you're metophorical gin and juice
so come on give me a taste
of what its like to be next to you
so come on give me a taste
of what its like to be next to you
Kirin was born on a Wednesday, bright eyed and squalling. His father was the towne butcher, his mother a homemaker, a housewife like many other mothers. Kirin for all intended purposes had everything he could ever want, and at the very least anything he could ever need. His childhood was like others in his neighborhood. Grammar school, evenings around the shop with his father, outings with friends for a bicycle ride or a game of ball. Life went on that way for a time and as with all things, that time made change in both the world and our young boy.
The young boy Kirin grew, and as he grew, his considerably spoiled upbringing led him to an unpleasant nature- one he kept behind closed doors and curtains. That child become dark, taking far too much enjoyment from the family business, often honing his skills on the neighborhood cat or dog. With age and maturity also came the chemical and emotional desire for sex. It was not long before Kirin discovered women and shortly after that, men. It was not something one boasted or spoke of but that secrecy was a delicacy within itself, it was part of the allure.
When Father passed it is without explanation that Kirin took over the butchery, giving him not only a seat of power in his household but also an outlet for his wickedness. He made a fair living for both Mama and himself but Mama was always nagging, always breathing over him, always nosing and it was a few years after Pa passed that she too found her way to the grave. Never mind that he had helped her along in the end.
By karma or by fate things slowly unraveled after that. Kirin kept both the house and the shoppe afloat best he could but it just wasn’t enough, things were falling apart for him and for the towne. A few loyal customers showed weekly, relationships built and kept by his Father before him, people that knew him since he was a boy but that was not enough. He sank quickly into debt, the banks threatened to take the house and it had been several months since he let the hired help go. Things were falling apart and as they did Kirin grew colder, darker, and more malicious.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Another day, another damn day.
Kirin woke early as he had always done, two hours before sunrise to be exact, smashing the metal alarm clock at his bedside. A wide yawn escaped his pouty mouth, an ivory-skinned hand twisted at his eyelid, and then he blinked blearily into his dark bedroom. When he rose the brass bed rails creaked, groaning against the shift of weight, calling for a good oiling but he’d have to do that later. Feet touch the cold floors and he is awake, grabbing for a match and striking it deftly with one hand. Soon the room is filled with yellow lamplight, a tall man ushering himself from the warmth of his bed to the only bathroom and in the mirror he grimaces at his reflection. Not because his appearance is frown worthy but because it was too early, life was a chore and he was the only one left to suffer it.
The reflection that stares back is comely, a tall stature, a soft, handsome face. Full lips strike their place in curvy pout and his hazel eyes shine silver mistakenly. Short twists of lavender hair adorn his head, the top long while the shades were kept shaved close. This was no anomaly in Illea, so he had never thought anything of it, nor had the townspeople. Kirin was pretty, make no mistake. Often Mother had claimed he was meant to be a girl with such beauty and perhaps she was right, at least about that, but Kirin was a man. He was a man when he lay with blacksmith’s daughter, he was a man when he rolled with the banker’s son, either way it made no difference. Either way he had them or either way he had their silence.
He washes quickly, scrubbing his skin pink before carefully patting himself dry, hanging the length of cotton on a hook on the wall. A white shirt, a pair of slacks, a tie. These garments find their way on his body, a modest dress from a closet that was slowly dwindling. Several of Kirin’s coats and trousers were in need of repair but he hadn’t the money to spare for that sort of frivolity. Well, perhaps just one, he thinks, snagging a jacket from the hanger. A quick breakfast of buttered toast greets his empty stomach as he decides to save the bacon for another day, and as he chews he is reminded of his state of affairs- as he constantly seems to be. Maybe today will be better, maybe today things will change and for some reason that thought ignites his memory.
Today was going to be better, things were going to change! How had he forgotten? How could this slip his mind? The announcement was to be today! Kirin’s outlook on the day swelled, it sugared from the sour-lemon note that he had initially placed on it. Jacket in hand, purple bicycle beneath him, he left the house for work and for the big news that was sure to come.
Opening shoppe was slow work, not because it took an especially long time to do but because he could think of nothing but the news that would unfold this afternoon. He swept the floor twice in his distraction, pushing the broom mechanically and without much thought given to the task itself. He rearranged the display in the window and even filled the baskets on the counter with sweets for purchase. Mostly Kirin dawdled, he watched the window with an unending anxiousness, and he served a single customer.
