Let your writing flow!

sonnet dump # 1

Fri, 18 Dec 2009 21:17:01 GMT

Anthologies (or at least collections) seem possible lately. Weird. (I can never remember writing so much short stuff before.)

This one's actually entirely original. I write poetry on occasion--for the challenge, as well as a way to kep my english-muscles in training. My specialty's the sonnet. It's not the only thing I write poetry-wise, but my freeverse is crap, just like most people's. It's usually pretty trippy crap, too, on unusual subjects. (compared to my sonnets, which are on some pretty odd subjects themselves.) So what actually sounds good, and I'm comfortable with as a medium, is the sonnet.

Maybe someday, the villanelle or the pantoum or the ballad will be my bitch, too, but for now It's just the sonnet. (Thank Heaven for small favors...)

Lately I've been breaking my informal oath and writing sappy ones, too. Before I used to just reserve the thing for wierd topics outside of love. Now I'm just being a moron. (A melodramatic, prosey moron, though...)

This is a dump of MOST of the sonnets I've written and thought passed muster. Some are left out until I get them into either a better form, or I'm less embarassed by them...which...implies I want them in a better form, come to think of it. (They'll have dates afterwards--aren't I so helpful?) The dates are for the initial completion of the poem--it's pretty rare I don't write a sonnet in one sitting when I do it, but usually they go through two or three revisions. Sometimes they even go through sub-types where I save the major reforms. So some sonnets will have the date of completion, then primary edit dates besides.

One in particular is left out because it'll identify me immediately to anyone in that particular class. Even the title was fairly memorable. That first sonnet's not left out because of poorness of quality. It's left out because it is what it is. (It's about Lucifer, incidentally.)

I've also left notes for what STYLE of sonnet the things are. There are several differnt rhyme schemes for Sonnets, after all, and not all of mine are the same variety.

Small disclaimer: If you steal my sonnets, and I catch you, I'll have to close off my journal, at the least. So if you're a person I don't know and are desperate to have an assignment for your english class, please give me a poke? (Or if you're a person I know, too.) I'd love nothing more than to help you. I want to be an English Teacher so badly it borders on psychosis.
Think: free tutoring on pentameter domination tactics.
Ooh.
Seriously though, I don't have patience for cheating. It's one of the few things I don't have a scrap of patience for. Take an 'F' if you need to, but keep your honor.
...My A's were in English, usually. And...Biology, Advanced art, and...well...Weight Lifting. I usually hated small homework assignments, and liked big projects on my own, so I graduated with something like a 2.3 GPA. (Everyone's usually shocked.)
But I still had an 102% A+ in my Junior Honors English class.
So if you have a deadline coming up, come and ask me, and I'll puzzle it through along with you.
My grammar's not the greatest, but I can write at least.
Also, my email is: sweet_jumpin_jillybeans@yahoo.com if you prefer privacy. I usually check it a couple of times a week.

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Summaries:

I-- Taphos (3-1-08)
Rhyme Scheme: ?
HA! You won't believe it, but THIS was written in an RPJ. Yes, yes, yes. (I know--you're going "Whaaat?") See, when I RolePlayed Yami Bakura of the Yu-Gi-Oh fandom, he was obsessive over becoming modern and culturally astute, and generally proving himself better than everyone else so he could sneer about it. One of the really weird ways he showed it was by writing a sonnet-epitaph for Yugi's Grandfather, Solomon Motou. (In the official storyline, he lives, but over time he died in said RP) Strangely, Baka-kun up there had a bit of respect for Yugi--he seemed to think the reason he was there was because Yugi botched something up. (Because the end of Yu-Gi-Oh technically means a post-canon RP shouldn't have any of the "Yami" characters in it...) So he edged carefully around Yugi while detesting Atem ("Yami Yugi") in true Lawful-Evil fashion.
So, oddly enough, this was written by "Bakura".
By which I mean, I wrote it because I'm weird. (And I wrote it from his POV of what was noble to do. Which is clearly what anyone should do when they get carried away writing in the POV of a soul-fusion of a five-thousand-year-old bedouin-king-tombrobber-turned-evil-god-thing-with-a-snake-for-a-penis. Clearly. The sonnet is most obviously the perfect medium for having an borderline-nuts anime character address another dead anime character... *funny look* It's all so clear now...)
The rhyme scheme mystifies me even now. It seems to be a modified Petrarchan-Shakespearean, but I'm not sure, myself. It's three quatrains of ABBA, CDDC, EFFE, with a couplet GG. No rhyme scheme I've ever heard of. (I say it's modified Shakespearean because it only needs two pairs of rhyme each. Still...it's weird I didn't realize this before. I probably thought I was doing a Petrarchan withotu remembering exactly what a Petrarchan entailed.)
"Taphos" is the greek word referring to either a funeral ceremony, or a tomb. It's the root of the English word "Epitaph", which in turn is either the engrving on a tomb, or a short speech commemorating a dead person.

II-- On the Fruitless Fount Immortal (8-5-08)
Rhyme Scheme: Shakespearean
This was dedicated to a goth-muffin friend of mine. I don't think I've ever actually bestowed it on her, though. (Chances are she doesn't pay attention to my creative journal long enough to even know I'm doing it now. *sigh* ~~She doesn't pay much attention to me outside of RP, I guess...^^;; She's got a fairly busy life.~~) On the off chance I did give it to her, it would have been one of the old versions. This poem's really come into its own over time. It's had three major edts and overhauls--more than any of my other poems, I'd imagine. It's a bizzare little piece. Lately I've been thinking it actually might make a good original story--a vampire story of sorts, but with my definite irony thrown in.
In short, A vampire falls for a river nymph, only to try to drink blood from her and be ironically trapped in the river by the running water forever. (Vampires supposedly are made powerless by running water. Plus there's the idea of a more ancient "magical entity" overwhelming something with the urge to drink. I think it's just too much of Skunky's Dark Humor in one place to be passed up...)
The sonnet's subtitle should explain a little better what's going on. It'll take me forever if I try to explain why every symbol and every irony just seemed to fall into perfect place.
It has a bunch of weird literary puns, too. *sigh* Which...might make it better than some of my others for that alone. (Or worse, because it's my crack-pot humor at work.)
And really: what better present to give a goth? Though I suppose she's not a goth anymore... ~~Mm, teenagers are so fickle...~~ I tend to dedicate things to friends of mine if I think they would have liked them. It's part of the reason why my subjects get so random half the time.

III-- On Secondhand Experiences (9-4-09)
Rhyme Scheme: Shakespearean
Well...this was the third and most informal part of a three sonnet blast I wrote in the span of about two hours while I was busy being an emo little puddle of piss, whining about how the miraculous being I've set my eyes on as some sort of ideal of humanity hadn't show up for ages, and how much I missed him. (Luckily, all of you missed that. That ended up being one of those entries I wrote up, then didn't post because I felt better the next day and didn't feel the need to subject the world to my whining just then. ^^;;)
For those of you who don't know about my pining after a wheelchair-bound, smoking, tattooed darling a year younger than me, who draws like an angel, sparks creativity off like a lightning-rod, and otherwise serves as muse to this sad waste of skin, uh...consider yourselves informed. That's pretty much it. I've been infatuate for six years over the same guy, and there doesn't seem to be much I can do about it except mutter about it. (Because despite the way I talk, I don't know the first thing about revealing one's feelings to men, and when I'm around said glorious individual, all I do is act roughly the same way I usually do, if not a little less coherent.)
These aforementioned three sonnets actually made up the first occasions I used the sonnet for it's mundane "romantic" purposes.
They were the mark where I broke my unwritten rule of keeping personal romance out of the sonnet. But, in my defense, by that time I hadn't seen him for more than two months and was more than a little nuts off it.
I usually see him as my carcinogenic little "air freshener." I feel better when I'm around him. That's just the way it is. I owe him the fact I can even speak to people at all, to be honest. I learned how to love people from him, that's it in simplicity. If it weren't for him, I'd still be stuck inside my own skull. So I owe him, even if I didn't like him so much.
That's pretty much what this poem's about--his air-freshener-ness.
Somehow, though I'm not a smoker, the smell makes me nostalgic now, because I think "him", and comforts me a little.
~~For someone without a sense of romance, I guess I'm a pretty sentimental sop, sometimes...~~

IV-- On the Wondering on His Craft and Making (9-4-09)
Rhyme Scheme: Terza Rima
The second part of the three-sonnet spree above. It's almost stuntedly formal and kind of dumb in hindsight, with its epic Genesis metaphor... (A pretty exalted metaphor for watching a guy roll up a character for a tabletop RPG, if you ask me... o_o;;) The reason I put it up was the form. This is the first terza rima sonnet I've ever written. Terza rima is a fairly obscure sonnet form--the italian form actually favored by Dante. (It goes in little triads in this general rhyme form: ABA BCB CDC DAD EE)
I still feel all dopey for talking about the lump of meat in the left side of my chest in all exalted terms.
(Uh...It does its job, I guess, my heart--generally doesn't cause much trouble and all...It's a slimy little thing.)
But it can't be helped.
It took me almost two weeks even after writing sonnets to text message him and figure out what was going on with him...
...I'm an idiot. *snorts*
(Seriously, anyone have a spine for sale?)
I expect this one to get rediculed by anyone aside from the most misty-eyed romantics...
Also: The puns, the puns. Do I ever not make senseless literary puns and double entendres? Do I ever?

V-- On the Building of a Dynasty (11-3-09)
Rhyme Scheme: Shakespearean
Ah, finally the fun stuff!
This was a poem specially written for a dear friend, and a phenomenal writer. She had a prompt for a very special little college relating to how one thought the perfect sandwich should be constructed, and the answer either had to be a flowchart, or a form of poetry, and she picked the sonnet without having studied meter. Actually, I shouldn't say that. She's Indian, and English is the only language which seems to use a stressed-unstressed poetic meter. Most other languages use pure syllables. She's STILL the fastest learner I've ever seen for iambs... So! In my paltry attempts to instruct her in one of the few things she didn't know (and still grasped admirably fast...) I wrote this sonnet as an example on my view of the best sandwich.
...Clearly, the best sandwich is one you can use to sharpen your sword when you're out with the horde.
Grilled cheese.
Oh yes.
(I still think her sonnet was better, though. Anyone who uses the line "beef and ham are lily pads of meat" or...it was something like that anyway...they deserve to be elevated to semi-divine status in my book, anyway. Automatically.)
Also, this particular dear is one of the people who follows my tradition of having a "V for Vendetta" party every fifth of November.
She gets "V" for a reason. Just for the record. (Never mind that I'm going chronologically...)

VI-- the Invention of the Wheel (11-21-09)
Rhyme Scheme: Shakespearean
Oh THIS. Uh...it's another addition onto my soppiness.
I'm not one of those people who thinks "rims" are an instant chick-magnet, for the record. I've just...had a thing about wheelchairs since I was about eight--long before I could get any weird kinks or sexual things. I just...really like them for whatever reason. I was infatuated with the idea of having one for the longest time. My first OC ever was wheelchair bound, as it turns out. (And a rediculous Mary-Sue, for the record.) If you'd asked me who my favorite character was, I would have screamed "Hari Seldon!" (Wheelchair-bound psychohistorian, and driving plot-force behind Isaac Asimov's "Foundation" series...) And I seemed to want to put a golf-cart engine in a wheelchair for some odd reason. (The idea of zooming around in a twenty MPH wheelchair sounded incredible. My slighty more logical mind these days acknowledges that yes, that WOULD be incredible--for steering alone if nothing else.)
All things considered, though, it's no real wonder if I have "odd tastes" twelve years later.
...I've never seemed to see the appeal in those gleaming "storybook princes", though. (It probably comes with growing up as the sort of blond girl people love to stick up towers. It certainly means I have an irrational loathing and paranoia over Disney-Affiliations...)
I can't seem to leave conventions alone when I write something like this. I seem to like telling conventions of rugged manliness to kiss my chariot.

VII-- The Viking to His Kitten (11-23-09)
Rhyme Scheme: Shakespearean
This one is undying proof that I am a special kind of moron.
I actually challenged HIM to give me "jaunty verse" to write. His prompt was simply "A Viking who's lost his Kitten."
I then endured incalcuable wrath for putting in the word "damn" from the other idiot I was later crowing triumphantly over this endeavor with.
HE showed up scant days later, though... Kittens do it every time
Indirectly, this sonnet has done wonders for my morale. (Despite, or perhaps because it's rediculous.)
What am I saying? The whole endeavour's rediculous--I can write a sonnet like this, but I can't ask a person out.
That's the face of "FAIL" right there...
...But funny fail, anyway.
Basic plot of the sonnet is thus: Viking's off doing cheerful pillaging, raping, and looting, with his trusty kitten stowed in the front of his loincloth like a mascot. (And a biting codpiece, at that.) He runs into a bear, being none too bright, and somehow doesn't notice that he's running around free of loincloth after the fact until some hours later, and so he scribbles out a message into the beach for the kitten (like it can actually read) beseeching its safe return or lack of return.
He IS a Viking after all.
(Between you and me, kitten is picked up by some soppy woman somewhere, and probably lives in front of a nice warm hearth for the rest of his life, and never so much as goes near a longboat ever again.)
This was another sonnet I had a lot of fun with, obviously.
It also suffers from my sense of humor.

VIII-- On a Rediculous Gesture (11-29-09)
Rhyme Scheme: Petrarchan
Every morale boost has a low. Obviously this was me calling myself an idiot in a Petrarchan fashion. I wrote an entry about it, actually because I suddenly had a lot on my plate.
This sonnet is probably a bit closer to my "informal" voice, too. (That is, how I normally sound.) It even gets all unhappily sarcastic in places.
It's also subtitled the Invention of the Wheel, II because it follows the downside of loving on Chariots, too much.
...Don't pine after men who are ancient superweapons, kids.
"The Invention of the Wheel" might be ongoing as a sonnet theme. Wheels are pretty universal symbolically, so I can probably supercharge the theme with all sorts of ulterior meanings--and what else does one do in poetry, anyway?
I was also glooming myself up by listening to spoken poetry, and some twit or other was reading Dylan Thomas to me, hence the line in the front. (Unfortunately, most of my stuff reads like his "a Visit to America" essay, so I don't think I can really keep up gloom for long without heartily self-mocking. It's rediculous.)
The petrarchan rhyme model follows perfectly, (ABBAABBA CDECDE) except I've perhaps put the volta in a different place (That's the "turn" of the poem's theme--it's an essential part of the sonnet.) so I have seven lines and seven lines on either side rather than the normal eight and six. There was some deep, burning existential reason for that in my soppy female feelings at the time, and I don't remember it, because I often don't remember my soppy, feminine feelings of the time.
Italian sonnet models like terza rima and the Petrarchan are supposed to be more difficult. I was almost unpleasantly surprised to find it was only just a little bit trickier. Not as much as I'd hoped, even. I still felt lousy enough to finish writing a rather long entry, after all.
Which I didn't post, because Mushy-sama came in and let me vent. ~~Thank you, Mushy-sama~~~
(The idea that it was easier than I'd expected gives me some hope for the eventual villainelle, though. Finding four pairs of rhyming words is a little trickier than finding just two...)

IX-- Dirge of the Loose Cannon (12-1-09)
Rhyme Scheme: Petrarchan
Wrote this after aforementioned profuse whining to Mushy on subjects related to the sonnet before this. I think he meant it as a fic prompt rather than a sonnet prompt, but I did ask for sonnet prompts, and he gave me this and another, so I wrote him a sonnet. It's a Spiral sonnet, too, at that--meaning it features the POV of the Character Kanone or variably "Kanon" Hilbert, from the manga Spiral: the Bonds of Reasoning. (If you like a series where genius children duke it out with guns, logic, piano, and plot-important kitty ears, this is a series for you. I don't recommend the Anime--though there is one--it doesn't do justice to the books after a certain point.)
Mm. Sonnets. With more kittens.
...Why do all the men I know seem to have a thing about kittens? (Argue all you like, Mushy-sama, but it looks pretty bad on your end, no matter what you say about Kanone's character. XD)
The prompt was technically something like "Write how Kanone rescues a bunch of kittens and brings them home, and Evangeline Hilbert gets mad at him."
It didn't turn out exactly according to prompt. It turned into a Petrarchan sonnet where Kanone rescues kittens because it's one of the good things his murderous self can do. Kanone's so very cheerful for a perfect assassin with no blind spots who's doomed to lose his mind if he doesn't watch it. (There wasn't room for his mother in the fourteen lines.)
This brings me up to two sonnets I've written in the guise of anime characters.
Well done, Mushy-sama.
(All those who are jealous, can give me prompts of their own like real men.)
"Loose Cannon" is just another pun. Those familiar with the slang know a Loose Cannon is an unpredictable, wild, and often dangerous person. Azalee pointed out that Kanone's name in german, literally is "Cannon". And a Dirge is a mourning song.
Still, writing angsty killer anime characters is an improvement on being a sop.

X--Easyvac
Rhyme Scheme: Shakespearean
Another fun prompt from a dear individual. His exact words were, "How about a man who spends his whole life vacuuming a beach?". For that reason, it doesn't really have the most pithy of titles. I'm still waiting for him to give me a better name for it.
What this sonnet does have is a plethora of weird poetic references, and more than a generous helping of weirdness.
It makes at least two definite references--One to Lewis Carroll's "The Walrus and the Carpenter" with the bit about a walrus strolling down the beach with a carpenter, obviously. And another murkier one to T.S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock". Less obviously, that's the bit about old men and peaches-- "Do I dare to eat a peach?"; plus the mersong. "I have heard the mermaids singing"...and...being Eliot, he was actually making a reference to John Donne's "Song" with the line "Teach me to hear mermaids singing..."
Aaaaand, "Life's a beach" is obviously a play on "Life's a Bitch" if you look at it right.
The "dumb diver" is Jacques Cousteau. (Bless his soul. I took and was good at Marine Biology.)
So...
It's symbolism laden, but what does a guy with a menial labor job care about symbolism, singing mermaids, or the fantastic? The tone of jaded cynicism and sarcasm comes over pretty well overall, not to mention the meaninglessness of the task. ~~Plus, I myself have need of a higher paying job so I can feed my college habit. Insert subliminal griping.~~
Notably, I live in an area laden with beaches. My house is a mile at best from the water--a fact I've never seen reason to take enthusiastic advantage of. I've never quite seen what poets, or vacationers see in the idea of a beach. If they all used the same beach for their little musings and wistfulnesses, I'd imagine it would get highly crowded and sufficiently less picturesque. Nobody needs to see a Walrus in a thong, thank you, but there are plenty in the Miami area.
On the other hand, I DO seem fairly fond of freshwater bodies.

XI-- On The Frightened Disciple (One of Many) (12-14-09)
Rhyme Scheme: Shakespearean
Ah. The Autobigraphical sonnet. (Also known as "a case in point for being a sop.")
For those who don't know: I'm religious. It seems particularly ironic in that light that I have no qualms about writing slash fiction, or things with sex. It embarasses me, but no moreso than most other things. Yes. Well. The thing is, not everything one writes is what they approve in a nice society and all... I'd be a real villain if everything I wrote happened to be things I thought were 'good'.
And yet I have no consideration of ever censoring the behaviors of my friends, either. Whatever they are, be it bipolar, or bisexual, or broken in any way, shape, or form. They're my friends. Which...is another odd point. (Somehow one just simply CAN'T be a good christian unless one applies to the stereotype of being a close-minded stupid bigot. Naturally, naturally. *eye roll*)
Hah. Here's the thing--if I waited for everyone to be "good people" before hanging around them and trying to help, commiserate, or enjoy their other features, I'd have a really shitty "ministry." (And half of you are probably more preoccupied with the fact I used the word "shitty", and the other half are cringing at the word "ministry". Both are loaded terms.) And anyway, what's worse? Sodomy? Or being an Apostatic Hypocrite, hm?
Christians aren't typically any better about having less nasty urges than your average person. We just have a reason to hold them back, and try to do better where other people don't see a problem in the first place. (It's not like denying it makes things any better, I find, though it makes you feel a little better, maybe.)
For the record, I AM an Apostatic Hypocrite. But then again, isn't everyone?
Well...Double Apostatic Hypocrite in this case. I've done a full 360 with my faith in my lifetime. (I probably haven't gotten into it much with people because religion is sort of an "impolite" topic to bring up most of the time, but Witchcraft definitely ranks up there insofar as labelled sins go, in short. Much less, leaving Christianity FOR Witchcraft and lying consistantly about it through the act of still attending a church, etc.)
One doesn't need to be spotless before they go on their knees--There's no polishing the insides with human hands after all.
It isn't a matter of thinking God is "loving" and "looks past it", because that's just another excuse--it's more a matter of wanting more than anything to do better even if you can't do it on your own steam, and even if it means giving up what you want.
But...that doesn't make sense to a lot of people. ^^ ("Who would willingly choose that?!" XD)
To be honest, I wasn't sure I should have included this one, but in the end I did because it's not really "offensive"--it's simply mine as much as the love-sonnets are for roughly the same reasons.

XII--The Voyeur Courts an Inspiration (12-15-09)
Rhyme Scheme: Chiastic
Important Note: There's actually no such thing as a Chiastic Sonnet for all I know. It's...my invention, actually. ~~This is me, starting to play with my medium.~~
So...what is a chiastic sonnet?
Well...Since it has exactly fourteen lines, the sonnet can divide evenly in a number of ways without ruining its trademarks. I've gone into it a little, above. The rhyme schemes, and such are all different ways of dividing up, and through the ages, the sonnet's often been tailored a little, which is why it's sometimes so hard to find a decent teaching example for some of the models.
So, I thought 'Wouldn't it be interesting to turn the volta into the couplet and put it right at the end of the octet?' (Effectively turning the poem into two mirrored sestets, surrounding a couplet.) In theory, with fourteen lines, instead of eight-and-six, the sonnet could divide into seven lines on each side: ABCDEFG GFEDCBA with a couplet wrapped around the volta. And for another twist and a challenge, the couplet could be cleaved symmetrically by the change in subject, making the first and second "argument" equal groups of seven lines.
After the volta, instead of mounting into the stinging epithet of the final two lines, like Shakespeare would, this structure would wind down and relax and come to a gentler conclusion on the other side, more like Hebrew Poetry. Though Hebrew Poetry's mostly repetition, it follows chiastic structure--anyone studying Shakespeare will remember Frietag's Pyramid ~~Though in my case, I disgracefully don't remember how it's spelled~~ with steps going up around a central act? Chiastic structure is like that--symmetrical, with buildup and winding down afterwards.
It's very English to build up and up and up, and then suddenly stop at the very end, and wrap everything up. It's also very much like most arguments to come heavily on the first point in English. I think there's a beauty to symmetry which is worth exploring, though. So...I'm exploring.
As for this poem itself, I wish it turned out less erotic, but it can't be helped. There was a lot of erotic subtlety around the idea of courting a muse in antiquity insofar as greek muses would have children with mortas they really liked. (Naturally, since I'm female, the muse should be male. For all my attempts at understanding, I still can't seem to put myself into a position where I could imagine loving a woman. It's just...not at all interesting to me. Somehow because I'm pretty strange looking, though, lesbians seem drawn to me, thinking I'm one myself. Urk.) There's a lot of erotic idea in some of the references, too. Bathsheba and all...
It's likely channeling Neil Gaiman's "Calliope" from the Sandman series, too, but in a less brutal way.
I think this one turned out as more of a "there's a story in my head" than an "I'm pining, I'm pining, and I just have to speak about the rigors of loooove" It shares more with the Sonnet on the Fruitless Fount Immortal there.
I hope to write more Chiastic Sonnets in the future.

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Poems:

Taphos
(Or... "Entombed.")
(3-1-08)

(In Memoriam: S.M.)

In sand-spun lands, this traveler set nigh
to pierce the vale of kings, the stone-sealed vault--
Undaunted by blind guardians bidding halt--
Pressed forth from human dawn to zenith high.
In setting years, his wandering spirit quenched,
Grave-seeker found relief in son-of-son,
Passed on the gold-soul tokens, numbering “one,“
As destined by the cogs of fate, entrenched.

With wrench of pace, dusk-nomad’s life fell dark--
Curtailed with serpent viciousness. But let
The traveler’s final journey likewise set
A purposeful and all-consuming spark:
Legacy lies in gold or blood or spite,
To wrest from ash and stone new dawning light.

-o-O-o-

On the Fruitless Fount Immortal
(Or..."Vampire Song on the Siren River's Bottom")
(8-5-08)--(Edited 3-25-09; 11-25-09)

(For Meghan)

We seek those articles triangular
Which balance light their slight displays of youth.
(Bright laughter's peal's the time-proved sanguine lure
Of lying mirth to ears surfeit with truth.)
Coy life esteems its triad myth, absurd--
Three delta legs withhold the bulbous heart
Whose chambers throb a surfeit mass of word,
And churn in song for Reaper's subtle art.

Life-kissed waters' cabochons aloft
Entrance their captive thrall with dazzling sway--
Soft liquid lips of life imprison (soft!)
The failing limbs and withered bones of clay.

Trust not th'immortal fountains sparkling clear,
Lest laughing brook should swallow you, my dear.

-o-O-o-

On Secondhand Experiences
(9-4-09)

It's common work for boys to make girls cry--
To make them choke and blink with stinging sense
Of wails to come and streams to flow from eye
To marked conjecture on the male offense.

The man's then left to ponder and to blink
And wonder long what crime he ever did,
And race along and try in vain to think
Of all the sleights and slants that she could bid,
And of a baffled defense he could frame.

Now I've the stinging eye and catching lung
Much like my gender's often apt to claim.
But mine's no fault of offense dried and hung--
I'd rather cough, and blink, and sniff, and sneeze
Than miss his sighed carcinogenic breeze.

-o-O-o-

On The Wondering of His Craft and Making
(9-4-09)

There dance the lights of worlds behind his eyes--
In meadowed mind-fields myriad inside,
With weed-lush thoughts dispersed on wind-smoke sighs.

He plays a while, and then he casts aside
Each mask, each being, each denizen of thought.
He dabbles once, then quickly leaves beside

For wealth of others cramming for the spot.
And I have seen the soft, impatient crush--
The luminence of his lush crop besought.

How distant was my squirming heart so hurled--
That there be light from him to make my world?

-o-O-o-

On the Building of a Dynasty
(11-03-09)

(For P.)

In tow'ring halls and restaurants surfeit,
I find no cause for straying from my love--
With fresh-baked loaves held soft by cradling mitt,
And age-flaked cheeses, I have stocked my trove!
In blissful adoration of their shades:
The open-faced, the crustless, and the grilled,
I stand by dreaming with my steely blades
To carve the portions out 'til all are filled.

Through yonder window lies the pack of huns
Who belch and scratch and scarcely read a book;
Who want their woman stacked with different buns,
And could care less that barefoot girls could cook,

But there's no armored conquerer complete
Whom my cheese sandwiches won't see replete.

-o-O-o-

the Invention of the Wheel
(11-21-09)

There are a mess of sadly stunted girls
Who yearn sometimes, for lone enchanted knights
To flop their eyes at, as they twirl their curls
(In hopes to pause one with their charming sleights.)
I'll often scoff at tooth-decaying scenes,
And hide annoyance (pity) for the men
Who'd fall for fluttering eyelash guillotines
And languish for a perfumed, female den.

I'll flop no lash, I'll thrust no pouting lip,
and clench my hands so nothing seems remiss.
I'll laugh too loud, and hold in swaying hip
Lest he perceive that something lies amiss.

I care nothing for stinking horse-bathed sots.
(Quite privately, I long for chariots.)

-o-O-o-

The Viking to his Kitten
(11-23-09)

(For F.A.M)

At first it seemed that all was well and good.
The settlements all burning in the dark
made silhouettes out of the blackened wood.
(Y'should have seen the women--what a lark!)

Though while the screams yet freshly split the air,
I felt, perhaps, a little lighter than
I did before, I thought, "It's that damn bear
I left behind." (Real bugger 'bout poor Sven...)

Only later, did I note what broke
And cursed cheap loincloths to their bitter end.
With sword and sand, I penned a mighty stroke
For my fair forgotten feline friend:

"Return! As all brave fighters truly should,
Or die in battle, as a tiger would!"

-o-O-o-

On a Rediculous Gesture
(or...The Invention of the Wheel, II)
(11-29-09)

"Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break,
And death shall have no dominion..." -Dylan Thomas

You'd figure I could leave something behind
If it went nowhere, and remained nowhere.
I'd hope to leave it standing singly there
Where I stood singly, in divided mind,
Stuck gnawing every finger to its rind
To snap myself out of the urge to stare
And reverently trace every whiff of air...

So hear me, "love is patient, love is kind..."
Just watch me mete out patience to the end.
I wish I weren't so good at what I do--
When patient, silent hope put out this wheel,
It broke me there without a twist or bend.
This patience is exactly what I rue
For thinking savant hope allows repeal.

-o-O-o-

Dirge of the Loose Cannon
(12-1-09)

(For Mushy)

One more lay soaking-wet with mewling cries,
And I, at once, leaned close to rescue it.
Three kittens in a sodden cardboard pit,
All shivering, with himalayan eyes--
Such desperate creatures never could despise
My bloodied hands. The murders I commit
Mean nothing to them. That I'd want to split
my warmth is all that matters of my guise.

It's hollow how I'd find a gentle use
For hands which speed the darkness on its way.
I'll fold my reflexes in tender means
To insist that I'm not the damned recluse
I might become if Fate's the final say
On when Despair will strangle me with genes.

-o-O-o-

Easyvac
(12-1-09)--(Edited: 12-12-09)

(For: F.A.M.)

The ocean brings it up? I vac it in.
The sand, the seaweed, and the odd walrus
out strolling with that carpenter; the fin
from that dumb diver, and a special plus?--
The roar drowns out the mersong. It's a job
I took one day to try and please the wife.
It's not that hard. (My boss? His name is Rob,
And he's been at it close to half his life.)

The pay's not great, of course, and I can't lie
And say it's easy lugging all those cords
Across the beach, with lotion in my eye,
And dirty looks from those dumb kids with boards,
And old guys muttering, "Dare I eat this peach?"
But it's a living, I say.--"life's a beach."

-o-O-o-

On The Frightened Disciple (One of Many)
(12-14-09)

To be content when placed under attack
And bear the weight with joyful, smiling face
Proved far too much to much for me--in truth I lack
The temperence to take things case by case.
To walk along the path of deepest dark
seemed bargain price to halt the onslaught. Though
I knew the choice was truly bleak and stark,
I hungered to impune the sharp-tongued blow.

But freedom was a lie of self-sprung pow'r
And I had no strength left to raise a hand
To build myself the lofty Ebon Tower
Which stands like Babel 'til the Sulfured End.
I lie remade, renewed--(Ironic symmetry:
It seems Lambs-Blood corrodes apostasy.)

-o-O-o-

The Voyeur Courts an Inspiration
(12-15-09)

How artfully, I flutter with my praise...
(It's custom, yes, to woo the errant muse
With token worship to receive the gift.)
What difference is there in this modern age?
He plies with clever notes--I bare my scroll.
(Let us imagine what the water hides...)

Bathsheba could not tempt as much as he!
But swift as lightning he recoils from me

And--just as silently--his time he bides
As I wait word, and wish for the coy soul
To lap seductively my shores, and cage
The wild inspired page with insight. Swift
This meeting's ending, but I won't refuse
To court these shorelines all my longing days.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Small update...

Mon, 23 Nov 2009 16:14:09 GMT

This post is really here just so I can se if I've enabled anonymous commenters. (Poor Samwise-kun from gunwithwings couldn't comment on some of the stuff here. I like to keep things open, so this was totally accidental.) I think I've got it down, but it usually takes me a while to find a site feature. *Is surprisingly bad with computers for a twenty-year-old*

Negotiations has hit completion status in my own files. So I'm going to try to post all the remaining chapters later, as I manage to HTML them properly. (HTML gives me headaches.)

I also have a Hizumi and Ayumu (MILD) collection coming up, too. Borderline fluff in some cases--which I virtually NEVER do. (Mocchan should be proud of me.~)

Ah...and I've rewritten the Leftovers story, with great embarassment. It's still going to get a warning label when it goes up, but it should be a little clearer--thanks for the frank pointers about...um...pointers, Mushy-sama. (I just get embarassed about the mechanics of ANY sort of sex.)

the Language of Flowers Has close to three new chapters, but it also needs HTML treatment. It'll be up here as soon as I handle that.

I'm still trying to pull together the gathered one-shots and such for eventual ff.net posting, and therefore an "official debut" into the Spiral fandom. (Not that half the fandom hasn't already read my stuff here...) The HTML-check is becoming a sort of "final check" on the process.

So far, I think Stagecraft is set to come up first on ff.net. That was the first Spiral fic I wrote, technically. (Though there was a lot fo voice-testing backgabble before that.) I don't think I've put that up here yet--it's a doubleshot of setting oriented stuff, just after Kanone leaves the blade children, a sort of take on what Kiyotaka actually said when he was supposedly "pursuading Kanone not to leave." (Yeah right.) The second chaper is Kiyotaka adressing Eyes after he "fails" at it, and more or less molding him into leadership.
Probably a few timeline problems. I think I set up up a little too early for Kanone to be leaving just yet, so I might have to edit it.

Juvenile Orion fiction's going slowly, again, but it's going again at least. I keep writing chapters out of order for the epics. *Sigh* And Wrath's Opening chapter at least seems to be a little long for posting here. (And all the HTML I'd have to hand-code...ugh...)

Sorry if I've been "ignoring" comments, lately? (generally) My RPJ habits keep kicking up, and I can't multitask to save my life. I'm not trying to be rude, I'm just forgetful. Sorry, sorry, sorry~ (RPJ is doing well, too. Some of those entries are spawning fiction here and vice-tersa.)

I may be posting a few random sonnets soon, too. (The only poetry I actually write is all sonnets. I'm not much for freeverse about angst and my lacking love life, y'know?) Which means you'll probably have to slough through a dump of random crap to get to the ones about Vikings, Kittens, and Sandwiches. (those of you who care about verse at least.)

Those of you keeping up with my normal journal might have noticed the "sonnet tutorial" I put up over there. I might cross-post it if needed, so more people like me can write jaunty verse about odd topics, like well-muscled hindquarters, devastating wit, and eyes the color of thunderstom-struck grass.
(I need to get out more...)

Upcoming projects are generally coming as they come, but I might be cleaning up an Old Yu-Gi-Oh fic snippet for posting. Rerunshipping. (With side bronzeshipping and warshipping.) Loosely based on the old RP3 stuff, but probably jsut given a Skunky revamp.
Told from Noa Kaiba's perspective, too.
(I have GOT to stop writing bodysnatchers fiction...)

Negotiations (Spiral fragment 3 of ?)

Tue, 20 Oct 2009 01:12:31 GMT

Fragment: Negotiations (3 of ?)
Fandom: Spiral (Pre-Canon, and pre-Alive)
Genre: General (I don't know how to class it--but I think this chapter has some angst.)
Rating: T
Why: Yaiba always proves to need the T rating for some reason or another. In this case he's being blunt and swear-y. (He's not having a good day...though I doubt Yaiba ever has a good day. It seems to be difficult to have a good day when you're a villain.) Also, for the wonders of glance-by autopsy skill, referencing from last chapter's tabletops.

Notes: Tenser chapter, this one, but it's starting to fall into a little better. Er...don't really know what else to say about it. It has a different feel from the others. If I actually knew how long this would be, I'd be able to say for sure how pivotal it is. (Naturally I have an end in mind--that's usually not the problem. I can imagine a million different ways to sidetrack myself along the way. That happens to be the problem.)

Mushy-sama, if the timeline you've given me is accurate, and Hizumi doesn't remember his brother in canon Spiral, this should work. Not to mention, it feels in-character for Kiyotaka, and would make sense for him strategically. Yaiba's reaction should make sense, too, assuming I'm on-track at least.

Hoo. Assumptions.

I should just cross my fingers, I guess.

-o-O-o-
-o-O-o- Negotiations: III -o-O-o-
-o-O-o-

Yaiba's nostrils flared with a snort of bitter laughter. "...I didn't call you here." He said to the dark room. It was quiet a moment.

"...But it was my turn to bring muffins this time." Kiyotaka said, grinning. "And I did just climb over twenty flights of stairs so it would be a surprise."

Yaiba tightened his fingers into fists. "You're unpleasant as ever...I'm not in the mood." He grumbled, fixing him with an irritated serpentine eye.

"You? Not in the mood to anger your private physician? It's what you pay him for, isn't it?" Kiyotaka said cheerfully. He ignored the chair in from of the desk, walking to the side of it. Yaiba noticed and glared at him, but it didn't stop him. He glanced over him, at the head under his arm for clarification.

"Are you trying to get yourself run over?"

Kiyotaka just laughed. "You don't like frogs either?"

"I'm not an animal person, and I already said I don't want the muffins, much less a plague of frogs in my office." Yaiba snapped, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He seemed to tired to even keep up with his irritation for long, his voice almost a sigh, "Leave."

Kiyotaka stayed where he was, turning and busying himself laying out napkins, laying out a muffin at each spot. "...Is it really so hard for you to have faith in the human race?"

Yaiba didn't say anything at all. "It has nothign to do with faith. ...It's there...It's there, or it's not there. And if it's there I'm not seeing it." He murmured finally, sounding irritated, and glaring fixedly at a corner of his desk as though he could learn the secrets of the universe from it with the right intensity of glare. His gaze snapped up sourly. "And why are you still here?"

"Your dissection isn't helping you?" Kiyotaka smiled a little, sympathetically.

"The last thing I need at the moment is your arrogant gloating." Yaiba hissed, fixing him with a poisonous stare, dropping his hands from his face. His fingers gave an impatient drumming. "And what could possibly be taking you so long in your murder plans, anyway?"

Kiyotaka raised a thermos. "Tea?" he asked.

Yaiba stared at him. "I don't want to be fed. Least of all by you." He snarled finally. He stared even more as Kiyotaka just shrugged, and pulled the chair over to the side of the desk, setting his costume's frogs-head on the desk.

"...I don't believe I'd ask you a second time, but why the Hell are you still here?" Yaiba snapped finally.

"It's part of the plan, certainly." Kiyotaka said, then he smiled, setting his chin on his laced fingers. "But also because you might benefit from having another mind on-hand."

Yaiba stared at him. "...What a stupid suggestion..." He muttered, scowling suspiciously. "You mean to suggest you want to help me with my goals?"

"I have a goal in mind." Kiyotaka said, with another smile. "And the morality doesn't bother me. If I manage to beat you, after all, I'll be standing in the right in the eyes of the world, regardless of what I do. My actions will be righteous--you're rather unpopular after all, but it's probably just because you work so hard and don't even bother with the illusion of trusting anyone."

"You're mad..." Yaiba whispered, yellow eyes widening, making him look far younger.

Kiyotaka just chuckled. "Well then, you just have terrible taste in men."

Yaiba paled considerably. Kiyotaka didn't seem to notice at all, starting on his muffin. He looked up, smiling with his eyes. "It's hard to do things properly. Skill alone isn't enough. You need luck as well, and I have excellent luck. What could you possibly lose?"

Yaiba's hands tightened on his chair, and his mouth pinched into a line. "...You're attempting to make me depend on you. I see." The corners of his mouth twitched upwards, grimly. "How unusual. It won't work, though. And I refuse to let you join me. You've been chosen as my rival. I refuse to accept you on my project. You're no proper replacement at all."

"You'll feel better if you eat."

"I don't want anything!" Yaiba snapped, but he turned away and pinched the bridge of his nose again.

"I went to quite a bit of trouble making them." Kiyotaka added. "I'd appreciate you trying them at least. I usually win the station fund-raisers with my baking."

Yaiba stared at the window, unseeing. "...The trouble you went to was your own affair. I gave you no such suggestions. Attempting to cajole me into it won't work." He muttered.

"That's a shame. I'd hoped you would like them best out of anything."

Yaiba said nothing at all.

"Your dissection...what did you hope to find out? It was one of your children's corpses wasn't it?"

Yaiba paused a moment, "...If I ever find you information source, I'll have to pay them double what you do." he muttered, quirking his lip upwards almost ironically, but absolutely without humor. "Or possibly murder them myself."

Kiyotaka grinned. "Well I won't say I don't have any information sources, but it was just common sense on my part in this case. The corpse was 'six years old, and perfectly preserved', after all. And you seemed to be examining the brain with particular care, and the ribcage had been smashed through the right side, suggesting a rather grisly impalement. Most normal infants don't do anything to deserve that kind of malice, and then a fresh infamy as a trophey."

Yaiba peered at him. Kiyotaka just shrugged, grinning. "I'm a homocide detective, remember?"

Yaiba's eyes flickered over his smile, and his brow puckered in annoyance. "...You have blueberry in your teeth." He said sourly.

Kiyotaka just laughed at that, with perfect surprised pleasure.

"You won't be popular among your staff if they hear you're dissecting your own children." He said reasonably, running a napkin over his smile. "What you should do instead is meet with your offspring and talk to them. It's psychologically unhealthy for a child not to have a father's influence, especially at their age."

"Obviously I'm not at all interested in the psychological well-being of my offspring and never have been." Yaiba said coldly. "Attempting to sabotage my goals in such a way is in exceedingly poor taste, Kiyotaka."

Kiyotaka's eyes flickered up, and he gave a sudden grin. Another small victory. Too late, Yaiba seemed to realize, because he narrowed his eyes.

"Yaiba," Kiyotaka said. A muscle twisted in the other's cheek, grimacing, "certainly a mind as great as yours can grasp that some things can never be acheived by one person alone."

"My mind is the greatest in the age. It's not arrogance; it's simple fact. Who else could I possibly look to for assistance? No other mind would be capable of grasping the concepts, the subtle nuances. I have no patience for either incompetance or stupidity." Yaiba said almost carelessly.

Kiyotaka smiled, folding the leftover baking paper into a fan. "...Observation isn't so different from person to person, though. And the conclusions drawn are predictable when you take into account a person's tastes and inclinations. That can't be done by the dead. In this world you have to work with people to really get what you want. It's what it means to be alive."

"Not if what I want is to solve a problem, not hold a social banquet." Yaiba spat in disgust. "Why should I deal with others as though there's something worthwhile to them aside from a steady pair of hands, if it's so blatantly and obviously untrue? I have no patience for blind, fumbling idiots who only make a mess of their lives and expect those better than them to devote their every hour of life to cleaning up after them."

"And that's the beauty of your plan, isn't it?" Kiyotaka asked, smiling a little. "If it goes through, no more messes will be made--assuming your children follow in your footsteps and in your inclinations. But it's interesting, isn't it? Genetics don't seem to make personalities perfect, do they? And your children are hunted, even now."

"The worthy ones will survive no matter the adversity. What should I care?" Yaiba's mouth pinched. "Those too weak to defend themselves from those who should be weaker than them have no place in my legacy."

Kiyotaka chuckled. "You're quite the demanding father. And quite the demanding brother."

"I wouldn't know, since Hizumi is your responsibility at this point after you went to such trouble to steal him from me." Yaiba retorted, anger burning in his sulfuric eyes, bitterness sinking around his mouth.

Kiyotaka smiled a little, but it had sadness in the edges. "Children should be allowed to be children..." He murmured.

"Hizumi's no ordinary child." Yaiba hissed, and for the first time, there was an odd possessiveness, a strange loss in his face as he glared away from Kiyotaka. "But you no doubt know that by now."

Kiyotaka didn't reply, intently folding his little fan into an airplane. "...in the end, will it be enough for you, I wonder? Or will you have to purge your own offspring as well?" He asked.

Yaiba's face flickered.

Kiyotaka just smiled a little wider, looking up. "...Was that doubt I jst saw on your face?" He asked softly. He threw the airplane, and sighed when it plummeted like a stone.

The other raised a foot almost deliberately, and crushed it without looking. His fingers curling in on themselves again, eyes darting away at the shadowy corners of the room. His voice was laden with spent patience, flat as lead. "Doubt is nothing but weakness in resolve. Doubt is a virus on one's discipline." He muttered. His fingers came back up, half-hiding his face. "...I've told you to leave before this. Do it before I call security."

"I could help you." Kiyotaka said reasonably, dark eyes intelligent in his unsmiling face.

"I don't need help. I need to be alone. Please leave." Yaiba spat, turning his head away, and glaring fixedly at a wall through his fingers.

Kiyotaka's face flickered in surprise, and he nodded once, standing silently. "Alright." He said quietly, as he picked up his box of muffins, his tea, and put on his costume's head, hiding any expression behind a vacant, sewn-in smile. The other didn't move so much as an inch, letting him go.

"...Yaiba?" Kiyotaka said finally, his voice slightly muffled through the fabric.

"Don't be so friendly." Yaiba spat back.

Kiyotaka didn't laugh, instead he murmured, swiveling the costumed head to look at the other. "...You know...that's the first time I've ever heard you use the word 'please'?"

Yaiba didn't say anything for a long moment. "...You're delusional as well as stupid." He whispered finally. "I didn't say anything."

Kiyotaka didn't bother arguing, but he did say one last thing. "...Doubt only feels worse in solutide since in solutide all one can rely on is ones self or the promise of unseen others. You're doing a brave thing in asking to be alone, but I'm not sure it's at all wise, or what you'll really want."

"I can't hear a word you're saying through that rediculous mask of yours." Yaiba replied bluntly, not looking at anything.

The frog didn't turn to face him, not even in the elevator. The doors closed with odd finality on the green-furred back.

The silence was somehow unnerving.

Between his fingers, a single yellow eye twisted to stare at the solitary muffin left on the desk before him. His fingers snatched out, biting into the cake. "Bastard..." He hissed under his breath, blinking hard, and gritting his teeth. "Where've you taken him...? It would be unlike you to kill him..."

"Hizumi...where are you?"

-o-O-o-O-o-

Negotiations (Spiral fragment 2 of ?)

Tue, 20 Oct 2009 01:10:19 GMT

Fragment: Negotiations (2 of ?)
Fandom: Spiral (Pre-Canon, and pre-Alive)
Genre: General (some humor)
Rating: T
Why: Because Yaiba is a vicious bastard even if he has a horrible sweet-tooth. Beware of tables. Also for "bad habits".

Notes: Iknew Yaiba was a narcissistic little bitch. This proves it. The instant I give him any time in my head, all he wants is more. Hopefully his greediness doesn't manage to screw up my timelines again. (I'm going to work on fixing that, Mushy-sama. NICE CATCH. *Robertson'd* This is what I'd pay you for if I actually paid you!)

*sighs* I'm still not sure what direction this can possibly go in, but it's tremendous fun. ~~Somehow...~~

That said, I still do want to draw Yaiba and Kiyotaka...but I'll have to find a shot with Yaiba's hair, so I can even attempt it. (Fortunately he has the same face as Hizumi, and I have plenty of Hizumi considering I RP him and I know I have no sense of visual things, so it shouldn't be too hard for me to find a reference...)

Ack. Yaiba.

What a primadonna.

I'm disgusted with him on some level. He's scaring away all my Tracer ideas in a haze of diabetes-inducing nastiness. He reminds of nobody so much as Akito Sohma for some odd reason... But I'm going to pretend I didn't like Akito better before the infamous "chapter 97" incident, for those of you who know what I'm talking about. XD

Well...at least Kiyotaka and Yaiba have an interesting sort of chemistry. *sigh* Even though it doesn't really make up for half of the trouble they're putting me through.

Short chapter. XOMG. Must be because I write normal amounts if only given a few days to work on it...Who knows, maybe I'll be able to train myself to keep it up. Would it be weird to say despite everything my stamina seems limited? Or maybe not my "stamina", maybe it's more of my end package... Is there any way for me to put this without making it sound absolutely and totally wrong?

-o-O-o-
-o-O-o- Negotiations: II -o-O-o-
-o-O-o-

Yaiba's yellow eyes narrowed. He didn't turn his chair around at all. "If you so much as bump that table when you enter, I'll be surprisingly angry. Its contents are worth far more to me than you."

"Oh. This table? I'll be careful." Said the visitor, exaggeratedly tiptoing around it.

Yaiba's lips thinned as he glared out the window, secretly consulting the reflection. "...Why in God's name are you attempting to turn yourself into a nightmarish teddy bear?" He asked finally.

"Haah, I get that question alot. Ayumu really seems to like it, though." Kiyotaka said, settling himself down into the chair in front of the desk, and taking off the head of his costume, grinning. "He's turning five soon. He's so serious I thought it would cheer him up..."

"So you're attempting to take killing intent and hide it behind a costume of idiocy?" Yaiba asked disdainfully, slowly turning his chair around, as though he didn't at all want to see him.

Kiyotaka just smiled and didn't answer. "...I brought raspberry-filled doughnuts for you. I thought you might like them."

Yaiba paused a moment. "...In the future, I prefer blueberry." He said with an air of annoyance, but his eyes fixed on and didn't leave the box.

"Do you want blueberry muffins, then?"

"That would be acceptable." Yaiba said, taking a doughnut the instant Kiyotaka opened the box for him, and biting in like a starving man, despite his earlier assurances.

Kiyotaka noticed and sniffed at the glass on his desk, then lowered it again with a face. "You seem to have been busy. Has Bunny-chan been keeping you company?"

"To some extent. I locked it in my desk to teach it a lesson." Yaiba said, with a vicious upwards curl to his lip, sinking his teeth into the bleeding pastry.

"You're a cruel, cruel man." Kiyotaka said, laughing. "But did you finish?" He selected a doughnut for himself.

"Long before you returned. I wouldn't expect someone from your generation to understand punctuality." Yaiba said haughtily, wiping jelly from his lip with a finger, and licking it. "I imagine the change in costume is to avoid my private physician's ire, isn't it?"

"He hasn't found me yet. My disguise is brilliant." Kiyotaka said with a grin, looking at his presenting hands with interest. "But it's difficult to eat doughnuts with the paws on, so I had to ask for extra napkins, and get the doughnuts to go. They wouldn't give me them if I walked into the store like this."

"I'm sure I can't imagine why." Yaiba said dryly, taking a second doughnut. "Why not just remove the paws?"

"But it's much cuter this way." Kiyotaka said with a look of affronation on his young face.

"There's nothing cute about you from the start." Yaiba replied swiftly, his eyebrows knitting.

The other sighed. "...That's a terrible thing to say..." But he did remove the paws, flexing his uneven fingers. "The whole thing's surprisingly comfortable provided the weather is cool enough."

"You were bound to get something all over it anyway. Don't be so spoiled." Yaiba said curtly, licking a gob of filling off the corner of his mouth, and reaching for a third.

Kiyotaka just smiled. "You're quite spoiled yourself."

"Is that meant to be a joke? I hope for your sake it is." Yaiba replied, his eyes slitting, hand halfway to the box.

Kiyotaka just smiled and didn't answer. "...Drinking is a terrible habit, Yaiba-san."

"I have a surprising number of bad habits. You're the first to dare be so impertinent as to tell me as much in years. Had anyone else done it, I would have fired them on the spot, at the least." Yaiba replied evenly, studying the other carefully, and biting into another doughnut as though to goad him.

Kiyotaka just smiled. "But I'm not an ordinary person to you, anyway, so I might as well be honest. And you should be careful with your health at least. You only go around once, as the phrase goes."

"You of all people have no right at all to make commentary on my health." Yaiba replied evenly, with narrowed eyes, a curl of contempt in his flattened out voice. "You're twenty years old. You're bound to have made some sort of impressively detrimental decision in that amount of time. Therefore you're nothing but a hypocrite and a fool to presume you're somehow divinely permitted to point mistakes on my end."

"...Smoking too, that's terrible for you..." Kiyotaka said idly, as though just saying what popped into his head.

Yaiba's eyes slitted. "Be quiet." He said coldly. "I have a doctor to tell me all of my health troubles. Your job is to make them worse. If you find yourself unable to do this, then I have no use for you." He raised his chin, leaning in his chair. "And you seem to be taking your time with it. I'm growing impatient." He added, licking jelly from his thumb.

"Have a bit of faith in me. I just like to get to know the people I work with." Kiyotaka said with a smile.

"Is that what you call it?" Yaiba replied neutrally. "I'm sure I don't need to point out that you passed by the remains of an infant when you made your way into this room. Just over six years dead, and perfectly preserved." A vicious, sulfuric tint gleamed in a yellow eye, his mouth curling back into a schoolyard smile, "I find the best way to get to know someone is a dissection."

"But when a person's dead, even if you taken them apart and find out what works how, you never really know that person, do you?" Kiyotaka asked, smiling back, his eyes squinting in pleasure. "You don't know what they love, or hate, or how they think. All you have is what made those things possible. And even now, science can't bring back the dead, or tell us how they were in life."

"Science is ever evolving." Yaiba replied, scowling.

The other just grinned. "...I apologize for making you wait, but I'd like to take my time about this. I'm not very fond of dissection."

Yaiba's mouth thinned. He squeezed the pastry in his fingers until it oozed, crushing it in his fingers, watching it rather than Kiyotaka, as though the other was simply too boring for sight. "...Were the tables reversed, I'd never do something so idiotic." He said coldly.

"But you're here, talking to me, now, instead of having me killed. I wonder why." Kiyotaka remarked innocently. "And at least you like the food I bring you."

Yaiba scowled, and let the remains of his doughnut drop onto the top of the box, still bleeding red. "It's too sweet. And it makes me thirsty. At least you could have brought a beverage."

"Haah, you're right. That was thoughtless of me."

"You're trying my patience it would seem, and almost certainly driving me to detriment. Your conscience will deserve whatever pain it brings you for its weakness." Yaiba said, pulling open his desk drawer and withdrawing his decanter of whisky. He paused, and studied the other. "Politeness is the only reason I'd even question if perhaps you'd join me."

"Me? No. I don't have much of an alchohol tolerance. And I don't get thirsty like that when I eat doughnuts." Kiyotaka said with a wave of his hand, and an almost sheepish smile. "It might relax you, though, so feel free to do what you like."

Yaiba peered at him, his mouth thinning again. "...I don't like your attitude. You're imply I'm somehow made nervous by your arrival. Nothing could be further from the truth. I drink because it's one of the few things which allows my mind to settle."

"You just need to be more active." Kiyotaka said brightly. "Exercise is key to a healthy lifestyle."

"Quite honestly, I'd sooner take advice from a woman than I would from you." Yaiba said dully, pouring himself his drink.

Kiyotaka grinned, and after Yaiba had downed his glass, remarked, "...You have an impressive tolerance, Yaiba-san."

"I don't like it when people insinuate about my age." Yaiba replied coldly.

The other laughed. "But I didn't say anything about your age!"

"Don't insult my intelligence, Kiyotaka-kun. I don't want to hear it. You should consider yourself lucky. You're already in my debt far more than you could ever realize." With that, Yaiba leaned back in his chair, and opened his desk drawer again, withdrawing a hat. "This conversation of yours is over."

"Ah!" Kiyotaka cried in delight, standing immediately, and taking hold of his rabbit cap. "You did a marvelous job!" He tested the ears, this way and that. "You inserted a wire?"

"It wouldn't have looked at all the way you planned without adjustment. Don't blame me if your head makes it impossible to get through doors." Yaiba replied with a scowl, pouring himself more whisky. "Moreso than usual in your case."

"It's perfect, Yaiba!" Kiyotaka cried.

Yaiba choked on his drink. "Excuse me?" He hissed, anger burning in his yellow eyes.

Kiyotaka didn't seem to hear him. "Oh Ayumu's going to be so jealous..." He said, all but giggling, and hugging the cap to his chest with a look of idiot bliss.

"I don't give a damn about that, what did you just call me?" Yaiba snapped.

Kiyotaka turned to him, feigning innocence, his eyes knowing and glittering with amusement all the while. "Hm? But wasn't it your idea to use our first names?"

The other stared at him, angry color flooding his face. "Get out."

"What? You can use my name too, you know."

"Get out, Kiyotaka, before I put you on one of my tables!"

Kiyotaka gave a little laugh, "A table? Whatever for? I don't think I'm particularly well-preserved-" He ducked the glass as it was thrown, laughing and snatching the furry head and paw gloves from Yaiba's desk.

"OUT!" Yaiba howled.

"I'll bring muffins next time, Yaiba!" Kiyotaka called, still laughing from the elevator.

The doughnut made a spectacular spatter, but missed his head entirely as Yaiba gave a little scream of outrage. He'd managed to throw it across the room with surprising velocity, tearing and tossing napkins around like a child in a tantrum, making constricted exclaimations of anger even as the elevator gave a mild, almost understated little ding.

In secret, Kiyotaka laughed nearly all the way down to the ground floor. "Haah..." He said, privately catching his breath. "For someone supposedly so frightening...he's surprisingly childish deep down." His smile saddened. "How unexpectedly troublesome...but it can't be helped." He murmured, testing the flexibility of the plush ears in his fingers.

But he wasn't such a fool that he didn't put the mascot-head over his face before he spoke so his lips couldn't be read by the camera swivelling after him.

-o-O-o-O-o-

Spiral Fragment "The Language of Flowers" (1 of ?)

Mon, 12 Oct 2009 23:21:33 GMT

Fragment: "The Language Of Flowers" (1 of ?)
Fandom: Spiral (Post-Canon)
Genre: Shades of Tragedy, Angst, and Drama
Rating: T
Why: Anything with really rough emotional stuff gets rated high with me. Kids wouldn't want to read this anyway. Kinda morbid.

Notes: Mocchan will want to murder me. And Aza-pon will probably go "d'aww" and sniffle. And Mushy-sama's already heard me muttering to myself about it, and seems to think it's a good idea. (Until he reads it, but that'll be another story.)
But it HAD to be done. I realized after careful study that all the HizzuXAayu fanfiction (ahh~ marvelous stuff) if it shows Hizzu going off and nearly dying, it's always only NEARLY. So I knew I had to write this.

Aah. You'll see what I mean.

I think it's melodrama. My brain clearly needs to write melodrama on some special kind of level. But pseudo-Eyes-POV is like a cause for melodrama all on its own. And I have my period. (Somehow this should explain something. "Skunky is bleeding, therefore the whole world needs to suffer" or something like that.)

Oh, and spoilers for what Aayu is. Hizumi. Kanone, etc. More or less, everything the old hands should already know. Get far in your manga, then accelerate it forward about two years, and you have The Language of Flowers.

I'm putting up what I have done so far so I can get some feedback on how it sounds so far. Skunky's version of Tragedy is probably as weird as Skunky's version of anything. But that's what you get. (It seems to be a kind of mixed plotbaby with many fathers...er...lesbian mothers?)

I seem to write tragedy and angst whenever something odd happens, and currently, I'm financially pressed enough to seriously consider withdrawing from school, and working until I have funds enough to complete my schooling without the added stress. Therefore, I'm writing tragedy of sorts. (Those of you who believe in prayer might send a little in my direction.) I made an entry on it on my normal journal, but I don't want to get into it more. Over here, it's about writing. All I'm saying is this thing has motivation, so there may be more of it in the future if it isn't killing someone's happy kitten.

Mushy and Azalee. I'm sending you a bucket of crack in an email. Get to it whenever you like. It's just pretty much to save time HTML-ing.
Aza-pon, you're responsible for at least ONE of those funky ideas, so you'll have to sit through it and take it like a manly magician. (The other bucket of crack is the infamous octagon, so both of you can get to that whenever you feel like torturing yourself. I haven't looked at it in over a month. Sections of it are probably terrible, but it's just supposed to be amusement.)
Also, there are manly tears in at least ONE chapter of that plotbunny, Aza-pon. You should be well pleased.

Everyone else? My brain hurts.

So please give me swift and brutal concrit.

