By Blood Connected

By Blood Connected
A Fanfiction by Vir M.
Chapter 12:
“Snow Bound”

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“I told you so.”

“...shut up...”

Karen had been right, and, being as such, she allowed no chance to remind me of that fact slip by without making the most of it.

I sat quietly on the window sill in my room, staring out at the snow-covered ground through the misty pane. My fingers were clasped around the pendant resting on my collarbone, hearing the high, glassy TINK of the pearl as it hit the sides of its crystal prison as I rotated the small thing in my hand. The sound was slightly muffled by the dandelion, but distinct in the still room.

“Well, I did.”

“I know.”

“Can I look at it again?”

I sighed, then slipped the necklace off over my head and handed the thing to Karen --who was currently sitting cross legged on the floor--, holding it by the chain so that the bauble itself could be lowered into her waiting, upraised palm.

Ami and Karen were spending the last day of winter break at my house. They had both left to visit family for the holiday, and my only company had been Aeneid.

My relationship with Aeneid had shifted since Christmas Eve. We were no longer at war, though we still argued (I was incapable of refraining from doing so, what with my temper) but it was over actual, debatable topics rather than senseless squabbling. I still defied him at every turn, but our mutual manner was one of easy-going contentment and understanding.

In short, he was becoming --what I considered to be, anyway-- a friend.

“God, this thing is gorgeous.” Karen said for what seemed to be the millionth time.

“Mm-hmm.” I agreed. Ami then reached over from her perch on my bed and lifted the necklace from Karen’s hand. She held it up to the light by the chain, letting swing back and forth in front of her face like a hypnotist’s pendulum.

“I wonder where he got it...” She murmured. “It’s rather exotic, what with the flower stuff and all.”

“Dandelion.” I said sharply, correcting her. “It’s dandelion.” She handed the necklace back to me, shrugging.

“It’s still a flower.”

“If the crystal cracks, will the down start to rot?” Mused Karen. My brow furrowed at that.

“I dunno...” I said. “Better not to find out, eh?” We all laughed at that as I held the shining trinket up to the light once more.

The crystal was pure, uncut and completely smooth. It looked like glass, but I somehow got the impression that it was much less breakable. The dandelion down was pure, fleecy white, and floated through the thing as if carried on a tiny wind. The small seedlings were never still, always floating in the pendant’s cavity or caught under and cushioning the pearl. The pearl itself was also beautiful; large, luminescent, and lustrous. The light made the floating spores gleam like snow, and made the pearl shine like a tiny, bottled up moon. The bauble was the second most beautiful thing I had ever seen, and the second-best gift I had ever received.

Aeneid’s small smile, as brief as it had been, took first place in both of those categories.

I pulled it back over my head, hardly listening to Ami and Karen as they spoke to one another, and began to finger the fine gold chain once more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first day of the new term dawned bright and clear. The sky was pure, winter blue: no hint of snow whatsoever, despite the thick layer of it on the ground.

I groaned as I surveyed the powdery, untouched stuff through my kitchen window, hands fiddling with my pendant.

//It must be four-freaking-feet-deep! I thought. //Just how the heck am I going to get to school in all this–?
I padded to the front of the house, dressed in my school uniform and a pair of thick socks, and wrenched open the heavy oak door. I gasped as a about a quart of snow fell to the floor at my feet with a slushy THWUMP:

There was a huge snow-drift piled right outside the door, stretching up vertically almost five feet; there was a depression from where it had built up around the door knob, but otherwise it was completely smooth. The door itself was about seven feet tall, and, due to my height, I could only just glimpse a rectangle of innocent looking blue sky through the gap.

“DAMN IT ALL TO HELL!!!!” I screamed. I quickly ran to the laundry room to grab a broom and a dustpan. “I can’t even get out of my house, much less get to school in all this!”

I began to vigorously sweep up the snow.

“Stu... pid... fuck... ing... snow... had... to... come... to... day...” I punctuated each vicious jab of my broom with a syllable, attempting to voice my frustration aloud. “Just... had... to... go... and... block... my... mo... ther...fu–“

“Watch your language, Jira, you--”

“HOLY SHIT!”