Finally, at half past eleven he grabbed his jacket, turned the open sign around to read ‘CLOSED’ and left after locking the door- bicycle left behind.
The streets were unusually crowded today, the shoppes were singing their wares, scents of fresh loaves of bread and cakes invaded his senses and made his stomach growl. Now and then he smiled to a pretty girl that waved as he passed. He waved back too of course, turning once or twice to watch them as they walked away. At the nearest corner he stopped, rapping a knuckle against the paned door of the tailor, both stopping for a quick word and to drop of his coat for repair. The door was painted blue, peeling and flaking from age, the sign hung crookedly in the window. Arthur, the shoppe keep, was an elderly man, with wisps of gray hair surrounding his very lined face. He tried his best to listen to Arthur, he really did, but his mind was distracted from their conversation without question- he really must be going. A quick thank you and a handshake later and he was again walking gleefully down the cobbles.
The growing tension as he neared the towne center throbbed, and suddenly his tie and collar felt too tight as he waited for the announcement to begin, crowding in around a stage with the others. What he heard next he could hardly believe. He was never prepared for such an announcement, a competition, the hand of the heir.
Power, riches, the easy life, so much easier than it was now. They were being offered something more, something better, he was being offered lustful material things and he could not resist.
Kirin could hardly contain himself. He wanted to begin at once, he couldn’t let all these unworthy and far less good looking people have what he could surely win. As the stillness in the center escalated to an all out riot, he decided it would be better to wait, elbowing his way out of the shoving hoard and catching the nearest wall as he emerged from its depths. Once free of the excited drunkenness his head clears, thoughts racing as he makes his way back home, ideas and theories running rampant in his mind.
Was this a trap? What did he have to lose? What did he truly have to gain? Who was the heir and what part did they play in this grand declaration? Could he win?
Bugger that, of course he could win.
It doesn’t take Kirin long to convince himself that the rewards far outweigh the risks. That the risks posed could be overcome, or that he could give them one hell of a fight. The next day he is able to return to the square to snag an application of his own, filling it out with perhaps a bit of padding and a few loose interpretations of himself. From the tailor he collects his freshly repaired jacket, tossing it on to make straight for his sketch appointment. Once the finished product was given approval he made for town hall where he promptly submitted his forms, leaving with a quick smile to Rose, one of the designated clerks.
Two weeks. Two long weeks he waits and in that time his demeanor is thoroughly on edge. To pass the endless hours he beds the inn keep thrice, threading her curly red hair through his fingers like reigns. He has several evening rendezvous with Henry the baker’s son, each time leaving the young man in tears that he wipes away with a thumb and a smile. Every silver he earns is hoarded away and he often stands outside the shop, beckoning the townsfolk inside to sell them fresh cuts of their favorite meats. It’s been awhile since Kirin’s done this, so long so that he recalls his father’s approving nod every time he lured in their days business.
It comes, the day, it comes and Kirin can hardly still himself the night before- tossing and turning in his sleep, fitful dreams and night sweats. He rides his purple bicycle into town, silver eyes sightless, hands clenching the handlebars until his knuckles are white. The walk to the square is even more uncertain, his ironed slacks feel stiff, protesting with each motion of his leg. Each step feels heavy as he makes his way to the towne center where an announcement board stands. Several guards surround the freshly built structure where hung sheets of paper have fine scrawled ink across their surfaces.
Names, the chosen, they’ve decided.
A sharp intake of breath accompanies the discovery of his own name written in fine pen across the middle of the paper. Brisk morning air meets his pouty lips where a smile soon replaces their surprised lines. He’s done it, times were changing and he had no time to waste in his preparations.
With his savings Kirin purchases a horse from the local stables, a healthy gray gelding with a sound gait. Prominent dapples freckle along the horse’s back and he has a refined look about him, with trimmed locks of shining ebony and an angled face. At home Kirin packs only his finest pieces of clothing into a leather sack, setting aside a few coppers that he will spend on a fresh cut and shave. Without sadness he leaves the dilapidated house, setting his mind and his jaw that he will be successful in this endeavor as he mounts his readied coursier and sets off towards the castle.
Kirin’s mount makes for a well-selected animal, hardy and bomb proof as they traverse the dirt roads outside town. He takes to calling the gelding Jack and each time they both seem to grow more accustomed to the sound of it.