Notes will follow after the story on the victorian-era language of flowers itself, and secret plotting.

NOTE---Fic includes: Past!KanoneXEyes (At this point unmentioned), Past!HizumiXAyumu (Quite thoroughly mentioned), and eventual AyumuXEyes (Not yet reached). It also has implied KousukeXRyouko, and KiyotakaXMadoka. And cake. And KirieXLollipops, probably. And I still don't know what I'm doing with Rio.

Ah, and I owe an idea for Madoka and Kiyotaka to someone, but I can't remember who first used the idea. Drat. (Madoka's current situation, that is. I know there was another fic which had it first, and I'd like to give credit where do. Chances are, one of you wrote it. So speak up.)

And stay tuned for talk after the work if you will.

-o-O-o-O-o-
-o- The Language of Flowers -o-

"Now lift me close to your face till I whisper,
What you are holding is in reality no book, nor part of a book;
It is a man, flush'd and full-looded--it is I--So long!
--We must separate awhile--Here! Take from my lips this kiss;
...I give it especially to you;
So long!--And I hope we shall meet again."

--Walt Whitman, "Now Lift Me Close"
-o-O-o-O-o-

No matter the selections, they were always careful to avoid irises in the arrangements. It was an unspoken agreement as they walked on together, their steps perfectly synchronized in a way only musicians would listen to and take comfort from, though they never arranged to come together, and they never seemed to deliberately put their steps in sync. There was also an unspoken armistace in the way the two graves were close enough for them to visit together in the first place. Who knew who'd arranged it--it could have been Kiyotaka himself, in one of his strange displays of tact and goading all at once. Nonetheless it had been done, and geography itself seemed to have brokered a treaty where neither would have dared to speak.

Eyes carried forget-me-nots, white peonies, and white carnations. He would pluck the petals one by one, and drop them. Ayumu once dared to ask him why. Eyes hadn't looked as though he'd answer, but he finally did. "...I do it in his stead."

Somehow Ayumu could see Kanone somehow sitting on the slab over his own grave and pulling the petals off the flowers, laughing with clear, undisturbing brightness, like the flowers were simple, sentimental junk... It was Eyes' white fingers which made it all seem natural instead of violent or vicious--their methodical, almost absent way of plucking where Kanone might have ripped out whole fistfuls and tossed them around and watched where the wind took them. Sometimes Ayumu wished he'd known Kanone better. There had to have been more to him in order for the other to come so faithfully to his grave--more than just the man he'd outwitted and snared and watched die six times on a tape to read the last words on his smiling lips.

Ayumu brought sunflowers, marigolds, and yellow roses, and let them lie silently against the other headstone. Sometimes he'd bring the little instrument out of his pocket, and stare at it. The wind would blow through it sometimes, just short of stirring a note from the dead harmonica--a ghosting sound. Eyes never asked him why he brought it. He didn't have to.

Eyes would occasionally lower his eyelids, imagining Hizumi likewise sitting on his headstone, perched and thin, and breathing easily, playing his harmonica and smiling with his sulfur-yellow eyes more than with his mouth, playing his songs of love, and darkness, and despair... Sometimes the half-caught notes were unspeakably familiar. But in other ways it was good he was dead. That had been all Hizumi had ever really wanted if he couldn't do everything himself. Sometimes Eyes wished he'd never known him, and never been able to understand the taint of his despair, and wished he hadn't seen him so slowly reach his end.

Neither ever cried at the gravesides, though on some level, they kept watching the other out of the corners of their eyes, trying to make sure, ready to turn just in case there was a glimpse of wetness. They almost never spoke, either, and when they did, there was still an unspoken hostility, a scripted formality. They rarely had anything to say to one another.

At some silent cue, each would stand, and they would walk back together, with matching strides, empty hands dangling at their sides. Eyes would stop by the hospital to drop Ayumu off before disappearing to wherever he went to.

But both continued this week after week, and met with symmetrical steps--as though by chance--every single time..

-o-O-o-

One week, the breeze picked up Eyes' white rose petals, and laced a few into Ayumu's drooping sideburns. He brushed at them like insects, but they clung there. And as Eyes watched, the other seemed to decide something, raising the harmonica to his lips.

Somehow, Eyes knew to turn his head away after that. He knew when an instrument was crying, but still, whatever Ayumu played always seemed to linger and to reach him whether he wanted it to or not.

They both knew the tones sounded very little like Hizumi's haunting love songs, even if every note was played perfectly.

Eyes rested his finger against the sold granite of the gravestones, against the bruised touch of the petals, and thought Kanone was turning in his grave. Kanone would have cried for anyone when they needed it. Even his murderer, thier uncle. He would have detested such a reserved rememberance. He would have brought a lunch. And Hizumi would have insisted on eating most of it, while leaving any vegetable possible on the side of his plate.

Sometimes he wondered how those two had been when they'd met one another. He'd seen more than enough of their last meeting.

When Eyes stopped in front of the hospital, and picked a lingeirng petal out of Ayumu's hair, fingers barely touching him, the other was as unresponsive as a stone.

The next week they didn't come together. Eyes visited Kanone's grave alone, waiting with half an ear cocked for footsteps, but they never came.

-o-O-o-

The following week after Ayumu's conspicuous absence, he came late. Eyes didn't look up, though his ear caught the footsteps, recognizing them in an instant. He was sitting beside Kanone's grave, and playing with the petals. There were linden-blossoms on Hizumi's headstone, laid there carefully.

Ayumu's footsteps stopped, and he finally sank down beside Eyes. The pianist let him lay a single unblemished yellow rose on Kanone's grave. He left it whole.

"...I'd be able to deal with it better...if he hadn't looked so damn happy when the end came." Ayumu finally mumbled.

Eyes didn't say anything for a long time. The wind threw his hair over his mouth, and hid his eyes. It wasn't discernable which of the two Ayumu spoke of.

Finally, pale lips parted, barely moving, voice almost inaudible above the wind. "...The last time I spoke to him, I made a promise." Eyes whispered. "Had I kept it, his death would have been virtually painless." It too, wasn't immediately apparent who he spoke of.

They said nothing else, merely sitting for close to an hour. Then they rose, and returned. Their footsteps matched, hands dangling, almost touching.

-o-O-o-

They still didn't speak much even after that, but gradually, they began to sit together in the space between the graves. It became a new tradition. The grass was far more welcoming than the cold slabs, anyway.

Ayumu was noticeably surprised when the other dropped a perfect snowdrop into his lap. They didn't touch. It had become an unwritten rule. It felt almost like a violation.

"Happy birthday." Eyes said simply. Ayumu lowered his head, twisting the drooping flowers in his fingers.

"...I'm not exactly happy about turning nineteen, you know. Just like you probably don't feel too happy about turning twenty." Murmured the younger brother of god.

Eyes stared forward almost meditatively. "It's a mingled emotion, certainly."

Ayumu stared at the blooms in his fingers, and for a moment he sounded like his old self. "Mingled? You probably mean 'mixed'."

"Sorrow and pleasure both, are mingled. Not grossly mixed." Eyes murmured.

"You're just splitting hairs." Ayumu sighed. "I don't know what you're finding pleasure in, anyway."

Eyes rested his wrists against his knees, still staring forward. "...I have you to thank for salvation. Certainly you don't imagine me so ungrateful."

Ayumu rubbed his forehead. "I don't think you're ungrateful. I just don't see the point."

"...Must there be a point?" Eyes whispered finally, still staring forward, almost refusing to meet him in any way.

The other stood, unanswering, and turned to go, with his hands in his pockets.

Eyes watched him, then turned to lean against Kanone's headstone, cheek against the cold carved surface. In the distance, he heard Ayumu coughing--harsh, gutteral noises that sounded as though they'd tear him apart from the inside, and he tried to ignore the dark splotch of blood in the grass on the path-side when he followed after him--after the coughing had safely passed.

-o-O-o-

He first noticed on his return to the hospital that Kirie had Ayumu by the shirtfront. He noticed it the way you noticed a person's eye color. The watcher was bellowing at the top of her lungs. "Don't act like I can't smell it! I know you've been smoking, you miserable delinquent! If Kiyotaka-san knew-"

"If there's anything about me that my brother doesn't know, then you can be the first to tell him." Ayumu said dully. His voice sounded hoarse, though Eyes was sure it wasn't from shouting. "I'm tired. Let me go to bed."

"Don't think you can get away with it forever!" Kirie hissed.

"Nobody gets away with anything forever." Ayumu murmured, and with that, he slipped past her.

Kirie sighed, caught sight of Eyes, and froze. Her face softened as she called behind her, "Your sister in law came by! She left you a cake! If you don't eat it-"

"I'll eat it." Ayumu said dully. "If I don't, she'll worry. But she still can't cook, so don't be too surprised if it kills me."

Eyes crossed to Kirie. She looked troubled, and stuck a lollipop in her mouth, even though Eyes could smell the faint nervous scent of smoke on her. "Ruth-kun, why are you here?" She asked quietly once Ayumu was out of ear-shot.

Eyes said nothing. She knew why.

Kirie sighed. "...His test results are in that folder over there. I don't know why you bother. Hizumi-kun did all he could for him, but you and I both know it can't last." She paused. "Everyone knows, really." There was an unspoken barb there. If Hizumi couldn't do anything, then who was Eyes to think he could?

Eyes rested his fingertips on the report. "How long?" He asked in a whisper.

"A year at best."

Eyes said nothing at all.

"...It just isn't fair." Kirie murmured, holding her lollipop like a cigarette, and staring fixedly over his ear. Her voice sounded strained. It probably had nothing to do with her shouting. "It just isn't fair at all..."

"Will you send him home?" Eyes murmured.

"He refuses to go home. Even Kiyotaka-san can't convince him, or Madoka-kun. Asadzuki-kun even came in and threatened to beat the crap out of him if he didn't go home. It makes no difference."

"Because Hizumi passed here." Eyes murmured.

Kirie couldn't look at him. "...He's refused to change rooms, even. And he won't let us take out any of Hizumi's things. He's set traps for the nurses who try. Ruth-kun, it's been almost two months. Can't he just-?"

Eyes shook his head before she even finished

Kirie sighed. "...I know it's his birthday, but won't you go talk to him?" She popped the lollipop back int her mouth, and sucked it vigorously. "Ever since Hizumi..." She couldn't finish. "...The only one he's really talked to is you."

Eyes' lips went up ever so slightly. "We don't talk." That was probably why Ayumu didn't mind him, really. He wasn't one for forcing things. Kirie would be the last person to understand that.

"He still lets you in. He actually spends time with you." She scowled. "Go talk to him."

"I've only been in Osaka this long because of Kousuke's college graduation. I won't be here long. A watcher's role is not to interfere with fate-"

The report jabbed him in the chest. Kirie's eyes were hard. "He gave you a life back." She said, with anger lurking in her voice. "He gave all of you a life back. The least you can do is take care of him." She said coldly. "Even you could show a little gentleness to him for once, Ruth-kun."

Eyes felt a pressure behind him--a hand on his shoulder. "Eyes is surprisingly gentle. Don't be so hard on him, Kirie-chan."

Eyes didn't even turn around. He'd recognized the smell of pollen and checked his reaction. "Kirie believes I have some special sway over your brother." He murmured. He could feel Kirie staring over her shoulder, the report tightening in her shaking hand...a mixed look of hope and anger, and a green look of dismay...

Kiyotaka chuckled. "Come on then, let's go wish him a happy birthday, then, and see if it's true."

-o-O-o-

When they were in the hall, Eyes finally looked behind him. Kiyotaka beamed back. He had a bunny hood over his head--no doubt the cause of Kirie's look of near-embarassment--and his hair had unsurprisingly been cut short again. He had a bundle of irises in the crook of one arm, and a bag full of wrapped gifts in the same hand.

"What would you have me do?" Eyes asked simply.

"Do?" Kiyotaka said, all innocence. The ears of his hat hit the fluorescent lights overhead. He bent without even looking up to make clearence.

"Your coming isn't coincidence."

"I just wanted to wish my brother a happy birthday!" Kiyotaka exclaimed, feigning injury.

Eyes looked at him, and Kiyotaka's smile grew. "Take care of him for me." He said quietly. "I'd do it myself, but he won't let me near him. Having my relationship to my brother never recover was a possibility when I started this, and it was a price I was willing to pay, but I'd like him to be happy. He is my brother after all."

Eyes only looked at him. Kiyotaka no doubt could read him like a book, and could see his brittle, jaded disbelief. "...Since Hizumi's passing that's been rather difficult." The younger murmured.

Kiyotaka made a noncommital noise, shrugging. "Hizumi was always rather clingy--you probably remember." He shrugged. "I shouldn't need to tell you Ayumu had little esteem for himself, and probably clung right back because it felt good to him to be praised, and constantly needed, if not worshipped."

Eyes nodded. Kiyotaka was quick and accurate as ever with his judgments. That was what made him "God". Kiyotaka had probably known Hizumi would snare Ayumu in one way or another from the very start.

Kiyotaka gave another paternal smile as though reading his mind. "I'm not asking you to be Hizumi." He laughed. "Though I think that would be impossible even just on a personality standpoint, and I wouldn't ask anyone to assume the mantle of the devil because it would be certain death." Eyes's eyelids lowered at that, and he thought of the dried up shells of marigolds. "I'm asking you to take care of my brother. In my stead. I trust your judgment, and I know you're a kind person beneath it all, and you won't let him slip into self-pity." Kiyotaka said, his smile winning, uneven fingers lacing together contentedly.

Eyes lowered his eyelids, studying the floors as they walked together. "...Since it's a request from you, I have little choice."

Kiyotaka snickered. "Everyone has a choice."

Eyes said nothing.

The knocked on the door, and when there was no answer grinned, and threw it open. "Happy birthday, Ayumu!" He sang out, throwing his arms wide. Ayumu looked up in some annoyance from the saloon piano they'd managed to put in his room, left arm down by his side. "Brother." He recognized blandly. "Stylish as ever."

Kiyotaka chuckled, and pulled the ears of his hat. "I'll give you it if you'd like."

"No thank you." Ayumu said, waving his good hand, and frowning. "I don't think I have the fashion sense to pull it off." He shifted down the bench.

"Haa... Are you playing the piano concerto I sent you?" Kiyotaka said with a laugh.

Ayumu's mouth curled downwards a moment, then curved into a smile despite himself. "I think sending me sheet music for a piano concerto for the left hand was in pretty poor taste, brother."

"What? I thought you'd take it as an encouragement! From brother to brother!"

"Yeah, yeah." Ayumu muttered with his peculiar brooding. Eyes noted the bright pile of clothes in the corner, sheathed with a fine layer of dust. Many were red. A hat hung against the side of the bedpost, a scattering of games--also dusty--on the side table, and an apparently half-finished novel, open, and facedown on a table.

Kiyotaka picked up the novel, and skimmed it. "Oh. I didn't think this would be your kind of reading." Eyes knew without saying that it wasn't. He recognized the title: The Bell Jar. He could only imagine what fascination the book had for Hizumi. His uncle had pored over the pages like they were holy writ, and recommended it to anyone he met, including Eyes, more than six years earlier.

"A lot of our tastes are different." Ayumu said matter-of-factly. "It doesn't bother me anymore."

Kiyotaka paused, then smiled at him. Not for the first time, Eyes felt the affection Kiyotaka had for his brother. But now he felt the sadness as well. Kiyotaka truly did care for Ayumu. He was terrible at showing it, of course, but he did. There likely wouldn't be another birthday for Ayumu. Far from allowing one final glorious celebration, Ayumu had all but refused to acknowledge the day at all, playing by himself in a room full of his lover's dead belongings, the little stack of gifts--air-mail from Hiyono in Germany, a postcard from Rio, a lopsided cake from Madoka--all untouched and left by the door...

Eyes knew that hollow feeling. He also thought for a moment, in a way, he understood Kiyotaka's sadness as well. How it must hurt to think of losing the one person truly like you in all the world. Especially after all the effort Kiyotaka had clearly expended into winning him his freedom.

Eyes glanced at the bent fingers of his mentor's hand. Was it worth it? To save a person who was stunted even by your mere existance, and would only grow to hate you?

Or...did Ayumu hate Kiyotaka? Sitting in the same room as a man who'd killed his lover's brother, the man he'd been cloned from, and who'd inadvertantly stolen his every interest and bested him in all areas but one... Did Ayumu truly hate him? Or had he forgiven him, as he'd forgiven so many other things?

"How's Madoka?" Ayumu asked, not looking at either of them, pulling up chairs one-handed.

"Radiant. In her own angry way. The morning sickness has passed, mostly." Kiyotaka said, smiling. "It's amazing what the hormones have done to her shape, though-"

"Somehow I can't imagine you being much of a father. Try sticking around this time. I wouldn't forgive you after all this if you left her now." Ayumu's tone was calm, almost light, perfectly patient. Kiyotaka began to chuckle. "I wouldn't dream of it." He said. "If it's a boy she wants to name it after you, you know."

"Don't. He'll be dumb, slow, and hesitant to make decisions. Name him something more meaningful." Ayumu said without even a pause. His eyebrows knit together giving him his tradmark scowl.

Kiyotaka laughed. "But what if it's a girl?"

"It'll be a boy." Ayumu murmured, his shoulders looking very small. He'd never reached Kiyotaka's height. That wasn't purely a genetic factor after all. It was still somehow ironic that Kiyotaka had probably accidentally physically stunted Ayumu as well, with his ways.

Kiyotaka smiled at him. "That's not logical, Ayumu." He was almost teasing.

Ayumu glanced at him, with the same eyes, the same face, "You think I'm wrong?"

Kiyotaka's eyelids crinkled closer in satisfaction. "You can be the Godfather, then."

"What makes you think I'll live that long?" Ayumu asked dully, bluntly, his body still turned the other way.

"...You think I'm wrong?" Kiyotaka asked.

Ayumu was quiet. His left arm hung limp at his side, dangling through the sleeve.

Eyes had seen Hizumi kiss that useless wrist before, and drape it around his shoulders when he'd thought the two of them were alone, or perhaps--considering it was Hizumi--even though he'd known they hadn't been alone. He'd seen Ayumu lay the numb hand over the other's breathing mask near the end, and seen Hizumi lift his laboring fingers to touch it, too weak to even turn his head without effort, too weak for them to do anything but fumble for the other's fingers and remain there for hours on end, watching the other slowly ebb away, holding on as though tightening their fingers around one another's would give Hizumi more time.

He remembered Kousuke's wedding, the private affair the two of them had put together for only their little group, and the stare they'd fixed on Ayumu when he'd arrived arm-in-arm with another boy. Hizumi had wheezed a cheerful greeting to them all through the oxygen tube in his nose, leaning on Ayumu for balance. Ryouko had almost left, then and there, halfway through her vows.

For Rio, Ryouko, and Kousuke, it had been their first meeting with the devil, and there he was, fresh from surgery for the mini-defibrillator they'd put into his chest, and snapping pictures one-handed with a grin. He'd laced his fingers with those of their Savior's, hooking an elbow through the dead arm, and grinned his blessing on the both of them, with only one warning at the end--"Just don't have children of your own. You'll be fine. I made sure it got taken care of." Eyes had never seen Kousuke go so pale in all of his life. Bride and Groom had left quickly, while Hizumi was still happily weeping for both of them--hopeless romantic that he was, at heart--and Ayumu was sighing and passing on tissues and pretending not to care even though he was embarassed.

Rio, however, had taken a liking to him--never mind his history. She had come to visit their dying uncle every month after that first meeting, sneaking in sweets for him, even though she wasn't supposed to. Hizumi had gloried in the attention the way he always did. She'd even snuck him a ring, so Hizumi could jokingly go down on one knee, and ask Ayumu to marry him a few scant days after they'd received the honeymoon postcard from the new Mr. and Mrs. Asadzuki. Ayumu had struck him (lightly, and helped him to his feet afterwards) retorting, "You moron..." and never answered, but...he'd worn the ring anyway on that same, empty, lifeless limb, even though the ring had been cheap, and hadn't even been anything close to a wedding band. Hizumi had tripped on his way up off his knee, dropping his backpack with the oxygen tank onto Ayumu's foot, and was therefore apparently distracted from the lack of real response, but Eyes had no doubt there had been a reaction. Rio had told Eyes everything, laughing all the while--laughing to tears as she recounted Hizumi's many antics.

Eyes hadn't seen her once since the funeral. Rio hadn't spoken to anyone. He thought he'd seen a boquet of white chrysanthemums that he hadn't remembered on Hizumi's and Kanone's graves once, but he hadn't been entirely sure they'd come from her, though he thought he'd recognized each as being tied off with one of Rio's hair-ribbons.

Ayumu's arm wouldn't have the time to die off, like such limbs were apt to do over time. It still seemed a symbol lying there, listless and withered, with its dangling fingers. The ring, Eyes noticed, was still on his finger, along with another on his index finger.

"...What's Rutherford doing here?" Ayumu muttered finally.

Eyes looked to Kiyotaka mildly. Kiyotaka laughed like an idiot. "He's a special present. I asked him to come with me."

Ayumu gave an irritated sigh, fixing Eyes with a glare. "Why did you listen to him?" He muttered.

Eyes folded his arms quietly, studying him. "I can only do as God wishes, unless the one surpassing him wills otherwise."

"I'm not saying 'don't visit'." Ayumu muttered, stooping over his misshapen cake. "I'm saying you don't have to come with my stupid brother."

Kiyotaka just chuckled at the insult in the background. He seemed deeply absorbed in the novel, reading almost impossibly fast--flipping pages every twenty seconds or so. After a few minutes, he paused, lowering the book partway through. "These annotations are incredible."

"I never learned enough english to really value them." Ayumu replied dully. "And Hizumi's handwriting is terrible."

Kiyotaka smiled. "it's not so bad, actually, though it's obvious this was one of his college textbooks."

"As though Hizumi needed any more bad influences." Ayumu muttered, clearing the trays off the little table-side attached to his hospital bed.

Kiyotaka just smiled. "I wasn't looking at the suicide attempts. I was looking at an entirely different section."

"I'm sure you were, but those sections were probably just as bad an influence on that idiot romantic as anything else."

Kiyotaka grinned. "The narrator's disturbed, of course-"

"I know, brother."

"I should teach you some english."

"So I can read the annotations? Don't bother. I can guess them." Ayumu replied in annoyance. "And while you're here, you'll help me devour this miserable cooking of Madoka's."

"Haah." Kiyotaka sighed, wincing. "Another famous salted cake? I apologize for not keeping a better eye on Madoka-chan." He fixed a baleful eye on Ayumu. "She cooked it through the nasuea, though. No matter how it made her feel. She seemed to believe you needed a birthday cake."

Ayumu said nothing.

"Eyes, do you want some cake?" Kiyotaka asked over his shoulder, perfect cheer back in his voice, as though he'd said nothing at all.

"Don't try to convince Rutherford to take your portion." Ayumu muttered. "Rutherford, you can do what you like. I don't know why he made you come."

"Because Eyes has experience keeping people company in hospitals. He'd make anyone feel better, though, wouldn't you, Eyes?" Kiyotaka said, fixing his understudy with a brilliant smile. "At the least he'll make you want to get out of the hospital."

Eyes smiled a little at that, then caught himself. "As I said, I do only as God wishes. If you wish me to leave, however-"

"I won't force you to stay if you don't want to. Do what you like." Ayumu said, settlign into a chair with his back to the pianist. Kiyotaka smiled.

Eyes shifted finally, walking ot his piano, and sitting down. "Then I'll stay." He didn't really need permission. Neither did he need to see Ayumu carefully putting things aside while just as obviously ignoring others and leaving them underfoot.

"Aah, this cake is grotesque." Kiyotaka sighed.

"You should have kept her away from the kitchen."

"Haah? And be sent to the hospital again?"

"Like it's any different from you being in the hospital now?"

Eyes drowned out the sound of Kiyotaka's laughter, and Ayumu's flat retorts, and the clink of their forks. He played quite a few pieces while he was there, but never once did he play the Benediction de Dieu dans la Solitude.

-o-O-o-O-o-

Notes:

Flower meanings:
The language of flowers stretches back to good old victorian times, when men put all kinds of meanings into their flowers. It's a good portion of Spiral's symbolism though, with Kiyotaka's irises all over the place. (Ironically enough, Spiral-cast members will tell you this means "the joy of the believer" or "the happiness of those who beleive"? It actually means something closer to "You fill my heart with joyful hope, only then to plunge it into doubt.") And flowers are also a large part of grave-side ettiquitte. So naturally anything used here should also follow in with the language of flowers.

Eyes's flowers:
Forget-me-Not--"Forget me not. I wish to meet again."
White Carnation--"You are the symbol of the closest friendship, for your color remains unchanged until death strips away your petals."
Peony--"Your pride is unbearable."
White Rose--"Its pale petals signify to you the joy of love eternal and pure, for it lacks all earthly glow."

Ayumu's flowers:
Sunflower--"As sunlight is, so is your love to my life. I turn ever toward it."
Marigold--"The purity of my love is as eternal as the golden ring of this flower."
Yellow Rose--"The color of this flower reminds me of the jealous gaze of your eye."
--note also that all the above flowers are yellow-shaded. (Duh.)

Others:
Snowdrop--"Be glad of the present and future, and grant the memory of a melancholy past no place in your heart."

Chrysanthemums weren't in my little cheat-sheet at all, but they're a traditional japanese offering to the dead, and a sun-symbol in literature, anyway. (And I think they're pretty. Shut up. They don't grow down here as far as I know.)

Also:
A defibrillator is one of those electroshock things they use to restart the heart. "CLEAR!" and all that. They actually do make mini ones nowadays and occasionally install them in people's bodies. You'll be sitting at dinner, and the thing will go off, and you'll sit there all, "Aah." And be existential. (Or, if you're my grnadfather, you'll jsut shrug, and keep eating mashed potatoes.) You just get them re-charged when they go off.

Aaaand, I know a very fiesty eighty-year-old woman who wanders around with a breathing tube up her nose and an oxygen tank in a backpack. She does Nursery duty every Sunday at our church. She's also got a tremendous sense of humor. She helped a little for Hizumi, though of course, Hizumi still can move like a teenager for the most part, so he can get into more trouble than her.

...I think I'm having a little too much fun with dying!Hizumi. (The marriage thing is a tip of the hat to Mocchan, incidentally, but given a bit of a morbid-humored-Skunky!twist. Naturally after Ayumu puts on the ring and wanders around like it's no big deal at all, Hizumi realizes, has a happy fit, and takes him off and shags him with great amateur enthusiasm, nearly giving himself a real heart-attack in the process. I still haven't decided if that's going to be a flashback or not, so I'm mentioning it here in my own particularly off-beat-humor way.)

Ah, and Ryouko and Kousuke are too much fun, but their guilt is touching to me. Technically, they WOULD be fine as long as they didn't get caught on the half-siblings thing. In short, just like Hizumi says, they just can't have any children of their own. (Incest!babies usually have genetic problems anyway.) Hizumi weeping all happily at their wedding though, when the blade children have just met him, was too priceless to be ignored. (Also Ayumu's reaction where he just hands over the tissues...aah, Aayu's such a good boyfriend...)

Also, that thing about paralyzed limbs is sometimes true. Sometimes a brain learns to do without them so long that the limb eventually completely dies and needs to be amputated, or dries up and falls off itself. Gross, but true. Fortunately, Ayumu's not set to live much longer, so this fic at least won't have kinky amputee fiction. (Also: I know all kinds of interesting but useless things. I amaze myself sometimes. I still think it'd be easy to get amputee!Ayumu together with the fandom pretty!pianist and have Eyes be privately freaked out and fascinated by his missing arm, but I'm not that weird. ...Yet. ...Er. It's a bit closer to my own tastes, so I'd skirt around it for a while yet. *embarassed*)

Maurice Ravel is the author of the "Piano Concerto for the Left Hand". (Yes, it's a real piece.) He's also the composer of that song Eyes always plays in the anime--"Jeux d'Eau" coincidentally. The story behind the Piano Concerto was, it was the turn of the century, and World War I had ended. A pro pianist (whose name I don't remember) had been sent off into battle, and returned with his Right hand amputed, so he immediately sent out a plea to the composers of the age for things to play with only one hand. Ravel responded, among others.
(Mocchan seems to be the one who makes Ayumu's left arm not work. I'm not sure why, but I'm just going to pretend it's canon until I know better one way or the other. *ignorant* Conveniently enough, wedding bands are worn on the left hand, so I can add in implied kinkiness. Of course that might just be me with paralyzed limbs...Er...)

There will be more funky flashbacks later, as I have it planned out and all, but...eh. Don't know how far I'll get. This fic's been going slowly so I can make it feel "spare" rather than fleshy like my others. I wanted it to go fairly fast, unlike most of my others, and that's hard for me. However, the fact I think it's going well is cheering me up tremendously. Let me know how it settles or if it's going awkwardly, though.
-Sku

Negotiations (Spiral fragment 1 of ?)

Mon, 12 Oct 2009 22:30:36 GMT

Fragment: Negotiations (1 of ?)
Fandom: Spiral (Pre-Canon, and pre-Alive)
Genre: General
Rating: Lighter T rating
Why: Because the weird genetics-things are mostly implied, but are implied, so there has to be a warning. (Not even any swearing, I think. But clinically sexual and reproductive stuff.) Also some spoilers for Kiyotaka, the blade children, and Hizumi and Ayumu. But only sort of. And a little drinking at the end.

Notes: I'm on a roll for writing odd fragments this weekend. This one's more because I was glancing through, and I realized not only had nobody written anything with Kiyotaka and Yaiba, but that the one fragment on the gunwithwings forum came with a question from Samwise-kun about how other people saw or interpreted Kiyotaka and Yaiba around one another. So...I made THIS on Sunday evening.

I'm actually pretty pleased with it. And that's rare, even for me. Usually I have to edit things before I find them satisfying. This one on the other hand seems to be another potential From the Pond, From the Nest. (Nobody will understand what I'm talking about unless they read Juvenile Orion fiction, too. That was one of my fics. One that had a kooky takeoff on a russian fairytale, and featured a very obscure pairing. It was finished in a record-breaking three days. I was very impressed with myself.)

I think I realized why I like writing my fanon!Yaiba. He reminds me a little of writing Lafayel. I always like writing bitter, dry, arrogant, and slightly sarcastic-ironic people who act prickly, then I seem to invariably have some cheerful (Or at least persistant) person come along, and reassure them that no matter how hard they try, there's something fluffy in there somewhere. (Yaiba: Dammit. No there's not! I don't know where my brother gets it from, but it's certainly not from me! *denial denial*) ~~Plus he seems to have given Eyes Rutherford his characteristic insomnia...~~

I seem to like those sorts of characters for some odd reason. Must be my thing for villains again. (It's usually villains who have those sorts of personalities.) The exception to this sort of appeal for me is if they do something undeniably cruel just for personal gain. (Rare in manga and anime, but it happens.) So I'm not sure what direction Yaiba-kun intends to take, but at least he's enjoyable to write. ♥ (Yaiba: Don't you ever touch me again, and kindly get the Hell out of my office before I shoot you.)

That aside, I've realized there's NO KIYOTAKAxYAIBA IN THE WHOLE FANDOM. This clearly had to be remedied...
...But because I'm evil, it seems to be ending up as eventual Yaiba-onesided-after-Kiyotaka, and with implied KiyotakaXMadoka pre-marital in the background, which...may or may not actually make any sense. It depends on how old Kiyotaka's supposed to be. Also, there are vague mentions of Hizumi and Ayumu existing, but nothing else at that point. (And possible spoilers there...)
I also seem to be the sadist who enjoys making Kiyotaka straight, and therefore simply heartily amused when men and boys are inexplicably gay for his furry ass. Hah.

I'll probably add more on later, but this is the fragment so far, and it's in a good stopping point, assuming I remember enough of my Spiral Alive stuff to make it make sense. (And to be obsessed and ironic with very odd things some people will recognize and flip out over.)

Note: Fic includes dry humor, attempts at dignity, eugenic villainy, laughably idiotic disguises, misogyny, manly sewing, and more sugar than should ever be consumed in one sitting. (Because...well...if Hizumi and Yaiba are related in the way they are, Yaiba should have some taste for junk food, yes? Tell me I'm not the only one who sees it...)

And come to think of it. I have no idea if it's even plausible chronologically speaking.
Oh well, it's fun.

Read at your own risk, and feel free to concrit like anything. Oh, and let this be inspiration for people to join the "Original Sin" bandwagon here. (As opposed to Clone!sin, which I wrote some of earlier this weekend, and needed to get out of my brain...)

-o-O-o-
-o-O-o- Negotiations: I -o-O-o-
-o-O-o-

The door slid open. The man at the desk looked up, and frowned deeply. "You can stop sneaking around because you're terrible at it. You stand out like a sore thumb. I've been expecting you, besides."

The other man straightened up immediately from behind the potted plant with a wistful sigh. "Haah. You saw right through that, huh?" He asked. "Bunny-chan has failed me."

The other's lips twitched at the desk, and he stood. "Ah yes...Kiyotaka Narumi...I've been waiting a long time to meet you in person." He turned his head and his eyes glinted in the light. They were a poisonous shade of yellow, but he had a schoolboy's smile, despite the lines growing around his eyes. "You're more stylish than I'd expected." He added, dryly.

Kiyotaka grinned, and tugged the drooping ears of his rabbit hat. "You like it?"

"I do, but only because I'd never get away with wearing it." The other replied, folding his fingers together, adding levelly. "Somehow I don't think my collegues would quite understand." He turned his head ever so slightly. "Out of curiosity, what's in the box? Poison? Explosives? Good old fashioned nerve gas set to kill me by my own mind?" There was an almost careless sarcasm to his voice when he spoke the last, adjusting the pens on his desk as though he were saying nothing at all strange.

"Haah, no. Just milk doughnuts. I thought you'd like some." Kiyotaka said.

The other man paused noticeably, slender eyebrows arching. "Doughnuts? Really... That sounds...surprisingly appealing. Obviously I made the right choice in designating a rival."

"Well good taste is to be expected from a man in your position, Mizushiro-san." Kiyotaka said with a grin.

"Of course I should call in my private staff just to be certain." The other man said, ignoring his words, swiveling his chair, and flicking invisible dust from an arm. "They might be poisoned."

"What? Poison perfectly good doughnuts? What's the world coming to? I brought enough for both of us, even if you decide to be greedy."

"I'm surprisingly greedy." The other said flatly, but the corners of his mouth lifted nonetheless. His eyes flickered over the other again, as though to really take him in, or perhaps measure him up. "Do you mind if we use our first names? I'm not in the mood for formalities since I know why you're here."

Kiyotaka looked up, his face the picture of innocence itself. "I don't know what you mean at all, Yaiba-san."

Yaiba smiled again, and rose. The motion was oddly languid, careless. "Clearly you know what I'm doing because I told you it exactly. I chose you for this purpose, Kiyotaka-kun. ...Do you know why?"

Kiyotaka blinked putting on a face of perfect innocence. "Because I'm cute?" He ventured, feigning idiocy.

Yaiba's face split into a perfect grin of almost vicious amusement. "No." He said, tugging a rabbit-ear so the entire hat twisted half over Kiyotaka's eye. He pulled a chair aside for the other man, dragging it in front of his desk. "Sit." He directed with a shove. Kiyotaka accepted, adjusting his hat back, and grinning like a charming troublemaker before a principal. He proffered the box. Yaiba slected a doughnut with odd daintiness, taking it between thumb and forefinger, but he didn't eat, watching the other from behind the desk.

"Well." Said Kiyotaka, pulling back the lid and selecting a doughnut of his own before dropping the box between them on the table. "I'm assuming you want me to guess why I was chosen for this honor?"

"I wouldn't dream of stopping you from trying. I'd enjoy someone coming to the right conclusion for once. Do feel free to astonish me." Yaiba said dryly. The other didn't seem to take the slightest offense.

"Well...If I were a wealthy geneticist with the world on a string before me, the thing I'd want most is a challenge." Kiyotaka said, taking a bite out of his pastry. "It's mostly guesswork at this point of course, since I only know of you, but the problem seems to be that everything's going too well, am I right?"

Yaiba peered at him. "...I'm pleased." He said finally, another smile snaking over his face, ouching a fingertip to the ring in his fingers. "You're perfectly right. I chose you, not because I needed you, but because I was bored. Nonetheless, it's an honor for you-"

"Excuse me for interrupting, but that's not right at all." Kiyotaka said through a mouthful, picking up a second doughnut.

Yaiba's yellow eyes narrowed. Nobody ever interrupted him. "Oh?"

"No. If you're really so bored...then I'm absolutely necessary. You didn't find me by chance." Kiyotaka replied cheerfully, rummaging through his box. "And I know the percentage of the population capable of my level of thought is far less than even a hundedth of a percent. So I'm not at all expendable, because if I'm gone, you'll be bored forever, stuck without a challenge."

Yaiba's eyes narrowed further. "And you would live so happily in a world under my control if you didn't consent to be my challenge?"

"I wouldn't notice it in the least." Kiyotaka replied brightly. "What you do with your experimental children, and your desires for a new evolutionary highpoint wouldn't trouble me at all, because I'm one of the few who can think at the same level as you. Genetically speaking, your children are only half you. The chances they'd match your level, or mine are quite remote--though I'm not a geneticist, so I don't know the exact possibilities." He raised his head. "And chances are, I'd outlive you, even if it bothered me, so it's not something that should."

Yaiba's mouth pinched.

"I don't mean that rudely of course." Kiyotaka said with a smile, interpreting correctly. "But you're being targeted by people opposed to your goals, aren't you? Evne if it's not out in the open, something of the scale of what your doing, would make someone afraid on some level. Enough to give you opposition, even if it's easy to deal with. Brains aren't everything. You have to have luck, too, sometimes." He shrugged. "I, on the other hand, am just a poor out-of-work musician, hopelessly in love with the sexy lady-cop of his dreams. Despite my excellence, I have the power to disappear." He spread his sticky fingers. "So really, you're more at my mercy than I am at yours."

"...Rubbish." Yaiba said coldly.

"The trash can's over there. ...Oh...or did you mean what I said? It's logic, actually." Kiyotaka said, wiping a bit of fallen glaze off Yaiba's desk with a napkin.

"I could have you killed here and now." There was still frost in the other man's voice.

"Yes. You could. But chances are you won't run into another mind even close to your level in this generation. So you could kill me at the risk of decades of boredom, only to declare an infant your rival. I don't think you'd want to, really, even if you don't like me. Most people don't, anyway, so I'm used to it. You need me too much for it to really be a problem." He paused. "Aren't you going to eat your doughnut?"

Yaiba frowned at him. "...Again, I'd be a fool to eat what I was offered." He said finally, setting the thing on his desk. He touched it as though it would move, tracing with a surgeon's fingers.

"You have ways of chemically testing it, though, right? Why not do that, then come back when you're done? They'll still be quite fresh." Kiyotaka said. His dark eyes glittered merrily. He was enjoying himself.

Yaiba studied him a moment, then his face flattened and he shrugged, taking a bite.

Kiyotaka beamed. "So you trust me?"

"Not at all, but whatever occurs to me can't possibly be more vexing than your terrible overconfidence." Yaiba said evenly. "You act as thought you've landed on something brilliant even when it's simplicity itself. It's quite annoying."

Kiyotaka just smiled. He'd won after all. "It's delicious, isn't it?"

Yaiba didn't say anything at all. His nose wrinkled. "...Do they come creme-filled?" He asked after a moment.

"I have a few." Kiyotaka replied, opening the box. "Go ahead and have another."

Yaiba paused, then shrugged. "...My private physician will want to murder you for this, I'm sure." He said with dark humor after a moment, licking the sugar from his fingers. Somehow it didn't come off as rude at all--he made it look like it was the only natural thing to do.

"Aah, I'll find myself another disguise, then, and hide until you call him off." Kiyotaka said. His eyes were still glittering in amusement.

Yaiba studied him, then smiled a little, measuredly, as though he'd passed another test. "...That hat would look better with the ears standing upright, don't you think?" He said flatly, as though it was a perfectly normal sort of conversational direction to take.

The younger man sighed wistfully. "Aah, it would, but they didn't sell it that way."

"Adjust it yourself." Yaiba said as though it were the most natural thing in the world, narrowing his eyes. "Can't you sew?"

"I used to be able to, but..." Kiyotaka raise his hand, showing off his uneven fingers. "I'm still in therapy. I'm worried I'll ruin the hat."

Yaiba grabbed another doughnut. "What about your girlfriend?"

"Haah, no, Madoka-chan's not very good with domestic tasks at all. And she hates my disguises."

Yaiba's lips thinned again. "...I can't abide useless people." He said finally, coldly.

Kiyotaka just grinned. "But you should see the way the lights of the patrol car play on her skin as she shoves murderers into the back. If my fingers still worked, I'd write a song about it."

"And entitle it something idiotic, no doubt." Yaiba replied flatly, grabbing another doughnut. "While your performances were inspired, I question your creativity with names."

Kiyotaka brightened. "Ah! You saw one?"

"I denied a request for my attendance at one. Now I regret it. A little. Had I known, we would have had this meeting much sooner. It was poorly calculated on my part." His fingers tapped idly agianst the wood of his desk, and he stared at them with narrow eyes.

"But if my mother had never come to you, you wouldn't have even known about me in the first place." Kiyotaka said reasonably. "So you didn't do anything that could have been wrong if there was no way for anyone to know. And besides, I wouldnt' expect you to have wanted a night off, anyway. Everyone knows how much pride you take in your work."

Yaiba paused at that, and lowered his eyebrows, peering at the other. "...Do they?" he asked neutrally.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" Kiyotaka said, smiling and spreading his uneven fingers.

"I've heard quite differently. In a line of work requiring sperm donations, somehow false word stirs that dilligence is the same as liesure." Yaiba said bluntly, his eyes narrow and serpentine.

"I can only imagine what they have to say about your competance with your work, then." Kiyotaka added, laughing.

Yaiba's face actually paled, but recovered, and flickered afterwards into intense anger. "I detest that sort of work." He hissed, eyes blazing like sulfur. "It's the part of the process I entirely loathe."

Kiyotaka only blinked, his face innocent and mild. "Oh dear. I can't be difficult for you, can it?" He sighed before Yaiba could retort. "Or is it because you can't stop thinking about the inferiority of the women in the facility who are taking part in your experiments?"

The other man was silent for a long moment, then his eyes shifted to the side. "...The difficulties with cloning are vexing. But soon, I'm confident I can break that mystery in two at last, and discover what factors made the one success a reality. Then I won't have to worry about trifling inferior vessels or inferior products."

"You mean Hizumi-kun?" Kiyotaka said with a smile.

Yaiba only scowled. "The thought of what education he'll be enduring at the hands of a fostering mother repulses me. If all follows as planned, I will find a way to adopt him myself."

"Ah." Kiyotaka said, raising his eyebrows. "You like men."

That got him.

Yaiba's face exploded into fury. Kiyotaka ducked just in time as the half-eaten doughtnet went whizzing past a cloth ear. He started laughing. "You don't have to get angry about it." He insisted, rolling behind his chair with a laugh, and peering out. "Who would I possibly tell?"

"You're repulsive!"

"Really? You're all red..."

Yaiba's face shifted into confusion, and mortification for a priceless instant, and he really did go red before he recovered. "I'm outraged by your suggestion! The idea..." He spat lividly, a coiled serpent once again.

"But I already swore I wouldn't tell anyone." Kiyotaka said with a laugh, putting up his hands in a gesture of surrender around the back of the chair, dusting off the half-eaten pastry and placing it on a napkin at the table-side. "Besides, who'd believe me? You have over a hundred children worldwide. And again, you're a wealthy, influential man, while I'm just a scandal-ridden ex-pianist who moonlights as a police detective. Why would I bother if it were your word agianst mine? More importantly, why should I care?"

Yaiba finally seemed to calm down, and sank back into his chair. "Yes...well..." He muttered, threading his fingers through his hair annoyedly, staring pointedly away from Kiyotaka. "It matters little what you think of me-"

"Oh I don't think it." Kiyotaka said, chuckling.

"Be quiet." Yaiba snapped in annoyance.

"Are women really that horrible to you?" Kiyotaka asked, smiling. "You couldn't even get past it long enough to have children of your own and raise them yourself? Wouldn't that be so much better than sending out anonymous flocks of Yaiba's Children all over the world?"

"Quantity is more important than quality at this stage." Yaiba replied flatly, still looking annoyed. "I wouldn't expect you to understand that, of course-"

"But I do understand. It's a lonely existance like that, isn't it? Unspeakably lonely..."

Yaiba didn't say anything at all. Something flickered in his face despite himself. Kiyotaka sighed and pushed the doughnut box over the table, towards him, settling back down into his seat. "You wouldn't need a rival at all if you weren't bored and lonely. I do understand. It's not that difficult, you know. But...maybe it's just not difficult for me. That's probably more the problem than anything else." He sighed, standing, and fiddling with the strings of his lopsided rabbit-ear cap. "Living a life where nobody understands your joy or your pain seems unspeakably lonely to me. Even if you get everything else you want. I wouldn't want a life like that."

Yaiba's lips curled ironically, his voice very low, even if his expresison was indecipherable. "...If you and I really are the same, then you're as damned as me. Don't you dare pretend you're not-"

Kiyotaka cut him off by dropping the rabbit hat over his hair. "I'm actually much less unfortunate than you, Yaiba-san." He said with a bright smile. "I've already had my time in the spotlight. For you...it doesn't seem to ever end." He paused again, and grinned. "But you're wrong about another thing--the hat looks good on you, too."

The other man glowered at him, and pulled the cap off. "You're nothing but a silly boy." He hissed disdainfully.

"And you're a repressive workaholic misogynist. But I know you don't mean it. You're just being cranky because of the sugar." Kiyotaka said with a laugh. Yaiba gave him a look, but it had probably been too long since he'd last been openly insulted, because he didn't make any comment in return. Either that, or he had too much dignity to actually stoop down to Kiyotaka's level, or do more than just glare.

"Get out." Yaiba said finally, when he seemed to have calmed enough to speak quietly, his fingers tightening on the fabric of the hat without realizing, yellow eyes narrow.

The younger man made a little performer's bow, smiling brightly. "Aah, I've overstayed my welcome? That's a shame. I'll need to come back soon, though, I'm sure. So I'm not offended at all-"

"When I need you, you may return, and not a moment before, Kiyotaka-kun." Yaiba snapped, turning his chair away from him.

Kiyotaka sighed. "Ah. I don't mind that either. Just as long as you have my hat finished by the time I come back."

The chair swung back around, "What?" But Kiyotaka was already at the elevator. He just grinned. "You can have the rest of the doughnuts. See you later, Yaiba-san."

The doors shut before Yaiba could do more than stand, swelling up, ready to explode a retort.

Kiyotaka waved at him, even as the doors slid shut, his laughter echoing through the room even after he was gone.

Yaiba paused a moment before sinking back into his chair. He suddenly gave a surprisingly bitter laugh, putting a hand over his face, spinning the hat in his fingertips. "So that's Kiyotaka Narumi..." He murmured, opening his desk, and pouring himself a fifth of whisky. He grimaced, idly checking his watch, noted that it was approaching midnight, and studied the hat for a few moments. He sighed, putting it down on his desk, and rubbing his chest the way a person ran their tongue over the hole left by a missing tooth, drinking.

Finally, he sid open a drawer of his desk almost idly, and pulled out a little set of scissors, a packet of needles, and three spools of thread, reaching across his desk for the jar of cotton balls on the corner.

He began snipping threads with a surgeon's care, eating another doughnut with his other hand, almost lazily licking his fingers.

-o-O-o-O-o-

Leftovers (Spiral fragment)

Mon, 12 Oct 2009 22:27:09 GMT

Fragment: "Leftovers"
Fandom: Spiral
Genre: Romance (With a touch of normal daily-stuff mixed in, and humor, too, because I can't write sex without laughing.)
Rating: M dammit
Why: Because it's mostly just mindless seduction sequences--kooky innuendoes, mostly naked men, forbidden fruit, and implied smuttiness and nastiness in the middle of a kitchen, while logic struggles vainly to function in this situation.

Notes: Mocchan and I texted so long that my arm actually started to hurt one weekend. I plagued her with plotroaches involving limosienes and men in dresses, and she in turn coaxed out this, somewhat. I was just JOKING, but DAMN.

So then before I knew it, Hizumi was being a pain, and THIS. THIS came out of it. I don't know how, but my brain REALLY hurts. It scares me almost as much as Aza-pon's sexy!Rio. But I always knew Hizumi wanted to do Ayumu in a kitchen...*beats her self to death*

Ayumu, CURSE YOU. Everyone wants your cooking ass!

And now nobody will ever be able to hear the whine, 'What? Leftovers again?" Without breaking into smutty giggles. AAGH. WHY, BRAIN, WHY?!

...I wrote the rediculous smut and innuendoes one day, and spruced it up the next with a little bit of normalcy and awkwardness. And now it's done, but I'm still embarassed. ~~And worse yet, I know what with how the gunwithwings folks always are, half of them will probably love it, regardless. You people...~~

Now that I've actually toed the line a few times now in my moments of weakness, I notice I always seem to make people talk when they fsck. It's probably because if I'm having dialogue, then I don't have to focus on which body part goes where, and the filthy minds of fans everythwere can conjur up in my vagueties.
I'm so clever. (I'm so dead...)
But also it's because I imagine I wouldn't be able to resist making pointed innuendoes, myself.
And I love dialogue.

But...why am I the only one who seems to think Ayumu would be pretty self-conscious about this kind of thing? Err? ~~After his brain finishes exploding, I mean.~~

Dammit...T_T Even though I only go implied this is still pretty graphic for my taste. Hauuuh...*wants to hide*

-o-O-o- Leftovers -o-O-o-

Ayumu sighed as he hung his coat be the door, sneezing once and sighing. "I'm home!" He shouted.

In hindsight, he should have thought it perfectly suspicious that Hizumi had declared himself too tired to go with him. He hated being in the house by himself. He'd said as much several times in the past. He'd tackled him around the middle and begged to go with him before, regardless of where he was going, and he'd done it pretty regularly for the past three weeks. So Ayumu should have been utterly suspicious, but he hadn't been because he'd been tired, and used to Madoka's unreasonable demands for ice cream at ten in the evening when she was watching her gooey korean dramas.

In hindsight, he should have realized something was quite wrong when a certain devilish youth had declared to him that he had a perfectly unholy craving for apples and was too tired to even come with him as he fulfilled the request--even though Hizumi only seemed to need about five hours of sleep a night, and spent most of his waking hours convincing Ayumu to be as active as he was. But despite all the warning signs, Ayumu--like the outwardly-sullen but inwardly-good-natured man that he was--had slipped on his coat and walked off to the store and back.

In truth, he should have known enough to easily run and hide from his lover or to ignore the request entirely, and offer him another of the individual-sized yogurts he seemed so pleased with. (Hizumi ate more low-fat yogurt than any overweight teenage girl on the planet.) But he didn't, and he hadn't.

So in some ways, he probably deserved it, all in hindsight.

Hizumi wasn't in bed, or playing video games in his room. That was odd.

"...Hizumi? Where are you?" Ayumu finally called.

"In here!" Hizumi sang. It seemed to be coming from the kitchen.

Ayumu sighed to himself, wandering along with the apples bumping his leg with every step. His only thought had been that Hizumi had probably been impatient. What a pain getting sent out like this when he just gorges himself anyway.

What he hadn't expected was the light being off when he came in.

"Here?" Ayumu asked the dark room.

"Yes, here!" Hizumi sang back. "Welcome home!"

"You'll ruin your eyes sitting in a dark room all by yourself-" Ayumu began, sighing. He stopped dead as he flipped the lightswitch and realized what he was looking at.

Hizumi was sitting on the counter. That alone would have been enough to raise Ayumu's ire any day, but it wasn't this minor mutiny which made him speechless.

Coin-gold eyes fixed on him, as the other gave a weird, curving, cheshire smile. "I was thinking," the devil said innocently, crossing his ankles and resting his palms on the counter. "You've cooked every day this week without a break, so we should just have leftovers."

Ayumu's brain wasn't registering this. It was too busy telling him over and over again: He's covered in plastic wrap. Along with a more feverish, he's naked and covered in plastic wrap.

...As though there couldn't be a more obvious thought.

If only he were just staring at the funny shadow in the dip in his right side...

What these obvious thoughts had in common was that they cast no light whatsoever on the full visual experience. His brain was dead. It had probably fainted, taking the vague melodies of logic away with it, and leaving an explosion of full orchestra behind his eyelids, blanking out every thought. His eyes were doing all the thinking, unable to stop raking over him. Yes, Hizumi had wrapped himself in plastic wrap. It was closer to a plastic skirt, really, a sheath over him, if he'd been able to think about it. The layers crumpled into more translucence than transparence, but even translucence was fascinating...

What was he thinking? Fascinating?

No, no, no. Leftovers. Think, Ayumu. What leftovers? You make perfect portions every time. What the Hell is he talking about? There are no leftovers! Was run through along with a repeat of, ...Is he naked?

He didn't want to admit it, but he'd been too frightened to be with Hizumi if the lights were on. He didn't find himself particularly good looking, so he could only guess what Hizumi had seen in him--enough to sneak into his bed, apparently. But nonetheless, Ayumu always turned the lights off when Hizumi got forward, and Hizumi had seemed to like finding him by feel anyway... But consequently, this meant his brain had conjured all sorts of questions as to what Hizumi actually looked like unclothed, and worked into all the little possible logical crannies, reconstructing, but still feverishly wondering.

...Plastic wrap didn't help those particular questions. Or rather, it offered the tantalizing hope of helping too much.

Hizumi lifted a foot, and Ayumu's ears picked up on the noise the plastic made against itself. The noise seemed to fill his whole mind. Nothing seemed quite so important as that sound, nothing like the shape of the other's leg, and the guilty wondering of how far it might lift... (He was never going to think of cellophane the same way again...) He turned his eyes away with incredible willpower, fixing them on the foot, and realized there was a strip of askew wrap against an ankle.

Wha...?

"You'll want to start. It probably needs to be re-heated." Hizumi said almost idly, turning his head, and watching him very, very carefully, that strange cheshire grin still on his lips. His foot twitched once.

It was a long time before Ayumu's eyes lifted up long enough to even recognize that Hizumi in fact had that truly devious little smile on his lips.

Oh. So he's supposed to be the leftovers. His struggling mind concluded in a dazzling display of logic.

...Hizumi's just trying to seduce me. Again.

Ayumu's eyes flickered over the curve of his thigh. He swallowed. And...It's working.

He had to applaud him for once. Hizumi was a genius. Unfortunately, he seemed to like the same weird Korean dramas that Madoka did. But instead of ice cream, he wanted to eat something fried and greasy as he watched (What kind of sick person ate french fries covered in mayonaise?), and he talked all through the programs. Ayumu dimly wondered which one had brainwashed the devil this time. Surely something was responsible for convincing him a declaration that he was tonight's meal was somehow romantic.

...Well...alright. It wasn't unattractive. And the idea that Hizumi thought he was worth seducing was a kind one, maybe. (Because Ayumu sure would have picked someone else. And Hizumi could probably have anyone he wanted with the way his personality went.) But still...

"...I don't remember having this earlier in the week. I think it's probably spoiled by now." He heard himself say, surprised by the calmness in his voice-(that rustling was maddening! There had to be some way to stop it!)

Hizumi made a face and lowered his ankle with a sigh of annoyance. "Well you won't know until you try it now will you?"

"I can tell from here. It's spoiled for sure." Ayumu said, crossing to the counter, and turning his back on the other so his mind could have a chance to recover, trying not to think about it. (More rustling dammit, dammit, DAMMIT MORE RUSTLING...)

"Well there are starving children in the world, you know. Some people would just die to have your leftovers." Hizumi retorted, sounding annoyed again. No they wouldn't! NAKED. I'd never wrap myself up in-NAKED-plastic wrap! I don't-NAKED-have any leftovers! NAKED. His mind screamed before it realized Hizumi was talking about himself, and he was thinking about something else entirely. Dammit! They can have my leftovers! I'm never-NAKED-cooking more than I can-NAKED-handle ever again! Wait...why am I thinking this has anything to-NAKED-do with my cooking? It doesn't! He's-NAKED-naked!

Ayumu's voice was dead in his throat. He'd been rummaging and trying to find the apples in the bag for a good minute now, hadn't he? Why were those things so hard to handle? He knew he'd bought some-

Footsteps-ohgodfootsteps.

He'scomingcloserandIcan'tfindthedamnapple!

Naked. His brain added as an afterthought. He swallowed again, and cursed mentally. Like an apple would help keep Hizumi away. Fat chance.

Dammit, what would my brother do?

He thought of something and blinked. Ack. I can't do that...

"I'll have to peel your snack before you can eat it." Ayumu said. he wasn't quite sure what he was talking about. APPLES. He was talking about apples, dammit! And definitely not thinking about plastic wrap! No leftovers! No leftovers ever aga-

"I like it with the peel on." Hizumi said (He'srightbehindme!) as he pulled Ayumu's unresisting wrist back. There was a harsh crunch in his ear. He thought he'd die. "You should try it this way." Hizumi's voice said, breath against his neck crunching along. Ayumu's knees felt weak, and there was something dimly squirming in his stomach.

Hizumi's other hand ghosted along the side of his hip, tracing it through his pants. He heard him take another bite, maneuvering the apple, with his fingers over his. Ayumu felt a bead of liquid slid down his inner wrist, crunching in his ear. There was a shift of plastic, and the next thing he knew, he felt Hizumi's lips on his wrist, Hizumi's tongue grazing his palm, his other hand sliding up, and squeezing the side of his ass...

Ayumu's mind blanked out.

When it returned, he pieced together that he'd whipped around, seized Hizumi by the hair, and mashed his lips to the other's. (That had to be his inner Kiyotaka right there. Inner Ayumu had just wanted to run away and masturbate himself senseless into a puddle of vague shame someplace.)

The noise his hand had made on the plastic covering the other's skin had raised the hairs on the back of his neck. Now his only thought was that Hizumi was pressing peel, and bits of apple into his mouth with his tongue, and was grinding his bare thigh between his legs. Ayumu's thoughts blanked out again as he twisted away, gasping for breath. The apple fell from his fingers. He heard it hit the counter, but couldn't think any further because Hizumi was tearing open his shirt, and covering him with kisses, and his fingers were scrabbling with the plastic wrap, pulling, feeling it give, but not break, whole handfuls of the stuff warping and twisting...

Hizumi made a noise in his ear, and Ayumu registered a sudden, white-hot pain and the world falling back. He'd hit his head on the wood of the counter as Hizumi had shoved him to the floor. The wound throbbed hotly. He could almost ignore it, though, struggling with the plastic wrap. "Impatient." Hizumi hissed into his ear, fumbling with his pants. He gave a groan suddenly, a hiss, and promptly began to laugh. "Ow. Hey. That hurts. You're supposed to unwrap it-Ayumu-" Ayumu grunted, as the plastic finally broke, and Hizumi sighed. "I was hoping to get a 'you look nice' or a 'this is my favorite meal'..." the other added ingidnantly.

"Shut up. They warned me not to be taken in by you, you know." Ayumu hissed, groaning as Hizumi gave him friction with a hip.

"Well you can take me in all you like." Hizumi said almost reasonably, giggling against him. He jumped at Ayumu's fingers. "Ouch! Don't you have some kind of dressing to go with this dish, master cook-sama?"

"Preperation time is important in the-ngh, stoppit Hizumi-cooking process." Ayumu grimaced. "You never seem to get it, though."