I gave an earsplitting shriek and felt the dustpan go flying out of my hands as I scrambled backwards over the wooden floor. I collided with a table and knocked the resting lamp onto the ground, though thankfully nothing broke. I whipped my head about wildly, trying to pinpoint the owner of the voice’s location, but saw no one. I rose to my knees, turning around to glance into the living room and adjoining hallway, heart about to burst, adrenaline coursing through me. Finding no one present, I felt my features slide into a confused mask when–

“Up here, Jira.”

I nearly broke my neck from the force I used to whip my head around.

Aeneid was standing outside on the snowdrift, hunching down to peer in at me through the gap in the door, one hand propped lazily on a knee, the other bracing himself on the door’s frame. He quirked an eyebrow at me as my jaw dropped.

“Boo.”

I snapped my mouth shut with a clack and scrambled to my feet.

“Dude– Don’t EVER do that again!” I yelled, pointing at him with murderous intent, heart rate only just beginning to ease up as relief flooded me. Despite the relief, I felt anger rise. “I nearly had a heart attack, you big jerk!” I spun around on my heel, uttering a strangled sound of frustration and anger that was an indistinguishable mix between a snarl and a growl. I picked up the dustpan and set the lamp back on its stand.

“Snow on my wall-paper...” I grumbled, observing the large wet spot that was currently beginning to drip. “Thanks a lot.”

“Don’t mention it.” I turned as he said it, then watched him gracefully lever himself through the narrow, un-blocked gap. He landed in a crouch on the wood floor, then slowly straightened, somehow making the action look regal. “I thought you might need a ride.” I blanched, struck momentarily dumb by both his fluid, acrobatic entrance and that painfully obvious statement.

“No shit, Sherlock.” I said sarcastically as soon as I could talk again. His eyes narrowed.

“Language, young lady. As in ‘watch it,’ to take a linguistic leaf out of your book.” He brushed a bit of snow off one shoulder absently. He was wearing gloves, I noticed: nice, fitted black leather gloves that molded themselves perfectly to his large, square-palmed hands. They complimented his black jacket nicely. “Where do you keep the brooms, perchance?”

“Er...” I mumbled. “Wait here a minute...” I promptly dashed into the kitchen, then into the laundry room proper. I opened a supply cupboard hastily, allowing the double-wooden-doors to hit the wall behind then with a bang, then rummaged around until I located another broom and dustpan. I turned around, clutching them in my hands, and dashed back out into the kitchen–

–to nearly smack into Aeneid’s broad torso.

I skidded to a stop about eight inches away from him.

“Watch it!” I barked, shoving the things at him and away from me as if they had done me a mortal injustice. “I thought I’d told you to wait out there!” I backed up a pace as he gently removed the broom from my grip and shrugged.

“I thought I’d help.” Then he glanced around the kitchen for a moment, peering over my head (//Damn my height...I thought darkly.) as if I wasn’t there. “Clean, isn’t it?” He looked back at me. “The kitchen, I mean.”

“Yeah, yeah...” I muttered, striding past him. “Let’s clean up the snow now, shall we?” I didn’t wait for an answer, just walked out. I didn’t hear him follow, but when I turned around to call for him, he was standing right behind me. I decided not to comment and made my back to the front hallway.

He overtook me as we walked, then closed the front door ahead of me against the cold, and began to sweep the excess snow into a pile. He looked so absurd wielding that household object I began to giggle as I swept his pile into my dustpan.

“What’s so funny?” He asked. I glanced up at him; he looked slightly amused yet confused, the expression looking rather out of place on his refined features.

“Oh, nothing.” I said brightly. “Y’know... just the high n’ mighty, Yamato weildin’ Aeneid brandishing a broom, is all...” I grinned up at him, then straightened. I turned away and began to whistle nonchalantly as I carried the snow into the kitchen on my dustpan. I then deposited it in the sink so it could melt without damage to the house or floors. “Just struck me as funny...” I murmured.

“Indeed.”

I jumped; I had thought I’d left him standing in the foyer, but here he was, leaning against the wall behind me as if he’d been there since last Tuesday. He pushed himself upright as I looked at him.

“Get your things.” He whirled around and made his way back to the front door, while I dashed into the laundry room for my shoes and heavy winter coat. I all but ran to the front door, but he was nowhere in sight.


“Aeneid–?” I began to call, but then I caught sight of his shoes standing atop the huge drift. He bent and stared.


“Drag over a chair, and then I’ll pull you out.” I did as he said. I stood on the thing, then took his proffered hands as my stockinged knees scrambled for traction on the smooth wall of snow. He levered me out effortlessly; I practically flew out the door. I landed partially against his chest, and partially in the snow, blush rising in my cheeks as I felt his arms slip around my shoulders to support me.