They arrive to a cluster of hopefuls, both man and woman alike and this only causes the upward inching of Kirin’s eyebrow. Just who was this heir?
If Kirin didn’t know any better he would assume this was some sort of dream. Dirt roads and lush grassy hills give way to an extensive, gated estate. The path to the castle was lined with stone, all edged and smooth and perfectly placed within their earthy home. Flower patches and manicured hedges adorn the yard, marble fountains stream delicate arches of water into the warming air. A group of servants with red jackets help him with his bag, as well as take Jack away to their stables for a brushing, hot meal, and refreshment. Women with gloved hands carry glasses of champagne on silver trays that swirl among the building crowd.
It was pleasant, and perfect and practically sickening.
With an embroidered kerchief Kirin wipes his neck, filing towards the assembled hopefuls and sipping champagne in the sun. Several guards mill about, some looking stiff and hot at the front where a familiar middle-aged man stood. Before long he was speaking, his round belly following each word and jiggling with every attempt at humor. The lavender haired man listened along with the rest, watching carefully each curve of the speaker’s lips, right down to the disgusting spittle that drenched his ‘s’. They would all be given room and board, refreshment, food, but first a tour of the castle itself.
Inside, the pale walls were even more lavish than the grounds could ever hope to be. Ivory and molded filigree adorned the rooms, swirls deftly painted with accents of gold. Gleaming floors shone against the hundreds of fluorescent lights, electricity, something Kirin could never afford to have. Light bulbs and wiring were a frivolity that only the richest could afford, and the amount that lit the room made his mouth salivate with want. Gold chandeliers hung from several ceilings, gilded mirrors sat proudly displaying reflections, polished oak tables stood in grand dining halls with velvet runners. The stairs were railed with hand carved banisters and lifelike dancing bears at their end. Kirin had never seen anything like it, nothing to match the quality and craftsmanship that went into each piece. There were no words for this display of wealth and power, there were only thoughts that bit eagerly at Kirin’s conscience.
When finally he was led to his room his was pleased to see that no expense had been spared. From the lavish wallpaper to the down stuffed duvet it was pristine and elegant in every way. His bed was a regal, four poster monstrosity, with heavy crimson drapes surrounding the plush bedding. A fire crackled in the hearth behind a steaming tub of water, several fluffy towels and rose soaps were set out for his use, while the water itself smelled generously perfumed.
After a long soak Kirin fell exhaustedly into the soft sea of blankets, something he was sure to recall as the best sleep of his life.
The young boy Kirin grew, and as he grew, his considerably spoiled upbringing led him to an unpleasant nature- one he kept behind closed doors and curtains. That child become dark, taking far too much enjoyment from the family business, often honing his skills on the neighborhood cat or dog. With age and maturity also came the chemical and emotional desire for sex. It was not long before Kirin discovered women and shortly after that, men. It was not something one boasted or spoke of but that secrecy was a delicacy within itself, it was part of the allure.
When Father passed it is without explanation that Kirin took over the butchery, giving him not only a seat of power in his household but also an outlet for his wickedness. He made a fair living for both Mama and himself but Mama was always nagging, always breathing over him, always nosing and it was a few years after Pa passed that she too found her way to the grave. Never mind that he had helped her along in the end.
By karma or by fate things slowly unraveled after that. Kirin kept both the house and the shoppe afloat best he could but it just wasn’t enough, things were falling apart for him and for the towne. A few loyal customers showed weekly, relationships built and kept by his Father before him, people that knew him since he was a boy but that was not enough. He sank quickly into debt, the banks threatened to take the house and it had been several months since he let the hired help go. Things were falling apart and as they did Kirin grew colder, darker, and more malicious.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Another day, another damn day.
Kirin woke early as he had always done, two hours before sunrise to be exact, smashing the metal alarm clock at his bedside. A wide yawn escaped his pouty mouth, an ivory-skinned hand twisted at his eyelid, and then he blinked blearily into his dark bedroom. When he rose the brass bed rails creaked, groaning against the shift of weight, calling for a good oiling but he’d have to do that later. Feet touch the cold floors and he is awake, grabbing for a match and striking it deftly with one hand. Soon the room is filled with yellow lamplight, a tall man ushering himself from the warmth of his bed to the only bathroom and in the mirror he grimaces at his reflection. Not because his appearance is frown worthy but because it was too early, life was a chore and he was the only one left to suffer it.