Hizumi snorted against his neck, moving a hand down Ayumu's bare leg. "You can't blame me for wanting things that are quick and easy."

"I'm not quick and easy." Ayumu huffed.

"You are so." Hizumi giggled, his breath apple-scented as he groped blindly, and Ayumu moaned, arching. "Quick, hot, and easy." Hizumi added, with another laugh.

"...Well...Don't blame me if you-guh!-get fat." Ayumu muttered finally, unable to think of a coherent comeback, twisting his head to the side and gritting his teeth. Hizumi's hands were maddening. The other grinned, brushing his hair aside so he could nibble Ayumu's ear. "Shut up and let me eat you." Hizumi giggled, "I don't care how bad for me it is."

As he spoke, his partially eaten apple rolled off the counter, and landed on the floor. Ayumu didn't say anything else after that, but he found himself staring at it from time to time even as they shuddered against the floor. He stared at the empty table and chairs, at the iris in the vase, at the scraps of twisted plastic strewn about. It saved him from staring at Hizumi, or seeing his expression if Hizumi was in fact staring at him--he was frightened of discovering he was.

Ayumu began to laugh when Hizumi got too carried away, bumped the counter, and another apple--this one whole--fell right on his head. His expression was priceless. "Eureka." he muttered, touching the tender lump in the other's hair in apology when Hizumi winced. Hizumi replied by making another face and slapping Ayumu's ass. "Ouch." Ayumu said dutifully. The mark smarted, stung, then finally just felt slightly numb. Hizumi rubbed it in apology later, kissing the side of his knee.

They lay there a moment when it was all over, before Ayumu struggled back into his clothes, dusting himself off. He never felt comfortable staying naked. He couldn't even sleep beside Hizumi if he was naked. Hizumi had once tried to turn on the light to watch him dress. Ayumu had covered himself, then crept into the closet in embarassment while Hizumi 'booed' from the covers. This time, he didn't bother. How could he? He'd been seen already. The damage was probably done.

Hizumi watched him almost dreamily, Ayumu's shirt thrown across his lap to hide himself. He didn't seem to notice, or mind, a bare knee resting against the knob of the counter. He made no comment at all about Ayumu's body--about his skinniness or unatheleticism... Ayumu still didn't dare retrieve his shirt, though. Hizumi seemed to be smiling, expecting him to, but he didn't. He knew he wouldn't be able to look him in the eye if he did.

That is...he really wouldn't be looking at his eyes, anyway.

Ayumu returned to the apples, and found himself a peeler, putting on his apron over bare, clammy skin, and his wrinkled pants.

"You don't have to peel them." Hizumi said finally, a little hoarsely. "I keep telling you that."

"They cover the outsides with poisons, and waxes to make them look appealing to people. You don't want to eat all that stuff." Ayumu said calmly.

Hizumi just smiled. "Why should it matter?"

"Maybe it doesn't, but it tastes better this way." Ayumu said simply, letting him win, still praying he didn't say a word about him.

Hizumi just watched him a moment as he worked, resting his shoulders in the corner made between cabinets. "...Would you like me to be honest with you?"

"Are you ever really honest with me?" Ayumu replied reasonably, cringing internally. Here it came...

Hizumi snorted. "...I didn't really care whether you brought back the apples or not." He said simply.

He didn't say anything else, and Ayumu finally glanced at Him. The other just grinned, his hair still a mess, his body thin, and narrow, with stringy, wiry muscles, and the faint sheen of sweat still on his skin. He had a fleck of white in his hair. Ayumu thought about pointing it out, then thought against it. The devil hadn't made a single comment about him, just smiled, and smiled, and told him right to his face that he'd intended to seduce him from the start.

Ayumu swallowed hard.

"You knew I'd go, though." He said, looking back at his work.

The other hesitated. "...I guess so." He said finally. He could hear him move, probably shrugging, and laughing like it was no big deal. He knew Ayumu would be compassionate to him. He'd expected to be treated well, and had reacted accordingly. And he'd just looked at him and smiled, like he'd told him he loved him.

Ayumu didn't even turn his head, still calmly peeling. "...At least put on some pants before you eat. They'll be ready by the time you're done." Hizumi laughed, unseen behind him. When Ayumu turned, Hizumi's eyes flicked away from his back, and back up to his face. He didn't seem at all apologetic. Ayumu wondered in amazement, what he could possibly find to stare at on him. "I'll take care of the mess, first-"

"Worry about the mess when you're wearing pants again." Ayumu said, sounding like he was back to his old blunt self again. He nearly peeled his own thumb. He put his eyes back on his work.

Hizumi just snickered, and stood.

"Don't you dare sit on my counter like that, either." Ayumu warned without looking up.

"Why? You want to put a plate under me?" Hizumi teased. "Or is it just the fact that you eat off that counter sometimes?"

Ayumu set down the apple, and began wringing the dishcloth matter-of-factly. "...Do you know what a rat-tail is?"

"Aah, fine I'll go put on some pants." Hizumi said, cringing and slipping off the counter. "But I thought you did a pretty good job licking your plate clean."

"Hizumi..." Ayumu began. The back of his neck was turning red, despite his fierce tone.

Hizumi just laughed, tossing the soiled shirt at the back of Ayumu's head. "Wait 'til I tell Eyes-kun that you love the taste of my leftovers-!"

"Don't you dare tell him anything!" Ayumu shouted, rearing on him, and then turning away, grimacing. Naked. Said his brain hopefully. Shut up. He said back. I'm not speaking to you. You give me all these solutions, and then you let me down when faced with a naked guy. He balled up the shirt and took out a few strangling motions on the defenseless fabric.

"I'll eat, but only if you eat, too." Hizumi called from the other room. Ayumu peered to the side surreptitiously, and peered through the half-open door at the end of the hall, watching half of the other's back shift as he pulled on a shirt. "Fine." Ayumu called back, throwing his dishrag over the spot on the floor.

The next thing he knew, a shirt landed on his head. He pulled it off, and stared blankly. "I'm returning the favor." Hizumi explained with a grin.

"What favor?" Ayumu muttered. The Hell if he was going to wear Hizumi's clothes...

"The loan of a shirt." Hizumi said easily.

Ayumu stared at him.

Hizumi yawned, plucking up a plate of apple slices. "Next time, you make the leftovers."

Ayumu went white, then red, then just lowered his head, and twisted Hizumi's shirt in his hands.

"...I am never letting you near my kitchen ever again." He muttered.

"What? So we're eating out every day from now on?"

"Screw you." Ayumu sighed.

"Ah. You just did." Hizumi said with a smile.

Ayumu scowled murderously at him, trying to hide his embarassment. Again, he couldn't think of a single comeback.

Hizumi shrugged, again, cheerfully innocent. "If you don't like my leftovers, you can always eat something else."

"That's easy for you to say..." Ayumu muttered.

Hizumi stopped, with an apple-slice halfway to his mouth, and gave him a look of delight as total as if he'd said he loved him. Ayumu's mind began to curse even as Hizumi stood and came towards him. "We can have leftovers every night if you want." He said happily.

"God no. We'd run out of plastic wrap really quickly." Ayumu grumbled as Hizumi chuckled into his hair, nuzzling him.

"You're taking all the joy out of cooking." Hizumi retorted slyly.

"I have plenty of contentment in my cooking as it is."

"But you're always short on meat."

"Maybe, but I'm pretty sure I don't need your help there."

Hizumi laughed until he started to choke, then stepped back and promptly slipped on the dishrag.

Even Ayumu had to admit it was an interesting irony, but he also had to do this from the floor, since Hizumi seemed to have decided to take him with him.

Hizumi rubbed his skull and sighed. "Aah, done in by leftovers of my leftovers." He muttered, picking up the sodden rag between thumb and forefinger like a housewife with a dead mouse.

"Fate just doesn't seem to like you."

"Yeah, but you seem to like me just fine, so that's okay." Hizumi said, squeezing his hand. "And I bet even fate has repeats."

-o-O-o-O-o-

Spiral Scarp "Death From Above"

Tue, 06 Oct 2009 01:18:17 GMT

Fragment: "Death From Above"
Fandom: Spiral (general)
Genre: Angsty Fluffies! (Ie: senseless mind!candy)
Rating: T
Why: Due to explorations of one's tonsils with another's tongue.
What's going on: Not much. It's pretty self-explanatory.
Other notes: So recently I started RPing Hizumi over at KKMRPgame... And Mocchan's been doing amazing things to my brain as Ayumu. (But she's not feeling so well. T_T GET BETTER, MOCCHAN!) I've had to really start in on AyumuXHizumi fiction, and that's only something I've skimmed the surface on before, so... after the dust settled, I had to run off and go home and get the plotroaches out of my head somehow, and this was the result.

It's fairly mindless. But Ayumu alaways manages to be emo under my pen. *sigh* Mocchan probably does a better job with him...

-o-O-o-
Ayumu's limbs seemed encased in honey, forcing him into watching helplessly, too slow and too thick to do anything.

That same dream again. I don't want to see it. I don't want to see...

He tried to will himself awake in the little logical part of his brain, but his mind had long since locked off that escape route.

Kiyotaka's back was fading, and somewhere in the background, Ayumu could hear his sister-in-law sobbing. If he lost him, it would be over forever. If he lost him, he'd never find him again. It would prove to everyone just how useless he was. Everything depended on this, but no matter how hard he ran, no matter how hard he struggled, Kiyotaka seemed further and further away, and the sobbing seemed to grow louder, promising him it was already all over...

And as though from a long way off, just as despair was throbbing in Ayumu's heart, and his brother seemed like a speck, and he was really about to lose all hope, and be stripped of any shred of possibility to do something about it, there came a shriek-

"DEATH FROM ABOVE!"

A sudden force knocked into him, squeezing the air from his lungs, and blasting his shut eyelids with an explosion of daylight...

"Buh-!" Ayumu said with his great rushed exhale, bewildered, realizing he was being shaken, and someone was laughing--a weight on his ribs, making it hard to breathe.

Then the headache hit him right behind the eyes, and his mouth recognized that it felt like it had licked a velvet streetcurb, and the weight on his stomach did nothing to decrease the abrupt roil of nausea.

Oh crap... Ayumu thought to himself inarticulately, still dazed, disoriented, and groaning, trying to stop the arms shaking him. "I'm gonna be sick..." He said, and it came out like a whine. He meant it though, he felt terrible, and the motion was jarring, and his eyes still felt sleep-caked, the back of his neck slick with sweat. Still, some part of him was grateful to have been shaken from the dream. Even vomiting was an improvement if it was the worst-case scenario.

"It's your fault for drinking." The voice said. And he realized at the fake accent that it was Hizumi. Hizumi was shaking him. Hizumi was...sitting on him, actually. Ayumu's eyes drifted blankly to the other's knees. "You're...kind of heavy..." he mumbled.

Hizumi dropped to his elbows, assailing him with the laughed reek of toothpaste. He hugged him, then and there. Poor, bewildered Ayumu could only stare and faintly hug him back, wincing at his headache. His brain couldn't formulate yet that he would have normally shoved him off. It was still blinking and wondering where all the daylight was coming from.

"What the Hell, Hizumi?" Ayumu muttered. "And what's 'death from above'?"

"This is Japan." Hizumi said cheerfully from somewhere near his shoulder. (A sudden memory of Hizumi's last practical joke--Oh God if he got near his ears again, he would punch him in the face. And it won't be mild abuse like I give him when he says something foolish in front of others at school--I'll give him a black eye this time for real, I swear....) "I should declare all my attacks. It's just polite." the other boy trilled.

"It's not polite." Ayumu grumbled, wondering how Hizumi thought tackling someone could ever still be considered polite. He probably didn't

"Well it's less impolite than running off and drinking, then coming home like you did." Hizumi said almost reasonably, still crushing the breath out of him.

Ayumu frowned over the other's warm, vaguely stuffy shoulder. He was straddling him. Fortunately it was too high up. Unfortunately, that left him without much breathing room. Some part of his brain not wholly focused on Hizumi's weight and warmth snatched a statement.

Wait. Drinking? Oh damn...

Yes. Drinking. The night seemed a blur. Ginger tea, streetlights, another man's mouth on his-

Ayumu stopped, and stared into space, bewildered.

Hizumi's mouth.

He'd kissed Hizumi.

He pushed the other aside--never mind the scream the motions sent through his unhappy stomach and throbbing skull--and wriggled a hand around, pulling away his blankets.

He stared. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Hizumi sprawled out and grinning as though he didn't have a care in the world.

No...the sheets were clean. It wasn't as bad as he'd feared...but he'd kissed Hizumi?

For some odd reason the thought brought the taste of ginger to his mind, the taste of tea, the feel of Hizumi's fingers in his hair...

He suddenly felt sick again. No, no, no, no, NO. I didn't kiss him. I didn't-

Hizumi tossed something at him. It hit him in the shoulder. Somehow his dulled reflexes managed to fumble and drop it. "Aah, hopeless. Here. It's a hangover cure." Hizumi said, pushing the little bottle into Ayumu's hands. Cold warmth went down his whole arm at the touch of his fingers.

Oh God, what did I do? Ayumu thought to himself, aghast. Hizumi grinned obliviously, his yellow eyes strange and calculating--not to be underestimated. He might act like an idiot, but he was terrifying, really. Frighteningly brilliant. Could he already know the confusion blooming in Ayumu? "This should make you feel better in no time. Then you can eat the pancakes I made you."

Pancakes? The half-asleep portions of Ayumu's brain struggled. He realized there was a sweet smell in his room--the smell of fried batter... He realized suddenly that his lips hurt. They weren't just peeling. He forced himself not to touch them. Again, his mind brought back an unbidden feeling...fingers in Hizumi's hair, pulling him forward until his mouth ached, and the ghostly rememberance of his own yearning, the lust in the pit of his stomach as Hizumi's tongue snaked into his mouth-

He almost shook his head, sick again.

Why would I do that...? That's absurd. Why would he ever even let me-?

"I don't think I'll be eating anything." He muttered, feeling dizzy and sick.

"Well at least try the hangover cure first, then tell me." Hizumi said, making a face.

"Hey...you hear me?" Hizumi murmured, putting a hand to Ayumu's forehead, flipping at his bangs.

Ayumu flinched despite himself. "Yeah." He rasped.

"Well good. Drink your disgusting tasting indigestion medicine, and then come and enjoy my amazing western-style breakfast." Hizumi said, making a joking face. He pushed a pillow at Ayumu's head. This was too much for him. Ayumu gave a groan and flopped back down. "I think I'll just drink the medicine and pass out again."

"After I made you breakfast?" Hizumi exclaimed, sounding indignant. "After all the time I spent slaving over a hot stove to make you my amazing blueberry pancakes? What a slave driver!" He couldn't help but finish it off with a laugh at himself. He never seemed to stay serious for very long. People like him usually hide something dark...

"I didn't ask you to make me breakfast. It's the weekend. I get to sleep." Ayumu grumbled into his pillow. His head felt like someone was trying to hammer away at it from the inside.

Hizumi gave a snort, "You always want to sleep." He said. Suddenly, there were fingers in Ayumu's sides, tickling him mercilessly. The laughter burst from his lips before he could stop, tossing from side to side to try to escape. "OhGodstoppit!" Ayumu howled, his stomach lurching. "I'm really gonna be sick!"

"It would serve you right!" Hizumi laughed back. Ayumu's fingers caught him and tickled him back. Hizumi kicked at him, and they scuffled around, laughing like little boys.

Yeah. I'd never kiss this guy. I'd never break down like that. Ayumu thought to himself as they battered at eachother with the pillows, and Hizumi's laughter sent a piercing pain right through the sides of his head. He slumped over, and groaned, clutching his head. The next pillow blow landed. It made stars explode behind his eyes. He fell onto his side, and balled up, clutching his skull.

He's immature, and childish, and not at all my type...

"Ah. I forgot. Take your medicine." Hizumi said, ceasing the onslaught. He leaned over Ayumu. "You okay?"

"...I'm vomiting right in your face when I get the chance." Ayumu managed once the pain had lessened.

Hizumi grinned to himself. "It's nice of you to warn me. But I'm still making you eat with me and praise my amazing high-calorie cooking. You're getting too thin--I can feel your ribs."

"I can feel your ribs, too." Ayumu grumbled. He didn't say anything about the dip in his side, or how strange it had felt. For a while, he'd actually forgotten.

And...he hadn't expected the mark to be that deep. He'd half-expected Hizumi to keel over in pain when he'd touched it. Instead he'd shrieked with laughter. Like the spot was tickilish... And he'd wondered...

Ayumu fumbled with the hangover medicine to keep himself from wondering any further on it.

"Yeah, you can feel my ribs, but I just don't get fat. I've always been a stick, and I probably always will be." Hizumi said dismissively. "I don't think you're the same."

"You just have a high metabolism. You won't stay a stick forever the rate you're going." Ayumu grumbled, tipping back the bottle. He grimaced. "Damn, that's revolting..." He muttered under his breath. The medicine was bitter, and slimy as it trickled down his throat.

Hizumi shrugged. "Yeah, but at least you'll feel better."

"I wish I didn't if it would save me from your pancakes." Ayumu muttered.

"You're so cruel to me!" Hizumi howled, throwing himself back as though he'd die of a broken heart. Ayumu smiled a little. Yeah...there's no way I'd pull anything on him. No way he'd be like that, or he'd even suspect since my brother wouldn't...

My brother would never ever like someone like this. So I can't like someone like him either, right?

...Right?

He realized Hizumi was smiling back at him, brilliantly. It was like being fixed on by a ray of the sun. Hizumi actually made him feel like he could do things when he looked at him like that. He probably did that to everyone, though. Not for the first time, Ayumu could only wonder, even envy a little, in a sad, wistful kind of way. Hizumi could do everything and anything. Hizumi made you feel like you could do anything with him around. What did he, Ayumu Narumi, have against that? Except maybe logic, except maybe the hope of finding a loophole, and avoiding the ending he'd been told--maybe preserving that brilliance a little longer instead of killing off a boy he actually...

No, I can't start thinking like that.

"...Well...do I need to bring you breakfast here? Or are you going to come to the table?"

The nausea was actually diminishing, Ayumu was surprised to find. That was quick. His head still dimly throbbed, but that too was passing..

"I'll come to the table, but in the future, you should probably leave the cooking to me."

"No way. Besides, what else am I supposed to do with you sleeping? I get too bored too fast. I'm not bad at chores anyway." His hands settled over Ayumu's wrists, pulling him up. Ayumu stared absently at his fingers. He remembered the feel of them in his hair. Was it a hallucination? A dream? It seemed like it at least, and that was probably better than the alternative.

"I guess you're not bad at chores, but I'd still feel better if I didn't have to eat all the junk you keep making me. I already feel like it's slowing down my brain." Ayumu muttered, letting himself be tugged up.

"That's just the hangover." Hizumi said reasonably, pulling him out of the room before he could even get on his slippers. "Come on, the pancakes are getting cold."

"I know the way to my own kitchen." Ayumu muttered. But Hizumi just laughed at him, and yanked his arm.

Ayumu stared at the plate on the table.

He opened his mouth to ask, then shut it deciding against it.

How did he make heart-shaped pancakes? He wanted to know on some level, just out of cooking interest. On another, there was a tiny thread of fear in his brain, telling him, It might not have been a dream last night. If it isn't, you might be screwed.

Shut up. He told his mind. And instead he asked, "Where did you get the blueberries. I don't remember any in the refrigerator."

"I hit the store this morning before you woke up."

"You mean before you woke me up." Ayumu amended with a frown. "I can't afford expensive imported things like that."

"But they were frozen!" Hizumi protested. He must love blueberries... Some part of Ayumu's brain registered dimly, thoughtfully. He always picked that flavor. Would it reveal too much if he were to buy Hizumi blueberries? Only once?

...Who was he kidding? It was too risky. He couldn't do it. Hizumi was more than bright enough to possibly pick that up, and act on it. And if he found out and knew, he'd use that to make it that much harder to kill him. He couldn't expect him not to use the knowledge if he acquired it--the knowledge that Ayumu...

"Whether they're frozen or not is no excuse. They're still imported and really expensive. Don't waste money like that." Ayumu said, settling down into his chair. "...Though it does look good." He admitted finally, thinking he might have been harsh with him, and that comment might be innocent enough. He made me food, and bought me that cure...and he woke me up the way he did...

Hizumi brightened and plopped down at the table next to him, drawing in his chair.

"Thanks for the meal." Ayumu muttered under his breath. Hizumi hadn't bothered. He paused guiltily with a syrup-drenched piece of pancake in his teeth, and muttered the same, somewhat indistinctively and sheepishly then and there.

Ayumu pored over what he should say with his first bite, how he could ask...

Hizumi watched him expectantly, glowing to himself. "Well?"

"...It's not bad." He said with a shrug. His mind wasn't on the pancakes, though he noticed that Hizumi looked triumphant. "More importantly...I need to ask you something." Ayumu murmured. Could he just ask it openly like that? His brother probably would have found out subtly... Aah, but he did need to know.

"Last night...what did I do?" His voice was very quiet, and he laid down his fork.

Hizumi's smile lowered. "You don't remember?"

"I'm not sure if I do or don't." Ayumu muttered, staring fixedly at the fork in his hand. "Or if I was dreaming."

There was a long moment of silence.

Slowly, deliberately, Hizumi's chair made a screech across the floor, and his fingers folded over Ayumu's.

The warmth sent tingles all up his arm. He stared at the other's hand. God. I did do it. Ayumu was quiet for a long moment. "...It's a good move to win me over, I guess. Good job." It sounded a little hollow. As long as he could believe that, it wouldn't be so bad. It wouldn't be so embarassing or mortifying to have given Hizumi his weakness like that... Damn, I screwed up...just because he made me nervous, and I thought I could get away with it...

"I'm not doing it just because I want to win you over." Hizumi said, making a face. "Making friends with you is kind of different than this, after all."

"Not so much." Ayumu muttered, staring fixedly at his plate, and its partially eaten heart-shaped pancakes. How could I do this? How could I mess up all my calculations by something like this? "I don't think you'd really try to make friends with me otherwise. I'm a boring, depressing person-"

Hizumi's hand tightened on his so abruptly it actually hurt. There was no smile on his face any longer.

"There's nobody else like you."

"My brother-" Ayumu began.

"Your brother isn't much like you at all. Believe me, I'd know." Hizumi said with a derisive snort, though his mouth was still unusually grim. "Anyway, he's an egotist. You don't want to be like him." He touched Ayumu's hair. Ayumu forced himself not to flinch as Hizumi's fingertips passed down the side of his throat. Truly, Ayumu wasn't sure if it was unnerving or pleasant. His brain was just aware that it was Hizumi.

"Anyway, I like this better. You're a good guy. And you're not just hanging around me because I want you there. If that were true, you would have become dependent on me for your social things at school."

"You were testing me. I thought so." Ayumu said grimly.

"You're really strong, and bright enough to avoid my goals without even trying. Anyway, I like you." Hizumi said, ignoring Ayumu's glum words. He paused, shrugging. "Even though in hindsight, I probably shouldn't have waited for you to make the first move. If you hadn't gotten drunk, you probably never would have done it, anyway. It was dumb of me not to think of that. I occasionally mess up like that and assume you're too much like me."

Ayumu stared at his plate, and tried not to think about Hizumi's voice, or his fingertips, or the fact that his hand was starting to sweat and it made him feel awkward. Hizumi's hand probably didn't sweat at all. His brother's would probably have remained perfectly dry, too. Only he would be nervous about this. "It was dumb of me to make the first move." Ayumu muttered, taking a swallow of tea. "Though I do remember running for my life and thinking about moving in with Rutherford."

Hizumi gave a peal of laughter. "I wouldn't let you do that! I'd be too jealous!"

Ayumu turned his head, and was surprised for a moment by how close Hizumi had moved himself. He's playing this perfectly if it's an act, he thought dimly, drinking more tea to keep his thoughts turned away from Hizumi's closeness. But it had to be an act, because Hizumi probably could have had anyone he wanted, and with that there was probably no way he'd choose-

Hizumi grinned at him, and took ahold of him by the chin. "Listen, I'm not letting you run away. You're stuck with me until I die." And with that, he wrapped a hand around one of Ayumu's long tufts of hair--sideburns--and pulled down gently. With that, his lips were on his.

Poor Ayumu had to control his urge to spew tea everywhere. Little fireworks were going off in one part of his brain, eliminating all but the most incoherent, happy thoughts. The other part of his brain was telling him he really ought to swallow before something dreadful happened, or Hizumi tried anything more forward.

He swallowed the wrong way, and had to break off to cough in the opposite direction.

Oh yes. Very romantic. His brain thought at him with surprising barb. Shut up. He told it bitterly, his eyes watering, his throat feeling seared. He felt sudden weight on him, and stiffened, as Hizumi wrapped his arms around his neck- ohGodhe'sstraddlingmeagain. "Death from above." The other said cheerfully in his normal voice.

"What are you...doing?" Ayumu managed strainedly when coherent thought returned after a moment, trying not to stare. He coughed a little more to hide his embarassment.

"Having you for breakfast." Hizumi said with a grin, and with that, he bent towards Ayumu's ear, and all of his thought processes died for a moment, focusing minutely on Hizumi's tongue, and teeth, and his breathing on his neck, and the weight and warmth in his lap, against him... When Ayumu's thoughts returned, he realized his arms were around Hizumi. Barely, maybe, but he was holding a boy, letting a boy do this to him. He swallowed hard, and gave him a gentle push back. "Knock it off..." He whispered.

My brother wouldn't be caught like this...

"What's wrong? You don't like it?" Hizumi asked, blinking. Ayumu realized abruptly that Hizumi had never been rejected for anything. It was the only way to explain the innocence of his expression--the confusion in his eyes, totally without hurt... He'd never lost once.

Except maybe to fate.

Ayumu tried not to stare at his yellow eyes. He hadn't realized how large they could get, or that his eyelashes were the color of lichen...

...Could he really reject Hizumi?

Which way did fate have him go? Did he end things, or...?

He was still trying to formulate his words, still struggling to find a different option when Hizumi's eyes softened, and he leaned forward and kissed him again. Ayumu's brain could suddenly only focus on his mouth, on the feel of his nose pressed against his face, and his warmth. There was so much of that warmth...

I can still kill him even after this. If it's the only way, I might be forced to kill him. darted through his head somewhere amidst the minute movements of Hizumi's lips. Even that thought couldn't seem to stop him the way he'd hoped it would. He shifted, there were Hizumi's hair in his fingers, Hizumi's fingers tracing his ribs through his shirt, passing down his right side with perfect gentleness... He found himself leaning up into him, pushing his hand against his neck, noting how much smaller it was in his hands, how real it felt--bone beneath the hollow of his hand.

He heard a faint, laughing noise. Surprise. Delight, maybe. Part of Ayumu's brain was stunned even as realized he was struggling to find Hizumi's tongue.

Hizumi actually liked...him? He really did?

Ugh. He tastes like meat under it all... Ayumu thought dimly as Hizumi pressed his mouth a little more against his, turning his head, coaxing his jaw open. Meat. No doubt. A hint of it, under the cloying sweetness of the blueberry pancakes, and toothpaste--a touch of the copper almost-scent of blood...

He seemed intent on finding Ayumu's tonsils. It felt odd to have his tongue touching his teeth, running over them so Ayumu didn't dare close his jaw. His back ached where Hizumi was pressing it against the wood. He'd never done this with a girl before, he recognized dimly, in the little part of his brain that could still process calmly and logically. A jolt went down his spine. Hizumi's hand had dropped down his ribs, and now reached up under the back of his shirt, resting there against the bare skin of his lower back.

Ayumu tried to pull away enough to ask 'What the Hell are you doing?' but it was fruitless. When Hizumi pressed his hand against his lower back, and rested his full weight against Ayumu's hips, all his coherent throughts faded away again for a moment. He's never been rejected. Ayumu thought again, dully. He also noticed in some self-observing side that he didn't have any desire at all to be the first to do so. He stared at the ceiling, and tried not to make a noise when Hizumi's teeth grazed the side of his mouth.

Hizumi pulled away a little, letting Ayumu catch his breath, but even so, he wasn't breathing. His breath was still caught in his chest. The other's eyes were hot and golden on him. Sulfur yellow. Burning yellow. There was a hint of a smile on his face, a touch of triumph. Ayumu suddenly, almost irrationally wanted to wipe the grin off his face entirely, and amazed himself by seizing the other's hair and mashing their lips back together. Hizumi made a muffled noise of pain that dissolved into a groan. His fingers were maddening on Ayumu's skin.

He was filled with heat, burning with it. Hizumi's body seemed stiflingly warm against his. It seemed irresistably logical to get out of his clothing, Irresistably logical to let Hizumi run his cool fingers over him, wondering what the mark in Hizumi's side would look like as he touched it with his fingers, and Hizumi gave a stifled little laugh into his mouth, like it tickled...

The knock on the door sounded as loud and abrupt as a gunshot. Ayumu jerked away. Hizumi lifted his head and sighed, staring towards the door like it was a mild irritant. Ayumu had never given his profile such scrutiny in all his life. "Aah. What horrible timing." Hizumi muttered. "We should pretend not to be home."

Ayumu however, was already pushing him off so he could get the door. The heat had vanished from his body, leaving a burning shame in his face. What was he doing? Was he expecting he could still save anyone, could still go back to the way things were if he let Hizumi run him that way? He pushed Hizumi gently by the elbows, and disentangled his legs.

Hizumi made a face like he'd been deprived of desert, perching himself on the table next to Ayumu's half-eaten pancakes. "I guess I'll have to continue with my amazing attempts at seducing you later." Hizumi said idly.

"Don't try it. It might work." Ayumu muttered. It will work. Definitely. He thought to himself gloomily. His crotch felt uncomfortable, and that made his face burn all the more. Damn. I like him. I really do. It's not just some stupid crush, or curiosity. I really like him. As bad as Madoka. As bad as anything... Of course everyone probably likes him...

Hizumi shot him a grin, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smoothing down his hair and his clothing. "It might?"

Ayumu leaned against a wall, trying to compose himself. "Yeah..." He whispered. "It might."

The other grinned in the kitchen, and took a bite of Ayumu's breakfast. No sense in letting it go to waste. He was still starving, but he was hungrier for something else. Even if Ayumu had made the pancakes, they wouldn't have tasted as good as the other's skin, as the other's mouth--even with the residual bitterness of hangover cure. He hadn't realized how hungry he'd been.

Hizumi grinned to himself. Did this constitute forbidden fruit?
-o-O-o-

The Bridge of Sighs (AU Spiral fic--6) Azalee's challenge

Wed, 02 Sep 2009 21:25:54 GMT

Fragment: "the Bridge of Sighs" (6)
Fandom: Spiral (AU)
Genre: Spiral!Mystery-Drama and such
Rating: T
Why: For drama!tension
What's going on: AU Spiral setting--"What would happen if Kanone didn't leave the blade children? What if Eyes did?"--The teams line up on either side
Other notes: What I said last chapter still applies--that is, if Kousuke ends up kinda like Eyes' bodyguard, this will kill two stones with one bird. (What?)
Last chapter was odd. I've never written RyokuXKousuke awkwardness before. I kind of liked it...*evil grin* Probably because Ryoku's such a surface tough-girl and Kousuke takes abuse well while acting like he doesn't. It's an interesting chemistry mix.

I've started writing scenes ahead for this, and I kind of think I know where I want it to go. Now the trick is to just get it there. (And I'm trying to put together a puzzle of sorts for this.) Laugh all you want, but that does seem to take a trick for me. *sweatdrop* I'm not the type of person who thinks in terms of destinations. I tend to take scenic routes and meander pretty aimlessly, in real life as well as writing. "The Journey is its own Reward" and all that tripe, taken beyond all logic or good taste in other words.

Eyes Rutherford's brain is kind of creepy. It's all clock-worky and organized... (Kind of different from and at once similar to Kanone's... Kanone's all disorder and hanging by the skin of one's teeth to a sheer drop off a cliff while justifying himself as free. Eyes is more like, "I'll keep myself going. I'll really keep myself going. If I don't, I'll probably have a breakdown and be no better off than Kanone. People need me. I can't do that. It's better if I just keep going..." It's him walking off after he watches a kitty get hit by a car when Kanone would run out into the middle of the street and probably single-handedly try to stop the car or at least, dart through and rescue the cat using killer, inhuman reflexes, and then shout like an infant if he doesn't make it in time, and bury said stray with honors.) Eyes creeps me out personally, but he's sitll a magnificent specimin. He and Near need to have a silver-haired logician alliance across fandoms...

In other news. Aaah! I'm having Hiyono block! I actually like Hiyono, too! This is like when I was in Juvenile Orion and Kaname always gave me trouble in writing for some odd reason. I just couldn't seem to get his voice to sound right, and so I left him out of most of my stuff, even though I didn't have anything against him. Or...like when I was trying to write ZigfriedXMalik from Yu-Gi-Oh for Nyami-chan and I couldn't get Ziggy to sound natural either and had to give it up and come in with my head hanging to the ground... *bites off all her fingernails* ~Aaaaaagh! It's terrible. I've had to cut her role in the story so far because of that! Which...I can get away with and all, because it's an AU, but...Hauuuh. (Thought:...Maybe I can't seem to make her sound right just because I can't make her as screwed up as the others... o_o)
Come on, Hiyono! I believe in you!

Also, Ayumu shows up this chapter. The more I write Ayumu, the more I like him, I think.

Oh, and a note from last chapter--it always drives me nuts in fanfiction where it turns out EVERYONE'S gay. Or EVERYONE'S straight. Having One Main Character off, being isolated because he's one or the other is far mroe interesting and far more believable on population demographics.
That, and I like triangles.
I'm not trying to be mean, but gays still have a hard time in this universe, and things aren't much better in my AU. That and Eyes is so cotton-picking private to begin with, that things get pretty loopy.
Poor Eyes. Things are complicated for him. (And poor Rio, too.)

One last thing. this is the last of the fully-compelted chapters formt eh sumemr dump. Currently, I ahve two more chpaters out of order, and half of chapter seven in addition, but I'm taking it on as a full-status "epic" fic to work on.

This cut-text is also brought to you by sylvia plath.

T

-o-O-o- The Bridge of Sighs: VI -o-O-o-
"When like a running grave, time tracks you down,
Your calm and cuddled is a scythe of hairs,
Love in her gear is slowly through the house,
Up naked stairs, a turtle in a hearse...

Deliver me, my masters, head and heart,
Heart of Cadaver's candle waxes thin,
When blood, spade-handles, and the logic time
Drive children up like bruises to the thumb..."

--From Dylan Thomas' "When Like a Running Grave"
-o-O-o-O-o-

The wheel of the car made a barely perceptible high squeal just on the edge of hearing--an oscillating note of D--as it ghosted him through the city. It was dimly nagging, as most things were. But only dimly--as most things were. He had priorities, and there was much to do and arrange, and if he let everything bother him, he never would have gotten anywhere and he would never get anywhere in the future either.

A thin watery crack stood out like a missing rib on the pale upholstry of the seat. He wore a finger over it idly as the car skimmed along, and thought notes around the squeaking wheel noise, structuring counterpoint and translating it into piano keys in his mind. Adequate maybe for an annoying jingle, not much else, though. Usually he thought better when he was agitated beneath it all. Usually it was easier to distract himself and construct on the fringes. He did well under pressure. He seemed to be doing better at everything lately.

He conjured absently his minds-eye picture of Kanone's face, and contorted it into a variety of moods, pondering which would suit him if he met up with him, and watched his own dispassion with half an inner eye at the same time, pronouncing it good in his mind. He doublechecked plans and possibilities in his mind, racking each up after the other like a man with flash cards. He wasn't even nervous, actually. His watching mind noted this, and was satisfied.

He flexed his pale fingers against the beige leather of the seat and ran over notes in his head. He could hear the ruckus of flashbulbs pointing themselves at his limousine, and the jitter of reporters as the oscillating wheel trailed off and stopped entirely. He folded his hands, and waited patiently for the door to open after plucking his coat from the seat.

Fix your eyes on the target until you don't need them anymore. He heard Kanone's younger voice perfectly in his head, felt imaginary fingers lining up his hands. The white of the bulbs was the white of his brother's smile, the glint of his knife. He saw past it, staring past it all, his coat thrown carelessly over one shoulder, and a stack of flashbulbs catching fire behind him, blazing like pulsars.

He felt the microphone before him, and he shut his eyes, seeing the target clearly in his mind's eye, and putting away the many pictures of Kanone, seeing past them all, and past the gathered minds-eye crowds with the faces of Rio and Kousuke and Ryoku. Comrades, brothers, sisters. He was leaving them all behind.

I have a target. There is nothing else. All that remains is what I can keep wishing for, and can see without my eyes.

"I have a demand." He said softly. The reporters around him shushed eachother, to try to catch his words. He raised his head. There was no going back. 2:14pm. Ryoku and Kousuke would be enroute already. And Kanone would have already found his hint. He wondered if he'd act even as another part of him put together words in his head, and another still watched him for emotion with a mental scalpel, an abortionist's knife.

It's far too late for second thoughts. I know what must happen. Regardless of what I...

He hesitated a moment, most unlike him.

For the good of us all. For our salvation.

"I don't care who...someone bring me the younger brother of Kiyotaka Narumi." He finished.

And he lowered his head, and walked steadily through the sea of flashbulbs like a prophet, staring straight before him, and running over the plans in his head again and again against a backdrop of idle piano pitter, still watching himself through another part of himself, ready to kill any lingering fragments of regret.

-o-O-o-

Rio bit her lip and stared at her scuffed shoes. It wasn't like her to be nervous. Kanone had disappeared into the crowd, dressed oddly--especially for him--and walking like a kid who'd like you to believe he'd knife you as soon as look at you but would in fact still be home on time for his mother that evening. He'd been talking with a swagger and rythym, a bandanna over his chestnut hair. She, on the other hand, sat there with a ribbon in her hair, dressed like the awkward, pampered only child of a rich society wife, all sweet curls, and stockings.

She caught a flash of red hair and stiffened, surprised and at once relieved. He'd seen her. She met brown eyes and green and smiled a little. Eyes must have gotten both of them... She thought in astonishment, and relief. She smiled to herself, turning her face away as though she hadn't seen either of them. She was glad, really. Eyes was wonderful...

"...Rio?" Ryoku whispered paling. She clearly recognized her, but wasn't sure. And who would be. She looked quite different. "Lolita Bomb" had been a joke. Now she looked the part.

Too late to hide. They'd seen her, and she was glad. She smiled, turning her head to face them. Then she ran to them, stumbling over her own feet and catching herself, curls bouncing with the motion. Kousuke turned and did a double take. "Rio-What the Hell are you wearing-"

"There's no time. Where's Eyes?" Rio whispered. Ryoku already had her by the arm as though to steady her, but her hard, callused hands were surprisingly gentle. She gave the taller girl a swift, hurried smile. Ryoku didn't say anything, and that was bad as it was. She didn't say a word about her height, or her outfit, or her bust. Ryoku was taller, Rio noticed suddenly. She was taller, and she'd cut her hair a little shorter. She was thinner, more lithe and graceful than she'd ever be... She wore street clothes. Eyes had probably warned both of them that Kanone might be there. They didn't wear their uniforms. Rio already could guess the schools in the area that they might be at, though. Kanone, fortunately, was still focused on Eyes.

Ryoku nodded. "I'll get him. You look like a child prostitute. It'd better be me." Her voice was blunt, but it didn't disguise anything. Rio squeezed her hand once and let go. Ryoku gave her a single squeeze back before she did. It warmed her, even though Ryoku's hands were rough and cracked.

Kousuke's skin went ashen gray. Ryoku was already running. She bumped a guy in private school uniform. "Hey. Careful." The guy mumbled, scratching his head and frowning. His eyes seemed to focus past her. "Sorry." Ryoku called over her shoulder. She didn't spare him a glance, and he melted into the background.

Rio already had Kousuke by the hand. "Come on-"

Kousuke pulled back. "Wha-? No. Rio!"

Rio looked at him, and bit her lip until she tasted blood, blinking. "I...don't have time to fool around. Please, Kousuke..."

Kousuke hesitated, then groaned, scowling. "Where is he?"

"I don't know. He suspected even me. He didn't say where he'd be, or what he was going to do, but he did have me construct-"

The horn from an arriving car obliterated Rio's words, but Kousuke read her lips. His face went through multiple different emotions before stopping on simmering anger. "Where is the bastard?" He hissed. He yanked Rio's arm. "Come on. I'm going to give that sick bastard a piece of my mind."

"But-"

"Rutherford can handle something like that, but Kanone's mine."

Rio bit her lip. "He'd squash you like a bug. He wouldn't even have to look."

"He's not a hunter. He won't kill me. He'd just beat the living shit out of me." Kousuke said bluntly, green eyes dark with anger. "And I don't give a damn."

Rio sighed, and nodded.

-o-O-o-
Eyes raised his head, feeling the stare. His hands stopped mid-note and he turned.

There was a young man there, in school uniform. He had a few cuffs in his ears, and a sort of careless slouch, and a thatch of dark brown hair with swatches hanging in front of either ear. He was staring at him with...not hostility, but a sort of unflappable, level apathy.

"You're Rutherford?"

Eyes stood, matching that apathetic stare with his own level blue gaze. The other didn't back down, though, and he noted this, tucking it away as a scrap.

It was unexpected, his appearence, but it wouldn't matter. He knew who he was without any introduction. The watching part of his mind gave a note of satisfaction. Things were going as expected and planned.

"...Play for me." Eyes commanded finally, quietly.

"I don't think I will. Why'd you call me here?" The other said back. It wasn't hostile. It wasn't a feign of toughness. He stared at him like a man who had nothing left to lose, and didn't expect any better out of his life--not happy, not sad: just there...

The pianist folded his arms. He couldn't see Kiyotaka in that eye...he couldn't see it in that stubborn, sulking mouth, and the hollow, listless eyes. Kiyotaka would have strode in with a smile, and a winning glint in his eye--the gambler who never lost. Logic, luck, intelligence...Kiyotaka had it all. Looking over this man, there was nothing about him that screamed he was a savior or a champion. There was no confidence. There was no intelligence, nothing to set him apart. He slouched and his very posture seemed to denote dullness. There was nothing to recommend him or pull him out of a crowd. Nothing that made him stand out. Kiyotaka acted like he was exceptionally charming, and by affectation became it. But this man, with the almost-same face, seemed plain and dull.

And Eyes Rutherford was unexpectedly disgusted by that. This wasn't right. He calmed himself by thinking music. By putting together strings of notes in their own complex geometries and arrangements and rythyms...reducing his annoyance into periphery. Music. And this was Kiyotaka's brother. He had no reason to be disgusted. He shouldn't be reacting.

The abortionist's knife in his mind gave a little slice, and he was calm again, level-headed.

"...I want you to play the piano. I want to see for myself if there's any truth to the legend." He replied, trying to keep the coldness from his voice, trying to stem back the doubt. There had to be more to this. Had he really expected another Kiyotaka? A mistake. He would need patience, yes, patience. He would need to peel away the layers to see if there was something usable. He had to trust Kiyotaka...He would wait over time. Kiyotaka was absolute.

The other slipped his hands into his pockets, and scowled. "I gave up the piano."

And there. There was a spark there in his eye, a hint. Perhaps...he wasn't really so dead as all that after all? Perhaps there was a fragment of pride still left there. A spark of defiance from the downtrodden man...

Eyes made his face inscrutiable.

"Hm. A pity. You gave up the piano just as easily as you gave up on your brother, no doubt." Eyes murmured nonchalantly. And sure enough, that got a reaction. Then the other man controlled himself again, gritting his teeth and resuming level-headedness. That interested Eyes. That was...well...more like him than Kiyotaka, really.

Ayumu Narumi might be shrouding hidden talent after all...

"You have no right to say anything about me. You don't know me, and you called me here to play for you on a whim. I know nothing about you." Ayumu said calmly, his hands curled into fists at his sides. His dark eyes were watching him, Eyes realized with interest.

"And I know a great deal about you." Eyes murmured.

Ayumu Narumi's eyes narrowed. "...Then what are you getting at, and why did you call me here?"

"I'm having a moment of faith. And it's a bit of an effort." Eyes said bluntly. He tossed his words out carelessly, judging their effects. "To think that Kiyotaka's God-like hope could reside in that talentless, lowly shell is a stretch even for me. I can only wonder if it's another of his jokes. They always were peculiarly droll."

Ayumu's eyes narrowed further. "You're acting like you know my brother."

"And certainly you can imagine there's a reason for that." Eyes replied with level blitheness. He paused. "Yes...I've been communicating with your brother at least as long as he's been missing." He tapped a nail against his piano. "I'm even something of an understudy to him in his style. Truly, you are uniquely priveleged to be the younger brother of one of the greatest talents to ever live."

"You don't know anything of me, so you have no right to tell me to be grateful. You don't know him." Ayumu muttered.

"True...but do you?" Eyes murmured, studying him.

"...What do you want? Where is he?" the other man said finally.

"That I can't tell you." Eyes said with a shake of his head. "But I am here before you as part of his plan."

Ayumu's lip curled in a surprising amount of expression. "Then tell me what part of a plan makes a man leave one day with only a phone call? No...don't tell me that. Tell me one thing--what is the mystery of the blade children?"

Eyes gave him a look. "...You ought to be asking who the blade children are in the first place." He said finally. "Otherwise the mystery itself is meaningless. When all you know is that your brother abandoned you to pursue this mystery, it befits to ask for all you can, not the same question he himself purues even now." He shook his head slightly. "I'm not as clever as he is. You can't expect me to understand on his level and present you with a good enough explanation, indeed, I'm certain nobody has that capacity--though he proffers you as the exception."

He drifted towards the other man nonetheless: shorter than he was, which he hadn't expected. Younger than he was, which he'd known from the start...

Ayumu glared right into his eyes without flinching. "Who are the blade children?" He asked.

The corner of the pianist's mouth flickered. "Hm. You're here because of that very question."

And with perfect timing, Ryoku chose that moment to sprint around the corner. She skidded to a halt, staring at Ayumu. "Rutherford." She said, hesitating with disgust flickering over her face before she leaned close to an invisible ear and hissed a long stream of whispered words.

Eyes' face was inscrutiable. "I see." He murmured. He gestured idly. "It seems there may be another use for you after all, Little Narumi."

Ryoku stiffened noticeably at his name, glancing at him in shock. He was the same boy she'd bumped into. She'd caught the name "Narumi"

"Incidentally, this is Ryoku Takamachi. She is one of the blade children." Eyes murmrued with a sweep of careless fingers.

Ryoku paused, frowned, looking Ayumu over. Ayumu's face became suddenly inscrutiable, anger burning in his dark eyes. "Where's my brother?"

"How should I know? Rutherford-?" Ryoku looked to the other man in annoyance and confusion, expecting an explanation. Eyes didn't give one. "Ryoku is your senior at Tsukiomi Academy. She has refrained from contact with her fellow blade children up until several months ago, so it's fruitless and tiring for you to pepper her with questions."

Ayumu glanced over her. His eyebrows furrowed in a frown. He turned back to Rutherford. "Can I ask the obvious question? How do you know this? You're a professional pianist, not an investigator."

Ryoku turned her head to him annoyedly. "Rutherford's one of the Watchers. Look...I can explain everything later if you want, but we really have to go." She turned to Eyes, lowering her voice. "There's...a problem."

"Tell him." Eyes said simply.

Ryoku shrugged. "A bomb." She said. "There's a bomb."

Ayumu stared at her.

Eyes nodded, and turned. "And so, you'll excuse me-"

"Wait!" Ayumu said sharply. "I still have questions."

"Why don't you take him if you need to? If he's really Kiyotaka's hope, there's no way he'd die in an explosion." Ryoku muttered, crossing her arms, looking over Ayumu impatiently. "This isn't a great place for a civilian, though. You'd be better off getting out of here and letting us handle it."

"Sorry but if there's a bomb, the best idea is to evacuate the building entirely, not sit around and try to take it apart." Ayumu said, looking annoyed.

"For an ordinary bomb, there's little doubt you're right, but I'm quite certain this is no ordinary bomb. Indeed...it's here to be taken apart, or at least struggled with. Its maker will have no qualms with you being here for it." Eyes paused. "Your brother would certainly know how to disassemble it. And wouldn't that be far better than evacuating a building and needlessly upsetting a large number of people here for a gentle night?"

Ayumu's face flickered in a mixture of shame and guilt. "I'm...nothing like my brother..." He whispered, looking at his shoes.

"You fixed that trouble with Sayoko." Ryoku said bluntly. "I heard about that. She's on the tennis team. You have a brain. And to be honest, we'll need you to make up for Rutherford and the rest."

"Rio?" Eyes asked quietly.

Ryoku shook her head, sighing irritably. "Gone. Looking for him, probably. She took Kousuke with her."

"Your private security detail?" Ayumu asked dully.

Eyes shook his head slightly. "More Blade Children." Ryoku translated with a hint of a scowl.

"And what are the Blade Children?" Ayumu asked levelly.

Ryoku gave a sigh of irritation. "I'll tell you if you move your ass and help us. I'll tell you everything I know, okay? But we don't have time." She seized his arm, and Eyes noticed that he flinched a little--as though unused to people touching him. "Come on. Move it." Ryoku said, scowling at him. Eyes hopped lightly off the stage, following them liesurely. Ayumu's head turned to stare at him, surprising Eyes for a moment.

He blinked. Ayumu didn't blink, dragged off by his arm by Ryoku--and crocodiles would sooner let go of their prey than Ryoku would yeild her grip on his arm, Eyes knew. He didn't seem to act like a man being taken to go defuse a bomb. His limbs fumbled clumsily and he tripped once.

He wasn't at all like Kiyotaka, Eyes thought to himself again, a little more vehemently, his eyelids narrowing slightly.

Not at all.

He paused, turning his eyes away from the pair and skimming them over the sides of the halls, the high pillars, the second story seats. He thought he saw a glint of green-gold, and a shift in the shadows.

His lips tightened, then he followed Ryoku and Ayumu--at his own pace, of course.

-o-O-o-O-o-
.

The Bridge of Sighs (AU Spiral fic--5) Azalee's challenge

Wed, 02 Sep 2009 21:19:34 GMT

Fragment: "the Bridge of Sighs" (5)
Fandom: Spiral (AU)
Genre: Spiral!Mystery-Drama and such
Rating: T
Why: Because Airports have weird connotations in Spiral..., and for Eyes' reeking charisma. Also for Kousuke and Ryoku blunt!banter on sexual topics.
What's going on: AU Spiral setting--"What would happen if Kanone didn't leave the blade children? What if Eyes did?"--The mystery coalesces just a little more
Other notes: So I left you with a terrible cliffhanger if you stopped to really think about it and pick up on how odd Eyes' dialogue is. Skunky is mean to her readers. You can never expect me to give away the plot in the voice of another character--I always leave a chance they might be lying for their own inscrutiable purposes.
Oh, Skunky is mean...
And so, poor Kanone's losing his mind a little (more than usual), Rio's trying to take care of him and refused to join Eyes because of Kanone (And Heavens, that's hard for her because she has that THING for Eyes...), and now Eyes Rutherford in his haze of mystery and rose-petal pianist-ness is zooming off to Japan, where he intends to meet hapless Kousuke and who knows what he's up to!

As a side note: This fic has gone past the thirty-page mark as of last chapter. Quite the plotroach infestation, this.
(...What have you people done to me?)

Ryoku and Kousuke are surprisingly fun to write together. I worry a little that Ryoku channelled a little too much of me, though. (Though I'm not much of a jock.) The kind of surface brashness and bluntness, and even the physical abuse covering up awkwardness and deep-down niceness are sort of like me. (Though I never hit people like Ryoku does, or anywhere near as frequently...well...maybe one of my brothers, but that goes back and forth and unlike her, I don't have things for my siblings...)

There's some implied one-sided RioXEyes, awkward, fumbling "we don't want to be requited" KousukeXRyoku, and *GASP* surprises of all sorts. Also, anyone who secretly enjoys the idea of KousukeXEyes is probably loving Kousuke's head!commentary, and how uncomfortable he is. (It really WAS fun to write.)

I just had a thought, too. This chapter might end up beating out two challenges at once if I take it the right direction. Hm. Convenient.

Of course, everyone knows Edgar Allen Poe. Nevermore and all that. But how manyof you know his poem Tamerlane? Well...You know the first line now. It's the cut-text for this chapter.

T

-o-O-o- The Bridge of Sighs: V -o-O-o-
-o-O-o-
"Were vagueness enough and the sweet lies plenty,
The hollow words could bear all suffering
And cure me of ills.
Were that enough, bone, blood, and sinew,
The twisted brain, the fair-formed loin,
Groping for matter under the dog's plate,
Man should be cured of distemper.
For all there is to give I offer:
Crumbs, barn, and halter."

--Dylan Thomas' "Out of the Sighs"

-o-O-o-O-o-
He saw him rather quickly, and was amazed he'd managed to glance over him in the first place as Eyes moved almost languidly through the crowd, his coat thrown over his shoulder in the evening warmth. The jostling crowds just seemed to move around him and grant him space, like a prophet moving through the sea in a perfectly geometered line. He carried nothing but his black coat, and his hair gleamed silver in the flourescent lights. His lip gave no glimmer of familiarity or friendliness, blue eyes studying Kousuke calmly, fixed to him like a lighthouse, going neither to the left nor the right.

Kousuke put his hands in his pockets, trying to think of what to say in the moments before Eyes stood before him, trying not to think--not for the first time, either--that there was something feline about him, something weird about the way he walked. "...didn't you bring anything else?" He managed when the other reached him.

"It's being delivered to my hotel room." Eyes replied, his voice still smooth, and patient, and level. Kousuke was amazed that in the time he'd had, he'd almost forgotten what Rutherford's voice sounded like. It hadn't even been that long. But he'd forgotten how pretty he was, somehow, too...how people seemed to subconsciously grant him space, and turn to look at him in double-take. He commanded attention wherever he went even when he didn't dress more like a monochromatic, slightly subdued rock star than a pianist. Kousuke was all too uncomfortably aware of Rutherford's effect on people at the moment. He couldn't remember the last time he'd met the other man on his own, without Kanone there, or Rio, or even Ryoku. And so, he'd never really noticed it so much before. He'd never been so uncomfortably aware of his charisma. (Though he'd often been uncomfortable.) He'd though Kanone had been charismatic, putting people at ease with him instantly, and garnering their trust with his charm...

Rutherford was just as potent, only it wasn't trust he garnered. It was awe. He had an unnatural, plucked, polished model's beauty and a model's mannequin-like expressionlessness, mixed in with a careless, languid sort of bodily movement. Anyone around him half-expected to find themselves intruding on a set. It was very hard to get used to.

The pianist himself didn't seem to notice at all. Of course.

"Well...uh...should we go?" Kousuke asked, uncomfortable at the attention Rutherford drew to the both of them. He saw at least two camera-flashes. This was going to be bad if he didn't hurry...damn that stupid idol.

Eyes gave a single, simple nod.

-o-O-o-

Rutherford sat straight in the back seat. He had that sort of unnerving air about him, his posture both comfortable and somehow...well...prim. Kousuke kept staring at him out the corners of his eyes, through his yellow-tinted glasses, unable to really believe it was him. He couldn't come up with a really good reason, but Eyes still freaked him out. He just had a sort of untouchable feel to him. Like he was somehow set apart, and only graciously sharing the flaking backseat of a cab with him--unconsciously egalitarian. Kousuke felt very shabby and grunged up next to him. It was disconcerting to say the least.

They'd gotten the fastest taxi service he could ever remember, too.

"...Why are you here?" He asked finally. His voice sounded rough. He almost winced. Damn pretty-boy...

Eyes turned his head ever so slightly, like a statue, flicking jewel-blue eyes to him. "I came because it's a convenient place to hold concerts. I came because Kiyotaka wished it, and it's another way to avoid Kanone's searchings. I came because it's my way to speak to you, and to Ryoku as well." He'd said it in english, Kousuke noticed. He glanced at the taxi-driver, and noticed eyes on them through the back mirror. Kousuke swallowed. Ah. Rutherford thought of everything.

"Ryoku...she...she's not going to be happy to hear that, you know." He muttered back in english himself.

Eyes gave the slightest of nods, and turned his head slightly, his blue eyes flicking to look out the window. "I've already sent her a pair of tickets."

"Wha? Tickets?"

"To my concert." Eyes said quietly. "One is for you. I'd be gratified if you would come."

Kousuke spluttered, staring at him. "What makes you think I owe you anything?" He asked incredulously. "And I hate piano music."

"You haven't joined Kanone in his hunt for me." Eyes said quietly.

Kousuke shifted. "Well yeah, but that doesn't mean I'm a watcher."

Eyes' upper lip flickered briefly, in a fraction of a smile, lowering his head in the faintest of nods. "...If you come, I'll allow you to meet Ayumu Narumi." He said calmly.

Kousuke stiffened. "K-Kiyotaka's brother?" The key to the puzzle? The rumored savior of the blade children, according to Kiyotaka himself? Rutherford had met him? Let alone, was capable of arranging for Ryoku and Kousuke to meet him too?

"All will be explained. But I will need you to accept my invitation." Eyes murmured, idly looking out the window.

Kousuke stared at him, then crossed his own arms, hostilely staring out the other window, unnerved by his directness. Was this Rutherford's charisma? Sheer nerve and consequent terrible efficiency? Hard edges in a soft manner? So this is what Kanone's best friend is really like when he's not around to make everything a joke and run it all... Kousuke swallowed uneasily. "I guess I don't have a choice. You never say anything outright, do you? You're sure not going to explain anything unless I do come, so I guess I have to come."

Eyes just smiled a little, and idly watched the landscape.

"Don't expect me to come quietly and just roll over and play dead, though." Kousuke added gruffly.

"Of course not." Eyes replied mildly, making his bravado sound small and childish. It didn't even sound as though it took him effort. Damn twinkle-fingers pretty-boy with his perfect comebacks... Eyes made it sound effortless to eclipse anyone. Maybe it was effortless for him.

That was more or less the end of the conversation. Kousuke sat in uncomfortable silence with him the rest of the way to his house, remembering again--and wondering how he'd managed to forget--just how weird he'd always felt around Eyes even when he'd just been a sort of background human music-box. Rutherford on the other hand, didn't seem to notice his hostility, or feel any discomfort at all, his fingers tapping odd rythyms idly against his black-clad thigh throughout the journey, playing piano in his head.

-o-O-o-

Rio was swinging her legs when Kanone's key clicked in the lock, and he dashed open the door. His bad temperment told her everything.

"He was gone?" She asked quietly.

"We just missed him." Kanone said dully. "The housekeeping staff hadn't even been in yet." He tossed something down. "Found this, though." He muttered. He started pulling off his shirt with a sigh. Rio made a noise. "Ack!"

Kanone paused.

"Oh. Sorry." He slipped his shirt back over his head, giving her a glance at a too-skinny, too-narrow teeneage stomach. "I'm not really used to having a female roommate." He was gloomy, and distracted, though, Rio noticed, as he messed at his own hair. He had bruise-colored hollows under his eyes, and a sullen twist to his usually upturned mouth. And...he looked...well...underfed now. She couldn't remember what she'd last seen him eat before the fatal, interrupted excursion in the evening. It was approaching three in the morning. She wondered if he'd eat something for breakfast if she asked him to join her. She'd seen hollows between his ribs almost as pronounced as the angry violet near-right-angle line cut into his side, and not for the first time, she worried for him.

Rio swallowed, and put down her hands slowly, no longer making a pretense of blocking. She took the paper he'd tossed to her, trying not to think of the thinness of his neck and the gauntness of his face. She gasped, and for the moment, forgot all about Kanone.

