It would be wise for you to keep your distance.

The other residents in the room were watching the intruder just as carefully. It brought a hushed pause, no one making the first move. Le Comte assessed the situation before him. The genuine fear radiating from the girl shielding herself came from years of mistreatment. This man, the source. “Shall we have a chat, Monsieur Oscar, in my study perhaps?”

“Oh no, there’s no need. Alara, you’ve caused enough trouble for these gentlemen. Come along, now.” His hand reached towards her, intent on taking her with him this instant.

So many times, those hands brought her nothing but pain. Her body reacted before she thought her actions through. Ducking under the table, the carpet caught her small frame, roughly jarring her from the impact. The very notion of him touching her crawled across her skin like a thousand bugs.

She did not want to go with him. If his actions reflected love, then she never wanted to experience love again.

A resigned sigh came from Oscar as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s enough theatrics.” He paused, searching for the perfect words to draw her out.

“I believe you’re confusing theatrics with terror, old boy,” Arthur replied, not a drop of humor in his words. No one should strike that much fear into a child. He remained in his seat, arm outstretched to the now empty chair beside him, another barrier for the man to overcome before he would ever reach the girl.

Oscar feigned a graceful smile. “You must be careful with this one. Her imagination runs extremely rampant, causing all the fuss amongst my staff and guests. Just the other day she proclaimed the maids and butlers’ demons that must be slayed by her own hands. It’s extraordinary what children dream up–”

Dazai leaned forward to rest his arms against the table’s edge, a sly smile upon his lips. He could see right through the act before him. “Alara-chan only sows the seeds of truth that are blooming in all their sorrowful beauty, grown by the pain endured. While you, sir, only reap the strongest of vines with thorns slick with all your lies.”

“Preposterous. You’re believing a child’s fantasies!”

“My job requires me to spot a fake from the real thing and you are the most blatantly fake man I’ve ever encountered,” Theo interjected, blue eyes narrowed in pure disgust. Men like him were the lowest.

Oscar remained composed, though all could see the cracks growing ever larger with the passing of every second. “It’s time to go, child. Don’t you want to see your mother?” A last resort but it yielded the results he sought.

“Mama? She-” The quivering girl didn’t come out, but the hope in her voice was evident. It drew out an ache from all the residents, her innocent belief that for once, the truth was being told to her.

“Yes, yes. You can see her again if you come with me.” Sweet and empty words twisted as skillfully as a spider’s web meant to lull the struggling moth into its clutches.

Napoleon seized his arm as he moved to reach for her again. The seasoned soldier, the emperor, could spot the deceit dripping from every inch of the man. Words always meant something, and to see them being twisted into false hope made Napoleon ill. “Tell me how you became so splayed with blood.”

Oscar’s clothes drenched with bloodstains that not even the storm could wash away from him. His irritation had grown, no more faked smiles. “I’ll insist that you release me. I am taking what belongs to me and will be on my way.”

“She isn’t–” Isaac spoke up, eyes downcast at his lap but anger rising in him. “Alara isn’t your property that you can just claim and take away.” Kids were a mystery to him, but each time she smiled and asked him a question about himself, Isaac had felt warm and… happy.

The Frenchman could hardly fathom why these strangers were protecting a brat that they hardly knew. What could they possibly gain from this? He rolled his shoulders, giving a breathy laugh. “Ah, it must be a reward you are after. Name your price and-”

“I assure you, Monsieur, no payment is required. Her well-being is our priority.” Comte cut him off, an edge to his voice.

“Her well-being?” How much had the mousy child told them? The rage boiling up inside him became too much, overpowering his need to save face.

None of them could have predicted his next choice of action.

Oscar lunged, surprising the seasoned solider, and clambered wildly to the girl under the table. From the lining of his soaked jacket, he slashed a sharpened knife at her. “I’ll punish you thoroughly when we’ve returned to my home,” He growled through clenched teeth.

Alara reeled back, squealing in pain at the slice of the blade across her shin. Her entire being petrified at the crazed glint in his eyes.

Everyone moved at the same time. Chairs were knocked backwards, slamming into the carpet. Napoleon grabbed the collar of Oscar’s jacket, roughly tossing him away from the table and onto the floor.

Vincent had taken the girl in his arms, cradling her like a bride to keep her secure. “It’s alright, I’ve got you.” he had her tight, turning his back to the scene to shield her from view. He kept his rage hidden well behind a reassuring smile.

Oscar staggered but rose to his feet, only to be at the end of Napoleon’s drawn sword. He held up empty hands. “Give her to me and this will all be over.” Oscar cursed himself letting her escape his grasp once again.