The reflection that stares back is comely, a tall stature, a soft, handsome face. Full lips strike their place in curvy pout and his hazel eyes shine silver mistakenly. Short twists of lavender hair adorn his head, the top long while the shades were kept shaved close. This was no anomaly in Illea, so he had never thought anything of it, nor had the townspeople. Kirin was pretty, make no mistake. Often Mother had claimed he was meant to be a girl with such beauty and perhaps she was right, at least about that, but Kirin was a man. He was a man when he lay with blacksmith’s daughter, he was a man when he rolled with the banker’s son, either way it made no difference. Either way he had them or either way he had their silence.
He washes quickly, scrubbing his skin pink before carefully patting himself dry, hanging the length of cotton on a hook on the wall. A white shirt, a pair of slacks, a tie. These garments find their way on his body, a modest dress from a closet that was slowly dwindling. Several of Kirin’s coats and trousers were in need of repair but he hadn’t the money to spare for that sort of frivolity. Well, perhaps just one, he thinks, snagging a jacket from the hanger. A quick breakfast of buttered toast greets his empty stomach as he decides to save the bacon for another day, and as he chews he is reminded of his state of affairs- as he constantly seems to be. Maybe today will be better, maybe today things will change and for some reason that thought ignites his memory.
Today was going to be better, things were going to change! How had he forgotten? How could this slip his mind? The announcement was to be today! Kirin’s outlook on the day swelled, it sugared from the sour-lemon note that he had initially placed on it. Jacket in hand, purple bicycle beneath him, he left the house for work and for the big news that was sure to come.
Opening shoppe was slow work, not because it took an especially long time to do but because he could think of nothing but the news that would unfold this afternoon. He swept the floor twice in his distraction, pushing the broom mechanically and without much thought given to the task itself. He rearranged the display in the window and even filled the baskets on the counter with sweets for purchase. Mostly Kirin dawdled, he watched the window with an unending anxiousness, and he served a single customer.
Finally, at half past eleven he grabbed his jacket, turned the open sign around to read ‘CLOSED’ and left after locking the door- bicycle left behind.
The streets were unusually crowded today, the shoppes were singing their wares, scents of fresh loaves of bread and cakes invaded his senses and made his stomach growl. Now and then he smiled to a pretty girl that waved as he passed. He waved back too of course, turning once or twice to watch them as they walked away. At the nearest corner he stopped, rapping a knuckle against the paned door of the tailor, both stopping for a quick word and to drop of his coat for repair. The door was painted blue, peeling and flaking from age, the sign hung crookedly in the window. Arthur, the shoppe keep, was an elderly man, with wisps of gray hair surrounding his very lined face. He tried his best to listen to Arthur, he really did, but his mind was distracted from their conversation without question- he really must be going. A quick thank you and a handshake later and he was again walking gleefully down the cobbles.
The growing tension as he neared the towne center throbbed, and suddenly his tie and collar felt too tight as he waited for the announcement to begin, crowding in around a stage with the others. What he heard next he could hardly believe. He was never prepared for such an announcement, a competition, the hand of the heir.
Power, riches, the easy life, so much easier than it was now. They were being offered something more, something better, he was being offered lustful material things and he could not resist.
Kirin could hardly contain himself. He wanted to begin at once, he couldn’t let all these unworthy and far less good looking people have what he could surely win. As the stillness in the center escalated to an all out riot, he decided it would be better to wait, elbowing his way out of the shoving hoard and catching the nearest wall as he emerged from its depths. Once free of the excited drunkenness his head clears, thoughts racing as he makes his way back home, ideas and theories running rampant in his mind.
Was this a trap? What did he have to lose? What did he truly have to gain? Who was the heir and what part did they play in this grand declaration? Could he win?
Bugger that, of course he could win.
It doesn’t take Kirin long to convince himself that the rewards far outweigh the risks. That the risks posed could be overcome, or that he could give them one hell of a fight. The next day he is able to return to the square to snag an application of his own, filling it out with perhaps a bit of padding and a few loose interpretations of himself. From the tailor he collects his freshly repaired jacket, tossing it on to make straight for his sketch appointment. Once the finished product was given approval he made for town hall where he promptly submitted his forms, leaving with a quick smile to Rose, one of the designated clerks.