"We...We'll want to pack!" She said, standing excitedly. "We can find him and see him tomorrow if we hurry!"

"You're being hasty." Kanone snapped. He had his back to her. His knuckles were white, gripping the curtain and staring out the window at the wet sidewalks and streets below. "He knew we were coming. He left that deliberately. He's ready for us already if we simply show up. He's playing a little game, making us want to see him badly enough that we screw up and walk right into his traps."

Rio stared at him. "Maybe...maybe he just wants to see us and explain everything."

Kanone shot her a terrible look. Rio looked away, faltering a moment, then recovering. "...We won't know where he is like this again. He's too famous. He's really big in Japan. I mean...he's...good looking." Her face heated just saying it. "Even when he says he's having a concert the next day, he sells all his tickets. Eyes-kun is popular."

"The power of being on Kiyotaka's blind, believing leash no doubt." Kanone spat venemously. Rio went quiet again, just staring at him.

"...Are we going to just sit here, then?" She asked finally. "This is our chance, Kanone-kun."

"No...we'll go." Kanone murmured, glaring at the carpet. "But...I'd like you to make something for me. A little present. The kind you're good at."

Rio's face paled. Kanone's voice was strangely tight and toneless, and he didn't even look at her.

"Here are the specifications I'd like..."
-o-O-o-

Ryoku punched Kousuke in the face the instant he stepped into the house and started, "I'm home-" Eyes watched the gentle spin of his body with perfect serenity, as Kousuke took the opportunity to crash to the floor, limbs askew.

"You idiot." Ryoku snarled, standing over him with her hands on her hips, jutting them like a boy beneath her skirt.

"Good day to you, Ryoku." Eyes replied neutrally.

"Shut up. I'm not talking to you." Ryoku snapped, still glaring at Kousuke.

Kousuke groaned, and pulled himself off the floor. "R-Ryoku! What the Hell's wrong with you? You can't just punch someone walking into the house! I live here!"

Ryoku made a face at him, and crossed her arms, "Shut it. You had it coming. You know I don't like uninvited guests."

"But he made me come and pick him up at the airport!"

"Then you don't have any balls at all." She turned with a jerk, sizing up Eyes. "Rutherford." A nasty little smile quirked her lips, and she crossed her arms. "You know only you would have the gall to come all this way, and just assume you can order people around like a bunch of servants. Did the high-class english-bred young master come by expecting tea all laid out for him?"

Eyes raised his eyebrows mildly. "I was under the impression it was no order. Simply a gift from friend to friend. Certainly nothing worth exchanging blows."

"And you're an egotist, too. You really piss me off sometimes. You think I'm the type that likes to listen to your prissy classical music?" Ryoku snorted, sizing him up like an opponant, her slim shoulders square and atheletic. "I can't think of a single reason why you'd want to give me a ticket except to piss me off."

Kousuke rubbed the side of his face. "Ugh. Can you two stop it for just a minute?" He grumbled. "...punch from outta nowhere..." He muttered under his breath. "Don't make me seperate you two-"

"Shut up, Kousuke!" Ryoku retorted. "I'm talking to the delicate little young master with his ladylike little white manicured hands. So what about it, Rutherford? I already told you I don't want to see your face around here. Don't mess with me, and I don't mess with you. I told you I want to be left out of it. So what gives that you think you can come over here like this? You do remember our little agreement, don't you?"

"I remember." Eyes said.

"Then get the Hell out." Ryoku spat, opening the door wide.

"It's my house..." Kousuke grumbled. Ryoku and Eyes ignored him.

"If I don't provide reason enough for my arrival within five minutes, I'd be more than happy to provide you with a different target to lash out at. As is, I don't have time to barter otherwise. My options are fairly limited, and pacifists amongst the blade children are in short supply." Eyes murmured.

"What are you getting at?" Kousuke grumbled, putting out a hand as Ryoku's eyes narrowed in a frown. "Look, just leave her out of this. Whatever's going on between you and Kanone, we've got nothing to do with it. I'll go along with it if you just leave her-" Ryoku glanced at him in annoyance, and kicked Kousuke in the shin. He gave a cry of pain, and bent over, hobbling. "Don't be a moron, Kousuke." She raised her head, dark eyes narrow. "What's going on between you and Kanone? Kousuke didn't tell me shit." She said dully. "Did the young masters have a little fight?" There was a cruel, arrogant tilt to her mouth, a smirk tilting its corners. But it was all posture--there was concern beneath the façade of brash toughness...

Eyes arranged himself with careless grace in a chair, and folded his hands in front of him. "Kousuke hasn't informed you, then... I see." He paused, measuring his words. "I've broken ties with Kanone for the time being because of certain philosophical disagreements as well as a few unkind suspicions on my part as to his judgment. In short: I intend to follow Kiyotaka Narumi's plans, while Kanone continues to resist them."

"So you had a fight about it and came crying all the way over here?" Ryoku asked, sighing. "That's just stupid."

"On the contrary. I simply left. And Kanone it seems, intends to pursue me."

Kousuke gave a shudder. "You have no idea..." He muttered. "I was there. I thought I was going to shit myself. I've never seen him like that in my life." Ryoku looked at him, and frowned a little. Kousuke's reaction clearly gave her pause. Kousuke shifted, looking at the wall. "He broke stuff, killed things out in the forest...I thought he was going to snap Rio or me in half." He hesitated. "...And you left anyway." Kousuke turned on Eyes, burning quietly.

Eyes nodded slowly. "Yes." He murmured. "I took that as a risk."

"It wasn't any risk to you. You weren't there." Kousuke snapped. "Don't tell me about risk..." He muttered, glaring at the ground. His hands tightened.

Eyes didn't say anything, staring at nothing at all with a faint frown.

"So...What was so important that you had to leave Kanone?" Ryoku asked finally, seriously. "With how you are, I thought you'd hide behind him and stay all lovely-dovey forever."

Eyes lowered his hands, laying them flat in his lap. His face flickered a moment, then smoothed. His voice was level and perfectly measured in reasonability when he spoke again. "...Kanone believes Kiyotaka's plan is nothing but deception. He believes his intent is to use or murder the blade children rather than save them. As such, it's only a matter of time before he takes things into his own hands."

"And...You left because you chickened out and Kanone scares you? Or you left because if you're gone, then he's got something else to keep his mind on?" Ryoku asked dully.

Eyes' lips turned slightly upwards. "Something like that." He murmured.

"Like which?" Ryoku insisted, scowling.

"The second option." Eyes clarified, with a faint smile of patience. Ryoku wrinkled her nose.

"You're full of shit. Kanone scares everyone." Kousuke retorted.

"The possibility of my end no longer frightens me. I grew far too tired of living with regret and hesitance."

"So you left Kanone for his own good, huh? That sounds like your kind of strategy." Ryoku muttered unkindly, his eyebrows twisted in a frown.

Kousuke, however, scowled. "Then why'd you join the watchers?"

Eyes lowered his eyelids. "...Position."

"Huh?"

"As in chess, one must position themselves if they wish to strike." Eyes murmured.

"Strategy, bonehead." Ryoku translated in a mutter to Kousuke.

Eyes ignored her annotations. "All in all, I anticipated that you wouldn't join with Kanone for this venture, though I don't flatter myself by thinking I am the source of such graciousness." Kousuke looked away quickly, when Ryoku turned to scowl at him. "What's your point, Rutherford?" She asked dully.

Eyes lowered his head. "Whatever the reason, our goal is the same. I don't ask you to join me-"

"Sure you do." Kousuke cut him off, sneering.

Eyes turned to him with a frown. "No. My goal in this is different. I don't require your help in confronting Kanone. I'm capable of dealing with him myself. The end there matters little to me. Whether he catches and eventually kills me matters little. My game is larger." Ryoku flinched and paled at the mention of Kanone possibly killing him. "Kanone won't do that." She said flatly. "Not to you, anyway."

Eyes simply looked at her. He didn't give even a hint of a smile. Ryoku looked away uncomfortably. "What? He wouldn't, would he? Tell me if I'm wrong."

Eyes studied them both. "...I'm here to relay a message from Kiyotaka, and arrange a meeting. Ryoku Takamachi, and Kousuke Asadzuki will meet with Ayumu Narumi, and become his allies. The easiest public locale to arrange in my position would be one of my own concerts. Little Narumi is said to have some skill as a pianist, so it would perhaps be unusual, but not entirely unnatural for me to call him to such a place as the heir to his brother's legendary talent-"

"It's not that legendary. He was only ever popular in Europe." Ryoku said, crossing her arms. "You'd have to import the CD to ever get it."

"What? How do you know?" Kousuke asked, blinking.

Eyes studied her a moment. "...It matters little in a discussion of the younger brother. I would prefer for you two to meet him. And...I'd like Kousuke to test him."

Ryoku bristled. "Kousuke's not going to do anything. I'm sick of you coming around with your demands and turning him into a murderer."

"If Ayumu Narumi is to be the hope of the blade children, he will not fail, regardless of the severity of the test." Eyes said simply. "Kiyotaka has given his word, and given his assent."

"He's right." Kousuke said, settling himself into a couch with an, "Oof." He was serious when he looked at Ryoku. "We have to find out somehow." He began counting off points on his fingers. "He's already mixed up with Sayoko--that blond chick from the tennis club? She's one of us. He'll start learning about the rib and from there, so it's only a matter of time until he finds us anyway. With Sonobe-sensei out, he'll be into it anyway. He's too much like Kiyotaka not to be. And the whole school's full of watchers. It's only a mater of time before one of them decides to cross the line. If we come to him...we'll have a little more leeway in what he thinks of us, right?"

Ryoku turned away from him, scowling at the ground, and vaulting over the back of the sofa, and landing lightly. She folded her hands and peered at Eyes. "...You think he can save us?" Ryoku murmured.

Kousuke shrugged, taking the question as being offered generally. "To tell the truth? ...No." He sighed, comepltely missing Ryoku's look of annoyance. "To be perfectly honest, I'm with Kanone on this-sorry Rutherford, but it's the truth. But...on the off chance I'm wrong..." He shrugged, and grinned. "Well at least I get to kick it in Kiyotaka's face. Or his brother's at least. I'm down with that, and if we know, then we know. It's all good for me."

"You stupid moron..." Ryoku muttered. She glowered at Eyes. "...I have questions, Rutherford."

"I'll answer to the limit of my abilities." the pianist murmured.

"For one, why can't you just talk to Little Narumi yourself?"

"For necessity of proof. I, as one person, may well be a delusional oddity. Two travelling together are less likely to be deceived or insane. Kiyotaka has warned me that his brother has lived in his shadow for much of his life, and this has affected his personality. They may be very little alike. Until we know, it's advisable to stay together for the same ends."

Ryoku paused. "...You sure you aren't just making sure Kanone isn't right?" She asked quietly.

Eyes shut his eyes. He said nothing at all. Kousuke's face softened a little, though. "Wouldn't you?" He asked Ryoku, not looking at her. "Lay off." He shifted. "It's part of why I don't think Kiyotaka's plan's all together to be honest. I don't think he'd have the power to make Rutherford turn his back on everyone for nothing. Especially Kanone. They're...you know...really close." He finished awkwardly.

Eyes didn't look at him, and didn't say anything. He could have been a block of marble. He seemed somehow more rigid than usual.

Kousuke straightened up. "Anyway, I'm in. Even if Ryoku's not, that makes us two people. And you can probably get Rio-"

Eyes shook his head, eyelids rising. "You'll pardon me for stopping you, but that's not possible. Rio turned me down."

"Wha? But she-!" Kousuke gave a yelp as Ryoku stepped on his foot, glaring sharply. "That shrimp's with Kanone?" She asked, turning to Eyes.

Eyes smiled a little. "I can think of no better person to care for him in my absence. I'm not at all unhappy that she's with him."

Ryoku exhaled, a brief flash of worry over her face.

"Chill. Rio's probably got more of a chance than the rest of us if Kanone goes off the edge." Kousuke muttered to Ryoku. "I'm real surprised she didn't join you, though." He added in Eyes' direction. The other man shook his head mildly. "I'm not. As I said, I'm pleased she remains with him. I spoke to her only yesterday."

"And is that lolicon alright?" Ryoku asked quietly, the tonelessness of her voice not disguising her worry at all.

"She assured me she was quite well. There was a complication with a hunter in a restaurant only yesterday, doubtless Kanone's handiwork. It had his speed for certain. They seem to be taking this opportunity to target him personally."

"You're worried for him?" Ryoku asked dully, implying his stupidity with a look.

Eyes only looked at them both, tapping a manicured fingernail against his knee. "In physical expertise, Kanone far surpasses them. In strategy and awareness he has a blindness, but Rio will compensat for that aptly. But it would seem the hunters are taking a different tactic altogether in using my name."

Kousuke sat bolt upright. "They're acting like you're one of them?"

Eyes inclined his head in a nod. "The witness of the murder claimed the hunter in question gave Kanone my regards, and only then, did Kanone react. They may well be hoping for his switch to be pressed." Eyes said calmly, his folded hands betraying nothing of worry, as though it were no more relevant on his future than a bit of ancient history.

Grimacing, Kousuke settled back with a groan, "Those bastards..." Ryoku just sighed. "Like that cheerful moron probably doesn't worry about that sort of thing enough..." She muttered. Kousuke stared at her in surprise. Ryoku jerked her head to Eyes. "I'm right, aren't I? At the least, he has you, and cheerful idiots like him usually hide something dark and gloomy like that. I'm betting nothing would get under his skin like not being able to do what he wants. Going crazy would probably freak him out more than anything, and he's one of us, so he's bound to do it sooner or later. So nothing would freak him out more than thinking he'd go crazy and kill everyone he actually likes, right?"

Eyes paused, then nodded. "Yes...that was my assessment of Kanone as well. It's become clear to the hunters that the way to attack Kanone isn't through force, but through his heart. By now, word has travelled to them that he is pursuing me, and they've made use of it."

"You should just call him and tell him you're a watcher, then." Ryoku said, eyeing him intently. "You know, get all your cards on the table."

Eyes shook his head slowly, gravely. "My word at this point, will make no impact on Kanone's doubt. The damage is already done. As is, he will take proof from no eyes but his own."

"No pun intended, huh?" Kousuke asked, snickering to himself. Nobody else laughed. He stopped embarassedly, coughing. "A-Anyway, why not just let him meet up with you?" Kousuke retorted.

"'Cause he might shoot him in the head for abandoning him." Ryoku replied, shoving a pillow at him sourly. "Stupid situation...Something tells me he's never been dumped before."

Kousuke stiffened indignantly. "Oh and you have?"

Ryoku made another sour face, hiding half her face in another pillow, bringing up one knee. "Lets just say, I keep getting hit on by people."

"Wha?" Kousuke reared up. "I'll punch their lights out!" He bellowed. Ryoku just made a face at him. "Oh sit down. Heel. Seriously, you can't be the good guy if you walk around punching girls."

"You're getting hit on by girls?" Kousuke's voice went impossibly high.

Ryoku made a face. "Can we change the subject before I knock him out?" She muttered to Eyes. Eyes made no comment. Kousuke stared at her. She reared on him. "Would you just stop? I'm really not into that, you know, and it always makes me feel like a creep to turn people down. Knock it off before I really get pissed at you, you pervert." Kousuke's face flushed the color of his hair. "Who's a pervert?"

Eyes tapped a finger against the table to call for quiet. "The analogy of dating aside, it would be quite dangerous for me to meet up with Kanone again. It's not something I'd risk so lightly. At this time, I have no assurance that things won't go awry."

Kousuke made a face, grinning suddenly with a snort. "Well why don't you ask Kanone on a date, then?" He said as a joke. "That'd be you assurance right there--he probably can't kill people on the first date. It'd be like taking things too fast."

Ryoku gave a him a fierce kick in the side, and Kousuke turned to her in pain and surprise. "Ow! That hurt, Ryo-" But Eyes had already stood, and he cut himself off, staring at the other man in amazement. "Wha? Rutherford-?"

"If you intend to come to the concert, then come." Eyes said dully. "As it is, my minutes are at a close. My time is short, and I have much to do. Excuse my abruptness." He was out the door before Kousuke could call him back.

The door shut quietly, not at all like a slam.

"...What's he all pissed about, anyway?" Kousuke asked, mixing surprise with indignation. "And what's the big deal with you just abusing me all of a sudden?"

"You really are stupid, aren't you?" Ryoku hissed, glaring at him, and standing, throwing the other pillow at him. Kousuke pushed the plush aside, and followed her. "No really, what did I do that's got you so mad at me? Is it that I brought him home? What was I supposed to do?"

Ryoku stopped abruptly in the hall, and sighed, crossing her arms and turning to him. "No...it's not that." She shook her head. "I...feel kind of sorry for him like this." She turned back. "But for once in your life you could have had some tact even if you don't have brains."

"Wh-? What are you talking about? What? Now I can't talk about dating even though you have all those girls falling for you? What? Is it some kind of mystical chick garbage that I'd never understand because I'm some big lumbering stupid guy, and you and Rutherford are just too femininely smart for that kind of-"

"Would you stop it?" Ryoku hissed at him.

"Stop what? What am I doing that pisses you off so much?" Kousuke insisted. "I'm just a moron, so you can use small words and speak really, really slowly." He added sharply.

Ryoku stopped, staring at him. "You...You really don't get it, do you?" She murmured in amazement. "You...honestly can't tell?"

"What? Tell what?" He paled suddenly. "Oh my God. Ryoku. Are you...?"

Ryoku blinked, then flushed bright red. "Huh? NO, you moron!" She shouted. "Why would I be-?" She gave a cry of frustration, then shoved him. "You stupid insensistive jerk! You stupid-I'm not the-! Don't you know that Rutherford's gay?" She shouted. "What are you, born under a rock or something?"

Kousuke stopped in his tracks, and the blood drained from his face. "He's...?"

Ryoku snarled at him contemptuously. "What? Do I have to spell it out? The prissy, uptight young master likes to spend his evenings with a side of crumpets. Shit, Kousuke! Are you really that dense? Even you!"

He shook his head, staring at her numbly. "You're...you're wrong." He said shakily. "You have to be... There's no way. He's pretty and all. And he's- But... There's no way that he..." He stared at Ryoku, shaking his head hard. "He's...He's not... He can't really be-"

Ryoku crossed her arms again sourly. "What? The fact that he plucks his eyebrows, and shaves like a girl wasn't a hint to you? Every God-damned hair is in place. And oh my God, have you ever seen Rutherford look at a girl even once? I gave him a clear shot at my panties just now! The guy didn't even try!"

Kousuke stared at her, whitening. "You wh-? H-He's not-" he gave a noise of frustration, waving his hands. "He just wouldn't-! Rutherford's just real polite! He's all shy and-! He's-! You're just not-!"

Ryoku's eyes narrowed. "I'm not what?"

"H-He's just the type of sissy guy you chicks always seem to dig on so much--that kind who can't say two words to one of you-! He's not actually-" Kousuke stopped, and his eyes narrowed, his spluttering slowing. "You...You really hate him that much? Him and Kanone? You'd say something like-"

"I'm not saying it because I hate Rutherford!" Ryoku shouted, hiding real hurt beneath her anger. "What the Hell is your problem, Kousuke? You think all I care about is what you think about me? Don't flatter yourself! Kanone and Rutherford turned you into a sick murderer and I'll never forgive them for it, but I'm not going to spread stupid lies about someone just because I don't like them! What kind of person do you think I am anyway, you damn jerk?"

Kousuke just stood there, staring at her, then looking away, jamming his hands in his pockets in frustration. Something went cold in his eyes at being called a sick murderer, though.

Ryoku swiped a hand over her hair, and looked away unhappily. Kousuke shifted, staring at his fingers like he was lost. "...What's got you trying so hard to say he's not like that, anyway?" Ryoku muttered after a while. "You knew too, somehow, if you'd just man up and admit it. Don't come to me all surprised... Don't even think about-" Kousuke just fell against the wall, staring at the ceiling. "Zip it, will you? Please." He muttered.

Ryoku trailed off, gritting her teeth.

Kousuke shut his eyes, groaning and he didn't say anything for a long moment. "Is Kanone...the same?" He whispered finally.

Ryoku snorted. "Oh God, Kousuke. The guy's a pussy magnet." She shook her head. Kousuke's lips lifted in surprised, delight, then faltered a little guiltily, a little sheepishly at being so delighted by the edge of dirtiness to what she'd said. "...More ways than one, huh?" Ryoku acted like she hadn't heard him, retorting hotly, "You ever try going someplace with him? Anyone with good legs walks by him, and he has to go off and charm them. He's totally clean, even if he's a rediculous tease. I'd beat the crap out of him if he went to school with us for being such a sleazeball and it still wouldn't stop him from getting his pick of the girls." She sighed with a shake of her head. "No...it's just Rutherford." she murmured, her voice softening and quieting. "Poor guy..." She murmured. "He'll...never let on..." She trailed off, and shook her head faintly. "It's...kind of sad, really."

"Maybe for you." Kousuke grumbled, finally pushing off from the wall with a glower. "You didn't share a bed with the guy as a kid. That's all kinds of disturbing."

Ryoku made a face. "You're just being a jerk. Like he'd actually do anything to some stupid, gangly freak like you." Kousuke's face warped indignantly. "Hey! How would you know? You're probably waiting on some girl, you jock princess bitch."

Ryoku flicked him off, and smirked tightly. "I'm straight, Kousuke. Too bad for you. The only hope for a weakling like you was probably for if I wasn't."

"Oh shut up. You'd be all after Rutherford and his pretty hair, and stupid belly shirts, and you'd be some stupid fangirl of his, dreaming about him with tits and a cunt."

Ryoku shoved him again. "You're a real sick guy, you know. Like you haven't been sitting there probably moaning in your sleep, dreaming about Rutherford with tits and a cunt."

"You wish, you dyke."

"Boy-toy."

"Stone-cold butch."

"Punk-haired fag."

"What's wrong with my hair?" Kousuke retorted indignantly, putting hands to the mess of red in outrage. Ryoku grinned at him. "It looks like you're part of some industrial accident." She said smugly. Kousuke grinned back after a moment. "...That so? Look who's talking. Why don't you grow yours out? You probably like bing hit on by chicks."

Ryoku snorted. "Screw you."

Kousuke flicked her off. "You first." He retorted with a grin.

Ryoku's smile vanished, and her eyes widened. Kousuke's smile faded a second later, and he paled. They looked away from eachother. "...N-Not like that!" Kousuke hissed, going red. "What the Hell are you thinking of? Like I'd-!" Ryoku didn't say anything. She held her own wrist, and stared at the ground, pale and at once oddly nervous.

"S-So..." Kousuke started with false cheeriness, desperately grasping for straws. "Rutherford's really on that side of the fence, huh? You think that...well...you think Kanone knows?"

Ryoku's expression twisted into uncomfortable somberness. "If Rutherford has his way...nobody will ever know for sure, I'd bet. Except maybe girls."

Kousuke frowned. "Huh? What do you mean by that?"

Ryoku turned away from him evasively. "He hides stuff." She murmured. "I don't think he gave us all his reasons for leaving. I think...it goes a little further than that."

"No, no, about-" Kousuke frowned, then his eyes widened. "You...You don't really think...?"

Ryoku smiled grimly. "Yeah. I do. ...Just take a look at how close they were. That's just the sort of thing that would drive Rutherford crazy. Think about it," She waved vaguely. "If he's trying all he can to 'meet his end' as he put it, with all that dignity intact, then-"

"Then being a teenager all lost in a wash of happy hormones would really screw with his plan." Kousuke finished. "...Yeah." He whispered, still looking a little sick. "It would be just like him to try to stay away from whatever was making him feel, but-"

Ryoku cut him off. "He's just left Kanone. Even though they're all close like you keep saying. Like family. Best friends."

Kousuke shook his head faintly, uncomfortably, looking very bothered. "It...It can't be just because of that."

"It's probably not." Ryoku granted. "But...I'd bet part of it is that he's...doing what we're doing." She finished without looking at him. "He...likes one of the blade children. He likes Kanone." She shifted. "I mean, don't do anything stupid like asking him outright-he'd deny it! But..." She sighed, and fished in her back pocket, producing two wrinkled tickets for front row seats. "I'll be't I'm right. I'll do this for that. I want to be there if Kanone catches up to him, and help him. Even though I still hate his guts, and that prettied-up face of his makes me want to hurl, I don't want anything bad to happen to him. ...Not if he's already that screwed up to start with. He's all grace and poise on the surface and all, but he's trying harder than anyone beneath it all. He really just wants everything to go well, I'd bet."

Kousuke took one of the tickets from her hand, making very carefully sure not to touch the skin of her fingers with his.

"...Kanone is so going to beat the crap out of us." He muttered.

Ryoku made a face at him. "You're a man, aren't you? Show a little backbone."

"Heartless bitch."

"Sissy wuss."

Kousuke smiled a little, anyway, staring at his ticket. "...You sure you want to get involved in all of this?"

Ryoku shrugged, stretching. "If I just sit on my ass all day, I'll get fat."

"Oh right. Like that would ever happen." Kousuke muttered, trying to pass it off as a grumble. They didn't quite look at eachother, though.

-o-O-o-O-o-

The Bridge of Sighs (AU Spiral fic--4) Azalee's challenge

Wed, 02 Sep 2009 21:14:33 GMT

Fragment: "the Bridge of Sighs" (4)
Fandom: Spiral (AU)
Genre: Angst/Drama with a touch of amazing Spiral!Mystery
Rating: T
Why: Because someone got stabbed through the eye last chapter, and there's some stuff on it, and ew. Also, consideration of watching porn or masturbating, and more thought-murder. Also, Kanone is unbelievably nostalgially wistful!unhappy-depressing.
What's going on: AU Spiral setting--"What would happen if Kanone didn't leave the blade children? What if Eyes did?"--And the coalescence begins...
Other notes: Okay, so the POV for this one is all screwy. You'll see what I mean. It's been kind of swapping off. Last chapter was kind of Rio's turn in the sisterly spotlight, and before that, we had two chapters of Kousuke. Now you get a chunk of Kanone in all his screwy goodness, and...some random.
Oh Kanone... He's pretty screwy in this fic. (Though I like him all the better for it, I guess, because I'm strange, and the characters I like best, I seem to torment the most...)
I'm starting to warm to this, strangely enough. It's turning out wonderfully. Aza-pon-pon, wherever you are in your long absence, I really love what you've done to me this time by infecting my brain. (Plaaaaage! Plaaaaaaague!)
Surely the Spiral cast wouldn't thank you, but I do.

Sylvia Plath is responsible for cut-text this chapter. She's highly manic-depressive-suicidal and all, but she was an excellent poet. I secretly suspect Hizumi has read and likes The Bell Jar.

-o-O-o- The Bridge of Sighs: IV -o-O-o-
-o-O-o-
"The Photographic chamber of the eye
records bare painted walls, while an electric light
flays the chrysanthemum nerves of plumbing raw;
such poverty assaults the ego; caught
naked in the merely actual room,
the stranger in the lavatory mirror
puts on a public grin, repeats our name
but scrupulously reflects the usual terror.

Just how guilty are we when the ceiling
reveals no cracks that can be decoded?...
...or when the window,
blind with steam, will not admit the dark
which shrouds our prospects in ambiguous shadow?"

--from Sylvia Plath's "Tale of a Tub"

-o-O-o-O-o-

"She was a nice girl. Working here for three weeks. No problems. Never late. Always worked hard. Nice girl." The cook said, crossing his arms. He had a slightly wilting chef's hat on his head, and a black moustache that was obviously meant to make him look Italian. The fact he was korean spoiled it a little, as did the pathetic thinness and sparseness of the moustache. His round face was reddened by the steam of a dozen pots for evening after evening, year after year. Or...perhaps month after month from the looks of him. He couldn't be more than thirty, and he was growing a bit of a pudge. His apron was stained with tomato rather than blood, but it still looked like gore to the unsuspecting eye. "What's the world coming to, huh?"

The man speaking to him nodded almost listlessly, tapping sparse notes into a notebook with a sort of absent carelesslness. "I see...who was on duty that night?" He murmured, as though out of respect for the dead.

"Anne over there had the table. One kids meal, one evening special." He waved a hand at the woman huddled in a booth near the door, looking around this way and that, frightened.

The other man nodded, "Thank you." He walked to the waitress, folding the notebook away someplace on his person. The woman's makeup was smeared, and the neat bun at the back of her neck was coming undone. She smoked cigarette after cigarette with shaking fingers. Her eyes lit on him, with something like amazement. "Y-You're the officer?"

The man looked at her. "Christina was your co-worker, did you know her well?"

Anne lifted the shaking cigarette to her lips. "...We were talking about dorm costs. Don't know why she wanted to. She had all these insane scholorships...Smart girl. Real smart. I was just doing a bit of business study, you know? I never thought..."

"Who served the table with the killer?"

Anne looked at him, and her fingers shook again. "I...I did." She looked down. "He...He just seemed so normal. Just another awkward high-school guy, there with his sister-"

The man paused, something flickering in his face, creasing it with a faint frown. "He introduced her as his sister?"

Anne nodded. "That's right! Uh...Wait. No. He said something about different mothers, the same father-"

"Can you describe her?"

The woman's face clouded over, and she licked her lips nervously. "The sister? Uh...yeah...oh...about eight or nine? With pigtails?" She gestured vaguely at the sides of her own head, her cigarette trailing smoke. "Real adorable little brat."

"Did he say a name?"

Anne sighed, putting her hands to the sides of her heead, and shaking it with a look of panic. "L-Look...I get a lot of tables. I'm sorry but I just don't-"

The man nodded, unsmiling. "It's understandable. Can you describe the youth? Her brother?"

Anne breathed out smoke in a sigh, blinking hard. "...Just...just a normal guy wanting to be cool. Cute, skinny brunette. Kind of a dork? Hair like this?" She gestured around her own head again. "Just...Normal."

"Anything else? Perhaps an eye color?"

Anne hesitated. "I...I don't know. I didn't really look. I mean, I get hit on by like a dozen guys a night. His type are usually harmless and kind of bad at saying anything. You know? Sway a little and they might give you a better tip? I didn't...I didn't think-" She shook her head, blinking hard, her voice cracking. "I don't know what...what Christina was doing. She...she just pulled this gun out..." She looked at the man there nervously. He wasn't writing anything down. He just tapped his fingernails against the formica of the table in an odd pattern, studying her with a vague sort of politeness.

Anne swallowed, looking away from him, uncomfortably. "I don't...I swear I don't know how he did it. It...all happened so fast... Pretending...he had to be pertending to be normal. He was so fast it was-"

"As though he knew it was coming?" The man murmured.

The waitress stared at him, her streak-marked eyes widening impossibly. She nodded dumbly, then dropped her cigarette suddenly, as the filter burned, filling the area with the scent of burnt plastic. She put her fingers in her mouth, wincing. "He...got his sister down first. He...he sort of knocked her down. I don't know how. It...I went right through where her head would have-"

"It would have hit both of them." The man murmured.

Anne shook her head helplessly. "I-I don't know. M-Maybe. But he was like...really lightning fast. Oh! He threw the glass at her, too. Knocked his sister down, dodged the gun, and splashed her just like that. I've never seen anyone so fast!" She gripped the hem of her skirt, looking down, and gulping. "Then...he had the knife at her, and...he..." She made a strangled sob, putting her hand over her mouth like she would be sick.

The man nodded, sighing. "I see. And...that was that, then." He murmured.

The waitress nodded, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. She stiffened. "Wait! They were talking, and she said something to him! A name!" She grabbed the man's arm urgently. "I remember! It made him go nuts. Something about regards...yeah. It was a really odd thing. Ear? No...Eyes. Rutherford's eyes! 'Rutherford's eyes sends his regards'? That's what she said! Rutherford's eyes."

The man stiffened noticeably. His eyes narrowed. "That's not possible." he whispered.

Anne looked eager. "It's important isn't it? You can tell me what's going on?"

The man shook his head. "Not so much. It's...impossible."

The woman's face stiffened into indignation and hurt. "What? Why?"

The man looked at her levelly, and Anne noticed this time that his eyes were a startling shade of blue. She realized for the first time that he was far too young to be a police officer, though he was carefully dressed in a very dark suit, and glasses and had long salt-white hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. "Because my name is Eyes Rutherford." He said quietly. "Anyone who challenged Kanone so openly, especially when he's with another, would never survive to report back."

Anne stood sharply. "Then...Then what's going on?" She whispered. "You...You know that guy?"

Eyes Rutherford's eyes flickered on her, but the rest of his face held no trace of emotion, simply watchfulness. He was well named, she thought in surprise. His blue eyes were terrifyingly intelligent, as though he was simply doing the math on all of it. She wondered abruptly if he was a reporter and if she should be talking to him. His finger tapped idly against the tabletop again. "Your associate Christina Hunter was operating under a false identity. She was a terrorist. I can tell you no more." He stood, folding thin white hands into his pockets, and turning to go.

The waitress opened her mouth in an 'O', staring at him, shaking her head. He couldn't be a reporter with that kind of knowledge, she reasoned. He had to be something else. Something secret... "But why? Why would she go after...? He's...He's just a kid. Who was he? What was he?"

Rutherford turned his head ever so slightly, regarding her with a lurid blue eye. He paused, "He is himself. A particularly unfortunate child, nothing more." He murmured.

"Why'd they leave your name, though?" The waitress insisted, walking after him. "And why are you called 'Eyes' is it some kind of code?!"

The man's grave, pale lip flickered a little in what might have been a smile. "...You're unusually persistant." He murmured. The woman drew back, slightly chastised. "Do you know him?" Anne hissed, folding her hands tightly together. "I won't say anything, I swear. I just want this all to make sense. I mean...I could have been rooming with a terrorist. I deserve to know."

Rutherford simply looked at her a moment, then turned his head back so all she could see was his hair. "My name was left for a reason, but I have no connection to your roommate. The man you saw was an intended victim. What he did was self-defense, any court will tell you the same."

Anne's hands quivered. "She said something about having a gun with wings..." She whispered faintly.

Rutherford studied her. "That surprises me little. It's a title rather than a weapon."

He stood. "Get some rest. I understand this has been a trying evening. I will request that someone be sent to check on you, but I have much to do."

Anne sat down heavily, and began pulling out another cigarette, fitting it nervously in her lips, deflated. "Send me someone cute, then." She ran her eyes over his back, and shook her head slightly. "Someone like you would be fine..." She muttered under her breath, looking him over again and giving another shake of her head despite herself. "Real fine...Like a secret agent or something..."

-o-O-o-

Kanone ran cold water over his face, over and over again, washing the blood from his fingers absently, and staring at his bleary-eyed, pink-rimmed reflection with the damp fringe of bangs over his eyes. Rio had grabbed dry clothes for him, and pushed a towel over his head until he'd pushed her hands away and started drying himself. She'd left after that, and he'd stopped, too tired to continue, too cold and numb to really care. He sighed, groaning.

Nobody would come after him. That wasn't the problem. Kiyotaka made it too easy as of late. He could pack up and move just to spite him, but nobody would come after him, and he knew it. It made no difference whether he left or not. Damn meddling man with his God-complex...

He could sleep. Try to sleep at least. Maybe watch the first few minutes of a porn flick--though it felt especially hollow knowing Rio would be in the next room and might hear through the thin walls. He didn't want to have to explain. He didn't want to have to think, either. If he started thinking, he'd think about Eyes in trouble again--helpless and defenseless and coldly beautiful as most men couldn't possibly manage to be, and similarly precious in a way most people couldn't possibly be to him. He hated not knowing what might happen, and hated all the more, the thought he might have to live to see what he cared about hurt. If he thought about Eyes, he'd think about the gun in his waistband, or the knife against his shoulderblade, or the other strapped to his leg, and he'd want to die.

He shouldn't care that much...even if they grew up together. Not when Eyes was superficially so cold and blunt and graceful all at once. It would have been so easy just to ignore him and look at that surface without seeing his brother, his best friend, the boy who'd bandaged him when he'd come home half-dead, and set his bones, and thought clearly and precisely enough to know better than to put him in a hospital. If he could only look at the surface and despise him, then it wouldn't hurt so much to not know what trouble he was in...

Kanone gritted his teeth, and thought of his options. He could take a sleeping pill, but they always made the nightmares worse--somehow less logical and more terrible. The pills he took to stop the restless nights were filled with disturbing dreams.

He'd dreamt of late, of killing his brothers and sisters, one by one, and of dancing, strangely enough.

He'd always been strong, and quick, and agile. He'd had to hide how he moved, had to hide his poise with years of practice to imitate the shuffle of other people. Eyes had kept it though, back from when they'd imitated eachother in everything without thinking, and sometimes had pretended to be twins, then forgotten about it in the later newly-masculine awkwardness of adolescence. Eyes still had a hint of languidity about him, while Kanone had dropped it entirely. He couldn't look at Eyes' grace and despise him for it. he couldn't wrap himself in hatred of something he knew was an unspoken symbol of their closeness...

Still, when Kanone wanted to, he could move however he wanted, and imitate mannerisms and movements perfectly. It was more or less, just another way of knowing where your body had to be, and when. The bigger trick was to get himself to slow down enough to keep time.

He'd learned to dance easily--though his mother had laughed at him for it. The laughing hadn't really stopped him. It was rare he made his mother laugh after Eyes' mother had passed away. If anything it had heartened him, no matter how rediculous she'd insisted he looked. At first it had been something to try because he'd wanted to amuse Eyes the same way he'd amused his mother... Eyes had thrown himself so deeply into music for a while that he hadn't seemed to see. He'd hoped, he'd make his gloomy friend smile, and he'd feel better. If Eyes smiled, there would be no way he could be brooding over his mother's death, no way he'd lose him...

What a fool he'd been to think in such sheltered terms--like they'd really always be together.

A few pointers, and a few moments of watching had taught him what others took years to learn. He had a sense of rythym, even if he didn't have much of an ear for music. So, as a kid, he'd danced like an idiot while Eyes fumbled at his melodies and harmonies. One day he'd done it for real, and Eyes had stopped playing, watching him. Kanone had stopped, still delicately self-conscious around his best friend as he wouldn't be around anyone else... "Don't stop...you're quite good."

And that had been that. Eyes' compliments were rare, even to him.

He'd picked it up from there. It had been something to incorporate. Something to do. It had crossed over strangely with his fighting, and blended in with it. made it more understandable in other ways, teaching him his body's limits... It had been useful for that. And...well, there was the fact that Eyes had seemed to like it. His mother, too. Eyes would make songs for Kanone, and Kanone would make strange dances for his songs.

Kanone had danced other times. He'd done it in front of Kousuke and Rio once, singing off-key, and roping Kousuke into partnering off with him just to see the look of astonishment on his face as he fumbled around and Rio again howled with laughter. (Kousuke was even clumsier with his feet than Eyes, and very, very conscious of being made to dance with a man.) Eyes too had a fairly priceless expression on his face when he walked in to see Kousuke stomping around, trying to keep up with him. And then--because he was Eyes--he'd pointed out that Kanone was entirely off key and had the lyrics wrong, but in the end, Eyes' flat commentary hadn't mattered because Rio was clapping, and singing with Kanone, and she jumped in, and spun like a top, and grabbed Eyes' hands, pulling the reluctant pianist in...

He'd tried to teach Eyes to dance, too, of course. Rio had walked in, and shrieked, and then started laughing as Eyes' face flattened and he quickly removed his hand from Kanone's, frowning at him as though it were all his fault. Rio had made jokes about their closeness from then on in, but...she seemed to understand--such an unmanning thing was something he'd only do without hesitation around Eyes. And likewise the other way, Eyes would only have accepted that from him without thought or question. (Well...as long as he didn't make him the woman in the dances, that was.) It wouldn't even occur to them until later how it might have been interpreted. They were that close. Kanone had turned it into a joke, ballroom-waltzing Eyes up and down the room to Rio's howls of laughter. Eyes had secretly given him a look fit to murder. He wasn't very good with his feet despite how graceful he normally looked--he danced more or less like a swan out of water.

Later, Eyes had always left in embarassment whenever it was brought up, hands folded and unspeaking. He was very private, and...well...very pretty for a man. Kanone had made sure to bump Kousuke when he'd made a slightly-too-pointed remark about Eyes' possible sexuality. Kanone hadn't even noticed before then, hadn't even thought...though he'd never really been able to seize him like that again, too suddenly conscious, wondering. ...Eyes would never tell anyone, he knew, if it were true. Even him. He'd be too humiliated. Regardless, Kanone made sure to watch out for him after that. He'd hoped that one day, he could ask, and Eyes would tell him for certain. In the mean time, his suspicion sank deeply, and unhappily, pitying him privately for it--his best friend, his brother... He grew more and more certain as the years drifted. Eyes certainly didn't seem to notice Rio, and Rio adored him. But Kanone wasn't sure whether that was Eyes' own peculiar, scripted formality and politeness, or genuine lack of notice for a different reason. Before, he wouldn't have even questioned. Dancing with Eyes had been the last time he'd approached him without even thinking. After that...

Maybe now he wouldn't be able to ask at all. Not ever. And...he wouldn't be around to help Eyes if he was...well...on that side of the fence. As though an unfortunate blade child needed any more reason to be persecuted by the world. Just the thought of what other people would think of Eyes for that made him sick with anger. As though it were all a choice. As though anyone could ever hold back more than Eyes.

He missed him so badly...

The dances of his nightmares seemed gross parodies of those earlier days, and Kanone could never stop thinking.

...In his nightmares, Kanone dreamed he danced after he murdered them all, and danced like he'd pulled out all the stops, in ways that even he couldn't manage--a grisly, choreographed nightmare...

He could see himself burying Rio alive in concrete, and hear her screaming and pleading with him, as he simply danced away, shooting through the mixed stone to quiet her, and suceeding in making her scream and cry all the more where she would have once laughed with joy to see him. He danced, tapping by on the tips of his toes so lightly that he didn't seem to weigh anything at all...

He dreamt of killing Ryoku and Kousuke with a single knife thrust, and arranging them tenderly afterwards, like a sick psychopath--arranging them in one another's arms as though they really were just lovers sleeping, swooping down and around with no concern for gravity, light as a cloud, flying over them while blood flowed sluggishly from their mouthes, their closed eyes...

He dreamed of his hands around Eyes' throat--Eyes was the star of each and every one of the dreams. The fact Kanone was so worried for him in the waking world meant he always saw him. His murder was always the most spectacular, the most ironic. After all, Eyes was his dearest friend in the world, the one he'd most meant to protect up to his own death. I will meet my end as a bloodless, tearless demon, but you'll be there. You'll be there, and you'll cry in my place. He'd agreed to that those many years before, to cry for him, and yet he'd silently vowed even more fiercely to never let Eyes die before he did, and protect him with his life.

It was natural, then, that his worst nightmares forced him to kill Eyes, and taste the insanity of it all, trapped in his switch-pressed body as it murdered and murdered and murdered. He'd forced poison into his mouth. He'd throttled him, feeling the struggle leave him as he crushed his throat. He'd stabbed him, and slit his throat, and wrists, and arms. He'd drowned him, and smothered him, and beaten him until his beautiful, incredulous face was unrecognizable as anything other than meat. He'd shot him in the chest, the head, the groin, the eyes, the throat. He'd forced his pistol into his mouth, and made him pull the trigger himself, the tears he'd never seen once, coursing down his pale cheeks...

And then after, when he was the only one left, he'd danced on them, crushing their bodies with his feet, and feeling joy. JOY of all things, because of the grip of madness, and the knowledge that nobody would ever be able to stop him, while some part of him remained locked away, helpless and watching...

Kanone shuddered, and felt ill again. He couldn't sleep. He couldn't. Not with those dreams just waiting for him, patiently, like hunters he truly couldn't escape, making him taste insanity every night before he actually succumbed to that particular genetic time bomb. But...if he didn't sleep, he'd just think about Eyes and how much he missed him, and how scared he was of what might happen to him until he felt even more sick, and then he'd dream something even worse about him afterwards.

He thought he was going mad, but he'd thought he was going mad for a while now. That was normal. No, what really scared him was the increase in pacing--he was sure he was going mad faster.

I'm not doing this. This isn't me. Kanone thought to himself desperately, looking at his hand shaking faintly on the seat.

Did any of the others really know what it was like to walk into a room, and feel the pressure of all those beating hearts? Did they find themselves looking at a person's neck? Thier chest? Their head? Thinking just how easy it would be to kill them then and there? And did they have it pop in their heads unbidden? Subconsciously? As easily remembered as some complicated pattern of keys Eyes had once played? They didn't, did they?

This wasn't natural. He could call it competance, excellence as a killer--or, if he wanted to be more merciful to himself, excellence as a protector--but it wouldn't be right, would it? Normal people didn't acheive "competance" at such a thing so easily. They didn't lose their abhorrance of violence like that... Kanone knew deep in his gut that he was a monster, through and through.

Kanone stared at his hands, and rubbed at imaginary blood. He could still smell it somehow, in the bathroom, beneath the soap. It was a smell he couldn't get rid of, even if he hid it under oil and gunpowder. Even if Kiyotaka's plan actually works, I'll still live in a world of murder. ...I'll still have this switch. This urge. He touched the mark in his side, and looked into the hollow eyes of the boy in the mirror. If Eyes dies...What will I do? If I don't lose it some other way, that would drive me over the edge for certain. Is that selfishness? Does that mean the only reason I want to save him is because I'm afraid for myself? Even for Eyes?

He lowered his head.

Am I that much of a clever monster? Nothing more?

"...Where are you, Eyes?" He whispered. "Would you really...get Kiyotaka to lie for you?" His hand fisted tightly against the cool slickness of the glass mirror, touching the reflections eyes, blotting them with smears of his thumb so they blurred. "Would you hunt us, and exterminate us?" He stared at his own smeared, distorted face. "Would you kill me too?"

Unbidden, his mind came to him again, concocting the image of what Eyes would look like if hit by a car, with his limbs and hair askew, his pallor bloodless, and expression astonished...

Kanone groaned, and put his hands over his eyes, and wished he wasn't so damn good at what he did.

...I'm sick of being the mad-genius immortal angel of death.

He threw off his damp clothes and turned on the shower, wishing he could drown himself in the faceful of water and take all his oppressive thoughts with him.

-o-O-o-

The phone buzzed. Eyes glanced at it, and the edge of his lip went up ever so slightly, in a bare semblance of pleasure...or...perhaps grim, clinically sterile satisfaction. He let it ring a moment, considering, then finally he pulled it to the curtain of hair over his ear.

The moment of silence was almost deafening.

"...Eyes? I-Is that you? Eyes-kun?" The voice whispered.

"Hello Rio." He murmured.

"Eyes..." The girl's voice trembled, and caught with emotion. "Are...A-Are you...okay?"

"Yes. Of course. How are you?" Eyes replied back with neutral politeness. "It's been too long."

"I'm fine..." Rio said back a little shakily. "I'm...with Kanone."

"Yes." The man said, tilting his head to stare out the window of his taxicab. "...And I'm glad you are."

There was silence on the other end for a moment. "...Eyes-kun... This is...the first time you've picked up."

"Yes." He murmured. "I won't insult you by apologizing without true repentence in my mind. I will, however, say it's good to hear your voice again."

"Thank you..." Rio whispered.

"Was there something you wanted?"

He heard her breathing on the other line. "You're...Eyes-kun, you're not part of the hunters, are you?"

Eyes frowned, and his dim reflection in the curvature of the window frowned back at him, slightly blurred and distorted, and pocked with rain. "No." He said.

He heard Rio give a little sigh of breath on the other line. "Oh... Good. I'm...sorry for asking." She said with a nervous little laugh. "I just had to be sure. Kanone was..." She trailed off, hesitating. "He...thought you might have gone to that side. I'm happy he's wrong."

Eyes lowered his eyelids, "Kiyotaka's plan makes no call for my joining the hunters thus far. Even so...I doubt I could manage such a task." He touched his aching rib as he spoke, clenching at the cramp-like pain in his side to calm it.

"I didn't think you'd do it." Rio breathed. "You'd never do that to us, Eyes-kun." She said warmly. "I know you wouldn't."

Eyes said nothing back.

"I know you called Kanone earlier. He said so at least. He sounded happy that you had. I mean, he didn't want me to see it, but...he was like himself again. He's...been worse without you."

Eyes shut his eyes, and thought about Kanone, clenching his side. "He's falling into the darkness." He murmured.

"He'll be okay! He has to be! He's just scared. He's... She hesitated. "He's scared something will happen to you." Rio insisted. "He's scared of that a lot more than he is that something will happen to him."

Eyes stared out the window again, at the passing cars. "I make no promises, but I recall everything he taught me, and I rarely waste it. You may tell him as much if it pleases you."

"He...really loves you, Eyes-kun. You're...like family. You really are." whispered Rio.

Eyes paused. Something flickered over his face, unseen, and quickly gone, stilling. "...Certainly he told you that I asked him to join me." Eyes said simply, a muscle moving in his cheek. His voice was still very level, very calm.

"Yeah. I know. But...Eyes-kun, you know he won't. He...He can't. He can't trust like that. Even though he wants to more than anything! He's...he's too scared of what might happen. He's too scared for the rest of us. It doesn't mean he doesn't want to be with you!"

Eyes shut his eyes tightly, clenching and unclenching his hand in his side, measuring out the throbbing pain in his side. "...It means he doesn't want to." He said levelly. "Whatever the reason."

"Eyes-kun, you know Kanone can't go with you. He...He can't trade everyone for you. Even though...he probably wants to more than anything." Rio said it like a fact, but he could hear the emotion under her voice, the sadness. They, the cursed blade children, only really had eachother. And Kanone had always been the one they'd looked to. Kanone had only ever really lavished his attention in large part on him, though. He, Eyes Rutherford had the coveted full attention of the other whenever he chose. Even Rio showed a little wistfulness at that. And Eyes noted it.

"He makes no trade. Your safety won't change whether he joins me or otherwise." Eyes said flatly. "He's afraid, nothing more. And that pride of his in his own self reliance will be the end of him."

There was a shocked silence on the other end of the phone. "...I can't come with you either, Eyes-kun." Rio whispered. "I wish I could."

"...I see." Eyes murmured after along pause. "He's shaken your faith as well, then?"

"No. I trust Kiyotaka-san. But...I can't leave him. I...lo-...l-like you too, Eyes-kun. But I can't let Kanone-kun be all alone. Not like this..."

Eyes' lips curled a little in a smile that nobody could see, put at ease. Rio wouldn't lie to him. He did trust Rio. He could think of no better person to care for Kanone, even if Kanone's fear and stubbornness were as frustrating as ever.

Honestly, the only reason Kanone was being swallowed the way he was by the darkness of despair was because of his own fear and blindness. He was the one feeding himself to despair, nobody else. And Eyes already knew he was probably lost. One or the other of them would be wrong. There was no way around it. As long as he was capable of thinking in such a cut-and-dry way, as though it were a game, he'd be fine...

"I'm sure you'll be an adequate, or more likely, an exceptional replacement for me if Kanone ever realizes the incredible value of what he has." And he meant it. Sad tenderness for Rio welled in his chest.

"E-Eyes!" Rio stammered. "I'm not a replacement! I can't replace you! Nobody can!" She stopped herself, and gave a little sigh. "What I...wish for, is for Kiyotaka's plan to work. And when it does, I want everyone to come back together and be family again. I...want you to come home, Eyes-kun."

Eyes lowered his head. "I see." He shut his eyes. "And if there must be a sacrifice for the good of the others?" He murmured.

"If there needs to be a sacrifice, we're not going to let you go in at that alone, Eyes-kun. Kanone-kun would say the same thing."

Eyes nodded slightly. "I'm sorry, Rio. But my answer to you is the same as mine to Kanone earlier."

He heard her breathe. "He...asked you to come back?"

"Yes." Eyes said. He frowned slightly at his own warped reflection, speckled by rain-struck streetlights. Actually, 'ask' wasn't the right word. Kanone had begged, pleaded, threatened, insulted, insinuated, abused, and cried. He'd called him the worst things he could think of, and in the next breath, he'd extoled his importance to him, and put his life in his hands, begging him. Kanone was Kanone. And few people could touch Eyes' heart the same way. Kanone's 'asking' still stung, though it had been hours since they'd spoken. It would probably sting a while longer.

It was hard to say no to Kanone, and harder still for Eyes to say no to him.

"...It's alright, Eyes-kun." Rio whispered after a moment. Her voice sounded a little forced, and Eyes gripped his rib, and wondered sadly if he was making her cry. "You don't need to come back right away. But...someday, we'll all be back together. I know it."

Eyes smiled faintly. Rio's faith was wonderful, and remarkable. "...Do take care of yourself. And of Kanone, until I return." He murmured.

He heard her breathe. "Yeah..." She whispered back. "Bye, Eyes-kun."

"Goodbye, Rio."

He hung up, and frowned, staring out the window, fingers in his aching side.

He'd have to leave the city within the hour, he thought to himself with singular and methodical calm. Rio wasn't stupid. She would have heard the rain, and put it all together, triangulating the sounds of thunder in her mind.

Eyes would never know how right he was--though he'd guess, and guess accurately. Kanone broke into the hotel-room with a strip of magnet within two hours, eyes wild. He stopped, lowered his knife and buried his face in the still turned-back bedsheets with a sigh. There was nothing else there. No sign of life, no sign of a pianist. He gave a cry of frustration, kicking the bed, and grinding his teeth. "Eyes...Eyes where are you?" He hissed, staring around with his mad, feline eyes.

Meanwhile, on his airplane to Japan, Eyes carefully calculated hour differences, and compared the scedules he'd been given. They flew over a storm, and Eyes watched the flickers of lightning beneath them without expression, and thought absently of his brother, putting pieces together in his mind.

When he landed, he flipped his cell phone open.

He heard the scarmble on the other end.

"R-Rutherford?"

Eyes didn't smile, shrewdly studying the planes taking off through the windows. "I'm at the Osaka Airport. Please come...Kousuke."

No sooner did he click his phone shut, than the public phone beside him began to ring. He looked at it, and frowned. There was a purple petal tucked under the phone book.

He stood, and pulled the phone off the receiver.

He listened for a little more than a minute.

"...Understood."

He hung up, and turned back to wait for Kousuke, tucking the petal in one of his deep coat-pockets, and thinking of music.
-o-O-o-O-o-

The Bridge of Sighs (AU Spiral fic--3) Azalee's challenge

Wed, 02 Sep 2009 21:10:00 GMT

Fragment: "the Bridge of Sighs" (3)
Fandom: Spiral (AU)
Genre: Angst/Drama with the angst shifting headlong into Spiral-esque mysteries
Rating: Likely T
Why: Mostly for occasional language because Kanone is depressing and prickly. Rio is also wonderfully faithful, and Kousuke is doubtful. Also, guns, pillowfights, wiatresses, and italian food. (And a reference to lolita complexes and messing with the minds of gay people, which firmly puts this in the "T" range. But Rio is "the exploding lolita" and Kanone's...well...Kanone.)
What's going on: AU Spiral setting--"What would happen if Kanone didn't leave the blade children? What if Eyes did?"--And the mystery thickens...
Other notes: This is the way we stop people from studying and doing other creative things with their time--we begin to speak in stilted melodramatic prose write more and MORE stuff for other people to sneak-peek.
This should get a good bit less depressing and angsty for a while at least. People are starting to cope.
...Or so we think. (Or are they really coping after all and I just like to sow meaningless suspense like spangles and sequins into a person's clothing?) Aha!

Also: Rio is so very awesome... I love Rio. If she were real and not totally two-dimensional, I'd want to be internet pen-pals with her, and introduce her to my pyromaniac male nerd friends.

KanoneXRio never seems to ever happen, you know? Good Heavens, is THAT what's happening here? Woah.

Implied, presumably one-sided RioXEyes, because it's canon. (Also known as "Because it's not Kanon") Same goes for implied KousukeXRyoku. That's way canon.

Also possible RioXKanone as I said before, or maybe one-sided KanoneXRio because it's weird. Depends on what you want to see. (I'm on a roll for triangles lately... XOMG. HET.)

Possibly even KanoneXEyes. (Maybe one-sided--though on which side is the real question.) They're so close in the canon that that particular interpretation of them is almost canon, itself. It's only here if you squint and pan for it, though. I'm trying to cool it on that. (Poor Moe-chan doesn't like KanoneXEyes, and I think her stuff's interesting, and so, she inspires me to experiment. I aim to please, Moe-chan!) Since these chapters are usually told with the viewpoint of Kousuke or Rio or such, they see the Kanone and Eyes relationship as very close familial ties. (Ie: Brothers. Or at the least, best friends.) But Eyes is so very "I must not show emotion *dead face*" and Kanone is so socially manipulative that it's pretty hard to tell how the chemistry with those two works...

For the record, Azalee is officially the only person who can make Rio frighteningly sexy. (Enough to make me scared when my birthday comes up.) All I can manage is to do on the other hand, is make Rio "normal" and occasionally cute, and trying to keep everything and everyone together. I don't do her justice. (Or if I do, I only do her justice, and other people manage to make her more than just justice and more like LXLight justice!slash. ...Uh.)

Gag. Angst!floof onna riot poof.
And short chapters, hey, hey.
I say. I must be doing better--I keep dividing these up into things I don't have to shorten or chop up for LJ. NICE.

One last thing--people always look at me funny when I make Kanone "charming." I've finally found my defense, though. Remember that scene in the manga where he's looking up at the sky all gloomily thinking it's a nice day and willing Eyes Rutherford to drop dead because of the pretty sky and all? (Chapter 34, I think.) If you look at the background pictures, Kanone's with a group of girls. Not one, not two, but FIVE giggling girls in school uniforms. When Ayumu says later (after Eyes wakes up) that Kanone's still at the school, and getting along well with all the girls, clearly he means it.
I rest my case.
The man's the Light Yagami of Spiral. (Except he's trying to kick it to the god of the new world, in a manner of speaking...) So don't give me funny looks for how he behaves. Kanone uses his draw on people even in the canon. (HA. I wasn't imagining it! Yes! *punches the air in triumph*) This makes it pretty ironic that he feels all bent out of shape over the idea that Kiyotaka might be a manipulator, too. But it DOES explain how he recognizes it in the first place.

That said, if you pay attention to the little background-sequencer scenes, whenever Eyes goes out walking, girls stop and stare at him. Even when he's "in disguise." Clearly the manga-ka has a sense of humor about the "pretty" blade children. (Both Eyes and Kanone are what we RPG people would call a high charisma roll...)

So, yes, Kanone is...well...Kanone.

(Feel free to argue with me, but I tend to win these things.)

And usually I make him bi, but this time he wants to be straight. Makes it more interesting.

Dylan Thomas takes the credit for the cut text this chapter. Cheers to the poet with the wonderful voice, who was the master of drinking himself under the table. Permanantly.

T-o-O-o-O-o-
-o-O-o- The Bridge of Sighs: III -o-O-o-
-o-O-o-
"Even a courageous person does not feel easy in his mind
when the dentist takes out his instruments
and is about to pull a tooth.
And even the most courageous person has a strange feeling around his heart
when the surgeon takes out his instruments
and is about to amputate that person's arm or leg.
Yet in every man there is something more firmly rooted
than even the most embedded molar,
and something to which he cleaves more strongly
than to an arm or leg of his own body:
that is, his urge to live.
Therefore all experience cries out to a man:
Whatever you do, see to it that you don't lose your vital urge;
Whatever you lose in life, if only you keep that, there will always be a chance
of winning back everything."

-from the diary of Søren Kierkegaard, "To die to the world" (July 2, 1855)
-o-O-o-O-o-

"But why would he join the Watchers if his goal is to save the Blade Children?"

