InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity Redux: Vivication ❯ Desperation ( Chapter 9 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Standing in the small, cramped office on the second floor of the dilapidated building, the two men stared at each other in silence, as though they were measuring the mettle of the other as the seconds ticked away on the very old mantle clock on the old wooden filing cabinet near the desk.

Mikhail Bostoyev, Director of the St. Nicholas II Home for Children, a very haggard-looking deer-youkai, pressed his already thin lips together in a straight line, scowling thoughtfully, his head cocked to the left, arms crossed over his chest over the worn and nubby cream colored open sweater, the dark blue and otherwise nondescript button down shirt, the rumpled but clean gray slacks.  "I confess," he began, slowly shaking his head, "I was . . . shocked when you walked in with Saori . . . I'm sorry we have no better accommodations for you, Your Grace . . ."

Waving off the director's concern since the room he'd been escorted to was one of the staff bedrooms—little more than a small box of a room, maybe six feet square—with a rickety metal twin size bed and one blanket, one pillow, and a small dresser that was little better than pressed cardboard, Fai dug his hands into the pockets of the slightly baggy and rather short pants that he'd borrowed from Bostoyev while his own clothing was washed and dried.  The shirt he'd been given belonged to one of the staffers, Dmitri, who was much taller in body than the director, whose shirts likely would have looked fairly ridiculous on Fai's lankier frame—probably akin to a belly shirt.  He'd been able to get a shower quickly enough, and the open communal shower had gone unnoticed since he hadn't really cared at the time.  The water smelled like minerals, like old iron, but he didn't mind that, either.  If he'd ever felt quite as clean before in his life, he couldn’t recall.  It was the magic of having lived in his own filth for over a week, he supposed . . . "I appreciate your hospitality," Fai assured him.  "I apologize for not giving you prior notice, but my cell got broken, and Saori's was dead."

The director uttered a terse, decidedly nervous, laugh.  "Well, you chose a good day—it's borsch day . . ." he joked.

"It's fine," Fai assured him.  Then he sighed.  The small talk felt so stilted, so unnecessary when the elephant in the room loomed so large.  "Director, do you mind if we skipped the banter?"

Bostoyev looked rather relieved at the frank offer.  "Of course; of course . . . I guess I should just say that I think closing this facility wouldn't benefit youkai as a whole.  Throwing these children in with human children?  It's a dangerous, maybe even a reckless, thing to do.  Parents know that it's their own responsibility to teach their children how to control their powers, how to deal with anger and those types of things.  If these children, during these formative years, do not get the full time support of other youkai, they run the risk of drawing the attention of those who would seek to destroy our kind.  I daresay you realized this already?"

Fai nodded slowly.  It was something he'd known.  The trouble was, whether he knew it or not, he wasn't entirely sure that there was anything he could do to stop it, either . . . unless . . .

"You need to cut some of the staff."

Blinking as he opened and closed his mouth a few times, Bostoyev crossed his arms over his chest and tried his hardest, not to look entirely put-upon by Fai's abrupt demand.  "I assure you, Your Grace, we really don't have any extraneous staff, and—"

"And how many advocates do you have?  Saori tells me that she is in charge of just a handful of children in that capacity?  Surely you could easily let a few of the advocates go and redistribute their workloads.  It would save a good deal off the annual budget.  And tell me, do you really need to employ separate house parents?  What I'm getting at is, if you can redistribute your workloads, cut down your staff by, say, a third, then I wouldn't have to defund this place as quickly as I would otherwise."

"Well," Bostoyev mused slowly, thoughtfully stroking the short salt-and-pepper beard.  "I suppose I could look into it.  I could let the most recently added staff go—and yes, we could easily have the older advocates pick up some of the children who would be displaced by letting go of them . . ."

A sudden thought made Fai scowl.  "And just where does Saori fall in this?"

Bostoyev shook his head.  "She's the newest one we've hired," he allowed.  "Fairest would be to let her go first . . ."

"Fairest?" Fai echoed.

Bostoyev sighed.  "I would rather not let any of the staff go," he pointed out in a tired, sad kind of way.  "I understand your position, and I see the necessity of what you've said.  I cannot keep her on and let someone else go, though.  She's only worked here for six months.  We have some children here who were babies when they came to us.  They're teenagers now, and they've worked with the same advocates for years.  They trust them.  They know them.  Should I dismiss those advocates just to keep Saori here?"