Two weeks. Two long weeks he waits and in that time his demeanor is thoroughly on edge. To pass the endless hours he beds the inn keep thrice, threading her curly red hair through his fingers like reigns. He has several evening rendezvous with Henry the baker’s son, each time leaving the young man in tears that he wipes away with a thumb and a smile. Every silver he earns is hoarded away and he often stands outside the shop, beckoning the townsfolk inside to sell them fresh cuts of their favorite meats. It’s been awhile since Kirin’s done this, so long so that he recalls his father’s approving nod every time he lured in their days business.
It comes, the day, it comes and Kirin can hardly still himself the night before- tossing and turning in his sleep, fitful dreams and night sweats. He rides his purple bicycle into town, silver eyes sightless, hands clenching the handlebars until his knuckles are white. The walk to the square is even more uncertain, his ironed slacks feel stiff, protesting with each motion of his leg. Each step feels heavy as he makes his way to the towne center where an announcement board stands. Several guards surround the freshly built structure where hung sheets of paper have fine scrawled ink across their surfaces.
Names, the chosen, they’ve decided.
A sharp intake of breath accompanies the discovery of his own name written in fine pen across the middle of the paper. Brisk morning air meets his pouty lips where a smile soon replaces their surprised lines. He’s done it, times were changing and he had no time to waste in his preparations.
With his savings Kirin purchases a horse from the local stables, a healthy gray gelding with a sound gait. Prominent dapples freckle along the horse’s back and he has a refined look about him, with trimmed locks of shining ebony and an angled face. At home Kirin packs only his finest pieces of clothing into a leather sack, setting aside a few coppers that he will spend on a fresh cut and shave. Without sadness he leaves the dilapidated house, setting his mind and his jaw that he will be successful in this endeavor as he mounts his readied coursier and sets off towards the castle.
Kirin’s mount makes for a well-selected animal, hardy and bomb proof as they traverse the dirt roads outside town. He takes to calling the gelding Jack and each time they both seem to grow more accustomed to the sound of it.
They arrive to a cluster of hopefuls, both man and woman alike and this only causes the upward inching of Kirin’s eyebrow. Just who was this heir?
If Kirin didn’t know any better he would assume this was some sort of dream. Dirt roads and lush grassy hills give way to an extensive, gated estate. The path to the castle was lined with stone, all edged and smooth and perfectly placed within their earthy home. Flower patches and manicured hedges adorn the yard, marble fountains stream delicate arches of water into the warming air. A group of servants with red jackets help him with his bag, as well as take Jack away to their stables for a brushing, hot meal, and refreshment. Women with gloved hands carry glasses of champagne on silver trays that swirl among the building crowd.
It was pleasant, and perfect and practically sickening.
With an embroidered kerchief Kirin wipes his neck, filing towards the assembled hopefuls and sipping champagne in the sun. Several guards mill about, some looking stiff and hot at the front where a familiar middle-aged man stood. Before long he was speaking, his round belly following each word and jiggling with every attempt at humor. The lavender haired man listened along with the rest, watching carefully each curve of the speaker’s lips, right down to the disgusting spittle that drenched his ‘s’. They would all be given room and board, refreshment, food, but first a tour of the castle itself.
Inside, the pale walls were even more lavish than the grounds could ever hope to be. Ivory and molded filigree adorned the rooms, swirls deftly painted with accents of gold. Gleaming floors shone against the hundreds of fluorescent lights, electricity, something Kirin could never afford to have. Light bulbs and wiring were a frivolity that only the richest could afford, and the amount that lit the room made his mouth salivate with want. Gold chandeliers hung from several ceilings, gilded mirrors sat proudly displaying reflections, polished oak tables stood in grand dining halls with velvet runners. The stairs were railed with hand carved banisters and lifelike dancing bears at their end. Kirin had never seen anything like it, nothing to match the quality and craftsmanship that went into each piece. There were no words for this display of wealth and power, there were only thoughts that bit eagerly at Kirin’s conscience.
When finally he was led to his room his was pleased to see that no expense had been spared. From the lavish wallpaper to the down stuffed duvet it was pristine and elegant in every way. His bed was a regal, four poster monstrosity, with heavy crimson drapes surrounding the plush bedding. A fire crackled in the hearth behind a steaming tub of water, several fluffy towels and rose soaps were set out for his use, while the water itself smelled generously perfumed.
After a long soak Kirin fell exhaustedly into the soft sea of blankets, something he was sure to recall as the best sleep of his life.
Kirin
son of Khaos