Neither Kanone nor Rio had an answer for Kousuke. Even months later, they had no answer for him. Kanone had long since given up finding one unless it was from Eyes' own lips. Perhaps that had been his grim intent from the start. Rio had a bit more patience and a large portion more faith, but she was only one person no matter how clever she was, and in her heart, she knew she was a little biased.

So they hadn't answered.

They'd all gone their seperate ways after that--in some measure at least. Rio and Kanone were the ones who looked for Eyes. Kousuke was still hesitant, and returned to Japan without a word. Kanone was privately quite angered by that--Rio could see it in his eyes. He was used to having the others follow his instructions, even if he wasn't actually their leader. Even if he wasn't the oldest.

"It's probably Ryoku." Rio said by way of explanation.

"I know damn well what it is, thank you, Rio." Kanone had retorted, the silver of his knife rippling the air in trick tosses.

Rio hadn't said anything else after that. She didn't leave him on his own, though. Not really. She was patient enough. You had to be when you were a bomb expert. You couldn't afford the rush sometimes. Everyone knew she was probably more concerned for Kanone now than she'd ever been for Eyes. Eyes was stable, and nearly impossible to upset. Kanone was quite the opposite. He was the one they all looked up to--the most talented, but also the closest to the brink. He always had been. Eyes had filled something in him, and with that gone, he was more unstable than ever.

He needed family. Attention, at the least. He wasn't used to being on his own. He was self-sufficeint enough, of course. But that wasn't the problem. Kanone simply wasn't used to being without someone acting like his remitter.

Rio didn't expect to replace Eyes, but she did want to keep her watchfulness on Kanone at the moment, and her presence seemed to keep him a little calmer at least. And if he snapped, she'd be the first to go, and then everyone would know, and they'd all be safe. Practicality was of the essence. Staying with Kanone would just solve the most things at once, so she stayed in the United Kingdom, and followed him when he packed up and went off to search for Eyes.

They traveled seperately for a time, and sent letters comparing notes through the mail, through email, through cryptic little superficial codes of theirs. Kanone had stopped sending things on to Kousuke after a while out of anger--and it was rare that Kanone held back and simmered his anger. It probably wasn't much better than his old habits--it left the feeling that the instant he got near Kousuke again, he'd make him pay. Rio had secretly sent information enough for both of them, and reassurances that she wouldn't let Kanone kill Eyes, making sure everyone was still in touch. It was important that everyone knew what was going on, after all...

Kousuke had sent back a very honest letter a couple weeks in. It had simply said, I'm not sure you'll be enough to stop him. And on further thought, Rio wasn't sure who he meant exactly--Eyes or Kanone. She wasn't sure if Kousuke was being worried or patronizing.

Nobody really seemed able to stop Eyes when he put his mind to something--even Kanone. Eyes was infamously stubborn, and had a will that could sink a battleship.

They couldn't stop Kanone on the other hand, because he was forceful and terribly violent when he didn't get his way. And he was maybe a little too used to getting his way.

Both of them had too strong a will to be put down without a serious fight one way or another, and nobody really wanted that kind of fight at the moment, nor did anyone else really want to be too close in case the two of them actually did meet up again. Eyes was patient. Kanone was innovative. Fights with either tended to be swift, brutal, and very, very direct.

Kanone wouldn't be able to forgive Eyes, she knew that on some level--and Rio wasn't a person to give up easily. Even if Eyes joined the Watchers, there was no difference between that, and joining the Hunters in Kanone's mind. To sit by and watch his fellow blade children be hunted down without lifting a hand to help was a crime to Kanone, just as surely as though Eyes had put hands to the neck of each and every single one of his fellows. There was no way to take the ensuing personal vendetta out of Kanone's intentions even if Kanone also surely loved Eyes like a brother. If Eyes had left to join the Savers, Kanone would have been just as angry--he'd see it as unnecessary. Why would his dearest friend willingly leave just to serve the same side he'd been serving?

Perhaps Eyes had counted on Kanone's anger.

If there was one person Kanone would try to hold himself back for it was Eyes, after all. And Eyes would know his reactions.

"Why the watchers?" Kousuke asked Rio again over the phone some weeks after. "I mean, what side are we really on? Are we part of the Savers, or what? I mean, we don't want to have more of us wandering around and all, but we don't want to be exterminated."

"We're our own side. Problematic cursed children." Rio said, with a little smile. The Savers hadn't really done anything for them. So why bother giving them anything? Least of all their allegience. The Savers wouldn't save them, anyway. They'd just prolong the curse.

"...Rutherford too, right?" Kousuke asked after a moment.

Rio hesitated, then nodded, sighing, and cradling the phone to her ear. "Yeah. Eyes-kun too. Even if he's one of the watchers, he's still one of the blade children. And...he believes in Kiyotaka's plan. I know he does."

"Then why's he sitting by and doing nothing?" Kousuke asked with an edge of disquiet in his voice.

Rio groaned. "Kousuke, you're an idiot." She muttered. "He's not there to do nothing. If Eyes-kun joined the watchers, he's probably helping them. They're the ones who Kiyotaka said he'd work with, after all."

"Yeah, while pretending to be an impartial god and all..." Kousuke said a little bitterly. His sigh made static in the speaker. "...Rio...do you ever think we'd be better off just...not fighting it any more?" He whispered.

Rio was silent on the other end of the phone. "...Don't say that." She whispered finally. "Don't say that, Kousuke. We have to keep believing."

"Yeah? Why?" Kousuke asked, with bone-weariness and annoyance in his voice.

Rio couldn't answer for a moment. Kousuke was starting to sound like Kanone was starting to look as the days went by and he found no trace of his friend. "...You're with Ryoku, aren't you?" She asked, trying to keep the emotion out of her voice. "Kousuke-kun...we can't run forever."

"I know." Kousuke said. "Don't you think I know that by now?" He retorted hotly. "Rutherford's the one who doesn't. Kanone knows it. You've been around him long enough, so you should know too."

Rio swallowed hard. "You know...It's things like this that made Eyes-kun leave, I bet." She said quietly. It was a low blow, maybe, but it was her only one. Kousuke didn't say anything. She imagined she could hear him grinding his teeth like Kanone did. "Kousuke...are you going to leave, too?" Rio whispered, curling her little hands into fists.

Kousuke didn't say anything.

"Kousuke...?" Rio whispered, biting her lip.

Kousuke hung up.

Rio's fingers shook as she lowered her phone.

Why are we falling apart like this? Is this what Eyes-kun and Kiyotaka-san wanted?

The next day, Rio joined up with Kanone and started travelling with him rather than acting as follow-up. Kanone hardly seemed to notice her even then. All his thoughts were still tied up in Eyes, and nothing else. As long as he had the hunt, there wasn't even room for much despair. It was anyone's guess exactly what he'd do if he actually found Eyes, or, if Rio could stop him.

And really, that was the reason she was there. She couldn't replace Eyes, and she had no delusions in that regard, but...she could find a way to force him to stop in a confrontation. And if she had to, she would sabotage Kanone. If Kousuke wouldn't help, if he and Ryoku were lost to them as well, then she had no other options, really.

Rio wanted her family back. Even if it meant she had to get it back in pieces. As long as it was alive, that was fine.

As long as it could be rebuilt.

All of it.

...Even if she had to do it with her bare hands, and even if it killed her.

-o-O-o-

When Rio edged into Kanone's hotel room, she noticed the gun in his lap first before anything else. She stopped in her tracks, unable to really look away from it, the glint of the metal, and the cradling of his fingers... Kanone raised his head carelessly, his feline eyes just as listless. He cracked a smile. It was only on his lips, touching nothing else in his face. "Hey." He said tiredly, making no pretense to hide the gun, or the pattern of his fingers wearing over it thoughtfully. "Have you eaten anything? I was just thinking of getting something."

Rio didn't smile back, staring at the gun, her fingernails biting into her palms. Kanone held the weapon like a beloved pet. She could guess why, too.

I still need you alive! Don't do this, Kanone-kun! We need you alive! Eyes needs you!

"...I just got off the phone with Kousuke." Rio said after a moment, still unable to tear her eyes away.

Kanone's smile faded. There was a glimmer of anger--he hadn't wanted any information passed to Kousuke after all, but he held it back, and he smiled again. "I see. He's off with his girlfriend?" There was a deliberate twist there. Kousuke would never make a move on Ryoku. Ryoku would never make a move on Kousuke. Rio could see how much they wanted to, but didn't. She knew why, too. She wondered a little guiltily sometimes if Eyes would think like Kousuke and Ryoku. If he would have minded... The very thought of asking him anything had been terrifying as nothing else was. Eyes was too perfect, too beautiful, too quietly understanding and underspoken. Just his full attention had made Rio want to turn into a puddle of ooze. It made her hands start shaking as they never had when she'd put together mixtures of chemicals that could have blown the roof off if she'd spilled even a drop. He'd been intimidating as any idol, even before...

Well...

Rio dropped to the carpet in front of Kanone, arranging her legs, and looking him in the eye, trying not to think about Eyes. It still made her a little nervous. "There's a possibilty he might leave too, you know." She didn't dare say that there was a large chance he already had left for good. Not while Kanone still had the gun in his hand, not while she knew well the effects of his hollow-capped bullets, or, for that matter, while she knew Kanone had been sitting there pondering either murder, or, more likely, suicide...

They can't both be losing hope like this. Even if we don't find Eyes, as long as something like this didn't happen, we'd be fine...

Kanone absently fiddled with his gun. "I know." He said quietly, seriously. "He did it the moment he turned his back on the both of us." He clicked his knuckles, then cracked his neck with a sigh of satisfaction, stretching cat-like.

"He didn't abandon us. He's...not like Eyes-kun." Rio insisted. "Kousuke always cares about everyone. You know that." She dropped her hands at her sides. "He'd never...not when he knows we need him..."

Kanone didn't seem to hear her. "...I was thinking Italian food, you?"

Rio sighed. "Kanone-kun, we have to be serious, and plan. This isn't the time to worry about food."

"Kousuke's not going to do anything on his own. He knows I'd beat the living shit out of him if he did." Kanone said simply. "With my bare hands, of course. It'd be no good if he died over something like that. I'd be very careful to leave an inch of his life in him still..."

"If he leaves-"

"He won't leave." Kanone said, tracing the muzzle of his gun almost ruefully, smiling lightness and laughter. "If he does, I'll blow the head off his girlfriend and send it to him in the mail. In a nice fruit basket with a giant pineapple on the top." He'd said it like a joke. He wasn't joking, though. It made the hairs on Rio's neck stand on end.

"Kanone you can't kill other blade children. That would make us no better than the hunters."

Kanone shrugged. "Mm. If you want to keep at this, we can do it over dinner."

"I want to handle it now."

"I find you easier to handle after dinner, though." Kanone said with a flicker of a smile on a dead, serious face.

Rio studied him. "...I'm not your girlfriend or anything, you know." She said quietly. "I don't want dinner. I want to talk."

Kanone made a noncommital noise. "Girls always do. Normally I'm a good listener, but I'm feeling a bit twitchy tonight, and I want some ambience." He stowed the gun in his waistband, tousling his own hair idly. "I could force-feed you but that'd be unpleasant. It would be just so much more soothing to talk with a little background. Besides, you need to eat well if you ever want to have that knockout womanly figure later on." Kanone said almost reasonably, pulling himself to his feet.

Rio made a face, and punched him in the arm. He took it and smiled a little. He didn't even bother to stop her. He made a point to wince ruefully.

"Hauuh...That's mean, Kanone-kun." Rio whined, suddenly the little girl again, still surprised beneath it. He'd let her hit him. When Kanone had smiled at her trying to hit him, he'd looked a little more like himself, too--a little more like he wouldn't ever commit suicide, and wouldn't ever hurt Ryoku or Eyes or anyone else... Her punch had been so pathetic that it hadn't even hurt her knuckles, but he'd winced and looked properly sheepish.

She scowled, not entirely charmed over, ready to give him a far better next blow. He caught her next attempt with a grin as though he knew. "You punch like a girl." He said.

"Meanie. I am a girl."

"Right, right. I wasn't doubting your feminine attributes, Rio, but really, I can't have anyone else going after you like this. All you'd get are dirty old men with lolita complexes." Kanone said, the smile warming on his face. It looked sad that way, but it was his first smile in a very long time. The first real one at least. Rio thought of retorting, then reconsidered and didn't. Kanone let go of her fingers as though noticing he still held them, and stared at the carpet. "...And Eyes." He added. "You'd get Eyes."

Rio's face heated in embarassment. "Eyes-kun doesn't think of me that way." She muttered, looking away. "Stop teasing me." Kanone shook his head with a little smile, spinning his gun over a finger. "He respects you more than you think." he murmured, gazing at the ceiling. Rio made a face. "I wasn't looking for him to respect me. You know." She flattened down her skirt, frowning, face still very hot. He'd seen it so easily... Kanone just smiled, then suddenly cracked a perfectly harmless grin. "Well nobody else seems to respect you."

"I knew it! You're making fun of me again!" Rio squealed indignantly, grabbing and throwing a pillow at him. "I was so close to feeling sorry for you! And then you go off like I'm just a little kid!"

Kanone blocked the onslaught easily, but he still humored her, acting as though he'd been knocked over, swooning like a third-rate movie actress. Rio laughed despite herself, pulling the pillow from his arms and attempting to beat him with it. He batted off the blows with his hands, holding up his arms, and laughing. "Alright! I take it back! I take it back! Please forgive poor Kanone-chan, exalted Rio-sama!" Rio lowered the pillow, giggling despite herself, and feeling like a weight had lifted off her chest to hear Kanone laughing. He looked rediculous with his hair messed up, leaning on one elbow. He did feel like an older brother in some ways. The sudden burst of play didn't disguise the fact that she was still worried for him.

She didn't want to have to sabotage him.

She didn't want him to die.

I want us all to return to those days. And I'll keep praying to the end, to whatever I can, that they will all be safe...

Kanone propped himself up on his elbows. And Rio noted with a strange, sinking feeling that the gun was back in his fingertips, and he was flipping it back and forth. He could heave easily defended himself. And...did that mean he didn't trust her really?

"You know...I might be a little hungry." She admitted. She batted him one last time with the pillow, like it was all his fault.

Kanone's face brightened instantly, snatching the pillow with one hand, and throwing it easily aside. "I know just the thing. I saw the most wonderful little Italian Restaurant down the street. They even had a little kitty for their mascot. ...Of course that means they probably don't feed the leftovers to the ones in the street." Rio wasn't entirely surprised, but pensive, thoughtful, comical Kanone was better than Kanone who'd been locked in his room, staring at the gun in his hand for who knew how long, saying nothing at all, and smiling for nobody.

"-and then I can tell you all about what Eyes said on the phone-"

Rio jerked upright. "What?" She gasped.

Kanone looked at her plainly. "Oh yes. I didn't tell you? Eyes called. Just this evening." He smiled, life back in his eyes. "And I'll tell you all about it over dinner."

-o-O-o-

"You mean you actually talked to Eyes-kun and you didn't tell me until we were in a stupid restaurant and you're eating dried up, fried squid?" Rio hissed under her breath. Kanone paused with a ring of calamari held over his open mouth, then shrugged, dropping it in anyway. "I didn't see you until the evening. I was a little busy tastelessly stalking the higher-ups of the piano world by being a charming young man with a passion for Chopin and a naivete of the ways of the world." Kanone said with an edge of humor around the mouthful of appetizer. He grinned. He had squid in his teeth.

"So...you were...?"

Kanone smiled. "Mildly seducing the information out of several tastelessly rich individuals in an effort to search for ways to Eyes?" he suggested.

"Just a bit?" Rio finished with a sigh.

"Just a little bit." He agreed, making a wry face. "It's mostly the age that's interesting about them. Everything else, I really can't stand. Eyes, of course, would call it uncivilized what I'm doing, but I do a lot of uncivilized things. And really, this is much more charming than some of the other stuff I do."

Rio smiled at him despite herself. "Well...if I did it, you'd say a lot of mean things about the people going after me."

"Because, Rio, anyone speaking to you in such an open manner offhand would have to have an unhealthy love for illegally young girls." Kanone said, flourishing his fork and smiling. "The term is 'perverts'." Rio made a face back. "Perverts like you just fine, though." She remarked. Kanone gulped on his drink, bugging his eyes, but caught himself with a nervous laugh that was half-choke.

"Mn. Well. I guess they seem to." He admitted, laughing a little with a last cough.

Rio grinned. "Did you at least get his phone number?"

"Rio!" Kanone exclaimed, laughing harder and groping for his napkin before he accidentally sprayed the table with squid. He choked fresh laughter into his napkin. "I'm hurt, really I am! And I'm not gay, Rio!"

Rio grinned back at him. "No, you just like to mess with people who are."

Kanone actually blushed a little, grinning like an idiot. "I'm not messing with anyone. I'm manipulating them. There's a difference." He couldn't keep the smile from his face as he said it, though, teasing her with a poke of the fork against her forehead. "Though I keep forgetting you seem to know everything all the time."

"That's why you wanted my help in the first place." Rio reminded him cheerfully, swinging her legs under the table and considering whether or not she wanted to eat another breadstick.

"So I did. So I did." Kanone mused, grabbing another mouthful of squid and waving the fork around idly as he spoke, making little stabs and lazy twists in the air. "Anyway, Eyes called me around the time you were probably speaking to Kousuke. There is a chance he would have preferred you, but he did talk to me." His lip quirked in an oddly pleased little triumph, and he took another bite of squid. He offered the plate. Rio just shook her head wrinkling her nose.

"And what did he say?"

Kanone made a face, the smile fading from his lips, grimacing around the fork. "Oh, nothing too interesting. Eyes is as stubborn and hard to deal with as ever." He scowled at his nearly empty plate.

"Did he at least say why he did it?"

"All the reasons we suspected. 'Oh the glory of Kiyotaka's damn miraculous and heroic plan to save the bloody universe', and all that." He mocked Eyes' lingering accent and droll, matter-of-fact way of speaking perfectly. He grimaced at his plate again, paused, and straightened. "But we'll have to pause this because here comes the waitress." He said. He didn't even have to turn his head. He simply knew. Kanone's personal space seemed to extend in a giant bubble out fifty feet from his body. He was always keenly aware of his surroundings. Rio felt extremely safe around him. They all usually did. It was literally impossible for death to sneak up on Kanone.

Kanone pulled a slightly vacant smile back to his face, and lowered his cloth napkin, glancing at Rio quietly. Rio just smiled, and tried to look young and cute. It wasn't too hard for her.

"One order of fettucini alfredo topped with shrimp?" The young woman said. She looked like a college student, overworked, and over-tired of smiling until her cheeks ached. Kanone turned with a scramble, after a jump, making a show of startlement. "Oh! That's mine. A-and the salad, and minestrone soup, too."

The woman nodded, placing the two plates and bowl in front of him, clearly on automatic pilot. "And...one kid's meal of macaroni and cheese?"

"Yummy!" Rio said, beaming like the small child she was pretending to be. "That's my sister's." Kanone said, playing his part with a sigh. The waitress blinked. "You're brother and sister?" Kanone smiled with a measure of hesitance, of affected shyness. "Yeah. Oh...We don't look anything alike, huh?"

"I'm the cute one." Rio said, playing up her role as the smug brat.

Kanone laughed pointedly, shakily. "Hey." He turned his head, and spoke more quietly, glancing between Rio and the waitress, averting his eyes mostly when his head turned back to the waitress. "We, uh...have different mothers and the same dad." He fiddled with his napkin.

The waitress blinked. "Oh..." She seemed to search for something to say in a tired, worn-out brain. Her face was blank and vacant.

"I-It's no problem. We're used to it!" Kanone suddenly blurted. "I mean she really does feel like a sister to me." He added with a self conscious smile. "I think dad should pay her to baby-sit me." He made a point of hesitation. "Uh. I'm sorry. I'm holding you up and I'm sure you have other tables-"

"It's okay." The waitress said quickly.

Kanone nodded, making a show of embarassment and hesitance, fiddling with the napkin in his lap. "Okay. Uh. ...What's your name?"

Rio made a face. "Silly, it's on her nametag." She trilled, sticking out her tongue. Kanone played the role of the awkward teenager perfectly. "Oh! Oh yes, I'm-" The waitress just smiled tightly, looking less tired now, but decidedly guarded. Kanone sighed pointedly. "Well now I feel like an idiot." He said in a show of helplessness. "I'm r-really sorry for holding you up, miss Anne." He looked at her, then quickly looked away.

Rio made a giggle. Kanone made sure to shoot her a dirty look, shifting in perfectly coordinated awkward restlessness.

Anne the waitress just shrugged. "I'll be back with the desert menu." She said, but she still lingered her eyes over Kanone as she left. He made a show of turning and looking annoyed with his 'sister', slouching down in his seat like he wanted to hide. "Keep it up a moment, will you? I'm giving you a talking to." He whispered.

Rio made another face, exaggerating it. "You've totally fooled that poor girl. You can't really think she'll tell you anything about Eyes-kun." Rio whispered, not moving her lips. Kanone gave a sigh, acting defeated and embarrassed, covering his face in his hands to play it all up. He murmured through them. "You want the soup?"

"Of course I do. I'm not actually interested in the kids-meal." Rio replied primly. "Macaroni and Cheese is about as Italian as French toast is actually French." Kanone smiled under the show of his hands. "Don't let me stop you, then. How're we doing, though?"

Rio snorted under her breath. "Egotist. You're doing fine. She even forgot to ask you if you wanted parmesan on your meal. And she shook her ass plenty." Kanone hid his smile, spearing a shrimp on a fork and sighing. "...Hm. We'll have to see if she forgets the desert menu. It's a real pity I have to play the doting, awkward brother, or I'd give her some sequence of honeyed shit to swallow about the color of her eyes, and the luster of her hair..."

"Now you're turning into the pervert." Rio snorted.

"Me?" Kanone gasped, stretching his eyes wide in mock-innocence.

"She's probably ten years older than you." She said back, smiling tightly.

"Ah. Clearly I hadn't thought of that." He said, widening his eyes in an expression of dismay. "What an unexpected situation! I should wait to catch up, shouldn't I!" Kanone's face split into a mischievious grin, as he caught the breadstick Rio tossed at him on the end of his fork. He lowered it. "Rio, if there's one thing about learning charisma-games properly that doesn't get said much, it's the fact that you have to keep in practice somehow."

"Uh huh. Just most big brothers don't practice that sort of thing in front of their little sister, you sociopath." She added, grabbing his bowl of soup, and spooning a bit of the distastefully gooey macaroni into it. Kanone just smiled over his wound forkful of noodles. He had an unusual hint of smugness around his mouth. "Oh please. Women just can't seem to resist a man who's kind to his obnoxious sister..."

"I can." Rio said pointedly.

Kanone snorted into his sleeve, dropping his fork. "You especially can't." He snickered. Rio threw a bit of calamari at him. Kanone caught it in his teeth with a laugh.

Rio giggled before she could stop herself. "You sound like Kiyotaka-san."

Kanone's face froze. Rio realized her mistake instantly. She lowered her head back to the soup, and changed the subject. "So...how did things go with Eyes-kun?"

Kanone just shrugged, though, and didn't say anything for a very long time. He twisted his fork in the noodles "...Not well." He murmured.

Rio picked at the macaroni. "What did he say?"

Kanone folded his hands, hiding his face. "...He asked me to join him." He said a little too brightly. "Can you believe it?" He gave a little laugh.

Rio tightened her hands on the table. "And...you said?"

Kanone lowered his head, twisting his fork through his noodles. "I said no." He whispered. The smile slid off his face and his eyes narrowed. "The...gall of him." He hissed. "I figured Eyes of all people would know better. Asking me to sit there on my hands and watch the blade children murdered when I could try to help? I could blast each and every single one of them. I could save lives. But he seems to think I'd prefer sitting there and getting spoonfed that...that bullshit from on-high, and just sit on my hands." He viciously twirled at his noodles. He jammed the wad of pasta in his mouth, and wiped his mouth irritably with a napkin. "That's not me."

Rio lowered her head. She didn't want to see him like this. It was like watching him play with his knives, or twirl his guns. "Maybe...you should have gone." She murmured. "I know how much you miss him-"

"I can keep missing him. It's worth seeing that bastard Kiyotaka not scoop up and kill any of you others with his egotistical idiocy." Kanone said darkly.

"Kiyotaka-san wouldn't hurt us." Rio whispered.

"Too late, I think." He replied coldly.

"He has a plan." Rio said, spooning up mouthfuls of soup. The broth burned her tongue.

"Ooh. I feel much safer now." Kanone muttered sarcastically, picking out the shrimp from his food a little more vehemently.

"Kanone, I'm serious." Rio sighed.

"And so am I." Kanone said. He sighed in exasperation, and shook his head, lowering the fork. "...My will is mine. And...if Kiyotaka had a plan, I wouldn't be facing Eyes like this. Not him. Not...ever." He scowled at his salad.

Rio opened her mouth, then shut it, shaking her head. "Kanone...are we really worth it...? Are we worth more to you than...Eyes?"

Kanone hesitated. He bit his lip hard, and didn't meet her gaze, staring at his plate. He curled his hands into fists.

Rio watched his fingers and knew he could make any gesture he wanted. She knew, and she still reached for his hand-

Kanone straightened sharply, and jammed the table forward, catching Rio in the ribs and knocking her down and out of the way of the bullet. He was out of his seat in the blink of an eye. The waitress made a noise as he splashed her face with his drink, drawing the table-knife up to just beneath her eye, pulling her head back by the ponytail. She stiffened immediately, and bared her teeth at him.

Several people screamed and dove under their tables at the sound of the gun. By the time they had, the threat was already virtually neutralized, though.

Their waitress from earlier came skidding over on her heels. "Ch-Christina!" She shrieked. The other woman just looked straight at the ceiling, struggling to free the hand with the gun. Kanone was clearly stronger, though. He narrowed his eyes at her, and increased the pressure of his weight on the arch of her foot. She hissed between her teeth. There was another gunshot, but Kanone twisted it towards the roof, ignoring the noise, and the sound of the people shouting. He smiled a little, and put his full weight on the woman's foot. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, but she held in the cry of pain. He attempt at elbowing him was caught. He twisted the other arm up behind her back, murmuring jsut so she and Rio could hear, "Don't be like that. I'll break your arm."

Rio pulled herself off the ground, massaging her aching ribs. "Kanone...Kanone we need to go." She whispered.

Their attacker froze, her face paling beneath the sticky mess of soda. "Kanone? Kanone Hilbert? The gun with wings?"

Kanone actually smiled, and twisted her wrist sharply, without any real effort. The hunter gave a little scream, and the pistol clattered out of her hand. Kanone kicked it aside without looking down, tapping the soft skin just beneath her wide left eye with his switchblade hidden in his cloth napkin. His face was beutifically harmless. "That's sounds about right. I haven't broken your wrist. Just sprained it, if I'm any judge. Don't think I left you alive because I think you're cute, though. You're one of the hunters, so someone must've tipped you off that there were members of the children in this restaurant. So...who was it?"

Christina's face flattened. "Eyes Rutherford gives his regards." She said, turning her head with a flicker of a cruel little smile.

Kanone stiffened immediately. He'd reacted before Rio could shout at him to stop, plunging the knife just beneath the woman's eye and into her brain, and again with a jerk of his wrist, across her throat..

Their waitress screamed loud and shrilly as the convulsing body dropped to the floor, howling. Kanone grabbed Rio around the waist, picking her up bodily, and dashing out of the restaurant before anyone could think to stop him--taking advantage of their shock, their very human reactions to seeing a woman murdered before their eyes.

They veritably flew over the pavement. Rio gave a cry of pain at the jostling, and Kanone skidded behind a dumpster. He dropped to his knees. "On." He hissed, dropping and turning his back to her. Rio didn't need to be told twice. She held on, hugging him around the neck. "Kanone...Oh Kanone..." She whispered against the beat of his feet against the pavement.

"They...have him..." Kanone hissed. "I knew-"

"No." Rio whispered, trying to keep the breath from being knocked out of her.

"They'll wish they'd never-!"

"No, Kanone." Rio whispered, pressing her head against the back of his.

"...I'll kill them." Kanone snarled under the noise of his feet on the pavement. And Rio was glad she couldn't see his face. It wasn't a threat when he said it. It was always a promise. "I'll kill them!" He howled. Rio buried her face against his shoulder and trembled.

This can't be happening. Please don't let this happen. She prayed silently...then wondered who or what she was praying to.

Kanone slowed down after close to two miles. Rio didn't have a clue where they were. It looked like a bad neighborhood, but that didn't mean much of anything to her, much less to Kanone. He stopped, and let her drop, his adrenaline dropping on him, and finally forcing him to breathe to catch up with what he'd been doing. He panted, his entire body heaving.

Rio touched his back, gripping her fingers in his sweat-drenched shirt to keep him from darting off again, frightened for him.

"He's still...one of us..." Kanone heaved, trying to shake her off, his eyes wide and feline. Rio realized he was sobbing while she tried to keep her grip. "I knew...I knew they wouldn't..." Kanone gave a shudder, putting a hand over his face. "He's...he's right where they want him...Oh Eyes..." He cut himself off with an almost inaudible keening noise.

Rio gripped harder at his shirt. "Kanone-kun...Eyes-kun will be alright. He'll be okay-"

"No he won't be!" Kanone shouted, rearing on her sharply.

Rio hadn't even realized she'd stepped back and let go of him as he stared at her with his mad, animal eyes. "Not without me..." Kanone whispered, almost tenderly, looking very, very lost. "He's...He's all alone out there. Joining up like that...on faith..." He opened his mouth, as though unable to say it, shaking his head slowly, staring at the ground in a sort of numb horror. "Just him...and that damned Kiyotaka Narumi." Kanone finished, turning his tormented face to the sky. "He's not going to lift a finger to help him...he's all alone..."

A drop of rain hit Rio right in the nose. Then another hit her cheek. The boom of the thunder drowned out some of the noise of Kanone's weeping.

Rio took him by the hand, and began the task of leading her unresisting older brother home, and Kanone held her hand like a lifeline, drenched by the rain.

-o-O-o-O-o-

The Bridge of Sighs (AU Spiral fic--2) Azalee's challenge

Wed, 02 Sep 2009 21:02:59 GMT

Fragment: "the Bridge of Sighs" (2)
Fandom: Spiral (AU)
Genre: Angst/Drama, definitely. Still chock full of moar delicious angst. Come on and read, my bloodless, tearless demons...
Rating: T
Why: Rotting animals and general sobbing, and Kanone being really angry. Some language and breaking of stuff... Also, Kousuke gets abused by his siblings, but really, what else is new there? (You're allowed one use of a particular word under a teen setting.)
What's going on: AU Spiral setting--"What would happen if Kanone didn't leave the blade children? What if Eyes did?"--The ripples rebound just a little more...
Other notes: I still haven't fogiven you, Aza-pon-pon... (I need to make you a cake for being awesome.)
So...yeah...I'm still working on this. (You can only be so depressing at a time...) And this is pretty much the other half of the scene from last section. Continuation. From here, I think it starts to take a few jumps... And MOAR ECKSIHSTENSHULISM. (Or something...)
I think we all know what swans oh-so-obviously symbolize in the Spiral fandom... I love playing with the Spiral symbolisms. Muahahaaa. Mad english major... (Symbolism is my daily bread...)
Uh...anyway...this is putting along nicely.
Also:
Kiyotaka.
(...And with that, Mushy-sama goes into a swoon of delight in the background and fanboys fit to inspire the rest of us by his devoted example...)
Cue admiring fangirls NOW...

Cut text is thanks to Charles Haddon Spurgeon, 1800's minister extraordinaire. That guy can turn a phrase, and write a sermon. Whew.

Type

-o-O-o- The Bridge of Sighs: II -o-O-o-
-o-O-o-O-o-
"The new century peeled me bone-bare
like a first song inside a warbler—that bird, people,
who knows not to go where the sky’s stopped.
Keep this in mind. Do you think
the fox won’t find your nest? That
the egg of you will endure the famine?"

-from Nance van Winkel's "You People"
-o-O-o-O-o-

Kanone had wanted to burn the letter, and he'd fought nastily to try to wrestle it from Kousuke. He hadn't said anything, but the terrible light in his eyes had been enough. Only Rio's repeated pleas for them to stop had stilled his blows after Kousuke balled up around the paper, like a fetus, or an oyster with a pearl. Kanone hadn't said a word. He'd only stopped mid-blow, hand still raised, then lowered it slowly, and simply turned around. Wordlessly, he'd walked to his room, and he'd locked the door with a click.

Rio had knocked, asking earnestly to be let in. Kanone had ignored her, his room utterly silent. Rio had given Kousuke a look of heartbreak as he'd gingerly uncurled. He's crying. She mouthed, wide-eyed with horror, her own eyes glittering.

Neither of them had ever seen Kanone this badly off before. He wasn't even trying to hide it from them. Not really. The locked door to the room wasn't enough for that. Rio had reason to be alarmed. She could have picked the lock. Any of them could, assuming they wanted to risk the explosives they'd set there themselves. Rio was enough of an expert there that she probably wouldn't bat an eye at defusing something even she had built...but neither of them were really brave enough to risk what might happen if they broke in on Kanone, after the lock was picked, after the detonation was neutralized. The door would be the least of the dangers.

For all her abilities, Rio had little choice but to leave him alone in his room.

Kousuke picked himself up off the rug, wiping the blood grimly from his lip, counting throbbing bruises, and holding back his own anger even as Rio feverishly punched numbers into her cell phone. She bit her lip and met his eyes again. Kousuke knew without asking that she was trying to call Eyes. She was hoping against hope that Eyes would even pick up. Kousuke knew, somehow, deep in his gut that he wouldn't, and it angered him. Eyes would be clever enough to make all their attempts, their ingenuities useless. They were all at least clever enough for that. Even him--the man who was probably the dimmest of the genius blade children, he would have known better.

Instead of shouting at the silent Kanone, instead of rebuking Rio for her senseless little-girl faith, he began poring over the letter looking for secret clues, hints that Eyes had perhaps been taken captive against his will. If he could find it, then he'd be able to draw Kanone out of his room, and he'd be able to calm down Rio... He did for Kanone, mostly. Kanone, the brother-not-brother he'd always looked up to, and squabbled with good-naturedly; Kanone who'd laughed and emphasized his "dumbness" ("denser than lead" as he'd put it on more than one occasion), and teased him madly every chance he got, laughing so brightly the sun would seem to rise beyond the clouds, gleaming in his golden-green eyes... Kanone who'd taught them all how to fight, and defended them all with his own life, and his own ungodly awareness and reflexes, and hardly spoke of Eyes before they'd met him, but let them all know just how much he adored him nonetheless, then spoken of him almost incessantly after they'd met him, like all the words for his closest friend were just dammed up and waiting...

He had to get Kanone to snap out of it. Rio could deal with her feelings normally. Kanone, in all honestly, Kousuke wasn't so sure of. And he'd felt more strongly about Eyes than he had about anyone else, so Kanone had to be especially bad off. If he could just find a way to get Kanone to calm down, things would go better...

The pianist's absence was settling like a miasma over the house.

Kanone was their leader. Cheerful, and unstable, and an avenging angel with a gun, and perhaps a little deranged benath it all, and certainly weirdly obsessive and intense at times, but he'd taught them everything. They needed him. If he could just find a way to keep Kanone from putting that frightening, reflexive ability of his to use...

The thought occured to him--Rio was probably trying, too. She adored Eyes, but they needed Kanone more than Eyes. Chances were, she was calling Eyes' cell phone more for Kanone even than for herself. Rio was very bright after all...and she could take damage if she needed to. Kanone on the other hand, was the one who never got hit by anything, and this was probably the first blow struck on him in years, and his emotions never were very normal beneath the smile...

Kousuke sighed. The faint stink of dead animal filled his nostrils. The swan was already rotting on the lawn in the heat of the day. Kousuke could see flies settling on the once-graceful white thing. He wrinkled his nose and considered going out there and burying it, but no, he truthfully didn't trust Kanone alone in the house in this state. Rio was no match for him physically, and he feared Kanone more than the others. If Kanone's "switch" was pressed, they couldn't stop him. If he, on the other hand, went mad, or Rio, they could be put down without much harm.

But neither he, nor Rio had the strength or cleverness to take down the legendary "Gun with Wings" on their own. Kanone was their friend. Kanone was their idol. But Kanone was, in short, an assassin. And while Rio was an expert with explosives, and Kousuke was something of a genius with a simple switchblade, Kanone was in a class all on his own. He didn't even have to look at someone to kill them--his hands moved with an awareness all their own. Kanone could murder roomfuls of prepared Hunters in a matter of seconds, without thinking more than a few times throughout the whole process.

Kousuke's back ached, and he rubbed a bruise sullenly. He hadn't been trying to do anything to him, he told himself defensively. If Kanone had really wanted the letter, he would have killed to get it. Kousuke reminded himself, justifying it. Kanone had no middle gears for the most part. He held back for the sake of appearences, and for his own reasons--family, cover stories, boredom...nothing else.

...He hadn't even broken any of Kousuke's bones, hadn't dislocated any of his fingers, or either of his arms. He hadn't struck him in the ribless side either. He still had that much control at least. He was still there. He'd be alright.

...Kousuke prayed he'd be alright...

The fact that it surprised him that he did have that much control left almost scared him more than the silence and the cloistering off in his room. It sowed extra doubt in his mind--if Kanone went insane here and now as the blade children were liable to do, did that make Kiyotaka Narumi a liar just like Kanone had said on more than one occasion?

And more importantly, would Kiyotaka Narumi let Eyes leave them? That was a small ray of hope--he might just send Eyes back. Kiyotaka could do anything. He was the one hope for the salvation of the blade children--the one who'd given them a slender ray of hope to salvation. He seemed to know everything. If Kanone was as untouchable and brilliant as an angel, Kiyotaka was God Himself. He didn't need to raise a finger to defend himself. He didn't need to dodge a single bullet. He could take apart the world with his mind if he needed to, and see a way through anything. He could make things happen simply out of necessity. Impossible things. And he'd promised to save them.

If he sent back Eyes...

Kousuke's mind raced. Maybe that would convince Kanone. It was optimistically cynical, the thought--Kiyotaka was manipulative when it all came down to it. The world seemed to mold itself around his whims. People were no different. Maybe he'd let Eyes leave just to win over Kanone, the allegorical doubting Thomas. Was that it? It seemed...possible. It was certainly something Kiyotaka would do...

Even Rio hadn't thought of that yet, though. Or...maybe she did, and she'd outthought him, seeing something he couldn't. Kousuke acutely felt the pressures of being one of the less sharp of his little cohort of blade children--his half-siblings, his comrades... He was a genius in his own right, sure enough. He was sharp enough to outwit most of the population, and ace just about any test thrown at him. Still, he was the least of those that mattered. And he couldn't help but doubt Kiyotaka if Kiyotaka chose him out of all the blade children he could tell about his plan for salvation. That was fishy, after all. You'd want the most brilliant to find salvation, not the stragglers that couldn't keep up.

And all he could do was keep Ryoku out of it, even though it made him wonder if there was something about her that Kiyotaka hadn't liked...if maybe by keeping her out of this, she might not be...

He forced his mind away from it.

Ryoku... What would she say about Eyes when she found out? Something sharp and nasty about cowardly delicacy. She'd tear him to pieces behind his back with her words. And if she met him face to face, she'd probably use her fist. She'd be blunt, and somehow still witty, cocky and self-sure. Not that it would make any difference...

How would he be able to tell her?

And...what would she feel like for not being there? For being perhaps the first one to "abandon" them? For the hypocrisy of abusing a man for running away when she spent her whole life doing nothing less, and Eyes did everything he could to help her keep running by fighting...?

He gritted his teeth, and stared, unreading at Eyes' letter.

This isn't like me. He was "dumb", he was unthinking. He wanted to be dumb and unthinking in a sense. He didn't want to consider all of this... He was losing his handle on keeping his brain from whizzing off and too-quickly analyzing everything.

"Hello. Eyes? It's Rio." Rio began, clearly talking to an answering machine. Kousuke didn't look at her, trying to ignore the small, quivering voice. Yeah. Rio's the brain, the skill, the backup ace that everyone can rely on to get the impossible done because she knows what's up all the time. She's Kiyotaka's damn favorite. And Kanone's the glory and the leadership and the freakin' 'gun with wings'. And Rutherford's the nerve and the fingers and the intellect of steel behind that pretty immovable face of his. And Ryoku's the speed, the wit, the cock-sure jockness, the running pacifist conscience on our shoulders. When it all comes down to it, I'm just here. I'm not... He stared intently at the letter, unwilling to keep thinking on that strain.

...Since when is being the least so damn hard? I'm still too smart, and now I'm just stuck in the middle again and...there's still nothing I can do. Even if I'm too smart when it all comes down to it, I'm not fast enough, not creative enough, not optimistic enough...

I don't even know whether I believe I can be saved or not. I don't have Rio's rock-solid faith, or Kanone's rock-hard atheism. I'm just...here, sitting back and still trying to figure everything out before someone gets killed or too disappointed.

He looked around. Too late. He'd waited too long.

"You have to come home, Eyes. I've never seen Kanone like this. He got your letter and he's..." Rio bit her lip again, and Kousuke realized he'd met her eyes. "He ran off into the woods," She whispered, "And now he's back and he's locked me out, and he beat up Kousuke, and... He's crying Eyes. Please come home. We need you. And Kanone really needs you. Kousuke thinks he might..." Kousuke frowned at being implicated, and Rio looked away quickly. She knows what I'm thinking. But...what does it matter? Rutherford probably knew what I'd be thinking a week ago. Damn fast-thinking direct little bastard. "He thinks he might...break if you're really gone. Oh please...Please don't do this to us. Eyes!" Rio swallowed, and Kousuke could see she was crying again, staring at him like he would tell Eyes everything. He lowered his eyelids so he wouldn't have to match her look.

"I really wanted to see you again." Rio whimpered. "It's been so long. You can't just run off and leave us like this! You have to come back, Eyes! You can't join-!" She stopped suddenly, and lowered her phone from her ear, staring at it. "...Oh..." She said faintly, hopelessly. "He ran out of space..." She whispered.

Kousuke tried to smile. "Piece of crap phone..." They both knew it had nothing to do with the phone.

Rio swallowed. "He has to come back...doesn't he?" Her voice quavered.

Kousuke couldn't say anything back. "...Do you know Kiyotaka's number?" He asked, even though he knew she didn't, even though he knew none of them would. Rio shook her head with a little unhappy laugh. "He never gives us his number. Or where he is." He waited for her to call him a moron. She didn't, though. Part of him wished that she had, staring blankly at the letter.

Suddenly Rio's phone started to ring. She gave a shriek. "Oh my God! It's him!" She shouted.

Kanone's door slammed open, and he was there beside them before Kousuke's breathing could even hitch to start the scream he didn't want to admit had been in his throat. His golden-green eyes were wild. "Eyes?" He rasped. He stank like blood. "Eyes?" He asked again, staring about. "Give it." He snarled, reaching. Rio shrank back, fumbling with her phone, clumsily. "Knock it off! It's hers!" Kousuke said, standing and coming between the girl and the other man.

Kousuke nearly shuddered then and there at the look Kanone gave him, unwilling to admit he really was scared of him. But the fear he felt was visceral and absolute. He almost soiled himself in all honesty. Nobody in all the world could scare him half as much as Kanone. And they were friends for crying out loud. They'd known eachother for years. And he'd been truly and utterly scared that Kanone would tear him apart without a thought just to get what he wanted. It seemed to be taking visible effort not to do just that. It was the flicker in Kanone's eyes as he caught himself. That was what very nearly scared the shit out of Kousuke. The fact he had to catch himself.

"I-I'll put it on speaker, Kanone-kun...It's him...I knew it had to be..." Rio face shone with relief as she managed the buttons, avoiding his wild stare. The fear in her face was well hidden beneath the relief.

The cords stuck out in Kanone's neck, and his eyes flickered madly, staring at the little lump of plastic and electricity and silicon as though it were the other's face, but his hands lowered. Kousuke's heart stopped trying to claw its way out of his chest and hide down his throat. He discreetly wiped his sweating palms on his pants, and swallowed.

The phone stopped ringing. "...E-Eyes?" Rio said, holding the phone away from her face.

"Actually no." Said the voice in the speaker. There was no mistaking it. "I'm sorry, Rio, but this is actually-"

"Kiyotaka." Kanone snarled, his face twisting in rage. Rio and Kousuke both stared at him despite themselves, flinching.

Chills went up Kousuke's spine. How did he...?

Kiyotaka seemed oblivious. "Oh? Is that Kanone? Are you having a party?" He asked animatedly.

"Don't you already know?" Kanone spat, bitterness in his voice. "I want to talk to Eyes. Put him on." He demanded sharply.

"Ah. Yes. Well. You see...I just can't do that, Kanone-"

"Don't tell me you can't do it!" Kanone snarled. Rio jumped at the loudness of his voice, and his hands snapping out and grabbing the phone, still clutched in her tiny hand. "Put him on!"

"C-Calm down, Kanone!" Kousuke hissed in an undertone. Kanone jerked his head to look at him again, and Kousuke forced himself not to shudder and go for his knife. He could feel the bloodlust wafting around Kanone.

Kiyotaka gave a sigh on the other end. "Kanone, I'm afraid he's just not around. He left his phone with me--But I am glad you called. It served as a reminder-"

Rio's face had fallen again. "He...left his phone?" she whispered.

Kousuke dimly wondered why they'd ever underestimated Eyes enough to think he'd keep his phone on him and simply not answer. Of course he'd toss it aside. He'd disappear like Kiyotaka had a year before.

They didn't have a chance...

Kanone swore vilely in the background, scaring them both out of their skins again. They stared at him, then Rio huddled back to the phone like a lifeline. "Is he alright?" She whispered. One look at her face told Kousuke she still didn't believe he could be gone. That was Rio for you. She didn't have an optimist's cheer, but she certainly had the most stubborn and unyeilding faith in the unlikely. Come to think of it, Maybe she had a chance... She was Kiyotaka's favorite.

"Oh, Rio! It's so good to hear from you again... Who? Eyes? Oh he's fine. He just got on the plane less than an hour ago. He's probably watching a movie. Some romantic comedy no doubt, with a quirky and plucky heroine..." Kiyotaka's voice was light as ever, but there was no real reassurance, no promise. His words were empty and senseless.

There was a smash as Kanone hurled a plate at the wall.

"What's going on back there? Redecorating?" Kiyotaka asked, sounding almost as though he'd laugh, like it was all a game.

Kanone shouted a vile suggestion of what he could go do to himself in reply before Rio or Kousuke could say anything. Kiyotaka paused. "Yes...well...that's not physically possible, but I think that's beside the point." He sighed. "I'm sure you've thought it through by now. Eyes knew you'd be upset, so he left his phone with me. By this time tomorrow, even I won't know exactly where he is. It's just that simple."

Rio shook in a silent sob. Kousuke grimly stared at the phone. "You'll be a pretty crappy leader if you don't even know where your watchers are." He said finally. He couldn't lose his temper now. He couldn't be the dumb, senseless one. He had to try to broach with Kiyotaka. He had to ask. "He'd turn back if you just said it was part of your plan, wouldn't he? Can't you just ask him? "

Kiyotaka sighed, his voice saturated in sincerity and patience like he was talking to a four-year-old. "I know this is hard for you, Kousuke, but I had nothing to do with it. I had no part in this. Eyes planned the whole thing out himself. I was given this phone by arrangement almost after the fact. Regretably, I'm not at all responsible for the entirity of what the watchers do, and without his phone, even I would have a hard time tracking down Eyes."

"They're your fucking employees." Kanone snarled, making his way across the wreckage of the kitchen. "Don't you dare pretend that you don't know where they are!" He shouted at the phone. "Send him home! You send him home now!" His fierce anger didn't disguise the fact that a thin trail of clearness had washed through the blood painting his face. His eyes were rimmed in red. His teeth seemed far too white and large in his mouth...

Kousuke was amazed despite himself. He'd known Kanone and Eyes were close. He'd thought of them enviously as family for eachother. But he could see more clearly now that it went even further than that. Kanone was completely lost and uncontrollable without Eyes. He was just a wild gun. They'd...balanced eachother in a way. The tearless, unemotional, and often blunt Eyes had been softened out by Kanone into muted, more subtle gentleness on occasion. And Kanone's wild anger, occasional despair and flashes of viciousness had been calmed out to some extent by having someone there to lavish and protect and fixate over--something to control himself for...

Theres no way Kiyotaka would let their friendship just dissolve like this! We're sunk if he does!

"The watchers claim to follow my orders and my plans for now, because if I indeed save you, it'll prove they were right to wait. It doesn't mean I tell them all of them exactly what to do, or that I choose the watchers myself." Kiyotaka said reasonably through the speaker. "I'm sorry, but there's really nothing I can do except tell you it'll work out in the end."

Kanone swelled up as though he might start shouting again, then he suddenly deflated, and his face shifted. He scrubbed at his face with the back of his hand and turned, his body shaking great, heaving sobs. He lashed out at the table with a blur of motion.

Rio shook silently again, shaking her head. "Hauuuh..." She groaned.

Kousuke gritted his teeth, and gripped her wrist tightly in the hope it would keep her from collapsing in on herself. "There has to be something you can do." He hissed at the phone.

"I'm sorry, Kousuke." Was all Kiyotaka said in reply. He sounded sympathetic, even, but a little too reasonable considering he had to be able to hear the other two sobbing from his end. "Then we're sorry, too." Kousuke muttered. "Call us when Eyes contacts you. So help you if you lie to us." And with that, he flipped Rio's phone shut.

She stared at him, speechless with shock. But Kousuke was already turning to Kanone, who was kneeling like a broken man in a mess of pottery and glass fragments. Rio seemed to catch herself, straightening and running to him. "Kanone! Kanone-kun, you'll get cut!"

Kanone didn't seem to hear her, staring numbly at the ceiling.

"Hey! She's right! Get out of there, Kanone!"

"K-Kanone..." Rio whispered, stretching out her hand like he was a wild animal.

Kanone said nothing, his eyes staring out into the blankness of space. Rio did the unthinkable and touched his head, his hair. Kousuke tensed in anticipitation. "R-Rio..." He began, then stopped. He'd expected Kanone to hurl her like a rag doll, but...he didn't. Kanone just lowered his head as though accepting it. Rio stepped forward, into the mess of broken glass and dishes, and bent close to him, hugging his head to her. Kanone didn't move at all, just let her hold him, and cry into his hair, his feline eyes still unseeing, blank, and bleak. They finally slid shut, but Kanone's expression was unreadable against Rio's orange fleece vest. Not another muscle moved in his body, his limbs limp and bloodied.

Rio looked up, biting her lip. "What are we going to do?" She asked, and Kousuke realized she was asking him, not the stuporous man she held onto.

Kousuke frowned. "I...I don't know." Something sank in his chest. "Why do you expect me to know what to do?"

"We'll hunt him." Kanone said hoarsely, his voice cracking and startling them both.

Rio stiffened, her fingers tightening on his hair. "Hunt Eyes? Kanone, we can't!"

"Do you honestly think I'd say that without thinking about it first?" Kanone spat, turning on her, and pushing her away, scowling, his words strangely brittle. "Or do you think I'm so far gone that I'd kill Eyes just for leaving me?"

Kousuke frowned when Rio didn't answer. "...For leaving us, Kanone. We're here too you know." He corrected. And truthfully, he didn't know what Kanone might do. Kanone was frightening them both quite a bit right now. "We want him back just as bad, and would sure like to beat the crap out of him for pulling this." Kanone's face flickered, and Kousuke wondered if he'd said the wrong thing, but Kanone didn't attack him, or fly into a rage. The other man's voice was curt and oddly level when he spoke again. "...The thing that would put the greatest fire under his tail right now, is an attack from all sides, from us--the people who know him best. In playing to kill, we'll force him to make a decision."

"No!" Rio cried.

"But that's crazy!" Kousuke said before he could think better of it, he faltered a little at the look Kanone shot him, adding hurriedly, "I mean, when has Rutherford ever changed his mind about anything? He'll make it a battle of wills and none of us stand a chance against-"

"I know very well how Eyes works so shut your damn mouth, Kousuke!" Kanone shouted in a single terrible breath.

Silence rung in the house, then Kanone seemed to catch himself, breathing slowly, and sighing, bringing his fingers to his face. "I...I know Eyes. I know how he moves, how he acts, and how he thinks, how he breathes. I'm confident I could well hunt him down." His voice sounded dead, and hollow as he said it, like the thought brought him no joy at all.

"Well I'm not going to help you kill him." Kousuke said, fully expecting Kanone to lash at him, and shivering a little for the sheer suicide of it. Rio stiffened. "K-Kousuke!" Kousuke shook his head. "I'm not helping, Rio, and that's it. Not if it means killing another one of the blade children. I'd take not having him back at all over that. We're doubly screwed if we start hacking at our own numbers." And Ryoku would never forgive me. She'd never even speak to me again... He thought to himself, and wondered if people could see his reason, or if they thought him a coward, or if they thought he said it out of care for Rutherford...

Rio's eyes glittered, but they met his, and she nodded, speaking in a small voice no higher than a whisper. "Me too." She shook her head, and let go of Kanone. "Kousuke's right. I don't want to kill Eyes. Even if it means we find him." She met Kanone's stare. "He's...our friend. There...there has to be another way."

Kanone lowered his head, seemingly coming to a decision.

"...Alright." he said finally. "I'll tie my hands and swear not to kill Eyes." He whispered. Then suddenly he shook his head and raised a mad smile like a rictus across his face. "...No...you're right. If I were to kill Eyes...I'd likely lose my mind."

Kousuke cracked a humorless grin in return, deciding to test it just a little--after all, he was the stupid one, wasn't he? "You mean worse than you did today?" He teased. The words came out with a darker edge than he'd meant.

Rio stiffened a little, but Kanone simply blinked, looking at him as though he were having new thoughts, and surprising ones at that. "...Oh yes." he whispered, unsmiling. "Far worse..." Kousuke couldn't meet his serious eyes. Kanone nodded slightly. "Yes..." He repeated in a whisper.

Rio finally broke the silence. "...We don't even know why he left." She said.

Kanone shook his head again. "No. We know exactly why he left." His voice was calm, and level, and easy to listen to again. He pushed gently back at Rio, and stood, brushing the glass from his fingers. "He left because he wants to follow Kiyotaka's plans." Kanone's smile was sudden, and bright as ever, though still a little grim at the edges. "Which means it's us he doesn't have faith in really. Eyes is a real stubborn and faithless little bitch when he wants to be..."

That seemed to hit Rio hard. Kousuke could see it in her face. She adored Eyes. She spoke again, though. "We still need to know which of the sides he's joining. If he's following Kiyotaka-san, then he won't join the hunters."

Kousuke shifted. "So...the question is whether he's joining the Watchers or the Savers-"

"We already know which side he's joining." Kanone interrupted, the smile leaving his face. Kousuke blinked. Rio got it though. "Oh..." She whispered, putting her hands over her mouth.

"That damn Kiyotaka said it." Kanone said, glancing at both of them.

"He's joined the Watchers."

-o-O-o-O-o-

The Bridge of Sighs (AU Spiral fic--1) Azalee's challenge

Wed, 02 Sep 2009 20:56:41 GMT

The Bridge of Sighs (AU Spiral fic--1) Azalee's challenge

Mood: Depressing
Song: Imogen Heap--Speeding Cars

Fragment: "the Bridge of Sighs" (1)
Fandom: Spiral (AU)
Genre: Angst/Drama, probably. Lots of angst here at least.
Rating: Mostly K, but possibly T
Why: just because there's a bit of violence, and a touch of swearing. It's mostly safe, it's just depressing. (Rated for dead animals, and decking of halls...and Kousuke's mouth.)
What's going on: AU Spiral setting--"What would happen if Kanone didn't leave the blade children? What if Eyes did?"--The news reaches the dearly gathered...

Other notes: Azalee-san got me going on this thanks to the "plotbunny adoption" thread on gunwithwings.proboards.com. (Which is a marvelous little forum for anyone who's into Spiral, by the way. *shameless plug*) I wasn't actually depressed enough to really have good inspiration until the load of shit dropped on my plate. That is, 5-11-09 and the days thereafter--for those who don't know, I was academically dismissed from my university. (Because when you take all senior level classes in your sophomore year due to exceptionally poor student advising, and self-idiocy, there's bound to be a re-hash somewhere. Public transit also doesn't help in this regard.)
Thanks to all that, anyway, I think I wanted characters to suffer just a bit more than usual. (Poor Blade Children. As though life wasn't rough enoguh for them as it is...) But even though life's been looking up since, the fic's been going, like good fics are wont to do, and because it's starting to turn pretty fic-worthy, this has been put into fanfiction format rather than raws--meaning it has chapter dividers, and quote-headers. It's slightly more formal and oh-so-symbolic than my idea-testers, that is, and much more likely of going places aside from this journal. So this is probably a rawer version of what might eventually go elsewhere. (Ie: This kind of stuff is the reason this journal is here...)
Scratch that. You're the priveleged ones who get to see the raws of what's going up on ff.net for sure.

"The bridge of sighs" is a 'Homeworld' OST track a reference to the il ponte dei sospiri of Venice, which is a bridge stretching between the Doges' Palace to the lead dungeons, (i piombi), crossed by condemned men. Søren Kierkegaard wrote in one of his moments of existential griping, "The path we all must take--across the Bridge of Sighs into eternity." and really, the fact I'm reading the journals of the father of Existential thought at a time like this, should probably impact everyone on a deep and somehow depressing level.(Somehow...)

...Microsoft Works dictionary definition of the Existentialist Movement: "philosophical movement centered on individual existence: a 20th-century philosophical movement that denies that the universe has any intrinsic meaning or purpose and requires individuals to take responsibility for their own actions and shape their own destinies." Notably, Kafka's Metamorphosis is an example of "pessimistic existentialism", which basically teaches that the world's a much better place without you around. Cheery thoughts. (Also: cockroaches.)

Kierkegaard's a little better than some, at least. I'm reading his diary again. If nothing else, Kierkegaard is irrevokable proof that sarcasm was alive and well in Denmark in the 1850's. I'll probably end up quoting him somewhere sometime soon... (Either him or Plath. I have The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath that I'm going through too. She's sort of "honorary Existentialist" all on her own...)

Ray Bradbury's short story collection I sing the body electric! is another reading of mine this week. (Back in May, people.) The title story "I sing the body electric!" Is a story about a grieving family who commission for an electric grandmother to take care of them... And that short description does it no justice at all. Ray Bradbury is a master of fiction in all sorts and fiddles. It has a strange electric-fairytale feel to it which is marvelous. I highly recommend Bradbury's short stories to anyone who had to read his depressing stuff. *cough cough Farenheit 451 cough*
Still...the story is a little creepy to put in context with the loss of Eyes from the Blade Children. I doubt it's fathomable in its entirity if you haven't read the short story, (Just as the Carson McCullins reference of a few stories back probably makes little sense unless you actually know the surrounding impressions of "the Ballad of the Sad Cafe") but my quotes often aren't all that fathomable anyway. It's hard to get "calm before the storm" out of the McCullins just as it's hard to get "leaving and the hope of return" from this, and even then, it doesn't really speak out the feeling...that's for the fic itself to do...and aah, I'm rambling and recursing...
The cut-text is from the same story. Bradbury is far more masterful a writer than I, and he makes fun turns of phrase that I envy tremendously. (I tend to get my cut-texts from all over, but in this case, I'll say none of the cut-texts for the Bridge of Sighs will ever be original. Some others might be, but these won't be. So this one is also a quote from Grandmother in that same story.)

