Complex Fic
Feb. 14th, 2009 09:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
chachingFic: Untitled, "Voodoo" tentative
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Characters: Jackal, Kirihara, and Marui (a little)
Rating: PG-13 for subject matter, see notes
Disclaimer: I do not own Prince of Tennis, nor do I own this particular AU idea.
Notes: This fic was written to fit into The Complex AU setting, started by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
atamagaitai and nozomi_chan and which can be read at ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
the_complex_au. For those unfamiliar with the setting, The Complex is a place where people are bought and sold into slavery. That is the very gist of a summary. I encourage others to go there and read it for a better understanding.
Notes 2: This is part 1, and I'm posting another snippet right after. This deals with Jackal being acquired and then sold.
When they came for him was the only time he’d ever seen his grandmother cry. She had always been one of those women who never took shit, could hand it out with the best of them, and rolled with whatever life flung at her without being phased. But this had been different. She had done everything she could think of, through bribery and promises, but it just wasn’t enough. In the end, the papers all had his father’s signature on them, and to cover the massive amount of debt he’d acquired, he’d sold his son into slavery.
It had been a rough and unexpected betrayal. Jackal had spent nearly his whole life in the care of his mother’s mother and the two of them had simply forgotten his father was out there. Jackal couldn’t even remember his face now. But his father still had parental rights, and when push came to shove and it was slavery for either himself or his son, he didn’t hesitate to toss Jackal to, well, the jackals.
The sounds of his grandmother’s frustration, the curses she tossed upon the nicely dressed men with that voodoo chant of hers, lingered with him long after he’d been taken to the Complex. He spent many nights falling asleep to the idea that her voodoo would work, and he’d be set free out of fear of more retribution.
That never happened though, and Jackal applied his grandmother’s way of life to the training before him. He rolled with it, taking his potshots on trainers when he could, did well enough with the “lessons” that he didn’t have to learn them twice, and got through it leaving his handlers torn between wanting to beat him or praise him.
Jackal had spent nearly a month in the Complex after he’d been listed for sale. He did what he was told, while causing just enough trouble that the average customer would have second thoughts after looking at his record. He was hoping to walk the line for as long as possible.
So at the moment, he was being good. He was above ground, helping the cleaning staff, because his grandmother always said that ‘idle hands soon did the work of the devil’ or something like that, and he never liked lying about and doing nothing anyway.
Jackal hadn’t noticed the kid down the hall until he heard the muttered curse, and when he turned his head he watched the kid kick his shoe against the base board, knocking off dirt and try to rub off what looked suspiciously like green bubble gum. This disapproving click rolled off his tongue before he could stop it, and the kid looked up like a deer confronted by a freight train. The expression didn’t linger for long though.
The kid sent him a look between a smirk and a snarl, daring him to say something about it. The messy mop of hair on his head only added to the wild animal effect, and Jackal wished he had a rolled up newspaper.
“I just cleaned that,” Jackal scolded.
“Like I care?” He said, laughing, something in it sounding just a bit . . . off. Like the kid wasn’t sure if it was funny, or if he wasn’t sure if he was the one who was supposed to be laughing.
Jackal cocked his head, looking down his nose at him as he stepped up to him and held out the handle of his mop.
The kid snorted, confidence returning in the face a menial labor. “No way. I’m not cleaning that up.”
Jackal let go of the handle, and the kid gave a start, but wasn’t fast enough to stop it from smacking him in the face. The handle bounced off his nose, and Jackal caught it again, and then held it out, one more time. “Clean it up.”
The kid rubbed his nose with a stunned look on his face and there was a long moment of them staring at each other, Jackal completely unmoving. The kid took the handle and was wiping the floor when another kid came around the corner, hair a bright shock of pink and bubble gum popping as he came to a halt.
“Oi, Akaya, I’m here to buy a slave, not sell you off. What the hell are you doing?”
The kid dropped the mop like it was on fire and whorled around. “This guy says I had to clean this mess up.”
“And you’re doing it?” The other kid looked confused. “Since when did you listen to anybody?”
The kid, Akaya, apparently swore, but seemed quick to recover. “Because I don’t have time to kick his ass. Aren’t you supposed to be in that meeting already?”
The pink kid snorted, an upgraded version of the one “Akaya” had used earlier, obviously seeing through the bull. “It’s over. I get to pick one out now. Come on, stop playing Cinderella.”
Jackal glared after them as they went back around the corner together. He bent to pick the mop up off the floor and swore to himself. He’d always hated punks.
Jackal had cleaned the mess and was already on the way to dinner when he got stopped by a trainer, a rather happy trainer who seemed to be barely able to contain his excitement. He’d been sold, and would be moving in with his new owner instead of staying in a room in the complex. Jackal didn’t have any valuables to gather up, so he was to report to one of the offices on the first floor.
Jackal headed there in confusion. He’d been bought? Don’t owners normally meet the slave first? How’d they pick him over all the better candidates he’d intentionally tried to look worse than?
When he walked into the room his stomach bottomed out at the sight of that familiar shock of pink hair. The messy haired kid was turned around in his seat and grinning at him like he’d won the lotto. The pink one gave him a look over.
“You sure about this, man? I don’t want to buy a second one, just because this guy made a fool out of you.”
“He’s gotta do what you say, yeah? How can it go wrong? . . . and he didn’t make a fool out of me, damnit!”
Jackal shook his head. This was unbelievable. Surely people put more thought into buying people than some whimsical idea of petty vengeance.
“At least he’s not bad to look at,” the pink kid reasoned. “Alright, let’s make this final. I’ve got things for him to do already.”
Jackal had a sneaking suspicion that the messy haired kid’s maniacal laughter was going to be just as haunting as his grandmother’s voodoo had sounded.