There really wasn't much he could say about that, was there?  It made perfect sense.  Even so, she wasn't going to be pleased with the outcome, even if keeping the orphanage open was what she had truly wanted.

Letting out a deep breath as he strode across the creaking floor to glance out the window, watching as about ten children ran around in the yard, playing on the sparse grass and dirt.  He frowned.  There were no toys, no swings or slides; no sports gear or other things that were notable for outdoor play.  There was nothing at all except a tired old lawn that was worn down to dirt . . . One little girl—maybe about four—scraped a hopscotch board into the ground with a stick.  It was shaky and wavering, but the others didn't seem to mind at all as they waited their turns to hop through it . . .

The smaller ones stayed close to the attendants—there were three of them—holding hands as they walked around the perimeter.  Fai's scowl deepened.  "They have no toys?" he heard himself asking, but even before he finished the question, he already knew the answer.  Of course, they didn't.  The place barely had enough funding to keep the doors open, let alone to be able to spend money on anything frivolous.  After all, they could exist without toys, even if it did make their lives just a little duller.

"We try every year, but every year, it seems like something more important arises," Bostoyev admitted with a sigh.  "We do the best we can.  Even our staff . . . Holidays, birthdays . . . Those are celebrated out of our pockets, and I don't mean to sound ungrateful.  I'm not.  It's just how it is, Your Grace."

Fai nodded slowly, but didn't take his eyes off the children in the yard.  Seeing them with so very little, and yet, he could also sense their pleasure, too, and something about that dug at him.  He could understand and appreciate what Bostoyev was saying.  The needs far outweighed the wish to indulge the children.  On some level, it was demoralizing.  Even though the staff realized that they were doing everything that they could, that they were fulfilling the emotional needs of the children in their care, how hard was it, to see those children's hopeful faces, only to have to tell them 'no' over and over again . . .?

"What sort of curriculum do you have, then, as far as structured activities?" Fai questioned, finally turning away from the window to level a stare at the man in question.

Director Bostoyev smiled, and this one seemed a little more genuine, or maybe the sense of nervousness had simply dissipated when he'd learned that Fai was going to let the orphanage keep operating, despite demands that they had to cut their staff.  "Well, we do teach the children defense skills, sparring skills—age appropriate, of course—along with tracking and such.  We do like to take them out to learn survival skills during camping adventures—they all seem to enjoy that.  In the winter time, we engage them in skills such as sewing and other needle crafts.  The older children usually get involved in turning the surrounding yards into networks of tunnels with dug out rooms and things . . . It's always very impressive.  Last year in particular, one rarely had to brave the winter wind outside.  They created passages to all of the outlying buildings, including the bath house.  During the summers, all of the children are required to help in the garden, raising food for winter, so they gain an appreciation of where the food on the table comes from . . ."

"And what do they do for fun?"

That question seemed to give the director pause, and he smiled a little sadly.  "They have time for fun, of course, but as with everything, it is a careful balance."

'A balance that children shouldn't have to understand—at least, not to this extent—should they?'

Frowning at the question posed by his youkai-voice, Fai nodded vaguely.  "And . . ."

"And . . .?" Bostoyev prompted when Fai trailed off.

Leveling a no-nonsense look at the man, Fai stared at him for a long moment—a tactic that his advisor had told him would help to add a sense of authority to Fai's stance—before he finally spoke.  "And we need to make more of an effort to find permanent families for these children."

Bostoyev heaved a sigh.  "Your Grace, at the risk of sounding pessimistic, I've tried.  I try all day, every day, looking for families that are interested in adopting, but the glaring truth of it is that this region . . . It's poor.  Most can barely afford the children they have, and taking in another . . ."

Fai shook his head.  "You misunderstand, Director.  Forgive me.  I didn't state that well enough.  When I get back home, I'm going to start contacting a few of the other tai-youkai.  I'm going to see if any of them have families that might be interested in adopting any of the children."

"Your Grace—" Bostoyev began, only to be cut off when Fai held up a hand.