Duuuuude...on a non existentialist-note, I realized in this, I have things that can be taken as RioXEyes, KanoneXEyes, or KousukeXRio. That should basically cover anything, right? Fans should be slavering at my FEET...
And Aza-pon and Mushy-sama are going to be groaning, because when I get to putting this up, I took a look at the amount of text I have to put up (NOT counting the Spiral octagonal crap) and I have a megabyte of text. Hoo.
Skunky is loquacious.
Yes, yes. (But in my defense, I LIKE this fic. And when I like a fic, it's usually granted as "good" in the eyes of others, so, so, so...I should be off the hook. LOGIC!POWER)

I especially like the trialogue anecdotes in this chapter. It's proof that even when I angst, I can't help dropping humor. It's also proof that I like to give myself challenges--nothing helps you get character voice down like not letting yourself give any detail but the voice itself. Please tell me if that section's confusing--I might still have some kinks to work out. (Well...yes...alright, I KNOW I have some kinks to work out, but I mean in the non-personality, non-hairstyle sense. Relevent to the story-style, yes?)

Pon-pon, you're rediculous, but I love you for messing with my head like this. You at least need to take this "punishment" like a m-...er...well...read this. Because it's your fault. I may well be checking up on you. (School? Homework? BAH. We don't need grades! We have fanfiction!)

Type

-o-O-o- The Bridge of Sighs: I -o-O-o-
-o-O-o-O-o-
"When you are very old and gone childish-small again,
with childish ways and childish yens and,
in need of feeding, make a wish for the old teacher nurse,
the dumb yet wise companion, send for me.
I will come back.
We shall inhabit the nursery again, never fear."

-the voice of Grandmother, from Ray Bradbury's I sing the body electric!
-o-O-o-O-o-

They'd been in the dining room when they'd found out.

It had been their first gathering all together in two years.

Ryoku had refused to come outright, smelling the possibility of bloodshed even in a peaceful gathering. She wouldn't come, even for Kousuke, who'd actually gotten past his façade of finding her unpleasant around the eyes of others long enough to plead with her quite passably and gently to join him.

She'd refused nonetheless, no doubt because of the promise of who would be there as well. Even being with Kousuke wasn't enough for her to get past her hatred of Eyes and Kanone for what they'd done to him. She'd never look at the blood on Kousuke's hands without blaming, not him--Kousuke was too precious to Ryoku beneath it all for her to actually come to terms with the thought that he might like killing--but rather, blaming Kanone, and even Eyes for "forcing him".

(...As though Kousuke hadn't wanted to learn in the first place. But it was pointless to argue with Ryoku--not that it ever stopped him from trying.)

Kousuke let her stay, after a long match of equally shouting voices, a tarantula in the shower (Where Kousuke hadn't been entirely unable to try not to take a peek anyway while he was over there...), and a half-dozen scorpions in Kousuke's shoes and jacket (Though Ryoku hadn't picked out a set that was too poisonous, and Kousuke had shrieked louder and higher than Ryoku ever had, and the humiliation of that was more frightful than the chance of being stung or pinched...).

Kousuke saw this as letting sleeping--and very stubborn--dogs lie.

Ryoku for her part, saw this as another in a long string of rather nastily squabbled little petty battles she'd won with Kousuke. Privately, she worried about him, and hid it by spending extra-long hours on the track, and running until the excercise and muscle fatigue drowned out and numbed anything else, even though excellence, at age fifteen, or at any other time would never be enough to let her forget her days were numbered, no matter how fast she could run.

Still. That was that.

Kanone had greeted the other two--Rio and Kousuke with the same perpetual cheer he always did, as though he didn't miss Ryoku at all. Perhaps he truly didn't. It was hard to tell with him. He'd smile even when the world ended. When he didn't, it was time to start finding a table to hide under.

Kanone was cheerful. Rio was clever and animated. Kousuke was pretending he was too cool, too seperated out from the rest of them to actually enjoy himself among their company while in fact being just as ragged-on as ever. They'd never actually respected him as the oldest among them, though certainly that was the perogative of younger children towards older siblings everywhere. It was normal enough. Kousuke for his part, despite his big mouth, didn't actually mind. Anyone who would actually mind the good-natured abuse wouldn't know love when they saw it, as he thought. Compared to having people wanting to kill you, a little ribbing from your collegues was the veritable kiss of affection. He made a show of complaining over it nonetheless, when Kanone laughed, and greeted him with a noogie, and Rio latched onto his arm, poking him in the side, and chirping that he was getting fat and slow, and his new hairstyle looked stupid all spiked up like that, and that his new, tinted glasses looked like piss.

Kousuke, of course, acted cool...or what he thought was cool, anyway. Which was also the perogative of older siblings worldwide. Most older siblings didn't actually seek out ribbing though, the way Kousuke did. And most older siblings--most people for that matter--would be lucky to be half as clever as Kousuke actually was beneath it all. When he secretly sought ribbing, he got ribbing.

In more grim senses than one, it could be said.

Kanone made known that he'd sent Eyes out innocently to fetch food, supplies, common things, so he was absent. But Kousuke had already been able to tell--the little room was a bit more silent than it commonly was. Kousuke had rather been relieved by that. He wasn't much for classical music, and piano especially wasn't his thing. Besides, there was something eerie about the way Eyes never stopped that perpetual undercurrent of sound. It was almost nerve-wracking, all that constant noise, never mind the mastery. Or...perhaps it was his choice of songs--all those modernist impressionistic angular pieces with their complicated cross harmonies didn't do much to calm the nerves. But still, it was probably better than the silence, and the watchfulness of the quiet, youngest member of his half-siblings.

Eyes was well-named to say the least. He said very little--except maybe to Kanone. Or maybe Kanone just knew how to read him better. It seemed odd to know he got along so well with the cheerful, smiling, violent Kanone. Kanone got his hands dirty and liked it, and Eyes usually sat in the background, reserved from it all, and arranged out the escape route. Kousuke still didn't quite understand how they could get along so well with one another, but Eyes creeped him out on some level, so maybe that was his problem. Rio certainly didn't seem to mind him, anyway...

The room seemed smaller with just him and Rio and Kanone. Rio especially, usually made him feel larger, clumsier. And of course, Rio made him often feel like an idiot child--ironic again, considering she probably hadn't grown a single inch in the past few years. Nobody should have had to feel nervous looking at a girl that looked all of nine years old, and wore her hair in pigtails. It was enough to put anyone on edge knowing they sat next to a person who bought mercury switches and C4 for her birthday presents to herself, and wrapped them in pink wrapping paper with little bows on the tops.

Still. Every family had its problems, right?

All had been guileless and nostalgic. Or...as guileless as it could be, considering they were actually matter-of-fact murderers every one of them. They'd chatted pleasantly about old times waiting for Eyes to come back with lunch, reliving old jokes, old anecdotes. It was amazing how calm someone could be talking about killing people, but then again, the blade children weren't normal.

So they talked of old times--like family members did.

"There was the time I took a bullet in the liver so Rio could blow up a bank..."
("Hauh... I still feel bad about that, Kanone-kun. I'm real sorry." "Did you ever think you might want a smaller liver?" "Kousuke...that doesn't make any sense..." "What? Sure it does!" "Now where would I get a smaller liver, Kousuke?" "Well how should I know? It's not like I've ever been shot anyplace important." "Uhh...You guys know it wasn't even a bank, right?" "You know you two sure know how to hurt a guy's feelings. I start up an inspirational and moving anecdote and all these hurtful comments-" "How's my comment hurtful? You're all worked up with drama over being shot like we don't know you. Why couldn't you just move out of the way?" "What? Now you wish I'd been shot? Kousuke, you're such a jerk!" "Why's everyone ganging up on me all of a sudden? I don't want anyone shot!" "Goodness, you really don't know anything about impressing girls, do you, Kousuke?" "What, getting shot is impressive now?");

"And the time there was a hunter in the ice cream truck..."
("I wanted a fudgesicle! What kind of person charges a kid three bucks for something that costs fifty cents?" "Well maybe if you weren't so stupid and bought yourself a pint at the store, Kousuke-kun-" "Rio, what kind of person sells buckets of ice cream to nine-year-olds?" "You mean you didn't have a false I.D. card?" "I was nine!" "I made my first one when I was seven." "And what did you look like then? A two-year old? Knock it off, Rio!" "Oh dear. You really just don't know how to be cute, do you, Kousuke?" "Kanone, shut up and let someone shoot you, why don't you?" "Uwah! But that's such an unhealthy habit..." "That's not funny, Kanone!" "Yes, you're quite right. It's very painful-" "Would you stop talking about getting shot as a way to get dates!" "Hm? Why? Haven't you ever tried?" "You're so weird, Kanone-kun." "But the girls seem to like me...");

"The time Kanone still thought his liver was his kidney because he doesn't know his anatomy for crap..."
("Now how am I meant to know the difference so long as it stays where it's supposed to?" "Well you're the one with the practice, aren't you?" "Mn. Not exactly. It takes a very special sort of skill to hit your own liver. Maybe Eyes could do it for me..." "Ha ha ha! Eyes-kun would never do that, Kanone-kun!" "Oh Eyes isn't that good in the practice targets, you know...of course, it could have just been because I was behind him. I wonder sometimes if he slipped a magnet onto me...he seems quite good at accidentally hitting me." "You think that hunter slipped a magnet onto you too?" "You're such a jerk, Kousuke!" "Ow! Hey! Rio! Stop hitting me!" "Hm. Maybe he needs a remedial course in self defense from me. You've probably been letting Ryoku hit you all the time, haven't you, Kousuke?" "What? I'm not some kind of masochist, Kanone! And anyway, look who's talking-Aaagh! Tickling is-ACK-the definition of-STOPPIT RIO!Gahahaaaa!");

"The time I made you both believe Eyes sleeps naked..."
("Oh you sweet little thing, you're turning all red, Rio." "N-No I'm not! You're so mean, Kanone-kun!" "Pssh. Why naked? Isn't that you?" "Y-Yeah, Eyes-kun told us everything, Kanone-kun! That's totally you." "Ah. So you know about that. Well...nothing really does stop a hunter dead in his tracks like a naked boy with a gun..." "I dunno. Rio manages." "Mn. Well. Yes. I suppose you do, don't you? It's just I usually like having an intact bedroom when I'm done, though." "Hauuh! That's mean, Kanone!" "He kinda has a point though..." "You guys are both huge jerks! I haven't blown up my room in years!" "Oh so you have blown up your room? Jeez..." "Ha ha! I always say there's nothing like a woman's touch on things." "You would say that." "Why? Do you prefer a man's touch, Kousuke?" "You're so freakin' gross, Kanone." "Oh but it's a legitimate question, isn't it? Is there something wrong with a man tidying up the house? Maybe I should hire a maid..." "You know what I meant, Kanone. Anyway, I'd bet you anything nobody else has blown up their room." "Hm. Yes. Eyes would frown on that sort of thing, I imagine. He's so dreadfully neat..." "You're both so mean.")

They kept waiting...and waiting...

Gradually, they began to run out of annotated anecdotes.

Kanone was worried first of course, but he held it back in front of them. Held it behind his quick, deft little smile, joking that Eyes had no sense of direction, that he lived in an anachronistic world, and would be more at home with a gas lamp and a horse-drawn carriage than he would with the London tube stations downtown, and the black taxicabs that really travelled no faster than their horse-drawn companions of earlier centuries. (It was true. In a way.) Rio smiled back and almsot whispered a little sadly about how much she'd missed him. She'd always found Eyes' romanticism endearing, and both the others knew it on some level. They briefly quieted and made their sideways banter gentler for her sake if nothing else.

Kousuke had tried to lighten the mood, sensing perhaps, Kanone's tension. "Probably stopped by a store and got lost inside the music section and totally lost track of time. Or maybe he's trying out keyboards. There was that one time..." Kanone had grinned, but his lips had tightened, and he'd drummed his fingers over the table impatiently, and he hadn't finished the anecdote. He was dangerous when he was worried...whenever he focused too much on anything he was dangerous. It had made the others uneasy, but they'd passed it off as likely nothing, and perhaps lingered a little enviously on the closeness of Kanone and Eyes. They acted like a family, though most families didn't have to deal with the timebomb of Kanone's worry. Kanone wasn't one for sitting on his hands when he was upset or cornered. And indeed, even through the conversations, he stalked and paced about like a cat, peering out the window with narrow eyes, even as he was otherwise pleasant and conversational. The smile never left his mouth...and they didn't trust it for an instant.

...After another hour, he stood up and strode off without a hint of a smile left on his face, right in the middle of the third rendition of Kousuke's ice cream story.

The other two had followed him, giving one another significant, wide-eyed glances. Even Eyes--who was often fashionably late for non-essential things--was never this tardy in his errands.

They'd found nothing. Kanone systematically went through every cache, every possible frequent hiding spot. And they'd kept quiet because Kanone was upset, and it wasn't wise to cross Kanone when he was upset, especially when he was absently flipping a knife from hand to hand. ...He did tricks with it. Sleight of hand. It flashed like a silver salmon fipping its way up and downstream, twisting like a minnow... It would have been fun to watch in any other circumstance. Kanone didn't even need to watch it.

He'd left three voice messages on Eyes' cell. Rio piped up in the background through one of them. Kousuke didn't dare. Kanone's tone was light, pleasant through them all, but he didn't put away the flipping and twisting knife, and beneath the veneer of pleasantries lurked a growing edge of impatience, and of fear. It wouldn't have been the first time Eyes ran into a hunter on his own, of course. And while he hated blood, and was mediocre at aiming a firearm, he was an artist at asphyxiation. Even if there had been trouble, he should have been just fine.

They'd returned to the house, and quietly started to question the possibility that Eyes had been kidnapped, had been taken hostage, or ambushed. Neither Rio or Kousuke was brave enough to voice the possibility that he could be dead. Not in front of Kanone. They watched his knife dance and flip, and didn't dare. Kanone said nothing, even as they ventured out ideas of what could have happened. The ideas started out optimistic--"Maybe the tube station's down." (Though Eyes would have returned Kanone's calls immediately--through the pay phone system if necessary.) "Maybe he's getting a surprise cake for all of us, to celebrate with." (Again, Eyes would have returned the calls with some excuse, and he was organized enough that he would have arranged it beforehand--and he hated icing besides.)

Kanone fell to wordlessly dissecting one of the irises on the tabletop with his knife--pulling it apart piece by piece, then shredding it petal by petal into tiny ribbons. They didn't stop him. They both could guess that the irises were a gift from Kiyotaka, a token of his eyes on them, even there. They kept suggesting in the background nonetheless, desperately, hoping to keep his mind off it, hoping...

Kanone wasn't terribly distractible even at the best of times. And this certainly wasn't the best of times.

The letter came at noon with the mail.

By the time Kanone saw it, his face had already paled, and he audibly ground his teeth, recognizing the script even from a distance when luckless Kousuke idly flipped through the letters, and stopped, his fingers tightening. Kanone snatched the letter before he could say a word. "What? What is it?" Rio asked, looking between the two of them in alarm, but Kanone snatched, and was tearing the envelope open with a flick of the wrist from the knife they hadn't even seen him raise. In the span of a second, he was feverishly pulling the pages open, almost tearing them in his frenzy, reading so he coudl figure out where Eyes was being held.

"Let me see!" Kousuke demanded.

Kanone slammed a fist into his shoulder without a word, sending him spinning across the room, crashing into one of the chairs. He hadn't even looked up as he'd done it, the violence vicious and efficient. Rio nearly screamed, watching him with wide, shocked eyes. Kousuke got up after a few moments, and Rio helped him up with shaking hands. Kanone hadn't lost himself that badly. He'd held himself back and struck with the handle of his knife, nothing more. He didn't even stop to see either of the others, though. He had eyes only for the letter.

And then, just as suddenly, his hands were shaking. "No..." He murmured, his eyes going back and forth. "No!" He shouted.

"K-Kanone, what is it-?" Rio whispered, hands over her mouth, and fearing the worst even as Kousuke brushed himself off, anger and pain simmering in his eyes.

Kanone gave an unearthly, wordless howl, and his arm jerked. Rio and Kousuke ducked instinctively, staring at one another open-mouthed. Kanone threw the letter to the ground, and kicked the wall so hard that bits of plaster went flying, then he collapsed against the wall, and began to wail, bawling like a child into his knees.

Rio had the bravery to tiptoe forward and peer at the letter, catching herself first. Kousuke continued to stare at Kanone and his breakdown. Rio's gray eyes widened. "Oh no..." She whispered, recognizing the handwriting. "No...that can't be..."

"What? What is it?" Kousuke jerked upwards in an instant. Rio bit her lip. "Kanone-kun...Kanone-kun is he-?"

Kanone pulled himself up, sobbing, scrambling on all fours a moment before righting himself, and hurling himself unseeing out the door, the screen door slamming back with a bang.

Kousuke ran to Rio's side, snatching the letter off the floor. "Is it a ransom?" Rio asked anxiously, seriously, wringing her hands. "They didn't...?" Kousuke frowned, chewed his lip. He read, then his hands tightened on the paper. "No..it's...not a ransom..." He stopped, and kept reading, his eyes widening. "...shit..."

He lowered it and stared at Rio, aghast. "Shit..." He whispered again numbly.

"What?" Rio asked. Kousuke handed her the letter with shaking fingers.

It took her all of thirty seconds to read. Her eyes widened preposterously. "No...I can't accept this!" Kousuke only shook his head sadly. Rio looked at the side door, and blinked hard. "Eyes wouldn't... Doesn't he know what this will do to-?"

"Rutherford's smart. He knows." Kousuke whispered.

She blinked again, more quickly. "...I wanted to see him again." She whispered, tears starting. "He knew-"

Kousuke stared at the paper in his hands, his head drooping. "Rutherford...you just couldn't wait."

Rio shook her head. "I don't understand."

"What's not to understand?" Kousuke spat. "Dammit, he's abandoning us, Rio."

Rio shook her head, her eyes narrowing in an uncommonly adult expression of shrewdness through her childish tears. "No...He..." She caught herself, swallowing and steadying. "Don't you think it's a little odd that Eyes would just leave like this? He's always so calculating...No...there has to be a reason. I'm not going to sit back and accept that-"

"What's there to accept?" Kousuke spat, turning on her. "You think that he just decided to leave because he can't stand us that much?"

"No..." Rio said, tapping her foot and crossing her arms. "I think something happened."

Kousuke gave a bitter laugh. "Oh something happened, all right. Something damn well..."

"Don't be stupid, Kousuke." Rio said miserably. "You saw Kanone's face."

Kousuke quieted.

He thought he heard a howl in the woods behind the manor and he shuddered noticeably.

"He's insane..." Kousuke whispered suddenly. "Rio...Rio, he's going to drive Kanone clean off the edge..." Rio didn't look at him. He trailed off. His hands tightened into fists, glaring through his yellow-tinted glasses at the broken plaster of the wall. "What the Hell is he thinking...?"

Rio shut her eyes, pushing her head agianst the wall, and dropping her head into her knees. "...Eyes..." She whispered.

They remained there in the the lonely little kitchen, silent for the moment. Rio bent her head silently against her knees. Kousuke dropped to join her on the floor, dropping an arm to pat her head, awkwardly comforting, brotherly. He knew she was crying. She looked like a little girl with a skinned knee.

"Rio...?" Kousuke whispered after a moment. "Do you really think he doesn't care about us? That he'd seriously just sit back and watch the rest of us get exterminated just to follow Kiyotaka's plan?"

Rio didn't answer for a long moment, finally giving a soft groan. "Hauuuh..." her hands tightened on her knees, seeming all of nine years old--a bullied little girl on a playground. "He's...trying to save us. He's got to be... Eyes wouldn't just leave and let us all die." Rio choked desperately. "Eyes wouldn't-"

"Rutherford wouldn't leave Kanone without a good reason." Kousuke said quietly, darkly agreeing, staring at the cabinets above them. "...What if he was blackmailed into writing this?" But even as he said it, even as he used cunning on it, and found all the logical holes with the very arrival of such a letter, he couldn't shake the feeling lead-lining his stomach--that it wasn't a trick at all. Eyes would never risk what even a trick like that would do to Kanone...

Eyes Rutherford had left them. Quietly nervy Eyes Rutherford, who played piano with professional clarity--his years of practice all just to keep him from violence; Rutherford who'd weilded a knife with a surgeon's delicacy rather than a soldier's enthusiasm, who'd hated blood, but loved the intimacy of throttling a person with his long white hands, and had been calm and rational in the face of anything, Eyes Rutherford whom Kanone doted on and indulged and loved like a younger brother... He was gone, and he wasn't going to come back.

The woods echoed with a faint, inhuman scream, discernable even through the walls of the house. No wolfs' howl was half as chilling. Kousuke shuddered again, and they both pretended not to know what Kanone was doing, or notice that he was covered in blood when he finally returned close to an hour later. Very little of the gore was his own.

The only trophey Kanone had taken with him was a dead male swan, its neck broken at an awkward angle, blood soaking its pale feathered breast. He didn't even take it into the house, or out into the back to stuff it or make a use of the ivory-petaled feathers all crumpled and messed and bent. He just left it in the yard for the ants and the sun, and stared at them both with mad, predatory golden-green eyes, like he could tear the whole world to pieces with his bare fingers, and naked teeth.

-o-O-o-O-o-
.

Juvenile Orion Ongoing: Wrath (The Seven Deadly Sins challenge) TEASER

Wed, 15 Jul 2009 17:12:37 GMT

Teaser: (Opening for “Wrath”—a fic in nine parts 1:9)
Fandom: Juvenile Orion
Genre:Rating: PG maybe for this part
Why: Some implied violence. (gunshots, etc.)
Notes
I’m not sticking it behind a cut because LJ is messing with the rich text functions at the moment. It’s fairly short, though. (I can’t stick up more because the other stuff is a) long, and b) has content because chapter one is Tracer talking all about his epic and exciting life in first person. I’ve had to HTML-up this version by hand before posting. Tedious.

I’ve been working on this since I was in high school. Sad but true. Because I’ve been RPJ-ing Tracer recently, I came back and discovered it, and cleaned it up a little.
I didn’t want to post it until it was written up in its entirety. I’m still working on the last chapter, but that’s it.

Super special awesome.

-o-O-o-
"Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a moment there is time
For reflections and corrections
which a minute will reverse."

-from the love song of J. Alfred Prufrock, T.S. Eliot

-o-O-o- Prologue: Nihil -o-O-o-

Deep in the night echoed the click of a bullet being slid into a chamber, and a faint sound of something metal shifting slightly on a chain.

"You know," said one of the men, "I can tell you the world's shortest horror story. Guaranteed." He grinned as he tossed away the cigarette, "It's pretty good."

His companion remained silent, kneading the length of chain, measuring it out like a penitant with his prayer beads.

...Another silken metal sound, of a bullet being loaded, and then another...

"The last man in the world, sits by himself in a room," Began the first. Click. "There was a knock at the door."

Silence reigned for a moment, broken only by a series of several more clicks, then a much louder noise as the barrel slid back into place.

"And?" Said the other finally.

The first looked at his friend and pulled dark hair from his face. "'And'? That's the end of it. I told you. It's the shortest horror story in the world."

The other seemed to think on this. "...hm."

The first gave him an insulted look, tucking away his gun and slapping a pack of cigarettes against his palm. "You don't sound impressed, father."

"Shouldn't you say what's at the door?"

The first's face broke into a slow smile. "What do you think is at the door? That's what makes it the horror story after all." He said, as he flew into action, whipping out the gun-

The sound of the shot was lost in the traffic, as was the sudden sound of chained-metal piercing flesh.

"Well...it's a horror story so long as you don't do something cheap like put something nice at the door." He added as he pulled the hair out of his face with a sigh. "Or something boring. Like a Jehovah's Witness."

"Boring is in the eye of the beholder." The other said with a thin thread of wry amusement in his voice.

"Why does it not surprise me that you think Jehovah's Witnesses are great?" The other said with a sigh and a snort. "What is it? The cut and thrust of debate?"

There was a pause and the noise of a cloth wiping down metal before the cross was replaced with a clink, and a quiet word, "Nothing's boring. How can it be? Anything's better than the possibility that you open the door and there's nothing, absolutely nothing at all..."

The other paused. "You're as depressing as ever...but it makes you yourself, I guess...Tomonori-kun."

"Don't call me that."

"Call you what?"
-o-O-o-

wrath [rath] n:
1. great anger: fury often marked by a desire for vengeance
2. religion divine retribution: God's punishment for sin
3. vengeance: the vengeance, punishment, or destruction wreaked by somebody in anger (literary)
adj: furious: full of anger (archaic or literary)
Old English. From wrāþ “angry” (see wroth).

-o-O-o-O-o-

Wed, 15 Jul 2009 16:53:01 GMT

I've finished formatting the first four chapters (and teaser) of Wrath! <3 <3

Tracerliciousness....

^________^

Haa~ So accomplished.

Juvenile Orion fragment No. 1 (For MOG and the G.E.E.K faction)

Wed, 10 Jun 2009 17:32:03 GMT

Fragment: Just a bit I've had in my Juvenile Orion folder for a while...
Fandom: Juvenile Orion
Genre: Just general humor and lightheartedness
Rating: Uh...it's pretty safe, I think. Shiba might swear once or twice. I don't remember. Itsuki mentions sex once, but...well...he's an E.G.O. so they're big on "breeding". he doens't mean anything by it. (Also, he's Itsuki. Enough said)
What's Going On: Kuro Sakurai, the world's one and only pacifistic mindbreaker meets the main cast with great enthusiasm, plush stuffed animals, and the occasional DeathNote reference... overkill tension ensues.

Notes: Okay...so this is just sort of a joke. (Only sort of?)
I haven't really had a joke fic in a while (not one that I've finished at any rate), and I came across a discarded and utterly melodramatic angst scene I'd written a while back, and thought to myself that it would work fairly well on its own turned on its head as a humor fic.
So here we are, hanging out on my new writing-LJ-thing, watching me break it in with a Journal warming.

...MOG will probably love this... (it's like a belated birthday present for her, plus a cheer-up while she's stuck with bronchial-tubes-a-whining. I wanted to get it in before I got out for the summer, but it didn't work out for...various reasons...)

This is basically a re-written scene that I discarded from the Control-and-GraciousWings stories, so a couple of my weird fandom assumptions are still in place. But I've tried to take out all the old pairing implications and a couple of other things. Most of the "history" is still intact, but anyone familiar with my stuff probably can guess where it's going. *shrug* (And. uh. Just about anyone in the fandom IS familiar with my stuff, so... *sheepish laugh*)

Oh...uh, and I tend to use both character names for the same guy, so...
Factions are in parintheses, people with stars don't show up but may or may not be mentioned. Also, since Juvenile Orion isn't good for details, anyone outside the main cast (the first block of names) is likely to be tainted by strictly fanon stuffs. You've been warned.

Dramatis Personae:
Kaname Kusakabe (Darklore--"Bael")--Mana's boyfriend, Naoya's best friend, possessed by the demon "evil god" Bael
Tsukasa Amou (Eraser--"Israfel")--housemate ("son") to Tomonori, possessed by the angel of judgment "Israfel" but knows nothing of his past.
Tomonori Nakaura (Wiz-Dom)--Tsukasa's guardian, catholic priest, math teacher, and tennis club organizer at Seika high (--the school attended by Mana and her "soldiers"), secretly half-psychic, apprenticed to Tracer.
Yi-Xin "Isshin" Shiba (Arayashiki)--Senior student at Seika high and Kaname's basketball captain, arranged fiance of Tokiko but loves Mana
Naoya Itsuki (E.G.O.)--Haruna's twin brother, Kaname's best friend
*Haruna Itsuki (E.G.O.)--Naoya's twin sister, previously bedridden due to her powers
*Mana Kirihara (their Mindbreaker) --Childhood friend and girlfriend of Kaname, master of Kaname, Tsukasa, Tomonori, Isshin, Naoya, and Haruna.

Gabriel (Eraser--"Gabriel")--Friend of Israfel's from the Eraser fleet, soldier of Kuro's
Kuro Sakurai (Ex-E.G.O, Mindbreaker--fanon identity: "Kuro Sakurai") --Rogue but pacifistic mindbreaker, master of Gabriel, You Hiyami, and White Rabbit.
*Yuki Usagi (Darklore--"White Rabbit" personal fanon identity: "Yuki Usagi")--low level rabbit Darklore with the body and mind of a small child
*You Hiyami (E.G.O.--note: fanon entity)--a teenage athelete who goes to a rival high school, Kuro's cousin twice-removed, Second cousin once-removed to the Itsuki twins

*Tracer (Freelance mercenary--Fanon identity: "Kurai/Tsuki Arisugawa")--Half-Wiz-Dom,Half-Arayashiki mercenary. Tomonori's associate and information source. Disowned cousin of Tokiko.

*Tokiko Arisugawa (Arayashiki)--Shiba's arranged fiancee who likes him quite well despite the fact he loves Mana.

...Oh my first fandom...So many years of my life are consumed by you...
Apologies for redundancy--I wrote a good portion of this this morning.

-o-O-o-
"I guess even an eraser can have a problem with his appendix, huh?" Yi-Xin Shiba asked from his stiff position by the door.
Tsukasa gave a faint, strained smile, affecting the edges of his pale, drawn face. "I'm really sorry to worry everyone like this." He whispered.

Kaname shrugged. "Can you afford this?" he asked quietly, looking up at Tomonori. "I don't think teachers or priests make a great deal of money."

Tomonori, seated as he was by the window gave a grim smile that still held a little coolness when dealing with Kaname. He was dealing with his predjucies fairly well all in all, though. "I get by. Anyway, this is a freelance hospital. I have connections here."

"Shouldn't we be more concerned about this?" Shiba hissed. "While Amou is sick, we're vulnerable."

Tomonori's eyes flicked to Kaname. "Are we?" He said evenly. Kaname looked away. "...I can take care of Mana if anyone gets any ideas. And Itsuki-san's with her now."

"I'm glad." Tsukasa whispered faintly, leaning back on his pillow. "Haruna-san will take care of her."

"Are you sure he's alright?" Shiba asked Tomonori, his red eyebrows knitting.

Tomonori glanced at his younger charge. "He...doesn't like hospitals." He muttered.

Kaname's eyes turned away a little guiltily. Shiba didn't seem to notice, staring down as though fear was something that happened to other people, and was a mark of extremely lacking personal masculinity.

"I'm okay, Tomonori-san." Tsukasa murmured, putting an arm over his eyes as though he really weren't but didn't want to say anything.

"I've arranged for someone to watch his door in the evenings." Tomonori added. "That should be enough to discourage anyone with ideas."

"Huh? Who'd you get to-? Why didn't you ask us?" Shiba asked, looking annoyed.

Tsukasa smiled faintly. "Tracer-san's nice." Tomonori gave a quiet, controlled sigh. "That's not the word I would use, but I keep an eye on him in turn, so it should turn out fine." He stood, pulling off his glasses. "He already knows he's an eraser, and I've...arranged for him not to reveal this to anyone else."

Shiba looked as though he would have liked to ask how Tomonori had managed to arrange this, but didn't seem to dare. "Who's...Tracer?" He asked suspiciously.

Tomonori made an unusually sour face. "An...associate of mine."

"Another exorcist?" Shiba prompted.

Tsukasa gave a little laugh. And the other men stared at him. The angel blushed, and covered his mouth, whispering an apology.

"No." Tomonori said pointedly, frowning deeply. "He's a freelancer."

Shiba raised his eyebrows sharply.

Kaname covered his mouth in the corner, and Shiba looked at him oddly. He thought he heard a laugh. It was probably a cough though...yeah, definitely a cough...

Tsukasa smiled, his pale eyes tired. "It's okay Shiba-senpai. I wouldn't want to impose on you, anyway."

"Trying to run away from your fiancee again, huh?" Kaname asked Shiba in an undertone.

Shiba reared on him. "What? Wh-What are you talking about? I'd never-!"

"Itsuki watches you. And he doesn't shut up." Kaname interrupted grimly.

Shiba's expression darkened. "Damn psychic bastard..."

Tomonori frowned. "It's true then?" he asked quietly. Shiba grimaced, looking as though he envied the other man's vow of celibacy.

Tsukasa smiled, looking out from under his arms as though the flourescent light pained him. "Please don't be mad at Itsuki-kun, Shiba-senpai. You saved his life."

The athelete flushed hotly, tightening his jaw. "I didn't. You were the one who healed him. I just carried him-"

Tomonori gave a grim smile. "Kusakabe, would you have carried him?"

Kaname gave a smile of his own. "He could walk by himself." He said in a low voice.

"Don't be mean, Kusakabe-kun. Itsuki-kun was really badly hurt." Tsukasa murmured, still smiling. He winced suddenly. Tomonori noticed, shifting from his windowseat and shutting his battered bible. "Perhaps...we should be going."

Tsukasa's arms shot down. "No."He whispered wide-eyed, then he stopped, and blushed. "I...don't really like being alone in..."

Tomonori smiled. Shiba shrugged. "We'll stay." He said firmly. Tsukasa looked at him in surprise, then smiled. "Thank you." He whispered. Kaname just stared into the corner...

A gentle knock intruded between them, almost as though to say it could leave if needed.

Tsukasa stiffened, looked at Tomonori, and swallowed. Tomonori lowered his head. "Come in." The priest said quietly.

The door opened. Tsukasa straightened, and blinked. "G-Gabriel?"

Gabriel offered a bundle of flowers in his hands, silently. They seemed awkward, out of place. "It was suggested I bring you these." Gabriel murmured. His words were strangely accented and precise. Tsukasa looked down. It was because of this that he saw Tomonori's fingers tighten on the edge of his chair. Tsukasa blinked, and stared at the priest. Tomonori's face betrayed nothing but a polite smile of greeting. He stared at him, bewildered.

Behind Gabriel, a large stuffed rabbit pushed itself forward then a rather blank and utterly innocent man's face appeared around it, and lit up in a smile. He had unruly black hair and swamp-olive eyes. "Ah! You're feeling better? Isra-I mean...Amou-kun?"

Tsukasa blinked. "Oh um...well...yes...I... Did you...bring that for me?" He looked to Tomonori, astounded as though to ask who this was. "I...th-thank you!"He managed to stammer to the man, as the rabbit was thrust into his arms, and the he beamed down at him.

Shiba stared openly, though, and Kaname was watching Gabriel a little uneasily.

"I bring these home for White Rabbit when he feels badly, and they always seem to help him. I thought it couldn't hurt." The man said expansively, bright and cheerful. Tsukasa clutched the plush animal against himelf, with his throat tight. "Nobody's...ever given me..." He swallowed catching Tomonori's expression.

"Thank you." He managed. The animal was beautiful to him, all gray fur, and gentle black plastic eyes, and a tuft of soft white over its chest, soft, flopping ears, and a fluff of tail. He buried his cheek in it, then remembered himself, and lowered it, slightly embarassed. He was a boy. He wasn't supposed to like soft things like...like a rabbit did. Who was 'white rabbit'? And...who was this man?

He remembered the tight fingers, and turned quickly to the priest.

"T-T-Tomonori-san...isn't it wonderful?" He stammered trying to change his expression.

Tomonori looked at the animal blankly, and put out a gloved hand to stiffly touch an ear. he didn't say anything.

Kaname finally broke the awkward moment. "You're...a friend of Amou's?" He asked.

The dark-eyed man blinked, and looked at Gabriel.

Tsukasa shifted, clearly deciding he had to smooth things over. "I...can't remember your name. I'm...Amou...Tsukasa Amou. Um...or...Israfel..." He bit his lip and pushed himself back into his pillow, all but hiding behind the rabbit plush. Shiba's hands were already curled into fists, and tattooes flickered on the backs of his palms. Tomonori shot him a warning look, though he was fingering his cross.

The man who'd brought the rabbit blinked, and started as though he were oblivious. "Oh, I'm sorry! I'm Kuro. Kuro Sakurai. I'm...well...I'm a friend of Gabriel's." Gabriel's lips twisted to form a word in surprise, but he didn't actually voice it. Tsukasa couldn't read his lips. He looked surprised, though. Shiba shot Kaname a look. Kaname just frowned slightly, a hand against his shoulderblades, a look of discomfort on his face.

Tomonori frowned. He seemed to read the word on Gabriel's list. "His fellow soldier...or his master?" He asked quietly, eyes narrow. "T-Tomonori-san?" Tsukasa whispered, clutching the rabbit to him.

Something in the room was increasing the pressure in his skull. He shivered. The others didn't seem to notice. Tsukasa put his hands against his ears and winced.

Kuro blinked and peered at Tomonori, then something clicked in his expression. "Oh...Oh it's you!" He exclaimed, snapping his fingers, his face brightening. "Sorry. You look different from up close. I didn't expect you to be young." He scratched the back of his head sheepishly. He didn't seem to notice Tomonori's blankness. "I guess you've caught me. I'm Gabriel's mindbreaker." Kuro bowed slightly, formally, still smiling peacably. "Pleased to meet you."

Shiba growled, standing sharply. "I knew it."

"Calm down..." Kaname whispered.

Kuro blinked, looking around in a startled fashion.

Tomonori nodded faintly, cold, but cordial. "Nakaura. But I can't say I can return the pleasure. Whatever business you have with Tsukasa-"

Kuro winced and waved his hands, palms out. "No, no, no. It's not like that. I'm not here to cause trouble. really. I really just wanted to see that he was alright." He turned to Tsukasa with a childish, likeable smile, leaning over him eagerly.

Tomonori behaved as rigidly as though he were oozing malevolence. "I've heard so much about you..." Tsukasa blinked and looked at Gabriel, taken aback. Gabriel looked embarassed and uncomfortable. But...he wasn't stopping this man, or saying anything...

Shiba for his part was eying up the two of them as though Tsukasa were a member of his own family, though. He glowered, clearly ready to stop the man if he made any sudden moves.

Tomonori cleared his throat and shook his head ever so slightly. Kaname however, was watching Gabriel, staring at his white-coated shoulderblades and frowning.

Tsukasa bit his lip. "What you've heard about me...that is...what you've heard about Israfel? That's...not really who I am. I..." he paused and smiled sadly. "I have amnesia. I don't remember a thing aside from the past three years. Well...actually...I remember some things. Small things. But nothing big. I barely even remember Gabriel." Gabriel's throat tensed visibly, but he nodded faintly, gravely. "I'm...probably not...anything like...what I'm...supposed to be." Tsukasa mumbled.

Tomonori shifted.

Kaname caught him and gave him a look. The priest frowned and forced his hands away from his necklace.

Tsukasa tried not to look at anyone. "I...I really don't remember anything..." He said, looking down at Kuro, then at his fingers, smiling sadly. "But...it still doesn't make me innocent. And...whatever you've heard...is probably true." Kuro shifted and dropped into a crouch, peering up at Tsukasa from the edge of the bed like a child, and smiling. "It's okay. I'd still like to be friends. Is that okay?" Tsukasa's cheeks colored.

Tomonori put his hand down sharply on the bedside, startling them both. "I think that's close enough." His tone was steely.

"Careful..." Kaname murmured.

"Whatever you have planned, I'd like you to leave Tsukasa out of it." Tomonori said.

"T-Tomonori-san!" Tsukasa exclaimed. Kuro just looked surprised. Shiba actually groaned and shook his head. Kaname sighed. Really, Tomonori's overprotectiveness was legendary. It could really lead to trouble here, though...

Gabriel straightened loftily near him. "You misunderstand my master." The angel said in a low voice that nonetheless managed to convey his unhappiness with the situation. Coldly, "He desires nothing."

Tsukasa looked around, stricken. "Tomonori-san...is...probably right. I...already have a mindbreaker and...I'd do anything to protect Kirihara-san..."

Kuro blinked, wide-eyed. "Huh? Oh, no, you've still got it all wrong. Gabriel means...I don't...want anything with the Aquarian Age. I...really don't want it to continue, you see. If people just stopped fighting, stopped holding grduges, the way I figure it, the war would end. I'm really a pacifist." He scratched his head sheepishly.

Shiba stared at him. "...Is this a joke?" He growled

Kuro frowned now, looking around as though confused. "Gabriel's not my soldier. He's my friend. All of my...well mindbroken friends are just friends to me. Even family. All I want is to keep them safe, and they come and go of their own free will as far as I'm concerned. I don't make them do anything. And I already knew you both had Kirihara-san. And she sounds wonderful, too. I'd like to be friends with her too if I could. I bet she's cute, too. She sounds so sweet..." Kuro's eyes shut almost in bliss.

Shiba's eyes went misty too despite himself, and even Kaname's looked a little softer.

Kuro opened his eyes and strugged. "I'm not here to try to steal another person's will for my own stupid goals. Really. Why do people always think I mean something bad, anyway? You guys should do what you like."

Gabriel's quiet sigh told Tsukasa everything. He was embarassed. But...that meant the man was probably telling the truth. Tsukasa glanced at Tomonori. His face was still flat, suspicious. Well...he was strange, yes--that nobody could deny, but Tsukasa knew Gabriel wouldn't sound so exasperated if Kuro wasn't what he seemed to be.

Tsukasa smiled brightly, perfectly comforted.

Shiba stared at him as though something was wrong with his medication. he like the others wasn't at all convinced.

Tomonori's chin raised. "Your aura is a psychic's." He said in a low voice. "An unusual psychic's."

Kuro blinked. "Huh? Oh. Well...I'm...originally from the E.G.O.. Um...I'm...an...empath. Sort of. I could show you if-" Tomonori's cross was in his hand in an instant when the man raised a hand. Gabriel's wings flared from his shoulders, hand upraised-

"No!" Tsukasa managed from the bed, clutching his rabbit like a lifeline.

Kaname darted in front of Gabriel, catching his wrist. Gabriel's face contorted.

"Bael..." he snarled in recognition.

Kuro's olive eyes were wide. "Gabriel..." He whispered, touching the other's arm. Gabriel's beautiful face rose in acknowledgement, but his eyes didn't leave Kaname's. Kaname didn't let go of his wrist, until Gabriel lowered it, twisting it out of his grasp in disgust. Kuro lowered his hand cautiously. Tomonori shifted his cross, and Gabriel's wings rose again. "Tomonori-san, don't!" Tsukasa whispered. "Please don't. I don't want anyone hurt-!"

Gabriel's look cut him off. The temperature in the room seemed to have dropped by twenty degrees.

"Gabriel..." Tsukasa whispered imploringly. Gabriel's jade green eyes fixed on him. "...I will not allow my master to come to harm." His strange accent suddenly seemed thick. "And this..." He gestured with his chin to Kaname. Kuro's face flickered into worry, then alarm, looking at Tomonori quickly, and pushing Gabriel's hands down. "Really. It's no problem." he stammered hurriedly, shaking his head quickly at Gabriel. "I don't want any trouble. I just-"

Tomonori's hand tightened on his cross and he bared his teeth. Kuro stared at him a moment, then blinked.

Kaname sighed, and lowered his head, suddenly very human, and very adolescent. "Fine." he muttered gloomily. Gabriel's eyes didn't waver. Kuro shook his head miserably, but his gaze strayed back to Tomonori."...Have I...met you before?" he asked faintly. Tomonori's face was terrifying. "No. Not until now." He said in a barely controlled calm voice. Tsukasa bit his lip hard. "Please don't do this. Not here..." he whispered, looing around at the others wide-eyed, imploring. "Kirihara-san would..."

Shiba's eyes wouldn't meet his. He was still watching the other two stubbornly. Kaname met his eyes though, and his shoulders relaxed. He nodded.

"It's just...something about you...looks familiar." Kuro murmured faintly, his eyebrows twisting. "You're not...a psychic...are you?" Tomonori's face darkened in anger unlike any Tsukasa had ever seen. "I am an exorcist of the Wiz-Dom." He said in a tone like steel.

Kuro frowned faintly as though confused, and shrugged. "Oh. Okay. It's probably nothing then. Sorry, Nakaura-san."

"It's...'sensei'." Shiba muttered.

Kuro blinked, looking over. He wasn't the only one. Tsukasa flushed, trying to smooth things over again. "It's...he's a teacher! So he's 'Nakaura-sensei'! I mean-you only look about as old as me, so Shiba-san...!" Shiba didn't say anything in his defense. He was still watching Gabriel to make sure the angel didn't make any sudden moves.

Kuro blinked again, then his face brightened. "For real?" He broke into a laugh. "He's a teacher? Wow! What do you teach? Can I really call you sensei?" Tomonori's brows creased, and he frowned at Gabriel. Gabriel sighed and crossed his arms resignedly, finally turning his eyes away from Kaname. "Master..." He muttered. His wings lowered disgrutnledly, and vanished. Shiba relaxed his hands. Tsukasa looked to him in gratitude.

Tomonori looked at the eager Kuro. "I'm a mathmatics instructor. High school level." Kuro's eagerness knew no cap. "Wow! It's just...you looked like a priest, so..."

Tomonori shifted his glasses again, lowering his fingers awkwardly. "Well...I am a priest. I'm a priest and a teacher both."

Kuro's eyes glittered in admiration. "A real sensei... I've never met one before! This is an honor Nakaura-sensei!" He cried cheerfully bowing low with dizzying speed.

Gabriel sighed again. "Oh dear..." He murmured. Shiba blinked at him. Kaname coughed in the corner.

Tomonori shifted and finally frowned at Gabriel, peering down his nose at him. "Exactly how old is your master?" the Wiz-Dom man asked pointedly. Gabriel looked at him. "At least twenty." He turned his head with an expression of worry. "Master?" Kuro's looks of glowing adoration didn't diminish in any way whatsoever, a look of basking rapture on his face. Tomonori sighed. "I see..." He muttered.

Tsukasa blushed. "Oh no...it's just...I-I-I- thought he was...well...younger." Gabriel murmured quietly. "Yes. Well. You are hardly the first, Tsukasa." Tsukasa blinked, then blushed. His comrades shifted, staring at the angel. He'd called him Tsukasa? Shiba looked quickly at Tomonori to see his reaction.

Tomonori didn't seem to notice. He seemed embarassed in his own way over all the adoring attention. "I suppose...you really may be...harmless..." The exorcist admitted grudgingly. Kuro laughed and raised his head cheerfully. "Yes, sensei! Ha! I've always wanted to say that! Oh my God I've met a real sensei!"

Tsukasa couldn't help but laugh. He hid it in the rabbit, embarassed when they looked at him. "I'm sorry." he whispered, still smiling behind the animal's head. He couldn't help it. He liked Kuro. Tomonori looked more embarassed now, than worried.

Kuro scratched his head. "Oh. I guess I got a bit carried away. Sorry, Sensei." He said with another funny little bow. "You know, it's weird. You feel a little like a psychic, but you're not really a psychic. It's interesting." He scratched his head and shrugged. Tsukasa noticed Tomonori's hands tightened on the chair again. It perplexed him. Kaname noticed too, but he didn't let it show. Shiba just frowned.

"What kind of math do you teach, anyway?" Kuro asked, dragging over another chair, and hopping onto it to sit on his feet.

Tomonori didn't get a chance to answer.

The door swung open again. "Hey, Amou-kun!" Itsuki called, waltzing in with what looked like a carton of yakisoba. "Just got off work, and you wouldn't believe-" He paused, and grinned. "Hey...who's the L-cosplayer?" Gabriel sighed even before Tsukasa could look confused.

Kuro jerked up and jumped off the chair. "Ha! He got it! Gabriel! He got it!" He shouted in triumph, crowing and laughing. Gabriel nodded with a look of long-suffering patience. "Yes, I see." Kuro ran forward, grinning. "Hey, cool hair. Does this make you Yagami-kun?" He asked with a grin. Itsuki snorted. "Hey! I'm not that evil. I'm Naoya Itsuki, by the way." he offered a hand, grinning.

Kuro's eyes went wide. He breathed out. Itsuki grinned nervously. "What? I already told you, I'm not Kira. Really."

Tsukasa dimly wondered what he was talking about. Kuro looked at his hand, and murmured, "I'd better not. Um. I'm...Kuro Sakurai." Itsuki's face froze a moment, then he laughed easily and said, "Cool name. You're Black-kun, then?" Kuro sighed. "Don't. I know you...you had a sister....on the same floor as me."

Now Itsuki's grin slithered off his face and he backed away a step, and he folded his arms. "Alright...I already have a master. And am I right in thinking you're the same Kuro Sakurai who murdered several Matriarchs escaping the faction a few years back?"

Tsukasa's eyes widened. "I-Itsuki-kun!"

Gabriel was tense as a wire. "That would be my doing." The angel said quietly. Kuro bit his lip.

Tomonori stood. "There's no reason to get into arguments over factional politics here." He said quietly. "Let it go, Itsuki."

Itsuki snorted "Hey, I don't care to begin with. My mother doesn't go to traitor executions. She thinks they're dull. I don't have a problem with him. We're probably related, anyway." Gabriel's body was rigid. Itsuki grinned. "I heard the Sakurai family had two boys, though. One of them was supposed to be no good as a breeder-"

Shiba colored sharply. "I-ITSUKI!"

Itsuki looked at him blandly. "What? They don't have little baby Arayashiki where you come from? Isshin-san, your wife's going to cry..." He sighed. Shiba looked ready to explode. tomonori sighed. "Enough..." he muttered like the teacher he was.

"Uh. Yeah. That's me." Kuro said with a sheepish look, raising a hand. "Touch-empathy and dyslexia."

"That would do it." Itsuki said chuckling easily, hands in his pockets, rocking slightly on the balls of his feet. "My sister would have been on your level maybe. That's why I'm in the same group. Telepathy and Spirit-Sensitivity."

Kuro smiled a little more subduedly. "Well...I knew Haruna-san." He murmured very quietly. "She's...lucky to have such a nice brother."

Itsuki grinned, and raised his hand. "Handshake?"

Kuro blinked. "You...You really mean it?"

"What better way for psychics to get to know eachother, right?" Itsuki said cheerily.

Tomonori frowned. "Itsuki."

"Easy, sensei. I'm not going to do anything. Haruna would know if he was a rotton guy."

"She's here?" Kuro whispered, brightening impossibly. Itsuki grinned and tapped the side of his head. "Twins.You know how it is."

Kuro's eyes widened and he nodded. "Oh right."

"She's stronger than me, of course, but...you know all about what happens to Spirit-Sensitives."

Kuro gave a little shudder. Itsuki frowned. "I see you do." he said easily.

"Kirihara-san's taking care of her?" Kuro asked, his smile returning a little shakily. The color was still gone from his already too-pale face.

Itsuki nodded. "Real good care of her. They're best friends."

Kuro's body relaxed. "That's...good. That's real good... I'd...like to see her again." He whispered.

"She's coming by later." Itsuki said in a grin. "How about that handshake?"

Kuro hesitated, then beamed and slipped his hand into Itsuki's.

Itsuki's eyes narrowed, his grin widening. Kuro's eyes slid shut. He pulled back with a gasp.

"Itsuki!" Tomonori said sharply. Gabriel tensed. "Easy. I didn't do anything." Itsuki said. he grinned, and shaped his figners into a gun, miming blowing smoke from it. "Touch empathy mixed with my telepathy means he contacts another person's spiritual realm when he touches people. Kind of annoying, I bet."

"He's right..." Kuro whispered, holding his chest.

"Is it close-range, or just actual skin-contact with you?" Itsuki asked cheerily.

"Oh my God...Sorry. I'm catching my breath..." Kuro shook his head at Gabriel's look of concern, but did lean against the other's offered arm. "It's just skin-contact." He added, answering Itsuki's question.

"Ah. That's good. You get sucked in pretty quick though, huh?" Itsuki said. "Pretty daring of you going short-sleeves."

Kuro smiled wanly. "Well...I like people." He murmured.

Itsuki tilted his head. "You probably have an impressionable spiritual realm, yourself. You might want to watch out for that with other psychics..." Kuro raised his head, and Shiba watched warily, tense agian in the background. Tomonori idly studied Tsukasa's rabbit.

Itsuki suddenly brightened again. "He's clean. Trust me!" Itsuki shot to his comrades, turning back to Kuro, and patting his shoulder. "We should hang out! I could give you a few pointers."

Kuro laughed, and straightened with delight. "You want to play tennis?" He asked eagerly with a gleam in his olive eyes.

Itsuki gave a peal of cackling. "Sure, but only if sensei doesn't show up. He runs the club."

Kuro's eyes widened. "He...teaches tennis, too?" He reared on the priest again.

Itsuki snickered. "Think you've got yourself another fan, sensei."

Tomonori gave Itsuki a dirty look, then breathed in, reasserting his dignity.

Gabriel sighed heavily while Tsukasa giggled into his rabbit.

Shiba turned to Kaname. "What are they laughing about?" he whispered in an undertone.

Kaname shrugged idly. "I don't know. Maybe it's an E.G.O. thing..." He said quietly.

Kuro reared up and spotted him with that. "And you! You're a darklore aren't you?"

Kaname stiffened, but Kuro just laughed, and snatched up part of Amou's uneaten lunch. "How do you feel about apples?"

Itsuki exploded with laughter.
-o-O-o-

Get better soon, MOG!

Wilde stuff (Work-diary 2)

Wed, 10 Jun 2009 14:47:06 GMT

For a little of the background on Wilde, picture a tall, witty, and extraordinarily bright irish gentleman, living by chance in Victorian England. He receives and excels in a classical education, and gains a name for himself through extraordinarily popular plays (Like The Importance of Being Earnest), poems (Including the Ballad of Reading Gaol), several essays about art, creativity, and--of all things--Socialism, two books of children's stories, plus a novel ("the Picture of Dorian Gray"). Wilde is renowned for his wit, and is often quoted besides. Despite that, he lived a fairly tragic life. He's likely best known for his homosexual affair with Lord Alfred Douglas, the scandal of which soon spread to a court case with Douglas' father. Wilde lost everything in the lengthy court battle. His book and poems were used as evidence against him, and the case itself and the eventual defeat drove him bankrupt. His wife quietly divorced him, and was granted custody of their sons--a blow which devastated Wilde. (The courts deemed him unfit as a father due to his preferences--male homosexuality was considered criminal in victorian England.) While in prison, he wrote a letter, De Profundis (A literary term from the latin meaning "Out of the Depths", ironically, the first words of Psalm 130) to his ex-lover, who went on to marry and claimed to never have been a homosexual at all. After the two years of heavy labor, which ruined his health, Wilde moved to France, and wrote the Ballad of Reading Gaol under a pseudonym. He died a few years after his release.

That's the short of his biography. At this point, I have it memorized.

These days, people read Wilde to understand the aesthetic movement. (ie: "Art for art's sake") He was famous for it, and more or less manages to make Anne Rice look pale by comparison for sensuality of imagery. Wilde's flowery and purple-prosey style are legendary, and he often represents the absolute other side of the literary spectrum which contains Ernest Hemmingway. (More or less, you have people like me who love Wilde and florid prose and rampant descriptions, then you have the Hemmingway lovers who like everything to be concise and packed with meaning... *snicker* I reconcile this by shipping HemmingWilde slash, and joking that Wilde always wanted to marry a man named Ernest, but most English majors aren't nearly as silly as I am.)

Much of Wilde's stuff is otherwise noted for its illustrations--Wilde's play Salom especially, was illustrated in a style that later became famous as Art Nouveau. (I have Oscar Wilde's complete illustrated works, myself.)

Still, I put up his short biography because...well, it's almost fate that Wilde provides a treasure-trove of Spiral Inspirations. (He's easily one of my favorite authors, and hands-down, my favorite "Classical" author aside from Isaac Asimov and a few other select Classic Sci-Fi writers.)

The Ballad of Reading Gaol
I've taken a few passages out and copied them because I expect them to work well for Spiral things later, but I put them up to spread he fever of inspiration to everyone. (And we'll have a never-ending cycle of depressing, but oh-so-wonderful Spiral fanfiction that goes on and on forever...!)
I still recommend Wilde's works to just about anyone. The Picture of Dorian Gray in particular is wonderful. (Though not exactly cheerful. But most "classic" books are frightfully depressing anyway, so...)
Supposedly, some of Wilde's works were originally penned into French, so... Aza-pon-pon, you have no excuse. (Though I don't know how Wilde's work stands in French. I think Salom in particular was published in France because the British weren't too happy about the content. Wacky little pseudo-biblical melodrama...)
So...here's what's been stuck in my head from The Ballad of Reading Gaol...A few excerpts (Teal sections are ones I've chosen to use already):
~

"He did not wear his scarlet coat,
For blood and wine are red,
And blood and wine were one his hands,
When they found him with the dead...

...I never saw a man who looked
With such a wistful eye
Upon that little tent of blue
Which prisoners call the sky..."

~

"We were as men who through a fen
Of filthy darkness grope:
We did not dare to breath a prayer,
Or give our anguish scope:
Something was dead in each of us,
And what was dead was hope."

~

"He who lives more lives than one
more deaths than one must die."

~

"Neither milk-white rose nor red
May bloom in prison air;
The shard, the pebble, and the flint
Are what they give us there:
For flowers have been known to heal
A common man's despair.

...The vilest deeds like poison weeds,
bloom well in prison-air;
It is only what is good in man
That wastes and withers there:
Pale Anguish keeps the heavy gate,
And the warder is Despair.

Each narrow cell in which we dwell
Is a foul and dark latrine,
And the fetid breath of living Death
Chokes up each grated screen,
And all, but lust, is turned to dust
In Humanity's machine."

~

Here's a site at which the whole thing can be read:
http://www.emotionalliteracyeducation.com/classic_books_online/rgaol10.htm
I'm still looking at all the notes on this particular site, of course, but that's where you can find contexts.
...I so need a hobby. Or a class to blame this sort of thing on. *sighs heavily*
is one of his longest poetic works, and probably his most famous poem. (Some people might debate this.)é

"...he to whom a watcher's doom

Is given as his task,

Must set a lock upon his lips,

And make his face a mask.

Or else he might be moved, and try

To comfort or console:

And what should human pity do

Pent up in a murderer's hole?

What word of grace in such a place

Could help a brother's soul?"

"Yet each man kills the thing he loves

By each let this be heard,

Some do it with a bitter look

Some with a flattering word word.

The coward does it with a kiss,

The brave man with a sword!

Some kill their love when they are young,

And some when they are old;

Some strangle with the hands of Lust,

Some with the hands of Gold:

The kindest use a knife, because

The dead so soon grow cold."

The Killer Afghan (III--Squabble/interactions with Kousuke)

Fri, 24 Apr 2009 00:49:55 GMT

Fandom: Spiral (KanoneXEyes--Yaoi; Kousuke)

Genre: Uh. Well it sort of starts out romancy-like (squabbly), and goes to just normal banter. Dunno.

Rating: T

Why: Well there's not much that's bad here. Except Kanone's tantalizingly indicating he'd like to give Eyes a pretty good reason to develop a weapons fetish. And there's a bit of bungly swearing, I bet. (I put anything with boxboy stuff in it under the T label.)

What's going on:

Hijinks ensue.

With apples and knives and braided hair.
And lots, and lots of practice

Other notes:

The "Liebestraume" is the same piano piece I eventually used for "Stagecraft". It's a Liszt Nocturne (as Eyes says) and it's used by me quite a bit as a sort of commentary piece, because the title means 'dreams of love' and I'm not nearly as subtle as I think I am.

Kanone can juggle because he's crazily coordinated. If he can throw a knife and hit the bulls-eye every time, chances are he's skilled enough to juggle five objects of different sizes. (Coincidentally, any time there are five of something in a Spiral fic of mine, I'm making epic symbolism for the blade children themselves.)