“Down, put me down,” Alara whined over and over, struggling against the painter to no avail. She couldn’t remain here. He’d ignited her fears tenfold.

Vincent held her tighter, voice soothingly soft. “You don’t need to run again. You’re safe with us.”

“I’ll advise you to take a seat, Monsieur Oscar. We will have a civil discussion.” Comte left no room for argument. He’d seen quite enough. It’s no surprise she climbed through their kitchen window seeking refuge from this man. “Vincent, take Alara up to the guest room. Children need not be present for this.”

****

Her soft sniffs were all that filled the bedroom for a moment. Arthur and Isaac had followed after the painter, who still had the girl sitting on his lap. She’d refused to be put down. He gently brushed his fingers through her raven locks, slowly calming her down.

Arthur had her wounded leg stretched out, resting against his knee. The cut hadn’t been very deep, but the once doctor took his time cleaning the blood away and wrapping it with a bandage. “There all finished,” Arthur flashed her a warm smile.

Isaac stood awkwardly to the side. He could hardly find the words to say, nothing seemed appropriate.

All three men were visibly worried about how this would end. The display of the stepfather had rattled them, too. Comte would resolve the issue, but then what? Where would the little girl go with no family to send her to?

Soft rapping at the door drew all their attention. Locked from the inside for extra safety didn’t stop the tension from rising once again, but it fell again as Napoleon entered the room. “Jean agreed to stay with Comte.” He didn’t say it, but he’d come as added protection. As if reading the room, Napoleon smiled reassuringly. “Don’t fret, Alara. He’ll be gone soon.”

Alara bit her lip. She desperately wanted to believe him, but they didn’t know her stepfather as she did. He always got what he wanted. And… he wanted to hurt her. Even in this room surrounded by strong men, she didn’t feel safe.

Arthur clapped his hands together to gain all the attention back on him. “Why don’t you play a game with me, hm?”

“What kind of game?” Her curious interest bringing a more relaxed atmosphere.

“A guessing game.” Arthur held up a gloved finger. “I’m going to guess something about you, and you tell me if I’m right or wrong. It’s very simple, isn’t it?” There were many gaps to fill in about her and how she came into this situation.

Her head bobbed in response. The writer successfully had taken her mind off the earlier events.

“I’m guessing that you came from a very different country than France.” His first question not really one that had taken much to figure out.

Alara gave a soft yes, eyes darting around the room as if imagining what her home had been before coming to France. Not a home near as a grand this, nor the one that her and her mama had been brought to. “We left home when I was three. I liked it there. It was just me and Mama.”

Three years in this country. Three long years with that brute of a man causing her physical and mental harm.

She shielded a yawn with her hand, the adrenaline wearing away and replaced by exhaustion. The hour growing later, evident in the soft chime of the clock on the wall, signaling a new day.

“Why don’t you lie down?” Vincent shifted to make room under the covers but softly chuckled at her refusal.

A soft no. Alara leaned her cheek against his chest, fingers gripping his sleeve to pull his arm back around to cradle her against him. Safe. Within his arm, she could nearly say she felt completely safe.

“My second guess is that you don’t really like France, do you?” Arthur drew her attention back to him. He wasn’t so much guessing as leading her into a topic. Kids had few filters, so maybe she’d let more slip than she would realize.

“Mm… I miss our old home. Mama would take me out to the market or to the lake sometimes. Here… I could only go in the backyard for a few minutes.”

Stun fell over the room. Not only had she endured suffering at the hands of a monster, but the little girl had been trapped inside a home where she received little more than the bare necessities to survive.

Napoleon leaned back against the wall, finding it harder to sit here and do nothing when the culprit sat downstairs sipping tea with Comte. He listened to Arthur ask her more questions, each one leading into a topic more serious than the last, and her answers growing more heart wrenching.

He says that should someone see me; he doesn’t want to be bothered by stupid questions. I’m not allowed to play with the nice dresses on.

Sometimes if I’m bad, I have to stay in my room all day. It’s small and the window is too high for me to reach. And… it’s really cold. I don’t like it in there.

By not saying many words, she said so much. Topics about her old home would light her up for a moment, remembering the times before France. In a child so young, the four nearly couldn’t bear to watch that innocence fade from her green eyes, replaced by fear and worry.

She fought against sleep as hard as she could, but the soothing petting of the painter holding her had lulled her under. Vincent carefully put her in the bed, under the warm covers, gazing down at her. “This isn’t right.”

A light rap at the door. Napoleon warily unlocked it, hand on the hilt of his sword. Sebastian stood on the other side, no changes in his typical demeanor. He’d only come to deliver a message.

���M. Le Comte has called for a house meeting. Everyone is to be in attendance in the dining hall in 5 minutes.”