“Thanks.” I muttered, not looking at him. “But how will we shut the door–?” I glanced back to look at it, but, somehow, it was already shut. Aeneid was still gripping my upper-arms in his gloved fingers, his touch gentle yet firm. He let go after a long moment, and I raised my head to meet his eyes.

His look was blank, face set in a careful neutral, though his eyes had once more began to glitter strangely.

“I’ll help you shovel all this away later, Jira.” His voice cut through the cold like knife as his breath frosted in the air. “Now, however, it’s time for school.”


“Yeah.” I agreed. I broke our stare and wheeled about to face the car. I let myself into the chilly interior and sat in my usual space, then, all at once, realized I was cold.

Freezing in fact.

I held my arms close to me as Aeneid slid sinuously into the driver’s side and let the engine purr into life.


“Crank the heat.” I said through chattering teeth, squeezing my eyes shut. I heard a rustle, then a click as a button was pressed. Heat roared out of the vents-- blessed heat that thawed my frozen fingers. I opened my eyes.

Aeneid was backing the car out with one hand, and the other held loosely onto his jacket, which he had taken off and was now offering to me. I stared at it for a moment, then looked at him.

“Take it.” He said slowly. “I’m not cold.”

“Not cold?” I repeated. “How can you not be cold in THIS weather?” I didn’t wait for his answer, but took the jacket anyway. I slipped my arms into the sleeves, wearing the jacket on my front, rather than putting it fully on. I snuggled into the still warm article cozily, noticing that his body heat had not yet dissipated from the cloth... then I looked at Aeneid and my narrow eyes snapped open to mimic the shape and size of small dishes.

“Holy Cabo-San-Lucas!”

He jerked his head around to look at me, his face all at once incredulous, confused, and puzzled.

“What the hell do you do on the weekends?” I asked, still shocked.

“What are you babbling about, Jira?” He asked, still confused. “Cabo San Lucas...” He gave a dry, patronizing chuckle and shook his head.


“Well look at you!” I choked out. “Do you, I dunno, lift weights for hours on end or something?” Indeed, his arms were practically straining through his nice, button-down black shirt. They were the long, wiry kind of muscles, but were nonetheless pronounced and strong. “You’re about to bust a seam!” He shifted uncomfortably, for once becoming a little less than composed.

“I coach the fencing team, remember?” He asked, eyes fixed on the snow-flecked tarmac. “That adds up, over time.” I scoffed.

“Oh please, I’ve seen the fencing guys, they don’t look like THAT!” I pointed at his biceps in demonstration. “Sarita would blow a gasket...”

“What?” He asked sharply, turning to me again.

“Well, duh!” I said, rolling my eyes. “Almost every girl in the freaking school’s got a monster crush on you.” Seeing his shocked face, I continued: “And don’t give me that look, you know it’s true.”

“Hmph.” He said. “Children...” He growled low in his throat.

“‘Children?’” I repeated, indignant. “I’m their age, too, buster!”

“I don’t mean you.” He snapped, suddenly furious, eyes glowing with cold fire. “Student’s behaving in that respect towards a figure of authority is unacceptable.” He was silent for a moment, then his grip tightened on the steering wheel as he reiterated: “Unacceptable.” I looked at him for a moment before turning to stare out the window. We were pulling into the school gates now.

“Here’s your stop.” He said, braking. We were parked in front of the Foreign Language building. “I’ll see you after school.”

“Yeah.” I said. “A-Day means session day. Routine, routine.” I flashed him a smile. “Cheerio.”

I let myself out of the car and shut the door behind me, remembered the jacket, and quickly knocked on the glass before he pulled the idling vehicle away. The window rolled down to reveal a bored looking Aeneid.

“What?”

“You’re jacket, A.” I said, shortening his name to an initial. I handed it to him through the window. “Meet you back here at three?”

“Of course.” He said, taking the coat as I withdrew my arm. “Don’t be late.” He pulled smoothly away from the drive, and I made my way to my first class.

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AUTHOR TIME
Okay, okay I know this chapter seems totally and completely random and unneeded, but TRUST ME, it’s vital. Just deal with it, kay?


JIRA belongs to VIR M.
VERGIL and DMC belong to CAPCOM