Also, by posting this, this brings you up to my current stopping point for this back-gabble. (This is what I've written so far in its entirity, except the part I omitted earlier.) What I do from here is up in the air.

This follows DIRECTLY after the stuff from the last segment.

PLEASE COMMENT ON THE COMMENT I LEAVE AFTER THIS.

-o-O-o-

Kanone slipped into Eyes' monochrome room, and found him picking the braids out of his hair. The damp strands had indeed clustered into lumps of wave, and the kimono had been loosened at his shoulders. The back of his neck was strangely graceful, strangely feminine. Kanone blinked, suddenly and strangely reminded of his last girlfriend. Clarissa. He shook his head faintly. "Those are some sexy waves." He said, making sure to smile.

"I'd rather be by myself at the moment, Kanone." Eyes said flatly, still picking the weave out of his hair, and pulling out a brush to try to smooth down the loose tresses. "Don't be like that, Eyes." Kanone sighed, artificial cheer dropping. "It was an accident. I slipped up."

Eyes' blue gaze narrowed, regarding him through the mirror. "...You would have me believe you've made two mistakes in the same day?" His voice had gone cold.

Kanone sighed irritably. "Well you don't know how bad you are for my judgment, do you?"

Eyes shook his head. "You're lying to me, Kanone." He murmured.

"I'm not lying, Eyes. I screwed up." Kanone spat. "There is a difference."

"Do you enjoy watching me squirm that much?" Eyes replied tonelessly. "To do this to me?"

Kanone looked at him, startled, then looked away. He swallowed. "...Depends on how you're squirming." He murmured truthfully.

Eyes' fingers tightened on his hairbrush. It gave him pause. His tone was still low when he spoke again. "...You want me to believe you take no pleasure in making me uncomfortable?"

The other snorted. "Oh, and you aren't making me uncomfortable giving me bedroom eyes like that out in public? I don't want a fight, Eyes. I came to apologize." Eyes paused, his gaze fixed on his desk, brushing absently. Kanone stood behind him, studying him. "I take my weapons off if I think something might happen another way. And in my own room, I usually have enough stashed around to work with. I didn't tell you that, but I didn't lie about it, either." He gave an irritated sigh. "I'm not lying about slipping up with Kousuke. He takes in more than I expect, sometimes, and I was careless."

Eyes said nothing, brushing his hair. He didn't look at him. Kanone gave another irritated noise. "Eyes, don't be a girl."

Eyes frowned. "Chromosomes being what they are, I have no real choice in those matters to begin with." His tone was still very flat.

"You know what I mean, Eyes-!" Kanone cut himself off with an irritated sigh, realizing how loud he'd become. "Please don't be stubborn. I really don't want a big fight over this. I'm sorry." He put a hand to the other's shoulder, resting his fingers against it.

Eyes paused. He seemed to look at his hand through the reflection of the mirror. He didn't move.

Kanone sighed, and curled his arms around the other's shoulders, presing his nose into his damp hair. "I didn't mean to tell him. Really, I didn't. He put it together. You heard him. He won't tell anyone else. He didn't promise it, so he means it. He knows you don't want people to know." Eyes' expression softened, saddened. He lowered his hairbrush, and paused before hesitantly raising his hands, and finding Kanone's.

They rested like that a moment before Kanone muttered, "Look...do you even know how many weapons I keep on me?"

Eyes said nothing, his fingers tightening on Kanone's ever so slightly.

Kanoen paused before whispering. "...Would you...like to find out?"

Eyes' eyelids flickered, darting. He reluctantly pushed at Kanone's arm. "Musn't keep Kousuke waiting." He mumbled. Kanone pulled his arms back. "Yeah." He wasn't sure whether it was a rejection or another awkwardness borne of the embarassment of being caught. He still couldn't tell with Eyes.

But he wants to have me. I know that much. He wants it badly enough not to stop himself entirely.

Eyes folded his hands in his lap. "...and...this is my bedroom." He murmured

Kanone blinked once, instantly attentive. "...Yes? I know. What about it?"

Eyes gave a sigh. "Go on. Out."

Kanone stared, his eyes widening. "You're worried about me watching you dress? Eyes, I know what you look like-"

"Out." Eyes repeated flatly, pinching the bridge of his nose again.

"This really isn't fair!" Kanone said mustering his dignity and his air of injury. "I could make you sleep on the couch! ...In theory!"

"Kanone-"

"Alright, alright. I'm leaving." Kanone muttered. He peeked his head around the door. "Something with a little skin, maybe-?"

Eyes turned to glower at him, and Kanone grinned nervously. "Uh. Leaving. Right."

He caught the flicker of Eyes' lips before he shut the door entirely, though, and he shut the door, and stifled a laugh of gleeful excitement, of triumph.

He liked that. He was flattered. He'd smiled about it. Well good for him. Modesty doesn't suit that. He's pretty all over...

His smile faded after a moment. "God...What am I going to do?" He whispered to himself.

-o-O-o-

Kanone waved to Kousuke as he approached. "He'll be a moment."

"Is he mad at you?" Kousuke asked, looking half as though he wouldn't blame him, and half concerned--with second thoughts in reservation.

The other grinned. "You know, I've lived with him for years, and I still have trouble telling exactly what he wants sometimes." Kousuke frowned. "Uh...yeah. But...is he mad?" His glasses slid down his nose as he peered at Kanone. He was eating an apple from the centerpiece, Kanone noticed. He smiled at that. Eyes would pretend not to notice, he thought.

Then he wondered abruptly why he'd thought of Eyes. Why he'd thought of his reactions.

He paused, thoughtfully in his mind. I...do like him.

"Hm...I think he forgives me, but I guess I won't know for sure until later." Kanone shrugged, palming one of the other apples from the centerpiece, and tossing it up and down. He caught it, and smiled, grabbing two other bits of fruit, and tossing them about, juggling them. "Maybe I'll have to set up something for him later. More groveling..." Kanone grinned. "Something with candlelight, no doubt."

"He seems pretty classy." Kousuke muttered, still looking as though he'd rather change the subject. He bit a chunk out of his apple, and staring fixedly at the door, as though he could will Eyes to take less time with his fashion by sheer force of eyeball. "He has a taste for romanticism, yeah." Kanone said with a laugh. "Of course, he's planning on becoming a professional pianist, as you know, so I guess that just works out better for that kind of thing." he grinned at Kousuke, and pulled a knife out of either pocket, flipping them open. He grinned at Kousuke again, aware he had his attention back, and he resumed his juggling with fruit and open knives.

Kousuke watched him with interest. "How are you doing-"

"Practice. Lots of practice-" He blinked, cut off by a white hand snatching one of the knive, and two apples out of the air. Kanone paused guiltily, catching knife and apple both. "Practice indeed." Eyes said with thin lips.

"...Nice catch." Kousuke said faintly.

Kanone regained his grin. "Eyes doesn't like me to practice with the centerpiece, of course." He added, tossing the last apple up, and catching it on his open knife.

"He's not very tidy." Eyes said flatly, by way of explanation to Kousuke. He didn't look at him, though, watching Kanone. He brought the knife to his lips and closed it with his mouth, tossing it back into Kanone's lap with barely a glance. Kanone let it fall, and thought of the weight of it. like a hand on his thigh. Eyes replaced the other two bits of fruit back in the silver display bowl as he passed. "Sorry to keep you waiting, Kousuke."

"A good woman's always worth waiting for." Kanone piped up from behind him. Eyes didn't even turn to look at him, though he grinned, and took a bite of his skewered apple. He could tell by the set of his shoulders that Eyes wanted to sigh. Kousuke's brows twisted and he looked to Eyes for a reaction. There didn't seem to be one for him to find. "I've been expanding my memorized pieces lately. You'll have to forgive me if I'm less precise than Kiyotaka." Eyes said quietly to Kousuke.

"You think I'll notice little things like that?" Kousuke asked. "I know you're good, Rutherford. What have you been up to lately?"

"Fountains." Eyes said, taking his seat at the chair that seemed to have replaced the customary piano bench.

Kousuke blinked. "Huh?" He looked to Kanone for rescue.

"Fountains is the translated name of a piece by Maurice Ravel. Jeux D'eau, right, Eyes?"

Eyes gave a nod, positioning his fingers. "Ravel isn't in Kiyotaka's selections, however. Kousuke suggested something different."

"Which is a real shame, because Ravel's more fun." Kanone added with a grin.

"I'll have to take your word for it." Kousuke muttered. "I don't know much about classical. Just that Kiyotaka Narumi obesses over it, and Rutherford's real good at it. I mean, I don't know much about music, and I still remember hearing him play."

"Thank you." Eyes whispered, bowing his head at the piano. His hands began to move.

Kanone quieted, leaning back in his chair. Kousuke turned his head. Eyes hit a pause. "Kiyotaka plays this." He said as he started again. "Yeah...what is...this?" Kousuke murmured. "Liszt." Kanone said, frowning. "I think. Eyes has played this song for years. I can't remember the name."

"Nocturne Number 3 in A-flat Major." Eyes said as he played. "Liebestraume."

They were quiet for the next few minutes until Eyes ended his music. Kousuke raised his eyebrows and grinned. "Cool. You sounded just like him."

"I thought you said you don't know anything about classical." Kanone teased, grinning and waving his half-eaten apple.

Kousuke made a face. "Well I don't normally like piano just because it's too laid back, you know?"

"You want something more lively, then?" Eyes asked quietly. There was a glint to his eye, a hint of challenge. "Something like this perhaps?" And he turned around, starting off with a flurry of motion. Kanone chuckled. "Now you've done it." Kousuke scoffed. "Done what? I didn't do anything-And how the Hell is it humanly possible to move your hands that fast?"

"Nothing beats practice." Kanone said with a laugh.

-o-O-o-

The Killer Afghan (II--dialogue with Kousuke)

Fri, 24 Apr 2009 00:27:35 GMT

Fandom: Spiral (KanoneXEyes--Yaoi; mentions of KousukeXRyoku--possible one-sided/unrequited)

Genre: Uh. There's some unexpected humor in this, mingled in with weird angsty drama. Kousuke makes everything a little lighter, though.

Rating: Uh...probably M.

Why: Er. Because Kanone can't keep his mouth shut and just HAS to play braingames with people, and he's kind of weird-snuggly in the beginning while musing about sex. Mention of "soreness". And corpse cleanup. "Blade Runner" references, and also potty-mouth.

What's going on: Kanone and Eyes are about fifteen, (This being 15 out of maximum 20, if you know the fandom) and it's a few months before Kanone leaves the blade children and joins the hunters. (You should know this already.) So now they've managed to make a home run, on the stately "score' euphemism, after killing hunter-lady who came in. And Kousuke shows up at the door and makes things complicated by being a good little concerned friend.

Other Notes:
This section still has fuschia commentary because you're getting my raw self-edited work, and I write notes to myself. Please beware of spelling errors or typos, too.

Ah, and there's a mention that Kanone has an ex-grilfriend. Er...had an ex-girlfriend I should say? I try to explain THAT particular wrinkle in the pink beside it. I'm still not sure what i'm going to do with that. That was a last minute idea bourne of listening to Mindless Self Indulgence while ficcing like a bloodless, tearless demon.

"Blade Runner" is a Harrison Ford movie fromt he eighties. it really DOES think cars will fly by 2019. It also has artificially created humans, and there ARE some similairities to the blade children. Kanone's such a wonderful cynic...

PLEASE COMMENT ON MY COMMENT AT THE END OF THIS FOR PERSONAL CONVENIENCE? MY SUMMER SCHEDULE WILL MAKE COMMUNICATION DIFFICULT OTHERWISE

-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-

Kanone lounged against him, Blade Runner playing over the television in mindless background. He rubbed his dry lips down the gap of skin peeking through the other's kimono, and Eyes started, realized, and then smiled, pulling back with a strange look of bliss. Kanone was working minute braids in his white hair. It was still damp. He seemed so content, so happy... Happier than Kanone had ever seen him. So different from the end, when he'd looked like he wanted to cry, or perhaps say something, but he hadn't as ever, just arched with a hiss of breath, slumped bonelessly into the tile, and coughed at the water flecking over his lips, breathing heavily. There had been something of deperation in his eyes. Now it all seemed to have melted away, leaving an odd sort of serenity.

Kanone studied him a moment.

He'd tried to right himself, tried to put a hand forward, expecting to need to do something in return. Kanone hadn't let him. Seeing him like that...it was enough for now. He was vaguely disgusted. Annoyed, almost, that it had been so easy to get him there. Now Eyes would do anything for him, no doubt. So very easy... But the quiet happiness on his face still made it somehow worth it. The way he was lying there half-curled on his left side with Kanone pillowed against his thigh, and somehow just existing, his white hands listless in front of him.

He'd made him happy. Kanone was somehow disappointed that it hadn't taken much. He must have idealized this, he thought to himself. Eyes must've been the sort to think that sex actually made a difference. The optimism of that surprised him, and irritated him on some level. It didn't go too well with the rest of Eyes' impression on the world. His moments of optimism were bits of him Kanone still couldn't quite follow, and it annoyed him. And it annoyed him more to think that Eyes would this he somehow understood now.

It was just plain stupid.

Kanone focused on the screen and frowned, finishing off one of the braids. "...That's what we are, you know. This movie. It's probably something they make every hunter watch before they go out and kill us. The only difference is we get five times the lifespan." Eyes lifted his head, focusing on him, and his faint smile lowered at that. "...I personally doubt cars will fly by 2019 if you mean to talk about differences." His hands were moving again with that, twitching almost nervously. He was clearly coming out of his post-coital reverie. Kanone dimly wondered if it had ever lasted him so long, even that first time...

"You know what I mean, Eyes. I'm not talking about the cars." Kanone glowered, scooting closer to him, head on his hip, on the curve of his ass, and reached for the bowl of popcorn. (Eyes: Then does this make me Rachel? *Blade Runner references* Will people even understand this?) The air smelled like bleach and wax. There wasn't even a stain in the floor where the blood had soaked in.

Kanone had wrapped the afghan around Eyes to keep him warm, and settled him in front of the television to sleep. Eyes still hated blood.

No stamina, either, Kanone thought to himself as he'd brushed his teeth to get the taste out of his mouth. Two blowjobs in the shower, and he'd collapsed, shuddering, unable to take anything else. He'd been so very quiet about it too... He'd moaned once. Kanone hadn't been able to get him to do it a second time, his white hands tangled desperately in his soaking hair, and fumbling to stop him when he indicated he'd be willing to give him a third. He hadn't pressed him. Parhaps later he would. For now, it might be construed as rape rather than tenderness if he took it too far. They were still putting together signals. Sex didn't change that at first. Kanone knew that. Eyes on the other hand, probably didn't.

He wondered dimly, darkly, what Eyes would have done if he'd kept going.

Would he have tensed up, and stiffened mutely, or would he have fought him tooth and nail...?

His nose was tickled by the yarn of the afghan, and he looked at it, staring at the 'made with love' label in silence.

At least now he knew what he looked like during sex. Knew what he looked like entirely. Eyes had become very pretty indeed. He'd had a sort of roundness to him as a child. He had none of it now--all bone and sinew and slimness with his hair plastered against his shoulders... Only his wrists were still round.

Kanone brushed a hand through the other's damp hair, gathering it. He paused in the middle of the gesture, going rigid. Eyes didn't even seem to notice. At the knock, his eyelids flicked open, and he tensed as well, but they both relaxed soon after, recognizing the knock. "Just Kousuke." Kanone muttered to Eyes. Eyes shrugged. He shifted gingerly. Kanone tossed a pillow at him. "Don't worry. I'll handle it. You're probably still pretty beat." Eyes frowned, but pulled the pillow under his head and went back to watching beneath half open eyelids. He didn't even bother to argue. He was probably sore, Kanone reasoned dispassionately. He'd never say it plainly, but with the way he tensed up at everything, Kanone was reasonably sure that was the trouble. His own fault, not that he'd know better...

Kanone pulled on a sweater half-way to the door, catching the off-note knock they'd picked to distinguish out one another. If he didn't hurry, Kousuke would pick the lock and storm in, assuming there was a problem--the knocker was always flipped up if there was nobody home. Currently it was down, indicating they were both in. Perhaps the hunter had left evidence when she'd picked the locks to enter... Kanone drew back the latch and opened the door in the way that would be silent, a knife in his other hand just in case. Kousuke grinned. "Hey. Thought I'd come by and visit." He fiddled with one of his earcuffs indicating he hadn't been followed, but would like to come in to talk.

Kanone smiled brightly, ducking the knife back into his jeans. "Kousuke! Of course! Come right on in!" He said loudly. And he cheerily steered him into the appartment, shutting the door. Kousuke had a knife out. "Was there a hunter?" He whispered. Kanone shrugged. "It's alright. Caught us a bit off guard, but we handled it." He murmured back.

"Where's Rutherford?" Kousuke asked, straightening up.

"Watching Blade Runner. He's a bit tired." Kanone said easily. Kousuke frowned. "Tired? Did he get hit or something?"

"Nah, he got lucky." (Badum-cha. Kanone-kun, your puns and ironies could use some work.)

Kousuke paused a moment, trying to work this out in his head. "Tea?" Asked Kanone brightly. Kousuke's expression faltered, then he frowned, sighing. "Yeah. Whatever..." He slid his feet out of his sneakers and into slippers. "So...You came over to rescue us? Or did you just miss me that badly." Kanone asked quietly, amused. Kousuke sprawled out in one of the chairs, snorting. "What? You don't ever make mistakes, now, Kanone?" He challenged, grinning. "Besides, I couldn't be sure you weren't lonely with all of us out of the nest and all. You've been spacy so I figured I'd check in."

"Mm, I've just been a little distracted, that's all." Kanone said cheerfully, pouring his tea. "Does seem a bit quieter of course, but I've still got Eyes."

"Yeah. That reminds me. So what's all this about Rutherford getting lucky? Is that supposed to mean he didn't get hit or you actually found a girl hunter or something?" Kousuke said, grinning to show it was a joke. Kanone raised his eyebrows. "Oh. You think Eyes likes girls, huh?" He said feigning surprise.

Kousuke coughed, spewing a fine spray of tea over the table. That he clearly hadn't expected.

"Y'mean Rutherford's...?"

Kanoen gave him a look. "You're surprised?" (Silly Kousuke...)

Kousuke stared at him a moment, then deflated, his eyes still darting around embarassedly. "Well no, I just...You're not...joking, you know, are you?" Kanone twisted his face into a pout. "Kousuke, don't you trust me?" Kousuke glowered at him, and wiped at the table with his sleeve. "Not joking... Well...I guess it'd explain alot." He muttered, putting a hand to his forehead and leaning on it. "And you did grow up with him, so I guess you'd know..." he added grudgingly. Kanone smiled. "Yeah. Talk about lousy taste." And he laughed brightly. (Badum-cha) Kousuke shook his head. "Why the Hell do you think it's so funny, anyway? It must suck for him."

Kanone began to laugh. He couldn't help himself. "Oh yes." He chuckled, genuinely amused. "That's it exactly. How did you guess?"

Kousuke blushed the color of his hair, making a face. "Yeah, that clinches it." He grumbled. "You killed them. You're going all psychopath-cheery the way you always do after you kill people."

"Oh I didn't kill her myself, you know. It was more a group effort. Hardly fair if you think about it. Eyes probably could have taken her on all alone. She wasn't very good, and we definitely had surprise on her." Kanone said, blinking.

Kousuke frowned. "You...had surprise on her." He repeated.

Kanone nodded.

"Even though...she caught you off guard?"

Kanone blinked. "Goodness, did I say that?" (Oops. Innocence!feign.)

Kousuke nodded, frowning, his glasses hanging low on his nose. "Ah, I always forget you're not as dumb as you act, Kousuke." Kanone sighed. Kousuke bristled. "Hey!" Then he caught himself. "You jerk..." He muttered, not entirely able to wipe the grin off his face. "So...what, then? She caught you peeling radishes and didn't know better?" (Silly Kousuke thinks Europe has Daikons. Little does he know our little red radishes don't need to be peeled.)

"God, no. You think Eyes trusts me in a kitchen full of knives?" Kanone laughed, musing. "I still don't think I've caught him going this long without playing his piano in years, though, so he might not have much choice..." Kousuke frowned. "Well that doesn't sound good. You sure he's okay?"

"Oh sure. He's fine. It's just like I said before. He's resting up."

Kousuke frowned again, thinking it through. "...The hunter was a girl. So...if you're saying what I think you're saying..." He blanched. "Kanone, When did Rutherford get himself a boyfriend?" He said suddenly, flushing as though even the thought embarassed him. Kanone shrugged, the smile fading from his lips. He might have taken his teasing a little too far. He mgiht have given too much away. Kousuke of course, interpreted this in another way. "I mean, he does have a boyfriend, doesn't he?"

"He's had one for a while now. It's no big deal." Kanone said, feigning brightness, sipping his tea. But Kousuke was still thinking. He could see it on his face. Damn it... He'd let his guard down a second time today. This was unprecedented. (Being one of the smarter kids in the world makes you a bit of an egotist, I guess...)

"Whaddaya mean? Of course it's a big deal! He wants to be a professional pianist! Won't that damage his career? I mean good for him and all, but weren't you the one who told us it's not a good idea to get involved like that with people who don't know about us already? It's too dangerous! You said so yourself after you had to kill that stupid girlfriend of yours when she turned you over!"

Kanone's back tensed. "...Clarissa was different." he whispered. (Self Note: Clarissa's Kanone's dead ex. Kanone's bi, and was briefly fascinated by dating people over twenty. Clarissa was the last before Eyes. She lived with him a while, tried to hit on Eyes a bit, seemd disappointed when he didn't make a move back, then moved out after an argument with Kanone, and set the hunters on them both as revenge for her petty feminine ego. She wasn't actually bright enough to realize they might kill Kanone, I think. She probably just thought he might have family trouble or such, a little infamy and all. Kanone was merciless in dealing with her, presumed ignorance aside. The hunters Clarissa set after them are the same ones that nearly managed to kill Eyes--which is probably part of the reason Kanone dealt with Clarissa so harshly. Keep in mind for possible scene-cut later... Possible flashback...)

"Rutherford nearly got killed and you think that's different?" Kousuke retorted, his eyes narrow and serious. He rested his elbows on his knees. Kanone's hands tightened in a jerk, and he forced them to relax before Kousuke could notice. Yes....he ought to calm down. Kousuke clearly didn't know the nerve he'd hit. He had to calm down before his body jerked him into an anger reflex... "Why? You think Eyes has better taste than you or something? Because there's something I'm not getting, and I can't figure it out!" Kousuke retorted.

Kanone scowled blackly. "No."

"What?" Kousuke said, clearly confused and annoyed.

"No." Kanone repeated quietly, his back turned. "Eyes doesn't have better taste than me. His is worse."

"The Hell..." Kousuke muttered, but it didn't knock him entirely off course. He stubbornly refused to let it go. "You think I care? I want to know why." Kousuke hissed, clearly upset. "Why did you let him do it? Because you feel sorry for him? You can't gamble with peoples lives like that!"

Kanone slitted his eyelids. "The only person gambling lives here is Eyes." He spat.

"And what? You're going to let him?" Kousuke retorted. "What if his boyfriend finds out?"

"He already knows." Kanone said evenly, crossing his arms. (Kanone: Well of course. Seeing as he's me...)

Kousuke spread his hands wide. "You're insane! What are you trying to prove here? If he already knows about the blade children then we have to get you guys out!"

Kanone shut his eyes, forcing down his anger. "...You just don't get it, do you?" He spat. "You of all people."

Kousuke gave a cry of frustration. "Kanone!"

"What?" Kanone spat, turning to face him with sudden irritation blazing in his eyes to match Kousuke's. "If you aren't going to listen, and you're not going to see it, then you might as well not even try." Kousuke was about to retort, then he had the thought. Kanone could see it spread over his face, see it slacken his face into shock. He could see him fighting with his disbelief and coming back to the same conclusion, his features paling. And Kanone hoped in anger that he choked on it.

"...Kanone...Kanone, you didn't..."

"You're the last person to lecture me on that, aren't you?" Kanone replied coldly. Kousuke's face flushed again, his eyes still wide in horror, and his voice cracking pitifully "Y-Yeah but I didn't take it that far, though! Kanone, that's-!" He put a hand over his mouth. "That's...That's just sick! Don't you know-?"

"And you're going to pretend you've never wanted to fuck your sister?" Kanone asked coldly.

This time he struck the nerve. He could see it did in the way Kousuke looked away, and swallowed hard, blinking as though he'd been slapped.

"You're a guy, too." Kanone said tersely. "Eyes is gay. You're straight. And I..." He paused. "Well I don't really care, personally. You probably already knew that, though." Kousuke flinched. "Well...yeah, but-" he started. Kanone cut him off sharply. "And you're going to sit in front of me and pretend not to know what it's like?" Feline eyes narrowed. "It should be more than apparent to you what I think of you for doing that."

Kousuke finally raised his head, blinking hard, a very strange, forlorn expression on his face. His voice cracked again when he spoke, "...Why did you do it, though? Why would Rutherford let you do that?" Kanone crossed his arms. "Ah. You think he just let me?" He asked dully.

Kousuke silently pulled off his glasses and put them on the table. He put a hand over his eyes, his body shaking. For a moment, Kanone thought he might cry. Kousuke fought with him like a real little brother. They had their petty rivalries, but this...this was shattering all his ideals of family. And, Kanone thought dispassionately, he might actually be breaking the last thing holding Kousuke back. They all knew about him and Ryoku. Kousuke had always made sure they stayed apart, though. This might ruin that for him.

And Kanone was surprised by his next very honest thought--So what?

What does it matter what we do if we're all just cursed and hopeless in the end? What does it matter if I leave? What does it matter if I sleep with my brother, or Kousuke sleeps with his sister? What does it matter at all? And Kanone felt as alone in that thought as the first atheist.

What does any of it really matter?

"...What are they going to think?" Kousuke whispered after a minute.

"They aren't going to think anything. If you tell them, I'd kill you myself." Kanone replied flatly. Kousuke raised his head to protest. "You know what reputation is to Eyes. You know what that would do to him." Kanone said before he could argue. Kousuke frowned, then his head sank down again in defeat. "He tears himself up enough as it is." Kanone murmured.

Kousuke just shook his head. He didn't look as though he beleived him. Maybe he was simply numb. "...What's Kiyotaka going to-?"

"You mean to say," Kanone said with a vicious smile, "That Kiyotaka Narumi is unable to predict the utter inevitability of me giving Eyes a blowjob?" He asked, poison in his laugh. "Really. That's as good as saying you're on my side there, Kousuke."

Kousuke's eyebrows knit. "...Okay, you got me there. I really don't know what to think of him." He sighed. "I mean, it's not easy to sit back and think, 'Do I really want the last hope for the blade children to be some idiot frog on a bicycle?'" He asked, annoyance crossing his face. Kanone laughed. "It's rediculous isn't it? Worthless."

Can't you see it? In the end we're all just cursed. What does any of it matter? There's no salvation for us.

Kousuke paused. "No...Not entirely worthless." he muttered, straightening. "It'd be nice, after all."

"And you're going to put your faith in the hands of a guy you think might be nice?" Kanone retorted nastily. Kousuke's reply jarred him on some level. It was audacious.

Kousuke shrugged with perfect ease, perfect honesty. "I'm not putting my faith in anyone just yet. And I don't think Kiyotaka is nice. I just don't think it's entirely true that there's no chance we can save ourselves when it all comes down to it." He grinned, his face brightening. "I'm still optimistic."

"You're an idiot." Kanone murmured, holding back his anger.

Optimism! What good is optimism when you live life with a noose tightening around your neck?

Kousuke grinned wider at that. "Yeah. I know. I get that alot." he paused. "Look...I won't tell anyone. I mean...I get it. You guys have been through more than anyone." He sighed. "Besides, it would break Rio's heart."

Kanone frowned. That wasn't what he'd expected. "Huh?"

Kousuke grimaced, the corner of his mouth going up wryly. "Oh come on, Kanone. She likes Eyes. Didn't you notice?"

Kanone frowned more deeply scratching his head. "Uh...no?" That threw him. His thoughts were disrupted from their former path, analyzing this.

Kousuke shook his head, rolling his eyes. "Jeez. How badly distracted are you, anyway?" He muttered. He didn't notice the grim edge to Kanone's smile as he replied, "Hm. Pretty bad." What would you say if you knew the only thing keeping me from leaving right now and turning around to put a knife between your ribs is the musician in the other room?

Kousuke shook his head, glowering at the ground. "You know...I'll never get why girls always like guys like him. I mean, isn't he too pretty? He looks like a girl. And he always dresses like some kind of bondage slave..."

Kanone's face inadvertantly relaxed into amusement. "He does spend an hour in the bathroom every morning taking care of his hair alone." He confided.

"See?" Kousuke exclaimed, waving an arm. "That's exactly my point! What's so special about that? What's he got that I don't?-Not that I'm into Rio or anything. But you like girls...well...also. So that kind of makes sense for you to...but Rio? I sure hope not. I just want to know. Why the Hell is Rutherford some sort of sex god and I'm stuck at first base? What the Hell does he have anyway?"

Kanone thought a moment. "Looks, brains, grace, poise, impeccable manners, an odd sense of humor, and a sweet ass." (That's the long and short of it, isn't it? Good old Kanone. Eyes does everything pretty much disgustingly well. He just has no stamina and pretends not to have any personality.) He smiled at Kousuke, who blanched a moment, as though remembering their relationship again. He still didn't seem to want to believe it. Kanone could see why. Something like that would be about as disturbing as could be to Kousuke. It was everything he himself had tried to avoid. It was Ryoku dancing right in front of him, taunting him. Kanone wondered idly if he'd see Kousuke's thread of optimism break. Wouldn't it be better if I let you die believing rather than letting you fall when you realize there's nothing holding us up?

"If you tell anyone I said all that, of course, I'll have to kill you." Kanone added brightly. What if you did tell someone? What would they think if they knew looks, brains, and a sweet ass was all that's keeping me from killing you with my bare hands here and now? The thought twisted further. Blacker. You of all people--like a brother to me. I'd kill you, and the thought doesn't even show on my face.

...What kind of monster am I?

And this before I actually lose my mind. How much worse will it be when I lose myself entirely?

Kousuke turned away shaking his head and grumbling under his breath. Kanone relented a little. "Of course the sweet ass and all isn't everything." He called, lowering his voice into a whisper. "He's not that good, you know?"

The other's face was totally and absolutely blank, then a look of unholy glee spread over his face. "Are you serious?" He asked, the nature of how Kanone found out apparently ignorable in the wake of the knowledge itself. Kanone nodded, raising his hand. "Scout's honor." He said, winking. "He's not the virtuoso in that department. He looks good, but he's tense. Clumsy, too. He goes all rigid. And he's pretty quick on top of it all..."

Kousuke was laughing. "That's...more than I ever wanted to know." (But somehow exactly the ego-boost he wanted.) His face had brightened nonetheless. "Ahh...Thanks Kanone." Kanone grinned. "Any time."

The man smiled at the floor, running a hand through his red bangs. "You two...take care of eachother, okay?" He said quietly.

Kanone blinked, then smiled. "Well...you're just a real softie, aren't you, Kousuke?"

"Huh?" Kuouske asked, blinking.

"You're a softie. Girls fall for that." Kanone added with a grin. I've fallen for it in others before. Or...at least seemed to. For contrast, no doubt. He thought to himself cynically.

"You think?" Kousuke asked, as though he'd never thought about it.

"Try a little gimmick. Show them you're smart but still playful. Stuffed animals work nicely." His smile was wonderfully bright and cheerful.

"Stuffed animal? Where am I going to get a stuffed animal?" Kousuke asked, his face flattening into disbeleif. (ROBERTSONxKOUSUKE=OTP) Kanone simply started to laugh. "You jerk! You're just messing with me, aren't you!" Kousuke shouted.

"I can't help it!" Kanone chuckled, spreading his fingers. 'It's so easy."

"You bastard!" Kousuke bellowed, grabbing him by the collar, and ducking the other man down, giving him a furious noogie. (Boy!fighting=Yay) Kanone laughed, squirmed, and twisted out easily, reaching behind and pulling the waistband of Kousuke's boxers. Kousuke gave a soprano yelp. And Kanone laughed uproariously. "Ow! Damn you! No fair!" Kousuke cried, crossing his legs and hopping around the kitchen as Kanone laughed and tore around after him, avoiding him entirely, twisting just out of his hands. "Wait 'til I get my hands on you!" Kousuke shouted, running after him.

"Uwah! But you're not cute at all!" Kanone cried, laughing all the while, and dancing out of Kousuke's way, skipping around the kitchen table and spinning on his toes.

"What the Hell does that have to do with anything?" Kousuke shouted. And Kanone simply laughed and laughed.

Then he realized there was someone else there, and turned, pausing. Kousuke ran into him. "Ouch! Hey!"

"Sorry. Eyes? ...Everything alright?" Kanone asked, abruptly serious.

Eyes stood there bundled in his kimono, with the knitted blanket pulled around him. "Fine." He said almost tonelessly. "...I had to be sure there wasn't something loose in the house."

Kousuke blinked, a weird expression crossing his face, ignoring the subtle slur in the wake of more important things...

"Rutherford, why the Hell is your hair braided up like that?"

Kanone laughed before he could stop himself. He'd forgotten. "You really don't understand, do you Kousuke? It's obvious! He wants to have sexy waves, of course."

"Are you serious? Don't you think you look like enough of a weirdo already?" Kousuke shot at Eyes.

Eyes' brows lifted half an inch, and he looked at Kanone. "You're just saying that because he's wearing some color." Kanone retorted, grinning. "The orange and fuschia clearly bring out the color of his eyes."

"Yeah, 'cause there's no color anywhere else." Kousuke shot back. "Rutherford, did his mom dip you in bleach as a kid, or did you just hide someplace every time there was sunlight?"

"Don't be silly." Eyes replied evenly, quietly amused, no doubt. Kousuke's rudeness was refreshing. And Kanone was privately grateful for it. It alleviated some of the tension between them, distracted away from it. Lovers. Eyes' blank inscrutiable face seemed to say. We're lovers. Kanone felt almost suffocated by the volumes of unspoken thought in his indecipherable blue gaze.

Kousuke provided a wonderful distraction.

They both liked Kousuke. All of the blade children did, for that matter. He didn't keep his promises unless he wanted to, and getting him to do anything he didn't want to was like driving a nordic sleigh across the Indian Ocean with a team of cats in the harness. The only one more stubborn than Kousuke, was Eyes. But...for every time Kousuke didn't show up, he showed up at least once out of the blue to make sure you were alright, and he stuck around until he was sure you were. He seemed to have an imperceptible feel for when people were feeling badly. And while he made a big fuss at every sleight, Kanone suspected he didn't altogether mind being the butt of the joke so long as those around him felt better for it. He liked people. It was that simple. Kanone suspected if he could just find a little more guile and subtlety, he would be the perfect man to lead the blade children in his stead... And Eyes seemed to like him, too. He even used his strange brand of humor on him. Eyes only made his odd deadpan jokes when he was truly comfortable with a person.

...What am I going to do? There's really nothing at all to hold me back, is there? He tried not to feel the pressure of Eyes' stare on him, tried not to think of how easy it would be to hand everything over to Kousuke.

"If I get hit by direct sunlight, I start to disintegrate. It's very tedious." Eyes said quietly, without a single change of expression. (Eyes!humor #1) His eyes met Kanone's when he looked at him, and Kanone couldn't help but smile even as some unnerved part of him told him Eyes hadn't stopped looking at him once, yet. "Oh yes, and then I have to go around with a big net trying to catch Eyes and take him to a cave someplace to recouperate. It interferes with his practice, too."

"Why the Hell are you two always so weird?" Kousuke muttered.

"Genetics." Eyes said as Kanone said, "Well how should I know?"

He blinked, looked at Eyes and repeated, "Genetics? You think? That's brilliant. It explains everything." (Eyes!humor #2) The corners of Eyes' lips went up ever so faintly, and he nodded once. "How the Hell does genetics affect weirdness?" Kousuke retorted, looking at them both with a wonderful expression of indignant confusion. "Well where else would it come from? Rio, you me, Eyes, it explains it all. Of course, you can't use genetics to explain away your hairstyle."

"What hairstyle?" Kousuke retorted, putting hands to his head indignantly.

"I can't tell how your hair does that, but it seems to be trying to fly clear off your head. Did you sleep upside-down?" Kanone made his face innocent. "Eyes probably has a brush you can borrow."

Eyes was as inscrutiable as ever, but he smiled very very faintly when Kousuke looked at him. "What the Hell are you smirking at?" Kousuke retorted. "And I'm allowed to have punk hairstyles. It's just getting long, that's all." He tried to flatten down the back.

"Your hair grows upwards?" Kanone teased.

"That is...possible, you know." Eyes said quietly.

"Huh? Really?" Kanone turned to him, blinking.

"If he has enough hair to start with, the thickness and profusion of such can force the hair to grow upwards. It must be a devil to clean."

That brought about a moment of silence.

Kousuke frowned. "Yeah...I use a lot more shampoo than most people. Uh...Why are we talking about my hair, though? How did we get here anyway?"

Kanone shrugged. Eyes' lip flicked slightly upwards. "A deeply existential question at the best of times..." He murmured. Kanone grinned widely. Eyes was in truly rare form today. And it's because of me. ...What would he be like if I weren't here?

Kanone was scared--suddenly and dreadfully scared. He tried not to feel the pressure of the blue gaze studying him.

"You see Kousuke, when an intelligent and accomplished woman wants a baby very much, and she can't seem to find the proper guy to be loving and caring and keep the freezer stocked with ice cream, she turns to science-" Kanone began. (I can see Evangeline Hilbert giving Kanone the birds-and-the-bees talk using this exact quote.)

"Kanone, shut up!" Kousuke shouted.

Eyes was smiling, Kanone noticed with an odd thrill up and down his spine. He was smiling in front of other people. Half-covering it with his long, white fingers... The blue eyes flicked to his, his lip flickered, and the gaze returned to Kousuke. Kanone realized his hands were sweating. "Is everything alright, Kousuke?" Eyes asked more seriously, the edge of a smile still on the corners of his lips.

"Huh?" Kousuke began. "Oh. Yeah. I heard there was a hunter here, that's all. How'd that go?"

"I feel very much alive still, thank you." Eyes replied.

"Uh. Yeah. Good to hear it. No problems then?"

"She wasn't very good, like I said." Kanone replied before Eyes could say anything.

Eyes lowered his head in the faintest of nods. "Kanone seems to have disposed of the body, and we're both unharmed."

Kousuke glanced at Kanone, and then added, "You feeling alright, Rutherford?"

Kanone tensed, but made sure to keep the smile on his face. What are you playing at Kousuke? He relaxed at a thought. Ah. You still don't beleive me. Well good luck trying to get Eyes to say anything... Eyes frowned slightly, reluctantly, "Fine. Yes." He paused then added, "No attacks."

None of the other blade children had even known Eyes was asthmatic until recently, Kanone thought with a pang of irritation.

Kousuke swallowed, and licked his lips. Kanone could almost see his brain working out a way to ask. "And...uh...Kanone's being nice to you?"

Eyes raised his eyebrows.

"You make it sound like I'm fattening him up to eat him, Kousuke." Kanone said, but he grinned at Eyes. Eyes blinked, too, his gaze widening, but he hid it so well, as ever, catching himself and covering it over. It gave Kanone a little thrill, a little pleasure to see his shock, though, and know Eyes was trying not to think about him, and probably failing. His hands had tightened, Kanone noticed, fascinatedly. I could give him trouble like this. In public. He actually slipped.

"...Kanone's being himself. He seems no less tolerable than usual." Eyes replied a little more tersely than he might have otherwise. "Aw. Hey, Eyes. Don't be mean to poor Kanone." He pushed his face into an expression of hurt. Kousuke grinned, though. That had surprised him. And Kanone remembered that he actually might not know Eyes very well. Eyes had simply been like a decorative bit of furniture in the background for the most part, like an organic stereo sitting there playing his music. He'd rarely even spoken to the other blade children in the house, even as Kanone had trained them. So...perhaps he did have reason to be surprised. Eyes had met Rio. Eyes had met Kousuke. But they probably had barely spoken, as ever. Maybe Kousuke and he hadn't spoken at all, and he just knew him as the silent guy who liked to strangle people. It wasn't much to go on.

"I guess I have to ask..." Kousuke muttered, with an odd expression. "Kanone says...you're dating."

Eyes raised his eyebrows and looked at Kanone.

Kanone crossed his arms, arranging his expression back into injury. "That's not true at all! I said we were fucking!"

Eyes blinked, and Kousuke stared at him, the color draining from his face in disbelief. Eyes caught himself quickly, and sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "...He's put it rather indelicately, but accurately." He murmured. (Eyes, you always understate everything so wonderfully...) Part of his face had closed off again, and he didn't look at Kanone. He'd betrayed him that far. Now all that remained was to see what Eyes would do. "And I'm sorry for his bluntness on the subject." Eyes apologized stiffly. He was mortified, he knew. Kanone could imagine his tension. It didn't show much in his posture or his body language, but by now he knew...

Kousuke seemed embarassed. "H-Hey, I don't care." He muttered quickly, trying and failing and feigning indifference. "If it works out, then whatever." He was visibly uncomfortable. Eyes had to notice, but he didn't point it out again. He studied Kousuke. Kousuke looked away, and Kanone couldn't help the vicious thought that Eyes' looks were enough to make anyone look away.

"So...uh...You still into piano?" Kousuke mumbled. (Induce change of subject right here...)

"Yes." Eyes said flatly. Kanone almost snorted. Trust Eyes to make an understatement like that. The man would forget to eat if he could play the piano a little more. He slept maybe four hours a night as it was.

"Well...You were really good the last time I heard. I don't know if you'd mind playing something again..." Kosuuke said awkwardly, still obviously grasping for threads of conversation to veer off the awkward topics.

Eyes blinked, though, clearly surprised. "...No. I...wouldn't." His fingers tightened on the edge of his blanket. "Anything you had in mind?"

Kousuke shrugged. "Not much of a listener. Went to one of Kiyotaka Narumi's concerts of course-"

"I play Kiyotaka's selection competantly." Eyes said before he finished. His attention was so obvious that Kanone almost laughed aloud. It was as though the spotlight of it had turned off relational matters and back to his real passion. It was the same sort of sudden intensity. Kanone wondered dimly if that was why he was so silent during sex--he was silent when he played the piano.

Eyes paused, his lips opened a moment, shut, then he smiled faintly, his gaze not-quite-focused. "I know...something I could play. Give me a moment, and I'll meet you." And he turned, and walked away, rather more stiffly than usual.

Kousuke stood there. He gave a sigh. "That was weird." He muttered to Kanone as though hoping for reassurance.

Kanone turned his head to Kousuke. "You know where the piano is. I'll be right back. I think he's annoyed with me."

Kousuke blinked. "What? Seriously? He's hard to talk to, but he seemed pretty okay with it."

Kanone sighed. "You really don't know Eyes well, do you? He's going to go make himself more decent, and I'm going to go grovel. We'll be a moment like he said." And with that, he darted off after Eyes.

Kousuke stared at the door. "Jeez..." He muttered. "Does anyone stop a conversation normally around here?"

The Killer Afghan (I--drabble fragments)

Fri, 24 Apr 2009 00:12:08 GMT

Fragment: Second half from a section currently entitled "The Killer Afghan" in my personal folders (Cross referenced with the fuschia-minor edit)

Fandom: Spiral (KanoneXEyes--Yaoi)

Genre: Uh. Sort of dark Romance/Drama with a feel of impending, looming tragedy-franticism on the horizon thanks to Kanone's paranoia

Rating: Uh...possibly M. (Maybe like...OT? If I'm lucky? *feels like a creep if she writes M*)

Why: Er. Because Killer Afghan has shower!blowjob lime in it, and strangling and shooting of people who walk in on pre-blowjob stuff. But because it takes place around and not THROUGH said stuff, there's very little to worry about in this case that's THAT explicit. T-rated, mostly. Kanone's got a bit of a mouth on him, though, so watch out of that and innuendo-filled clapping games.

What's going on: Kanone and Eyes are about fifteen, (This being 15 out of maximum 20, if you know the fandom) and it's a few months before Kanone leaves the blade children and joins the hunters. Er...in this particular scene, they've more or less finally managed to score off eachother after sort of skirting around it for a while. Oh. And they killed a hunter who walked in on it. (I'd paste THAT section in, but it really needs the context to look good the way it should. And the whole first section embarasses me a little because I usually don't drift that dark or sexually tinged in my writing and here I've done it for certain.)
These drabblet-things are from the first section, which I've omitted. They have been formatted to fit your brain.

Other notes:

Ah. There are a few fuschia notes in here because this is a backgabble story. (That is, it started out as a plotroach, and it being kept on for character development--it's not intended at this point, to reach and branch into publishable fic status.) So it comes with a bit of commentary, and whith a lot of spelling mistakes and grammatical crud.

I've pasted in a few sections which were flashbacks from the first section. They read kind of like those drabblet-pieces people write for things, but these were incorporated into the storyline as Kanone!memories. (So I've had to alter them a little to make sense on their own, but there are occasionally sentences around them which allude to occurances in the larger story, which I didn't get rid of.) It actually might be a better, more discreet intro to this than the first section itself, come to think of it... Featuring Childhood!Kanone and Childhood!Eyes. Also Not!childhood both of them. (And a bit of battlefield stuff, and some limey-stuff too, which...seems to be an accidental pun for our british boys. Hmm. Limey limes?)

Anyone who's asthmatic and might be hanging around needs to give me pointers, because I'm not, myself. I have a distant memory of sitting in girl scouts with Brooke Wilder and watching her take epic inhalation things into her body, then complain about a taste worse than rotten meat. I have no clue about specifics. (Flashback scenes come before everything else, and are divided out by a long break-pattern.)

Also, if I could ask people to comment in a certain location? Because I'm coming into my summer schedule and want to check comments on my phone, and spent forty minutes trying to scroll down my own writing to get to the comments, I think what I'm going to do is leave a comment of my own, first. (Ie: Me with the words "please leave comments here") That way I can actually read what people say, and incorporate suggestions while I'm off being a mad fanficcist wizard in my summer schedule.

So...uh...please comment on MY comment? I might make this a regular practice here just for reading convenience for myself? Please bear with me.

I might put up the first half of this thing if all goes well, but it still embarases me to write stuff with sex in it. *cough* (I'm just starting out with the creative journal after all--I don't want to overwhelm the world with too many sudden oddities.)

I'm putting this up in segments because otherwise the post's too large. (Ahh, my loquaity amuses me...)

The first fragment is the drabblet-things.

-o-O-o- Flash Fragment 1 -o-O-o-

...He could remember burying Eyes in the muddy river-sand. They were both nine, and Eyes had been orphaned only a month before. He could remember the feel of his hair, and the sun gleaming blaring white off his skin. He remembered molding the outline of a pot-belly and breasts over Eyes motionless form, and laughing hysterically. He could remember Eyes coming after him, and chasing him until he bent over wheezing, and had to grab his inhaler, and Evangeline had slapped the back of both of their heads lightly for tracking sand into the house (Evangeline=Kanone's mother. By this point, Eyes' mother has died.), and given Kanone a more sour look for actually coming back for mercy to a weak opponant. She hadn't said anything more because she knew it was Eyes, of course. He could remember the sand in Eyes' hair as she hosed them off together outside briskly. He could remember Eyes' fingers on his shoulders as he'd bent his head, and let Kanone pick the dirt out of the wet and dripping locks which seemed the same color even wet, the same luminence--sodden sheets of translucent silver speckled with sparkling grit...

...Even his mother, who'd taught him only to look out for himself, had acknowledged Eyes as an exception to things. Normal rules had to be suspended to allow for their closeness, even as children. She hadn't lived to see the rest of the blade children of course. She'd been dead four years already. Premature heart attack--the common fate of most people who engaged in too many sudden movements from martial arts. (irony: Even if Kanone were saved, he'd probably die at forty or earlier still from what he puts his body through) But he couldn't forget. This was what was keeping him from the darkness. Eyes. And God if all he needed was to be this close to Eyes...

He didn't believe in Kiyotaka. He believed in Eyes. And he believed that maybe somehow, if he could give the pianist a handjob as he played and watch him gasp and maybe even hit a wrong note; if he could wake up next to him the morning after effectively disrupting his evening rituals and see if his hair ever sported a single real tangle or just looked disheveled; if he could feel those pretty and articulate hands on him and see what he looked like before he climaxed, somehow it might be enough. And it would be more than he could ask. If Eyes could be with him, no matter his odd ideas about rescuing them all...if he could have him close for these five last years of their lives and at least die with him close...

And Eyes might do it, too. He might let him take solace in him that intimately, cradle to grave, so to speak. That was the sort of person he was, both then and now.

-o-O-o- Flash Fragment 2 -o-O-o-

...He remembered Eyes surrounded by [cats--]living, mewling things, one or two making themselves comfortable against his knees, his leather-clad lap. He was thirteen, and he'd had a single cherry-red zit on his chin, which he'd been embarassed about and overly worried about possible souvenier scars from. He'd been noticably but dimly pleased that he wasn't having trouble breathing, that the asthma of his youth seemed to be dissolving away, recurring only in longer and longer gaps. And he'd hummed to the cats in a marvelous voice that never cracked--unlike Kanone's. Never once getting more than just a little short of breath, a very faint and utterly contented smile on his lips, capable of taking the first really deep breaths of his life--learning how to finally cope with the ache of his rib which up to that point had crippled him so entirely, and Rio had come in looking as childish then as she did now. She'd clapped her hands with joy at his voice, not knowing his reason. And she'd tried to teach Eyes to play a rythymic children's chanting game with their hands. And his white hands had picked it up so deftly, with perfect rythym, nearly twice the size of hers, and Rio had giggled, and laughed. '-There was a piece of glass. Miss Suzie sat upon it, and broke her little-ASK me no more questions. I'll tell you no more lies. The boys are in the bathroom and they're pulling down their-FLIES are in the meadow, the bees are in the park. Miss Suzie and her boyfriend, are kissing in the D-A-R-K, dark, dark, dark, dark, dark!' And Kanone had watched them both, laughing, and run up himself, putting himself in the middle in a fit of showing off, and tried to teach them to go three ways with the same pattern, then finally just relented, playing both of them with one hand each...(Why can't I remember more of this song? I used to watch people do this enviously as a kid. Where's my great auditory memory NOW? 'Miss Suzie' was always the playground favorite because of its innuendoes and almost-swears... Of course, it's pretty much impossible to do one-handed with two people on either side. Probably double-dutch-hard. Kanno-kun, you're such a magnificent coordinated bastard.)

-o-O-o- Flash Fragment 3 -o-O-o-

...He was remembering the blunt tread of Eyes' booted feet when he'd grown into a pair of Evangeline's boots at the age of eleven; remembering the way she'd laughed, and smiled, and hadn't said a word except that they looked great on him--better than they'd looked on her. And he remembered his mild smile back, pleased, and wearing them everywhere. Eyes, after all, had only ever feared Evangeline's disapproval, in the way of most children. He'd probably never even considered that Kanone might laugh at him maliciously for wearing a woman's boots. Kanone recalled the peculiar tread of them on the dock where he'd removed them to dip in those slender, white feet of his, and he had pushed the other boy in in a fit of filial mischief, and followed with a shriek of surprise and glee as Eyes grabbed him by the shirtfront on the way down. He remembered Eyes' hair floating and haloing around him in the water, the flash of his teeth in his silent smile as he turned his head from the onslaught of splashing from Kanone, and splashed back with gusto...

Eyes hadn't smiled like that again after Evangeline died, his feet heavy and booted long after he'd outgrown her shoes, his face closed off and distant... (Boots as a silent tribute...)

-o-O-o- Flash Fragment 4 -o-O-o-

...[There were] All the times they'd spun around together as kids--Kanone laughing, and Eyes simply smiling and going slowly enough so he wouldn't get too out of breath and start up another attack. The games--buzzing around to Flight of the bumblebee and pretending to look for flowers, and occasionally twirling around when they declared one or the other the flower. (Kanone had always been a more willing flower than Eyes...) Spinning until they were both dizzy, hands clasped aroudn the other's, and Eyes was left wheezing and fumbling for his inhaler. With the spinning was linked the smell of summer grass in his silver hair, and how it became pewter at his temples from the sweat--sweltering wherever he went, but burning if he went shirtless, unable to tan even at gunpoint. The smell of fermenting wild apples in the overgrown field, when they'd thought they would be young forever, or otherwise, never face down the impending doom of their twentieth year--assuming on some unspoken level that there would be no three-quarters-marker, no fifteenth birthday parties... (Sense of the indefinite and the agitatedly poised)

Thinking about other things...

...About learning how to braid in Eyes' hair, the clumsy half-knots afterwards which had only lingered a little while before smoothing out on their own. Eye's deft fingers braiding the shorter strands of Kanone's hair in turn. His head innocently pillowed against his stomach, watching the bees settle on the weedy wildflowers, and listening to Eyes hum under his breath in a voice as pure as a choir boy's, though far quieter; the movement of his gut as he hummed, and breathed, and Kanone could hear the hint of a wheeze there just building from the pollen around them, but never spoken of aloud by either of them unless or until Eyes actually did go inside for an attack and a harsh word from Evangeline...

-o-O-o- Flash Fragment 5 -o-O-o-

Kanone let himself fall, sitting on the side of his bed, on the colorfully knitted afghan that had been Eyes' masterpiece of quiet nervousness.

...He'd learned to knit after Evangeline had died, going through her old things, and picking it up as quickly as anything. Eyes was good with his hands. Within the month he'd been knitting scarves. Within the year, he'd made sweaters. The blanket there had been his masterpiece. He hadn't met his eyes as Kanone had crowed over the "home-made with love" label he'd sewn in, knowing he had to have bought it at one of those odd little craft stores, like a grandmother making a painstaking sweater for a brat grandchild.

"Do you expect me to make such a thing without a shred of feeling?" Eyes had asked him so bluntly after in scarcely louder than a whisper--growing quieter as he always did when he was upset, or emotionally charged with something. (tension) Kanone had simply laughed and tousled his hair, surprising him with a grin and a, "No. I love you too, Eyes. Thanks, really. I love it, really I do." (Surface-casual)

And...It was only later after the blue gaze had turned away with that same inscrutiable veneer over its expression, that Eyes had explained to be careful with it because there was garrote wire in the edges. He was quite practical, really. He wouldn't give you a blanket unless you could kill someone with it. And Kanone still knew on some level that Eyes loved the intimacy of strangulation--he hated blood, and avoided it if he could. It didn't wash off his skin, or out of his hair the way it did with the others. Maybe that was part of it. He still knew the way they lived though, the stakes on their lives. Kanone had been more surprised by the richness of the colors in the blanket than by the weaponry in the hems. Eyes was fairly monochrome himself. He'd obviously chosen all the colors he could think Kanone could possibly like and it fit together like a mad bout of impressionism--like jumbles of notes...

As though it shouldn't have been obvious right then and there that Eyes had been trying to tell him something with that absolute, rigid, pleading silence of his, that rigid casual drop of words. Trying to talk to him through the label, like he was a pretty girl he adored but was half-scared of. He'd gone all soft of voice because, perhaps, of the fear of being discovered. Even if it was true. Just as Kanone had teased to sound out the waters, to try and determine if there might really be something else there, had touched him, had strategized better ways to sound it out, even as Eyes had turned his back so rigidly...

(((This breaks off directly to the starred portion far below in fragment 9 if you want to read it as such: -*)))

-o-O-o- Flash Fragment 6 -o-O-o-

[the Hunter's] head snapped back painfully.

She didn't know, Kanone thought dully. She didn't know what she would be destroying-

...the complete quiet solace of his warmth and the smell of popcorn as they curled up and Kanone bantered about bits of the violent, brutal sci-fi-horror flicks he had tastes for, and Eyes insisted on watching strange self-absorbed little whirls of story, or odd silent films from the twenties, and hitchcock-twists--old, odd films which no doubt had been his only instruction for romance. And Kanone pillowed himself against his shoulder, and reached for the popcorn, muttering all throughout the movie while Eyes simply watched with that odd little almost-smile, and the television patterned colors on his pale face in the dark. Those few times he'd fallen asleep in the middle of the movie he had seemed so utterly vulnerable, and it had almost been like dating all over again, those evenings. The good bits of dating, where even the awkwardness didn't seem like a problem because of the pure high of joy from feeling his fingers touch his hand so hesitantly, and accepting it with a smile, pushing closer to him, and smelling his smell, and feeling his weird, shallow breathing, and stifling privately under the injustice, the unfairness that let them have so little time with the other...

-Kanone beat her across the face with the butt of the pistol, and she gave a noise and clawed at him with blind strength, raking down the side of his arm. He cut in point-blank, and fired. There was a flash of color, the dull noise of the shot, half-muffled by her gut. Meat sprayed the side of the wall, and there Eyes was in a jolt of color, with a length of wire, the blanket bunched up beside him, and he was strangling her with terrible efficiency. Her eyes bulged and she put her hands to the wire, mouthing helplessly, and kicking out, trying to strike Kanone and loosen the wire all at once. (Pet peeve number one: People who make Eyes a nonviolent wuss. Killer!Eyes is much cooler. Eyes and Kanone killing someone together is just somehow unspeakably great for pairing purposes among others. Why don't other people use this?)

She had two minutes of circulatory blood in her at the most, even shot as she was, through the heart, she could struggle with that last blood pressure. Technically, she was already dead, but her body hadn't realized yet, and even in that time, she could kill them if not handled. If Eyes could keep his grip, she'd stop in ten seconds. Eyes was an expert at cutting the jugular. The thought was passionless in Kanone's mind. Emotionless as an equation. Murder was simply a smattering of facts put together the right way.

-o-O-o- Flash Fragment 7 -o-O-o-

Kanone forced his expression into normalcy, breaking up his face with a smile, and a nervous laugh. "Well...I guess that explains alot. Like why you never got yourself a girlfriend." Inwardly he was hardly to composed, his mind racing. Nine? Since he was nine? I was still playing with toy pistols at nine! I still thought making fart noises with my armpits was the last word in humor. And...I could kill a man with my silverware. My spoon, even. I could hit a rabbit between the ears at five hundred feet, and hit a bulls-eye dead center behind my back, blindfolded, with a knife. And Eyes was busy loving me?

Mother was still alive, and Eyes was starting to grow out his hair, and take the canoe out by himself in the mornings to listen to the birds and tell me which ones were which even as I tried to teach him how to shoot them. He was so asthmatic it took him more than four breaths to blow a dandelion clock regardless of the time of day. And he was starting to wake up in the middle of the night to practice his piano because he couldn't sleep...

And all the while, he loved me?

I left a snake in his bed to see if he'd react, and nearly gave him an asthma attack in the process. I put pudding in his conditioner. I put his favorite shirt in the catbasket as a liner. I threw food at him, goaded him into getting his ears pierced, and shot him with pellet guns to try to get him to cry as much as to get him to forget about his mother and think about other people. And I did it because if I could get him to cry, he'd be normal, and he'd be the boy I grew up with, and I was too selfish to lose him, or let him go off by himself because I didn't want my best friend in the whole world to change at all. Ever.

He loved me then? In all my selfishness and childishness?

Eyes didn't look at him, crossing his arms over himself as though suddenly self conscious of his bare chest, his hand folding over the mark in his side compulsively. Kanone sighed heavily trying to think of a way to fix it all. He didn't think Eyes would understand. He'd always known, after all, and Kanone had needed to figure it out.