"No matter how you look at it, these children deserve families.  What you're doing here is good, solid work, Director, but the best possible outcomes would be in finding families—real families—for as many of them as possible.  Having that sense of belonging, no matter where they live . . . Isn't that more important than our pride in this situation?"

The director didn't look at all pleased by Fai's decision.  To be honest, Fai wasn't entirely satisfied with it, either, but the truth he'd presented was and should be more important.  Seeing the children at play in the yard had solidified that thought in his mind.  As much as he loathed the idea of having to call anyone else for perceived help, the children and their futures . . .

They were more important, just like Saori had said.


"Demyanov residence.  How may I help you?"

"Vasili . . . Hello. Evgeni Feodosiv here.  I was going to be in the area tomorrow, and I wondered if His Grace was free at some point in the afternoon?  Maybe dinner?"

"I'm sorry, Lord Feodosiv.  His Grace is out of the area at the moment, and he isn't expected to return in time for your visit."

Scowling at the butler's smooth tone, Evgeni shook his head.  "Do you know when he will return?"

"Apologies, my lord.  His Grace is away on a personal matter."

"Personal?" Evgeni echoed, willing himself to check his tone, to insert a bit of harmless cajoling instead of the surly growl he was feeling.  "He tells me everything, Vasili.  You know this."

"His Grace's business is unknown to me.  He only tells me what I need to know to keep his household running smoothly.  You understand."

Gritting his teeth at the not-so-subtle chiding in the old butler's voice, Evgeni counted to twenty.  "Would you be so good as to tell me why his cell phone appears to be unreachable?"

"That, I do not know.  Perhaps he's simply out of area.  However, when he calls, I'll be more than happy to pass along your message that you'd like for him to call you.  Good day, my lord."

"Damn!" he growled, slapping the cell phone onto the wide desk when the connection abruptly cut off, Evgeni shot to his feet, paced the office floor with the finesse of a caged lion.

Where the hell was he?

Snatching up the cell phone again, Evgeni scrolled through the numbers and connected the call.

It rang three times—enough to irritate Evgeni just a little more—before the youkai finally answered it.  "Hello?"

"Stepanovich, I require your assistance," Evgeni stated, barely able to keep the anger from frothing over.

"What do you want?"

Evgeni grunted.  "I need you to find out the whereabouts of the tai-youkai," he replied tightly.

Taras Stepanovich didn't answer for a moment.  "Is he missing?  Are you sure he wasn't challenged—maybe defeated?"

"That was not the sense I got.  Find him quickly, and report back."

"Okay," Stepanovich agreed.

The connection ended, and Evgeni stomped around the desk to slosh vodka—Faina Crystal Label—into a glass.

Stepanovich wouldn't fail.  He never failed.  Taras had an uncanny ability to dig up information.

Even so, something about the situation didn't set well with him.  Something about it felt . . . unnatural.  Knowing Fai as well as he did, he knew damn well that the tai-youkai wasn't ever in the habit of just randomly disappearing.  He simply was too methodic for that, and that was one of the few things that Evgeni could appreciate on some level about him.

Put simply, it wasn't in Fai's nature to do anything off the cuff, so to speak, and he had a feeling that Vasili, the old bastard, knew much more than he was saying . . .

'Maybe . . . Maybe we should stop by anyway . . . Have a face to face chat with Vasili . . .'

Slowly, slowly, the corners of Evgeni's lips turned upward, but the smile held no humor at all in the expression.  No, it was cold and calculated . . . and angry . . .


"So, um, Saori . . ."

Glancing up from the book she was reading to a three-year-old girl named Galinia, she smiled up at Dmitri as he slipped onto the bench beside her.  "Hmm?"

Dmitri sighed.  "It's your . . . Well, the tai-youkai," he said slowly, carefully, almost methodically.

"Fai-sama?"

He nodded as he reached over to pluck Galinia out of Saori's arms, followed by the book.  "Yeah, you'd better go intervene.  He's going to make Ilia cry."

"What?"

Jerking his head in the general direction of the kitchen, Dmitri made a face.  "He told her that she didn't know what she was doing and to get out of there and go do something useful instead," he explained.

"Oh, my . . ."