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Characters: Jackal, Kirihara, and Marui (a little)
Rating: PG-13 for subject matter, see notes
Disclaimer: I do not own Prince of Tennis, nor do I own this particular AU idea.
Notes: This fic was written to fit into The Complex AU setting, started by
atamagaitai and nozomi_chan and which can be read at the_complex_au. For those unfamiliar with the setting, The Complex is a place where people are bought and sold into slavery. That is the very gist of a summary. I encourage others to go there and read it for a better understanding. Notes 2: This is part 1, and I'm posting another snippet right after. This deals with Jackal being acquired and then sold.
When they came for him was the only time he’d ever seen his grandmother cry. She had always been one of those women who never took shit, could hand it out with the best of them, and rolled with whatever life flung at her without being phased. But this had been different. She had done everything she could think of, through bribery and promises, but it just wasn’t enough. In the end, the papers all had his father’s signature on them, and to cover the massive amount of debt he’d acquired, he’d sold his son into slavery.
It had been a rough and unexpected betrayal. Jackal had spent nearly his whole life in the care of his mother’s mother and the two of them had simply forgotten his father was out there. Jackal couldn’t even remember his face now. But his father still had parental rights, and when push came to shove and it was slavery for either himself or his son, he didn’t hesitate to toss Jackal to, well, the jackals.
The sounds of his grandmother’s frustration, the curses she tossed upon the nicely dressed men with that voodoo chant of hers, lingered with him long after he’d been taken to the Complex. He spent many nights falling asleep to the idea that her voodoo would work, and he’d be set free out of fear of more retribution.
That never happened though, and Jackal applied his grandmother’s way of life to the training before him. He rolled with it, taking his potshots on trainers when he could, did well enough with the “lessons” that he didn’t have to learn them twice, and got through it leaving his handlers torn between wanting to beat him or praise him.
Jackal had spent nearly a month in the Complex after he’d been listed for sale. He did what he was told, while causing just enough trouble that the average customer would have second thoughts after looking at his record. He was hoping to walk the line for as long as possible.
So at the moment, he was being good. He was above ground, helping the cleaning staff, because his grandmother always said that ‘idle hands soon did the work of the devil’ or something like that, and he never liked lying about and doing nothing anyway.
Jackal hadn’t noticed the kid down the hall until he heard the muttered curse, and when he turned his head he watched the kid kick his shoe against the base board, knocking off dirt and try to rub off what looked suspiciously like green bubble gum. This disapproving click rolled off his tongue before he could stop it, and the kid looked up like a deer confronted by a freight train. The expression didn’t linger for long though.
The kid sent him a look between a smirk and a snarl, daring him to say something about it. The messy mop of hair on his head only added to the wild animal effect, and Jackal wished he had a rolled up newspaper.
“I just cleaned that,” Jackal scolded.
“Like I care?” He said, laughing, something in it sounding just a bit . . . off. Like the kid wasn’t sure if it was funny, or if he wasn’t sure if he was the one who was supposed to be laughing.
Jackal cocked his head, looking down his nose at him as he stepped up to him and held out the handle of his mop.
The kid snorted, confidence returning in the face a menial labor. “No way. I’m not cleaning that up.”
Jackal let go of the handle, and the kid gave a start, but wasn’t fast enough to stop it from smacking him in the face. The handle bounced off his nose, and Jackal caught it again, and then held it out, one more time. “Clean it up.”
The kid rubbed his nose with a stunned look on his face and there was a long moment of them staring at each other, Jackal completely unmoving. The kid took the handle and was wiping the floor when another kid came around the corner, hair a bright shock of pink and bubble gum popping as he came to a halt.
“Oi, Akaya, I’m here to buy a slave, not sell you off. What the hell are you doing?”
The kid dropped the mop like it was on fire and whorled around. “This guy says I had to clean this mess up.”
“And you’re doing it?” The other kid looked confused. “Since when did you listen to anybody?”
The kid, Akaya, apparently swore, but seemed quick to recover. “Because I don’t have time to kick his ass. Aren’t you supposed to be in that meeting already?”
The pink kid snorted, an upgraded version of the one “Akaya” had used earlier, obviously seeing through the bull. “It’s over. I get to pick one out now. Come on, stop playing Cinderella.”
Jackal glared after them as they went back around the corner together. He bent to pick the mop up off the floor and swore to himself. He’d always hated punks.
Jackal had cleaned the mess and was already on the way to dinner when he got stopped by a trainer, a rather happy trainer who seemed to be barely able to contain his excitement. He’d been sold, and would be moving in with his new owner instead of staying in a room in the complex. Jackal didn’t have any valuables to gather up, so he was to report to one of the offices on the first floor.
Jackal headed there in confusion. He’d been bought? Don’t owners normally meet the slave first? How’d they pick him over all the better candidates he’d intentionally tried to look worse than?
When he walked into the room his stomach bottomed out at the sight of that familiar shock of pink hair. The messy haired kid was turned around in his seat and grinning at him like he’d won the lotto. The pink one gave him a look over.
“You sure about this, man? I don’t want to buy a second one, just because this guy made a fool out of you.”
“He’s gotta do what you say, yeah? How can it go wrong? . . . and he didn’t make a fool out of me, damnit!”
Jackal shook his head. This was unbelievable. Surely people put more thought into buying people than some whimsical idea of petty vengeance.
“At least he’s not bad to look at,” the pink kid reasoned. “Alright, let’s make this final. I’ve got things for him to do already.”
Jackal had a sneaking suspicion that the messy haired kid’s maniacal laughter was going to be just as haunting as his grandmother’s voodoo had sounded.