Wasting no time, Saori hurriedly stood up and strode over to the opened doorway of the kitchen, spotting Fai, chopping cabbage on a cutting board with a dark scowl on his face as Ilia, the resident cook, stood by with a long wooden spoon in her hand, her arms crossed over her chest as she scowled at the tai-youkai.  "What's . . . going on here?" Saori asked, trying for a bright and, hopefully, neutral tone.

Ilia, seeing her as reinforcement, let her arms drop as she pivoted to look at her, pointing the spoon directly at Fai's chest in a stance that was not unlike the children when they had a dispute outside in the yard.  "He—He says—"

"Everyone knows that using marinated kelp in borscht is disgusting and wrong," Fai stated flatly and loudly.  "Utterly barbaric!  Cabbage!  Never kelp!  No wonder the children didn't look happy about having that for dinner tonight."

Saori's mouth fell open at the harsher than normal tone from the tai-youkai.

Ilia growled under her breath.  "They like it fine, and the kelp is delicious!  You're prejudiced!  Prejudiced against Lenten borscht!"

"Oh, I don't think he's—" Saori began in a placating tone, only to be cut off by a very loud, very decisive snort as Fai rolled his eyes.

"Prejudiced?  How can I be prejudiced against a soup?  Besides, everyone knows that traditional borscht is the best recipe!"

Ilia tried again.  "The clergy—"

"—Are used to eating plain foods—nasty food.  It's a part of their penance," Fai shot back.

Ilia waved the wooden spoon at him.  He jerked back when the utensil came very close to his nose.  "Have you even tried it with kelp instead of cabbage before?"

"Yes," Fai growled, grabbing the spoon and yanking it out of the woman's hand, "and it was disgusting.  You will not feed those children that slop—not if I have a say in it!  Consider it law!  Kelp does not belong in borscht, ever!"

"You can't decree something like that!  That's—"

"I just did, didn't I?  And I'm tai-youkai—tai-youkai—so that's that!"

"Okay," Saori interrupted, stepping forward to separate the two contenders—over borscht.  "Come on, Ilia.  Let's get the bread ready."

Ilia didn't look like she wanted to comply, but she grudgingly allowed Saori to drag her across the small kitchen to the other counter where the bread was ready to be formed into the loaves for dinner.  "This is my kitchen," she grumbled under her breath.  "Tai-youkai ought to pay more attention to the important affairs and leave the cooking to those who know how to do it!"

Saori grimaced since she knew well enough that Fai did take pride in his cooking abilities, and she hoped that maybe he'd missed the comment.  One glance back at the man, however, proved that he had, indeed, heard it, and she stifled a sigh.

"I've been cooking for years," he said loudly, succinctly.  "I know well enough, what I'm doing—better than someone who has the audacity to stick kelp in borscht, anyway."

Ilia started to retort, but Saori gave her arm a little yank, thrusting the large wooden bowl of the proofed black bread into her hands.

Satisfied that the argument was over—at least, at the moment—Saori stepped back since Ilia did not like to have interference while she was cooking.  She had the system down to a science, and Saori had learned long ago, not to interfere with the woman's process.  Instead, she wandered over to a still scowling Fai.  "She's a very good cook," Saori pointed out in what she hoped was a neutral tone.

Dumping the cabbage into the huge cauldron of soup on the ancient industrial stove, Fai snorted.  "I'm sure she is—just not this."

"You're being offensive, Your Grace," she pointed out, arching an eyebrow to emphasize her point.

"Honesty is never offensive," he shot back, slapping the lid on the pot and leveling a very dry scowl at her.

"Come meet some of the children," she coaxed, hoping against hope that she could get him out of the kitchen before he started another war of words with the embattled cook.

"In a minute.  Just let me have a look at the bread, and—"

"And the bread is fantastic—best I've ever had," Saori hurriedly said, grabbing his arm before he could spin away to inspect that, too.

He stopped dead still, taking a moment to stare, very pointedly, at her hand, still grasping him.  "The best you've ever had?" he echoed dubiously, managing somehow to look offended by the very idea.

She rolled her eyes and tugged until he had no choice but to follow her toward the doorway.  "Leave Ilia alone," she said.  "If you don't, she'll quit, and there's no one here who can do what she does for the amount she's paid."

Fai uttered a terse grunt, but allowed her to lead him out of the room.