"...I didn't want to think of you that way." Kanone said finally, sitting back on the bed, acting as though he were distancing himself. "And for a while it worked so well...as long as I didn't stop to think about how much I hated the touch of anyone else, how little I could actually stand them. I actually got myself into thinking it was love after a while. It's the danger of deluding yourself, I guess..."

...It was all a lie. And Kanone was amazed as he realized it, amazed as he realized what he was acting out.

He'd loved him, certainly, as a child. But not like that. They'd been like brothers. Best friends. He hadn't considered...

But Eyes would want to hear that he wasn't alone. And Kanone hated losing. There was too much at stake here for him to lose. He couldn't bear telling Eyes the truth. He wasn't sure how he'd react. He honestly didn't know. If he didn't react it would somehow be worse still. So...he'd continue the lie.

The thought was cold and logical in his mind...And monstrous for just that reason.

-o-O-o- Flash Fragment 8 -o-O-o-

"You can't expect me to be around forever. But you act like you still have forever. It irritates me." Kanone said curtly, already down the hall, his smile oddly tight. "I'm trying everything in my power not to get violent with you. I'm pissed as Hell, and I still want to fuck you. Shows how sick I am. Right now the only thing keeping me out of the darkness is you, and you want to wait for us both to fossilize."

Eyes didn't say anything. Kanone could feel him pushing to right himself, twisting to look at him. He had to be confused even as he was carried off like a bit of plunder.

Kanone paused. "...I wanted to die when I was nine." He said finally. Eyes twisted slightly, his hair against the back of Kanone's neck. "You didn't know that, did you? I wanted to shoot myself. I considered taking mother's shotgun off the wall over the fireplace, and blowing through my stomach. Making it look like an accident."

Eyes was quiet for a long time, jostled by the motion. "What stopped you?" He asked, his voice very quiet, very soft. Kanone couldn't see his face. He wasn't sure he wanted to.

Even now, I'm seducing him by his pity for me...

He flicked on the lights for the bathroom, propped Eyes on the lid of the toilet, shut the door, and was at his collarbone, draped over him again before Eyes could get up or protest. "You." Kanone lied to him as he leaned his head in to kiss him, sucking his lower lip between his teeth, and resting himself between the other's legs. I didn't want to turn into a monster. And now look at me. I'm lying to the only person I wanted not to lie to.

And it's all playing out so easily... So disgustingly easily...

Why can't you see through me, Eyes--you who know me best?

-o-O-o- Flash Fragment 9 -o-O-o-

Eyes moved almost stiffly, and his covered thigh touched the other's, and Kanone could feel the tension in his shoulder, the flicker of the muscle there, edged by the black of his arm-glove. Eyes' fingers were at his throat, and Kanone forced himself to relax. The edge, the electric awareness of his nerves made it somehow more interesting to him. The danger of his touch was fun. And unlike anyone else, he knew how dangerous it was--knew all the years of training, and the reflexes Kanone had to hold back to let someone innocently touch his throat, and Eyes still touched him. Eyes had the nerve to love him. Maybe even the nerve to make love to him.

...Eyes had the nerve to open his mouth so awkwardly that first time--without any tongue, because the movies never showed tongue when people kissed, and he actually didn't know otherwise. (Some movies show tongue nowadays--corrected so Eyes' taste in movies is for OLD movies, later.) That time he'd tasted the terrible, bitter flavor of his asthma medicine, and Eyes had tasted the salt of his tears and the patina of blood congealing on his swollen lower lip. The first time for it all...

...they'd almost waited too long that first time, and the punch had rocked his mouth just as Eyes went into an attack. And Kanone had cried and cried, thinking he was dead, touching the bruises around his neck where the hunter had been strangling him and pinning his body down so cruelly with his knees digging into Eyes' unprotected ribs. He'd sobbed so hard, cradling Eyes' body, pulling medicine into his own mouth, and breathing it into his brother, hoping against hope that it would be enough, and still on some level knowing that he'd never kissed him until then when he stank of blood and sweat, and tears were streaming down his face, and tear-snot was pouring from his nostrils. On some level he'd been realizing just how much he'd regret it in an empty world without him if he couldn't manage to bring him back; if his ribs were broken or his brain starved for oxygen and he couldn't come back. And he'd seen the dark, swirling realism of just what he'd do without Eyes...

...He'd seen Hizumi less than a week after that, and never been able to foget the swirling black of a world without Eyes, and the inevitability of it all. Hizumi's existance hadn't even really pushed him far over the edge. He'd already been dangling even before he'd met the secret Eyes had wanted to keep from them all--the secret despair. It had taken him until just a few months before to come to that very realization of what a black place the world was when he wasn't seeing it as tinted by the presence of others. He felt run ragged by the thought nipping at his heels. Time is running out. And the other thought--There can't possibly be any hope. Not anymore. Not for any of us.

Even then, he could have tolerated that for himself...

...If it had only affected him.

How had Eyes met Hizumi? Perhaps one afternoon after studying under Kiyotaka, and practicing like a demon, Kiyotaka had introduced them? How long he'd known, Kanone couldn't guess. At first he'd even thought nobody had known but him, and had panicked at the thought. But the fact Hizumi had known Eyes when he mentioned their living arrangements had flabberghasted him. Eyes had kept a secret, and a secret from him, at that. And if he'd died, he would have taken that secret to his grave with him, preferring instead the confession of another secret, without words, while despair lurked in the darkness waiting to pull all of them unwittingly down.

Because Eyes loved them enough to stay silent, even lie, perhaps, or perhaps just trust far too much...

-*...It had worked out in the end, almost too late, on the battlefield, as Kanone had wept and breathed medicine into Eyes, and sobbed with joy when he'd stirred, silent, breathing into him, pulling back for another breath of the sickening medicine, and darting back in to revive him. Eyes was conscious by then, though barely, his eyelids almost entirely shut, only his hands expressing in his hair, lifting to cup the back of his head. He hadn't let Kanone pull back when he'd wanted, surprising him dimly. And he'd stiffened marvelously when Kanone had snaked his tongue into his mouth unthinking, reflexively acting on the mouth faintly moving under his even before he realized fully that Eyes was turning revival into a kiss. That Eyes was still alive, his breath rattling in his chest, and whistling through his nose... It was at that breathing that Kanone had really realized what he'd done. More accurately, what he was doing. And how much his neck ached from Eyes' hand fisted in the hair at the nape of his neck... Kanone had wrenched himself back, feeling agonizing lines score down the back of his neck, stinging welts from Eyes' fngers.

They'd both gasped the far sweeter air around them after the moment, after their breathing hadn't held, staring at one another with joy, and still with horror and regret, and Eyes had touched his bruised lips in astonishment, struggling to breathe, his brows creased in pain. His eyes had closed again. Kanone honestly hadn't known why he was out of breath any more. He'd looked ready to pass out again--too pale. And he was heaving still. Kanone had taken another gasp of bitter air from the other's inhaler and pressed his mouth back down to his, pushing the little plastic thing into Eyes' unresisting fingers. He had to be sure. He had to see what that grip had been on his hair--if he'd wanted him to go or stay. He still didn't really want to believe it. But Eyes hadn't seemed to notice at all, gripping his fingers in a gesture that was as good as a scream, his other hand tangled in Kanone's hair as though he intended never to let go, crushing him against him with a gracelessness that bordered on violence. Kanone remembered the taste of his blood in Eyes' mouth, the renewed pain of his fingers on his neck and the pressure of his mouth, the clumsy desperation of the other's tongue snaking into his mouth, ignoring his breath, lacing over and magnifying Kanone's mute surprise...

He'd known without a doubt when Eyes ignored his medicine until he could stand it no longer, then pulled away with a gasp, wheezing. Kanone had finally, exasperatedly, jammed the inhaler itself to his mouth, watching all the while, amazed as Eyes twisted and tried to breathe, sucking in medicine, gasping like there was a knife in his ribs (Dark ironies, there), and Kanone hadn't dared say a word in return, touching the stinging welts on his neck...

Eyes fortunately, had been saved the ordeal of meeting his gaze by gradually breathing more deeply, more evenly, and slipping back into unconsciousness with a rattling sigh. Kanone had carried him to the street, himself, with his fifteen-year-old strength. And he'd managed to hail a cab from there after the third try, propping up the other, and charming away the cab driver's worried questions with a laugh, and a fake story about drinking games, and a beautiful girl with bleached hair and a miniskirt who'd challenged his inebriated friend, only to leave him hanging, and then look completely nonplussed as he punched his best friend in drunken grief. Lying was easy. People wanted stories, and the back of the cab smelled like enough drink that the other would never know, and perhaps their injuries, and their bruised, swollen, and bloodied mouthes could be ignored. Eyes had slept against his shoulder the whole way, and he'd been nicely uncomfortable all that time, pretending that it was insufferable for the sake of the cab driver, and not really quite wanting to think at all.

-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-

Oh the prose that we compose (Work Diary 1)

Tue, 21 Apr 2009 07:41:15 GMT

Yesterday's victim of choice was the growing scarp piece called "the killer afghan"--one of my Spiral backgabble pieces. I went through in fuschia and painstakingly noted out all the minute changes in theme, and the flow and transition of such. In my head it's already accumulating the name, "Killer--Fuschia Minor Edit". It's interesting what I can see in analyzing my own work in such a painstaking way.

Still gives me headaches to think about too carefully, though--the fact that I can finally get a piece with a subject like that to work that smoothly. Kinda creeps me out...

Worked on a Dubbiel scarp, too. I always come back amazed by how much fun Dubbiel is to write. He's increasing in exponential nuttiness by the moment. (And to think that the only reason I even started developing him out was because Desert.Illusion LIKED him. Back when he was just a background character...)

Ran over Stagecraft twice, and spellchecked chapter one (as is obvious here.) And I picked a bit at the Evangeline HiblertXLydia Rutherford piece. I really need to research the nineties if I'm going to continue there. I was barely alive at the time after all...

Asthmatic!Eyes is a nice touch, I think... it has the right feel to it... (It helps explain why he's always having these nasty violent rib!pain attacks while the others seem to go on as planned...)

Crossover DEATHLESS

Tue, 21 Apr 2009 06:04:54 GMT

Ha. So...I wrote this a while back for Mentu-rin. (Deathless being a Loveless and Deathnote crossover pairing of KioXMello). And last night I went back and tweaked it a little more.

The random scarp from out of nowhere in its finest and truest form.

This is crack. Pure and simple. Mentaru started obsessing over KioXMatt or "Deathless" as a pairing, and before I knew it, I had plotroaches breeding in my head.

Go beat her up over it. I'm feigning innocence. (hides discreetly)

Rated for Mello's guttermouth, and Kio's hopeful perversity.

-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-

"That coat makes you look like Sou-chan." Kio trilled approvingly the instant Mello showed his face downstairs, chocolate in his teeth as he fiddled with a leather boot. Mello's eybrows furrowed. "Who's 'Sou-chan' huh? A girlfriend?" Kio made a face. "Sou-chan's Kio-chan's friend. You don't have any friends, do you? You're just like him. I'm the only one for both of you." He seemed oddly pleased with this, lying on his stomach, and swinging his legs like a girl, ever-present lollipop sticking out from between his lips.

Mello scowled. "I've got friends. And you're not one, you're just...connected to me."

Kio smirked waving a narrow index finger and a lollipop. "Fighters and Sacrifices are different. It's not just some connection, Mello-chan."

Mello's scowl deepened. "Whatever. I just came to Japan to find Kira before Near." Kio pouted. "Mello-chan is so mean. Just like Sou-chan, except Sou-chan's a masochist." Mello shrugged. "Like I care. I do have friends though, and you really aren't one of them." Kio smirked, obviously not believing him.

Mello's face shifted in annoyance. "What? Not allowed to have friends? You think I'm that jerk Near? People are just pieces of his puzzles to him. I do have friends. I just can't show you them since you might turn us in." Kio made a face and rolled on his back on the sofa, looking upside-down at Mello, who bit a piece of chocolate off with an audible snap, and started gnawing away, apparently without noticing anything out of the ordinary. Kio shuddered at the noise.

"I told you, Kio-chan's a pacifist." Kio groaned. "And Kira-san's scary. And, I don't need to say I like that scary guy to model nude for people." He looked at Mello hopefully, but Mello waved it off in irritation. "Aw, but you don't need to be so mean. Hey, I just realized--you don't have ears. Mello-chan has a girlfriend?" Mello scowled. "Your ears thing doesn't make sense. Where I come from people don't have that whole set of ears to begin with." Kio gave a delighted and appalled shiver. "Wah! No ears? How scary!" Mello gestured with his chocolate bar. "It's not, okay! I lived in the United Kingdom for a while, and I also was in the United States on the Kira investigation, and neither place had people with cat ears. It's like something out of a dumb cosplay." Kio shivered again as Mello took another snapping bite of chocolate. "But Mello-chan's an adult, right?" Mello's face flattened. "What should it matter how old I am? I'll catch Kira anyway."

Kio blinked. "Huh?"

Mello shook his head, "Besides, admit it, you're after that Sou-chan guy. I can see right through you." Kio went red and moaned, "But he has Ritsuka-chan...the dirty pervert. Rit-chan's so cute. Even you'd like him since you and Sou-chan are really alike." Suddenly Kio straightened. "Hey! You can't leave me for Loveless, you know!" He cried, pointing a finger. Mello only wrinkled his nose, gnawing at his chocolate bar. "You're a weird guy. I don't have a clue what you're talking about, anyway." Kio groaned. "But your name appeared..." Mello scratched his head. "Probably just Matt playing a dirty joke."

Kio instantly went on alert. "Matt?" He asked suspiciously.

"My friend. I told you I had some, remember? I grew up with him. He's doing surveillance for me."

Kio frowned, pursing his lips in thought. "Is he cute?" he asked finally.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Mello retorted. "It's not like you're going to see him." Kio began to wail. "Now I know Matt-kun's cute! Because you won't let Kio-chan see him! You probably want him for yourself, don't you? I bet he took your ears!"

"What is it with you and ears?" Mello hissed. "Some kind of fetish or something? I swear, if I had that notebook-!"

Kio gave a wail as Mello cut himself off with another snapping bite of chocolate. "That noise makes my skin crawl! Can't you just lick the chocolate like a normal person?"

"What kind of normal person just licks chocolate?" Mello retorted, sounding indignant. "Only if I'm running low and need it to last. You don't chew your lollipops?"

"Chupa is something you lick!" Kio now sounded equally scandalized at the thought of biting one of his precious lollipops. "Well if you don't like me biting my chocolate, then why don't you go back to that Sou-chan guy, huh?" Mello muttered, annoyed. "Nooo!" Kio wailed. "He bites chupa." Mello rolled his eyes, "Why am I not surprised?" Kio gave him a hurt look. "Mello chan can go back to Matt." Mello snorted, shifting. "Nah, Matt's allergic to chocolate. He just sits there and smokes and gets his gaming fix. Totally useless--and he has no fashion sense. Looks like Goddamned Christmas..."

Kio's expression slid from amazement to one of triumph. "Don't look so pleased, you have worse fashion sense than he does." Mello added pointedly. "Gyah!" Kio cried. "Well maybe it's just because clothes diminish my natural glory!" He retorted. His lips curled as he touched the buttons of his shirt, as though having a thought. "Wanna see?"

Mello rolled his eyes. "Not really." He grumbled.

"I bet you really do! You want to see, and bite that chocolate, and pretend you don't!" Kio ranted, pointing sporadically, turning the motion into one of half-flail. "And I bet that's not a real scar on your face!" Mello blinked. "What the-?" He touched his face compulsively and frowned. "You think I'd want to look like this?" He retorted suddenly, annoyed.

"You probably put it on just so you couldn't work with me." Kio said sagely. Mello blinked, then exclaimed, "There's no logic there!" Kio retorted back. "How would you know, Mello-chan?" Mello's grip tightened and his chocolate snapped in the wrapper, causing Kio to flinch and cringe. "I'm going to be the best detective in the world--I think I'd know if-!" He cut himself off as his phone gave an angry buzz.

"Ooh. Mello-chan has a vibrator." Kio commented, looking impressed.

"It's not a vibrator! It's a freakin' phone- What the Hell do you want?" The last part he addressed to the phone. He paused. "Oh. It's you."

"What? Who is it? Tell me!" Kio exclaimed reaching for the phone. Mello fended him off, angrily. "Well that's interesting...but I think you'll have to call me back, Halle." Kio's face twisted. "Hal?" He repeated in an aghast whisper, eyes going wide.

"Yes, that's right. I'm following a lead right now. Don't pay any attention to the noise int he background. It's just a dumb drunk." Kio moaned loudly. "Yes. That's right." Mello said between his teeth, glaring death at Kio. "Don't let that bastard Near get too far ahead. Alright. Be seeing you." Mello snapped the phone shut and glared at Kio. "What the Hell's wrong with you now?" He shot at Kio who was bonelessly grieving over the arm of the sofa.

"H-Hal?" He moaned at Mello. "You have another guy?"

"Halle's not a guy, she's a woman. And she works for Near."

Kio pointed a finger tearfully. "I knew you were just like Sou-chan! Girls don't count!" Mello frowned at him in perplexion.

"Don't count for what-aagh..." The phone buzzed again and he picked it up in annoyance. "Halle, I just told you-Oh, Matt." Kio dissolved into another mewling, boneless puddle of anguish.

"Yeah that weird fruitcake's still here." Mello added. "No, I don't care that you left your Metal Gear Solid III: Special Edition set here. Find me some explanation of how this gay ditz got here in the first place, and how I can get rid of him, then you can get it, but until then-" Mello gave a sudden noise of irritation while Kio moaned in horror in the background.

"...Well then, you'd better work on it quickly." Mello growled testily into the mouthpiece. He paused, and his face smoothed. "Matt there is no way I'm touching that thing. The last time I tried that the box was all sticky-No I am not going to send your damn box set by mail. What part of 'secret hideout' don't you understand?" He stopped apparently listening then he burst out angrily, "The chocolate's different you prick!"

He stopped agian, and his face twisted into different positions as he heard it. "If you tell anyone about that, I'll rip off your Goddamned head and send it to Kira on a platter. Stop moping or I'll shoot your damn ass. What do you think I pay you for? Buy another box."

Kio shuddered. "Mello-chan...Kio-chan hates violence and violent people-"

"Go home already." Mello spat at Kio. His eyes narrowed while Kio slumped dejectedly, moaning. "No I don't mean you, Matt. If you go home, I'll shoot your damn boxed set, and broom it out onto the street-" Mello held the phone away from his ear, and grimaced at the shout on the other end. "Stop yelling, you useless bastard! I can hear you just fine!"

Kio sighed, and picked at the wrapping on one of the chocolate bars on the coffeetable.

"Just shut up and keep watching Amane, or I will. I swear. Go kiss your DS." He ended the call with a jab of his thumb. He turned and gave a shriek. "WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!"

Kio grinned, and winked. "Well you like chocolate, Mello-chan."

"HOW DARE YOU RUIN A BAR OF MY CHOCOLATE BY STICKING IT DOWN YOUR FILTHY CROTCH!"

Kio gave a squeak, and scrambled off the couch. "Mello-chan, don't shoot me!" He wailed. "I didn't mean it about Matt-kun and your ears!"

"THAT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS!" Mello bellowed, tearing after him down the hall.

"B-But-! You'll blow your secret hideout!"

"IT'LL BE WORTH IT!"

"But can't you just blow my hideout instead?" Kio whined, still scrambling for his life.

"YOU PIECE OF SHIT!"

"Kyaaaa!"

"STOP SCREAMING LIKE A GIRL!"

"Don't kill me! I have chocolate! And so much to live for!"

"THAT'LL CHANGE ONCE I GET MY HANDS ON YOU!"

"Nooooooooo!"

-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-

Notes:

"Sou-chan" is Soubi of Loveless. Ritsuka is his sacrifice.

"Hal" and "Halle" are different translations of Halle's name on scanlations and official stuff. She's actually the same character. She works with Near in Death Note.

Matt of Death Note doesn't actually need a copy of Metal Gear Solid: III (special edition) to get fangirls to like him. But he and his Nintendo DS should be an OTP.

Stagecraft II (Liebestraume)

Tue, 21 Apr 2009 04:00:03 GMT

Here's the initial-final for the second half of "Stagecraft". This one still hasn't been spellchecked or had its final notes put in because I intend to wait for a little feedback on the first part, like a greedy-happy little leech.

Since the first half contains Kiyotaka and Kanone having communication, the second half has Kiyotaka and Eyes.
Also, this is already a slightly outdated version. I'll replace the text with its update later, no doubt.

Consider this the raw secondary draft.

Warnings: some implied KanoneXEyes (As before, but it's subtle if you're in a case where the two already can't meet), Kiyotaka fangirling a little over fiancee!Modoka (Ahh, ModokaXKiyotaka. You don't see enough of that. Lady CopXToo-Smart Furry should make more peoples' pairing lists), Joke KyrieXEyes possibilities (Because Kiyotaka likes to try and matchmake to no avail), The Liebestraume (Including a few true things about the translation of the name of said Liszt piece so soberly played by Eyes in the anime--I detect much fanfiction potential there), and a very colorful scarf and a vase of irises. (Possibly referencing a friend's inside joke about left-handed-knitted-immune-system scarves in another fandom, and solving much mystery about Kanone's "killer afghan" from the last chapter.)

Disclaimer: Due to the incredible solidarity between myself and Desert.Illusion-san, I refuse to disclaim things that people should already know, and instead, I bestow quotes of little consequence upon the aghast public, with great audacity:

"...It appears to be pineapple custard."

-Lord Vetinari in Terry Pratchett's Making Money

Dedication: I still blame this on Azalee-san. (Because consenting to have my fic-snippet bumblings sent to you, then actually commenting on all the symbolism idiocies is about as silly as Marrying Kiyotaka Narumi then expecting to live a normal life. (And for that matter, NOT having your future children quite possibly outsmart you.)

--Neufe

-o-O-o-O-o-

"'So intimate, this Chopin, that I think his soul

Should be resurrected only among friends

Some two or three, who will not touch the bloom

That is rubbed and questioned in the concert room.'

--And so the conversation slips

Among velleites and carefully caught regrets

Through attenuated tones of violins

Mingled with remote cornets...

...This music is successful with a 'dying fall'

Now that we talk of dying--

And should I have the right to smile?"

-From T.S. Eliot's "Portrait of a Lady"

-o-O-o-

The instrument had clearly been crammed into the little room, the little saloon piano's voice all but drowned out by the bad acoustics of the stucco-covered walls with their listlessly cheery replicated artwork prints, but nonetheless attempting to sing a nocturne through hammer and key.

The collar of the musician's tuxedo was half-undone, but he hadn't changed out of it--though a fairly monochrome choice of apparel was laid across the bed. Nothing in the room construed an audience despite the interrupted look of its resident, nothing at all explaining the apparent shift in purpose.

All else was neat. A small stack of sheet music lay neatly organized on the table beside the instrument itself. The bed was attached to the wall, as were the lamps. The flyer advertising the recent movies and the discreet adult shows which would charge several dollars a minute for their dubious and sultry contents had been folded up and put away inside the drawer with its generic Gideon Bible, and the two sulked together in the dark. Beside them lay a hairbrush filled with a fine layer of silver hairs, neatly out of sight, but clearly more often consulted than either of the others.

A suitcase stood in the corner, unpacked, and a small iron lay atop the collapsible board, half-out of the closet. The only other thing in it aside from the sturdily attached wooden hangers, was a long black coat with many pockets, and even more buckles. A pair of shoes lay tucked back under the ironing board--long, lifeless boots that could have belonged to a heelless woman. Their tonguelessness only made them mute as well as deaf.

In the little bathroom accompanying the suite, lay an almost feminine assortment of hair products. Shampoo, and Conditioner, both tucked neatly out of sight next to a small bottle of hair-remover, shaving cream, aftershave, and a disposable razor bundled in with a small, battered bottle of asprin. The generic hairdryer seemed to sulk on the wall, outstripped by a much larger and more impressive model lounging decadently on the folded hotel-towel beneath. A damp counterpart towel hung neatly over a rack on the other side of the dark little room.

The complimentary coffee-maker had been put to use, but only for the two earl gray teabags still lodged within where the filter should have been, their tags fluttering slightly in the breeze from the roaring air conditioning unit beneath the window. A small stack of non-dairy creamers had been tucked between the coffeemaker and the back-corner of counter and wall. A delicate china teapot had been carefully washed beside it, and lay drying upside-down on a carefully placed hand-towel, a companion teacup beside it, also flipped on its head. The trash bin under the countertop contained the tea wrappers, a sardine tin, a small box which had once contained apple-flavored calorie mate bars, and the day's newspaper, apparently unread, pushed atop two of its earlier incarnations of the preceding days.

The desk beside the TV was entirely bare, without even the hotel pad of paper and cheap ballpoint pen--those hiding sullenly inside the desk, ignored and unheeded, sharing space with a small wooden frame put quietly facedown, as though it would make the place look too human if it were exposed as picture frames were meant to be. It lay next to a fairly large, left-handed pocketknife, rather quietly in the dark.

Aside from the piano pulled into the cramped little suite, little else in the room seemed changed from its original hotel-lifelessness. In between the strains of music came the screams of laughter from those several floors down making hearty use of the heavily-chlorinated pool, without a thought to the lateness of the hour or the sleeping habits of others.

The bed in this particular room didn't look as though it had been slept it. Not once.

The door shook in a knock, but the nosie was inaudible against the pound of music. Nonetheless, the vibration of the door was noticed. The musician within didn't look up again, hands flying rythmically. "Turn the handle." He called, with the barest tilt of his head, blue eyes still resting over the music in front of him. It was all an act, of course. The sheets were turned to the wrong page, though the hands went on without a single wrong note.

The door did indeed turn and open inwards.

Which...was unusual, considering hotel doors were often locked, and there was no evidence of a key having been necessary for this one in particular.

"Good Evening, Kiyotaka." The musician said, his accent a strangely melodious, yet toneless meld. He didn't look up again to even confirm who it was.

"The same to you, my newly famous friend, Eyes Rutherford!" And one would have expected lights and stars to go off around the name with his manner of speaking it. He didn't seem to mind the apparent cold-shoulder and melancholy. Kiyotaka laughed, his eyes crinkling. "I just came by to bring you these, and congratulate you on your performance. I was a little worried you might not be awake, but when I heard you through the door, I figured I was in the clear.." He said said. Kiyotaka was smiling and uncostumed aside from a pale suit and tie. He had a vase filled with blue irises in his arms. They very nearly matched the color of his tie. He seemed deceptively normal when not dressed in a full animal mascot suit, sanguine and cheerful in the near-lifeless room of a young man who seemed ready for the sky to open up and rainfall drench him. The contrast was striking.

Eyes gave him a glance, taking him in, then nodded, turning back to his piece. "I'm always awake." he said, adding on, "Thank you, though. Put them on the desk." His tone didn't change at all, almost expressionless throughout--polite, but nearly listless.

"I didn't take the roses of course." Kiyotaka said cheerily. "Those are still back at the hall. And I think you have some phone numbers from some of the ladies in the audience. Good job, on that one! Half of them want to be your patrons. The other half, of course, are a little inappropriate considering your status as a minor, but still, it's the thought that counts, right?" He added brightly, shifting his way between Eyes, the piano bench, and the bed. He managed to wriggle his way between the boy's back and the side of the bed, only slightly messing his silver hair, and he leaned, straining to put the things on the desk, arranging them, then fumbling his way back. Eyes gave no indication of noticing.

"Uh. A little cramped in here, isn't it?" Kiyotaka asked, strainedly. Eyes gave the slightest of shrugs.

Kiyotaka smiled faintly, and patted his shoulder in a gruffly masculine gesture. It knocked the smaller man, jarring him. He seemed to weigh next to nothing. "You did well." Kiyotaka said with every evidence of warmness, near-parental pride. Eyes gave a bare nod. "Thank you." His hands seemed to be move faster.

"Of course...you probably didn't notice your excellence. Why would you? I'd bet you were thinking you had an empty seat in the first row." Kiyotaka said quietly, his smile subduing.

Eyes said nothing for a long moment, then finally murmured. "...Yes. You're quite right."

"I'm sorry." Kiyotaka said quietly, gently.

Eyes stared straight ahead, his hands still moving. "...Don't be." He said quietly, almost sighing. "What matters, is the end."

"The end? You mean the salvation of all the blade children, right?" Kiyotaka asked, interest glittering in his muddy eyes. Eyes gave a faint nod in reply.

"Hm." Kiyotaka smiled. "Well that's good. You two really couldn't be more different in the end, though. I'm still sorry he didn't come. I gave him the invitation. You might have been a ltitle more subtle, there."

"It doesn't change your plans, does it?" Eyes asked quietly. Kiyotaka smiled. "Oh no. Of course not."

"Well then as long as Kanone doesn't come, he still has hope." Eyes said softly, calmly. "And there's nothing for either of us to be sorry about."

"You still wanted him to come." Kiyotaka said, smiling knowingly, and watching him.

Eyes said nothing, then finally admitted in little more than a whisper, his face very blank, "...Yes." His hands moved at a frenetic pace.

Kiyotaka studied him. "And 'No' as well, I imagine?"

Eyes' lips lifted ever so faintly. "Regardless of his action for or against, I received something desirable. You're quite right." There was a dull note of satisfaction beneath his voice. Kiyotaka grinned. "So if he comes, you get to see him even if--and pardon me if I make this sound just a little masochistic--he coincidentally shoots you." Eyes nodded slightly, a hint of dry amusement to his slightly curved mouth. "But if he doesn't come, what is it you get exactly?" Kiyotaka prompted.

The corners of the other's lips lowered as though he'd never smiled at all. "...Reassurance." He said quietly.

Kiyotaka smiled fondly. "Ah. Of course. It means he's still holding back, right? I thought so."

"Then you already know my reasoning. I shouldn't need to elaborate." Eyes said simply, but firmly in his soft voice.

"Hm?" Kiyotaka frowned almost comically. "Well yes, I know. You haven't lost patience with me, have you? I told you it might take a while." He said, studying the other with his bright, intelligent eyes. Eyes shook his head faintly. "I haven't." he replied.

His face seemed somehow dead in its blankness, and too beautiful for a man's, pale as another sort of nocturne. His hair was pin-straight, spilling premature silver against his shoulders--thoguh who knew how it had happened or what had caused it. It seemed natural rather than the product of bleach--perhaps a mild albinism. He seemed somehow too thin, with all the awkward, sometimes ethereal willowiness of an adolescent, or a victorian's long-suffering imminent death by consumption. The fact he was simply an adolescent rather than an anorexic or some pining byronic hero was some comfort. It also explained the strange, oversized longness of his hands and feet. His white fingers played with perfect precision, like moonlit spiders, and long white toes curled on the brass pedals of the piano. But his pace gradually built faster, and his voice became softer, and softer over time as though his mind really weren't focused on the conversation.

Kiyotaka tilted back his head as though basking in the sound for a moment. He smiled proudly. "...You're very good." He murmured.

The sudden silence was nearly deafening. Eyes lowered his hands, finally, turning, and looking at the other with total blankness. His expression was as inscrutiable as wood. He seemed to study Kiyotaka, then finally bowed his head slightly in acceptance. "Thank you." He said simply. Then he studied Kiyotaka again from under his eyelids, as though saying something else, wordlessly. Kiyotaka smiled, and raised a hand. The fingers there were bent, and oddly twisted. "Yes, it does makes me miss it, hearing you play." He sighed. "My hands were possessed by the piano. But now I've passed down that possession to you." He paused. "And...one other, I think." There was a note of contentment, and satisfaction in his voice, as though clearly setting something out to be followed.

Eyes studied him more intently, though not a muscle in his face could really be said to move. "...Would you hand me that small bag by the bedside?" He asked finally, flatly. Kiyotaka blinked, and looked, catching sight of a blank black tote hidden against the side of the nightstand. "This?" Eyes nodded once, and accepted, retreiving with perfect dignity what looked like part of a very long, multicolored scarf of different stripes. He picked up his needles and began to work without a word. His fingers were devilishly fast, though it still made a very strange picture--the very image of a melancholy romantic knitting a scarf.

"...You had another you trained in your style?" Eyes asked quietly, not looking up.

Kiyotaka's brown eyes gleamed contentedly. "Not exactly. He picked it up pretty naturally. He's a bright kid. Probably on your level at least. I hope he's better, to tell the truth." Eyes' lips curled in the faintest of smiles. "He really must be something." He said with perfect dry humor. "Quite the prodigy, to exceed your level--that of the greatest talent of the modern age."

Kiyotaka grinned, clearly enjoying the praise. "Really, Rutherford. His name's Ayumu. I can show you a picture."

Eyes nodded faintly, not lifting his head, the momentary smile fading.

"He's my little brother." Kiyotaka added.

Eyes' fingers paused. He lifted his head ever so slightly to look at him. "Is that right?" he asked quietly, as though commenting on the weather, the entirity of his face perfectly mild. "Hm." He bent his head, and silently began to count stitches without another word.

Kiyotaka fumbled with his wallet, and finally flourished a picture with every evidence of pride. Eyes glanced at it.

Kiyotaka seemed to be trying to charm the camera, laughing and brightly brandishing victory signs around his face, attempting to coax the same hand-sign from a very sullen-looking younger man with brown hair, and odd sideburn-like swatches of hair on either side of his face, glowering in another direction. There was a noted resemblence between them, but...it didn't seem to be in personality.

"I'd like you to meet him someday. But I don't know how soon it'll be. You remind me of him, a little, though you've got a lot more confidence. And nerve, for that matter." Kiyotaka explained with a smile. "Still, he's pretty important."

Eyes nodded faintly to show he was listening, frowning slightly at some private thread of thought.

"He's what'll save you. I'm sure of it." Kiyotaka said confidently. Eyes paused. He raised his head. "...Him?" He questioned quietly, nonetheless taken aback. "Oh yes." Kiyotaka said, grinning. "I'd like you to test him. Very soon, I'll start working on him to set him up for his destiny. And I'll need you to test him. You, Kousuke, Rio...any of the blade children you can get. If you impart angelic fairness, I'll even let you try and kill him with a bit of devilish cleverness."

"...That seems a fairly harsh sentence to put upon your brother." Eyes said almost tonelessly, blue gaze intent on Kiyotaka. His lips thinned uneasily.

Kiyotaka chuckled. "Oh, don't underestimate him. I wouldn't let you all try to kill him if I thought he wouldn't get out of it. He needs it, though. As things stand right now, he'd be of no use to you. He's too stunted, you see--living in my shadow. No confidence at all. But I'm going to change that very soon. It's a little sooner than I intended, even, but...well...I don't think Kanone really likes me too well after what I said this last time. I think I kinda set him off. So I'd better vanish pretty quick."

"Yes...You seem to have a knack for it." Eyes murmured almost darkly, frowning faintly upon his work from under his pewter eyelashes. Kiyotaka laughed. "Yeah, I know, but he's just...well...I don't know. He makes me want to mess with him sometimes. He thinks he's free of my plans, even now. I can't help but love him like my own flesh and blood for being so Goddamned narrow-headed. It's really just too fun." The man threaded his fingers through his bangs, smiling at the ceiling in musing memory.

Eyes' mouth tightened a little, but he kept knitting and didn't say anything. Kiyotaka laughed, apparently reading him nonetheless. "Oh, don't worry, Rutherford. I don't intend to let Kanone out of my plans." Somehow this seemed enough to let Eyes relax slightly, though his face barely changed. Outside, some distant swimmer howled at their friends, who all laughed back, indistinctly.

"He said something pretty interesting, too, come to think of." Kiyotaka added, leaning back over the sleepless bed. Eyes nodded ever so faintly, "He does that." Kiyotaka gave a little laugh. "He must've been fun to grow up with, I'd bet."

Eyes gave the barest of shrugs after a long moment, as though remembering to give some sort of action, some sort of response only distantly.

"Nice enough kid?" Kiyotaka asked lightly.

"You've met Kanone." Eyes said finally, lifting his blue gaze, and studying Kiyotaka inscrutiably. "I'm certain you can come up with a better adjective."

The older man blinked, then laughed, and laughed heartily. "God, I bet I could. You know, he had this very cute picture of the two of you on his refrigerator. I never actually remembered you looking that solid. I assume the woman must've been his mother. They had the same smile and all." Eyes paused. "...Evangeline was very good to both of us." He said finally, faintly.

"You stayed with her after your mother passed, didn't you?" Kiyotaka asked. "And Kanone." He added.

Eyes nodded faintly. "She knew my mother." He said quietly, his expression had changed almost imperceptibly, no longer looking at his work.

"Ah." Kiyotaka said. Eyes sighed, and all but whispered, "She was Kanone's mother. Evangeline Hilbert. She asked me to call her Evangeline. She was like a stepmother to me."

"So she's the one who put Kanone through all that, huh? Pretty interesting woman to have her own son trained in assasination from the age of two." Kiyotaka raised his eyebrows and sighed. "I'm probably better off sticking with my sexy lady-cop."

Eyes nodded, almost gloomily, counting stitches.

"...She didn't make you do what Kanone did, did she?" Kiyotaka asked after a moment.

"She had me continue with my piano, nothing more." It was impossible to read a deeper tone to his reply, aside from curtness.

Kiyotaka smiled. "Well aside from your considerable talent--for which I'm very grateful to her decidation--it's certainly good to keep your hands occupied."

Eyes' mouth twisted into a faintly ironic smile. "Hm." Was all he said. Yarn wove around his pale fingers and stubby, bitten nails. Kiyotaka seemed to notice because he sighe din apparent exasperation. "...You're going to have to do something about those fingers, Rutherford. Biting them up like that is just not sexy. And you have to worry about your image now, after how well you did." Eyes blinked slowly at him, but Kiyotaka went on, "Besides, it's like telling the whole world you're actually nervous."

Eyes blinked again, more slowly still. "...I'm not nervous." he said plainly. "I like to keep my hands occupied. The travel keeps me from my piano too long."

Kiyotaka shook his head faintly, as though amused. "Here's one thing I'm wondering." He said. "Kanone has all this junk all over in his appartment--kitties everywhere, I mean, and probably half of them are grenades knowing how you two always let Rio-chan come over." Eyes smiled. Kiyotaka laughed a little at seeing him do so, at catching him in it, trying to speak around his humor, "But here's the thing: your room looks almost inhuman. How'd you manage that without killing eachother? I mean, especially with his temperment."

Eyes studied him, then he lowered his eyes back to his work, voice almost toneless. "...You'll be married soon. You'll likely understand then."

Kiyotaka blinked once, comic surprise flashing across his face for a moment before it split into mirth and laughed racously, delightedly "Rutherford, you're too much!" He said, sighing, patting the man on the shoulder.

"In part, Kanone's temperment is also rather different than you might expect." Eyes seemed to admit after a moment, knitting on. He stared ahead as though seeing something. His voice grew fainter still. "I've never had trouble with him. Even as a child." There was a hesitance there, a strange halting in the way he said it.

Kiyotaka studied him with fondness, still sighing. "Yeah. I can see that." He said. He patted Eyes' shoulder again, smiling happily. "And very soon, I'm probably going to better understand what it's like. I'm going to leave my family, and tell them I'm pursuing the mystery of the blade children." Eyes' body stiffened at that, his hands going rigid. Kiyotaka went on as though he hadn't noticed, smiling and twiddling his uneven thumbs. "And that should be enough to set the wheels in motion, and I want you to be my ally in this." He shook Eyes' shoulder slightly, opening his eyes to look at him, still smiling with that tender parental fondness. "...For the salvation of the Blade Children." He gripped the other's shoulder as though to reassure him. "Stand up, and be their leader. And don't allow Kanone's absence to crush you. I need you to be resolute, and be patient, and I'm sure you can manage both."

Eyes looked at him a moment, then shut his eyes. His face flickered a moment, then smoothed. He nodded. "Yes. I can."

He paused and said very quietly, "...If you can stay a little longer, I'll finish this."

Kiyotaka brightened, all seriousness gone. "You mean that's for me? The scarf? Wow. Thanks! I'll bet Modoka-chan will be jealous!" And he giggled in a way that was most unlike a grown man, rubbing his hands together happily. "You don't mind if I share it with her, do you?" He asked with a pleased little grin.

Eyes studied him. "By all means." he said quietly, expressionless again. "I'd appreciate you not mentioning its origins."

"Oh certainly. I wouldn't want to stunt your budding popularity, or give Mokoda-chan something to get mad about." Kiyotaka added a little laugh on the end of this. "Of course, nobody throws a frying pan the way she does..." He sighed, eyes fondly misted over. "I'd imagine she gets a good bit of practice." Eyes replied neutrally, face turned back to his work. Kiyotaka laughed, feigning injury, "Rutherford. You make it sound like I'm doing it on purpose!"

Eyes wisely didn't say anything.

Sudden inspiration flashed in Kiyotaka's eyes, and his face twisted into an expression of too-wily cunning. "Say...that reminds me, Rutherford. When are you going to go out and find the sexy lady-cop of your dreams? You know I could totally set you up if you don't mind older women." The boy's lips thinned. "No thank you." He said as politely as he seemed able. Kiyotaka didn't seem to notice, though, "I'll bet a few of the watchers are single, too. I know one who's pretty cute--if you don't mind smoking, that is. I'd bet she'd like you-"

"I don't have any particular affection for Kyrie, and I don't think she'd actually appreciate that, thank you." Eyes replied dully. Kiyotaka giggled. "Oh, I bet she'd be fine with it. After all, you're a fine upstanding young man, with good looks and what's bound to be a good income..." His eyes flashed. "And the kids would be beautiful." He whispered like an afterthought, a maniac gleam in his eyes as he gazed at the ceiling, playing out who knew what. "Though you'd probably want to ventilate the house pretty well..."

Eyes shook his head, a frown building on his features. He clearly had too much polish to blanch, but somehow he managed to express the inner-blanch nonetheless. "Thank you, Kiyotaka, but I'm certain I'll manage well enough on my own." He said gravely.

Kiyotaka's smile sobered a bit, and he seemed to study Eyes intently. "So...he's really worth that much to you?" He asked finally, more seriously.

Eyes raised his head. He blinked slowly. Then he finally spoke so softly that Kiyotaka had to lean close to hear him over the roar of the air conditioner and the splashes and laughter from the ground floor, "A world without Kanone is not worth living in, to me. I'd lose my mind if I'm the one to harm him."

Kiyotaka's eyes were level, and his smile lowered entirely, something watchful in his eyes. "Actually...he said he'd kill you the instant he saw you."

Eyes' fingers didn't even pause. He actually gave another faint smile. "Good." he said softly, his expression jsut as soft. Kiyotaka watched him inscrutiably, as he murmured, "As long as one of us is willing, then there can be an end to it. But even so...I have the hope that he will never overcome himself, that he will never actually come to hunt us."

Kiyotaka opened his mouth to say something, then shut it. He smiled. "Well...let's hope it stays that way, hm? But don't die, okay? You're probably the best chance to turn him around, right? Hang in there."

Eyes nodded, looking off into space. His expression was briefly melancholy for a moment, then he hesitated. He finally lifted the scarf, studying it. "...I've finished." He murmured. Kiyotaka smiled, accepting. He tugged it experimentally, then wrapped it around his throat, beaming. "Ooo. Thank you." he said, with every evidence of warm fondness. "You really didn't have to, Rutherford."

"On the contrary." Eyes said quietly. "There is little else I could do. I wouldn't be where I am now, if it weren't for your interest, and your patience." Kiyotaka beamed happily. "You're a good kid, Rutherford. And if it weren't for your rib, I'd give you a back-breaking hug."

Eyes shook his head faintly, perhaps a hint of derision in the gesture, a smile around the corners of his lips. "That's quite alright. I imagine you'd like to get home to your fiancee, and I have no intention of keeping you any longer." Kiyotaka grinned. "I'll see you soon, then. Give my love to Rio-chan, and Kousuke, and even Ryoku if you see her. Let them know I'll see them all very soon-Oh! And between you and me, what'll make good belated Christmas presents? I've been so busy with Modoka-chan that I just haven't managed to grab anything."

Eyes blinked slowly, then gave a toneless list. "Rio would like a muskmelon. Ryoku, a new pair of running shoes. I would like Vlado Perlemuter's performances of Maurice Ravel's Piano pieces on CD." he said flatly. "As for Kousuke, you'll have to use your imagination. And I wouldn't advise sending something to Kanone if he's upset enough with you to threaten killing you."

Kiyotaka frowned in exaggerated thought. "Huh. Well...if you're into Ravel, I'm sure I can find something, but as for Kousuke... You think he'd like a plush kittie?"

Eyes shook his head faintly, but his face didn't change at all at the mention of plush kittens. "Something more esoteric, I'd imagine..." He murmured, settling himself back at his piano bench.

"Hm. You're probably right. Something tells me I'll know it when I see it. ...Maybe he'd like a chick." Kiyotaka's eyes gleamed at that.

"Luck be with you there." Eyes said in a sigh, clearly unconvinced. "...Take care, Kiyotaka." He murmured, his hands fiddling with the needles in his lap.

"You too, Rutherford. Be seeing you." And Kiyotaka left with a final wave, and a laugh.

Eyes paused once he was gone, staring straight ahead.

He sighed again and leaned towards his desk, pulling open the side drawer with two fingers, delicately retrieving the framed photograph, and setting it on his piano. He regarded it a moment, his face unreadable. Then he shut his eyes, resting his fingers ever so faintly on the glass, and shut the drawer, placing the needles on the desk beside the vase of irises.

He let the frame rest in his lap a moment, and he looked down at it.

After a few moments as he straightened and his fingers began to move over the keys again.

The sounds of the splashing members of the pool below, mingled in with the piano.

On the other side of the door, Kiyotaka smiled, head tilted back against the lintel. "Mn. The Liebestraume. 'Dreams of love', Rutherford? You really do have some nerve..."

He straightened. "It's a shame..." He murmured, still smiling like an angel. "But there's joy in believing otherwise, of course."

And he turned on his heel and walked away, putting his crumpled fingers in his pockets, whistling his jaunty thirteen-toned little song.

-o-O-o-O-o-

Scarp no. 1 (rerunshipping? DRAFT)

Tue, 21 Apr 2009 03:47:15 GMT

So I have a possibly future rerunshipping scarp over here. (Rerunshipping being Noa KaibaXYami Bakura) Don't really know what to do with it. it's been building gradually since July fourth, 2008. It's also grabbing fragments from YGORP3, but since I got kicked off of there back during thanksgiving, I really don't know what's going on. *sigh*

Still...Anything that has non-sexual hottubbing needs love.

Nyami-chan and Lina-san are probably most involved (indirectly) with this kind of thing...I might ahve even sent this to Lina-san once in its early stages...

Probably T-rated for swearing, Bakura's nastiness, and gory body-building a la Frankenstein (My yugioh plot device of choice...)

.

Noa slid into the water, letting the distant strains of the laughter, the ruckus of the mansion drown away. It was so annoying--the fact that Mokuba had friends. Not just any friends, either--Seto's friends. Yugi, and Yugi's little group. He couldn't exactly...well...mind them. But...it was impossible to spend time with Mokuba--the brother he actually liked--when all the friends were around. And the friends brought their friends, and those friends brought whomever they couldn't disengage the attention of at the moment, and everything became loud and chaotic and...just...good to be away from.

Well. He'd gotten away this time. No more dealing with asinine remarks directed at the "child" he looked like. No more explanations of who he was, how he was... Now all he had to do was wait for it all to end so he could go back to full use of the estate, and return to his own business without the disruption of other people.

Noa shut his eyes and tried to feel through the stone to the controls of the little heated tub, tried to guess which circuits led to the switch for bubbles, and which ones controlled the sprayed jets of water. He didn't turn them on by hand, trying to restore the connections, trying to feel how they all fit together and bend them ever so slightly, remembering all the connections, the feeling of electricity making things work...

It used to all be so easy...

Now he could barely concentrate, though. Celiac Disease, Asthma, Anemia...what else could his new body fail at today to distract him? How long would it last? Not much longer. Not much longer at all...

He'd almsot resigned himself to it, but still, there was an edge of unfairness to it all. He'd been so patient. He'd waited so long to have back the body he'd deserved to keep, and now that he had it, it was failing, and killing him all over again in that slow, deteriorating way...

Something caught his attention and he opened his eyes, annoyed. His eyes told him there was a man standing there, a man with long white hair--White. It had to be a man because of the height and the shape of the narrow body. The hair actually reminded him of Mokuba for a bitter moment, but it passed quickly. Noa had no place for useless regrets when they paraded about so brazenly. The man's pose was tense, fixed on the door in the privacy fence, opening it just a crack.

He must have come in when he was concentrating. Clearly he was hiding from something or someone. He didn't seem to have noticed that he wasn't alone. The tub in the back was still quiet, steaming water. No bubbles, no jets. No noise. Noa was all but invisible, just a teal head poking out of the water at an awkward angle, a boy who'd look no older than Mokuba, sitting all alone in the heat.

Noa shifted ever so slightly in the tub, and he felt the connection click abruptly. Everything turned on at once. He was pleased.

Apparently that motion was enough to catch the man's attention because he turned his head quickly, and straightened, face perfectly flat. He didn't seem to notice he'd jumped. Perfect silence reigned a moment. Noa looked down at him curiously. "...Interrupting?" He asked almost sweetly. The man let the door swing shut. "Yes. Not that it could be helped at this point."

Noa blinked. He was english. There was no mistaking the accent, though...he couldn't place exactly where it was from within the country. The rude edge to it made him want to place it somewhere in particular, but he still couldn't. He had a very pale, angular face, and an unusual amount of dark eye make-up which gave him a strange, mask-like look. He would have thought him a goth, but he wasn't wearing black. He also couldn't think of a plausible reason for why Mokuba would know any goths.

"I do hope I'm not interrupting." The words were so exaggerated there was almost no way they could be anything but sarcastic and biting. The scowl was another hint.

Noa shifted. "Only the quiet. You san stay if you aren't going to be loud." The man gave a nod, still looking annoyed, as though Noa truly had interrupted him. Noa was impressed even while he suspected him already. He shifted, pulling his palms from the stone edges of the tub. So much for relaxation, but...at least it was only one person, and so far he didn't seem much like most of Mokuba's friends. Anyone who could be nasty to a "child" like him had something coming anyway. This might keep him occupied for a moment...

"So, who are you hiding from?" Noa asked cheerily. The man's expression flattened. "I wasn't hiding from anyone." He had a sneering contemptuous shift to his voice, crossing his arms, "If it intrigues you so, I was merely watching." Noa leaned forward, his shoulders rising out of the water. "Watching who?" He asked, smiling knowingly in that way which made adults--actually other adults--shudder.

The man looked him straight in the eyes, and said simply. "The man I want to kill." A smile flickered his pale lips. "You have a murderer at your party, didn't you know?" Noa shrugged. "It isn't my party, so no. A murderer should make the party games more interesting, though. Mokuba puts these things together. I usually avoid them."

The man inclined his head, leaning against the fence. Perhaps Noa hadn't reacted teh way he would have liked. "Avoidance by isolating yourself in a vat of water. Original, that. Salt yourself, and perhaps they'll make you a dish." The mocking tone of his voice hadn't dropped a whit, if anything, it had grown more scornful. Noa didn't let it bother him. What an inferiority complex this guy must ahve to get himself so worked up because he hadn't scared a "child." Noa wasn't really put off by insolence the way Seto was, it was more of a curiosity if anything, and that man certianly seemed curious enough on his own. He wondered to himself if the other bleached his hair that color. He wasn't wearing enough black to be a goth, Noa reaffirmed. In fact, he wasn't wearing any black at all. His colors were drab perhaps, but certainly not gothic, and he wore no jewelry except for a large golden pendant of sorts, some ornate circle with a pyramid within it stamped with an eye. So far he seemed simply eccentric with his dark-lined eyes, long hair, and strange jewelry. Maybe he was part of some tasteless band Mokuba had attempted to invite to try to show that brat millionaire kids just wanted to be accepted and like everyone else, just with better resources for their parties.

He probably played something useless, too. Like the triangle. The man seemed to have too much of a chip on his shoulder to actually have any real talent.

Noa regarded him with a smile, and gestured with a wet hand to the necklace. "I'm just isolating myself for the quiet, not the extended dinner menu...and I'm being interrupted by a man wearing a golden dreamcatcher, which makes the party a little more interesting than usual. Normally it's just Joey Wheeler with a lampshade. I'm sure I've seen that symbol before, though." He added. In truth he knew well where he'd seen it before. He was sure now, this man was one of Yugi's friends obviously by that symbol alone, and he mused to himself about Yugi's tastes in friends. Maybe there was a reason Yugi dressed like that...

The man wrinkled his nose. "The millennium ring." Noa smiled indulgently, as though talking to a five-year-old. "Oh yeah, of course. But, you know? I still can't think where I've seen it..." He added almost innocently, playing dumb, waiting for the information to come to him, letting the man underestimate him.

The man's eyes narrowed. His lips narrowed as well, then curled upwards at the corners, "Have you an interest in the items? Last word to my ears indicated the Kaiba family didn't approve of such things, or even acknowledge the existance of items of...more...inexplicable changes, shall we say?" Noa shrugged. "Well, last I heard, the world had no interest in how to put a soul in a computer. Inanimate objects and all... People don't seem to like objects having as much power as they do. Do you think I'm right?" The man's guarded position dropped slightly, and Noa thought he saw an approving light in the man's eyes, as though he'd passed some test. "Perhaps." His lips barely moved when he spoke the word. He was clearly on his guard now. He clearly was thinking, too. Noa didn't remember seeing him in his virtual world duels with Yugi and the others. Perhaps this man was a more-recent addition to their little crowd of ego-pumping cheerleader-friends.

"What's your name?" Noa asked. The man's lips curled agian in that strange, malevolent smile. "That is a question." Noa raised an eyebrow. "Yes. Yes it is. Are you going to answer it? That's what most people do with questions." He wanted to laugh, but didn't dare. It was all so easy. The man pitched grime at him, and he returned it with a childish smile, the sort that always made people blink, uncertain they could have possibly heard anything harsh or snide coming from what looked like a "sweet little boy." The man seemed suddenly amused, though. Whether because of his position as an adult or not, Noa wasn't sure of, but he thought he could guess at least. The man idly fingered the painted, but inwardly rusted lock on the door. His necklace cuaght the light a moment, and one of the little feather-like needles at the bottom twitched. Probably the wind.

"The easiest name I answer to is...Bakura."

Noa nodded.

"And my aqueous host?" Again there was the mocking, almost tonelessly sarcastic air to the voice.

Noa looked at him with a smile. "Why? You already know who I am, don't you?"

The man--Bakura--seemed pleased by this, quietly murmuring, though he kept his voice loud enough for Noa to hear, "A man with an...unlikely hair color, and the shape of a child. Yes. I heard rumors Seto Kaiba had an older brother." Noa snorted. "Please. They're adopted. I'm the only true Kaiba left." But he noticed that he'd said shape of a child. That was interesting. A man who would actually believe he was an adult? Or was he simply being contemptuous again? Bakura's smile was poisonous, "The last of the legacy, then. You seem a precocious man." Noa noted that with mild surprise. Not young man, but man. This person, whoever he was seemed to know exactly what he was, and take it all in stride. He really did think he was an adult. That was a first, though it could be a mistake. "I'm curious." The man continued, "Exactly what leads you to believe I wouldn't be here to watch you if I were watching a man I wished to kill." Noa snorted. "Bad timing for one. Plus, no computer in the world will tell you I exist. And even then, most people don't believe me when I say I'm the oldest, and children...? People protect children. I don't look my age you know. You don't have to be so polite about it."

Something flattened in Bakura's eyes, and his smile dropped instantly. He stepped quietly to the edge of the hot tub, and up close Noa could see his eyes were brown--a strange brown, though. Somehow it made him think of scabs, dried blood... "And...should I kill you now, would anyone notice, then, I wonder?" His voice was soft, suddenly dreadfully serious beneath a veneer of congeniality.

Noa made a scoffing noise, pointing a toe out of the water. "Oh please. You're not here to kill me. And besides, you don't want to draw attention to yourself, now do you? The man you do want to kill would notice you. You don't seem the type who wants to be noticed if you're hiding--though you are pretty noticeable. I am curious about who it is you're killing. I'll admit it. And I can't say I'd mind if it were Seto, but I'll resist asking." He lowered his head and smirked suddenly at the man. "Actually, I like you. You're...interesting." He let his toe drop back into the water. "Why don't you come in? It's sure to draw attention if you stand around watching a young man in a hot tub. They'll think you're up to something." Bakura's eyes narrowed. "I fail to see how." he replied coldly, "The fence should make my doubts fairly obvious in origin." Noa looked at him and smiled eerily. "Oh. You're right. ...I suppose one scream from me would change that though...wouldn't it?"

Bakura's body stiffened, and rage came into his dark eyes, but he controlled himself. Noa smiled at him as though nothing were at all amiss, as though his thoughts were spontaneous, childish. It was interesting that the man had controlled his anger. he was bright enough at least not to fight it...

"Who did you come here with, out of curiosity? Yugi doesn't seem the type to have a murderous bodyguard." Noa asked with a smile. Bakura's eyes lidded a moment, "My...twin, you could say." He remarked dryly. "One of the numerous friends of Yugi's." Noa added and nodded faintly. "I don't remember meeting you. I'm sure I would. I'd remember someone with your hair. But only Yugi has an object stamped with a symbol like that in my memory." He raised a hand to indicate the ring, then gestured.

"Come in, though. Quickly." And to goad him he added. "I want to see if you're really a girl underneath all this."

Bakura's eyes flared in rage, and he crossed his arms with a very tight laugh. "I think not." Noa's eyes glittered nastily. "Do you have a choice?"

Bakura regarded him for a moment, then his face smoothed, and he shrugged, turned slightly, and pulled his shirt over his head. He turned, with an air of presenting himself. "Satisfied?" He asked, with raised eyebrows. Noa's face must have tightened because he replied back, "Is that perhaps disappointment?" Noa scowled suddenly. "I'm older than you." he muttered. "And I'm trapped in a body no older than Mokuba's." Bakura's eyes slitted in a knife-like smile, "Ah, so it's envy then?" Noa only laughed, scoffing, "Envy? Why would I envy you?" Bakura shrugged, and tossed the shirt to the edge of the tub, vaulting himself over to land in the water with a small splash. His eyes widened abruptly--and from that distance, Noa could see he'd probably kholed them--then they shut, and he sank into the water, his hair over the edge. "It's interesting that you think you're older than me." He said with a strange vicious little smirk as though that answered everything. He looked amused again.

Noa couldn't come up with a single plausible reason why.

Noa stared at him with hard eyes. "...What would it take for you to trade me your body?" He asked suddenly. Bakura's eyes opened, and for the first time, he actually started laughing. It wasn't a kind laugh by any means. It was cold, and mirthless. "So you do envy. How inappropriate for a child. If you're really so envious-" The man began, but Noa cut him off. "I am. I deserve an adult body, and I am an adult. I waited years just to get a child's body and I'm not pleased with that. You shouldn't push it aside so easily, anyway. You'd get an alibi, for that little murder of yours if you went through with it. Everyone knows Seto and I don't get along. I don't see why you can't even consider it. It's quite a fair trade." He said nothing about the problems with his body. Let the man figure that out later after they'd gone to all the trouble of a crossover download. Then he'd be stuck with all those problems, and Noa could live his normal life.

Bakura leaned against the edge, still visibly amused, and he crossed his jeans-clad legs in the water. His face told the world all about his arrogance, as though he saw right through Noa's little plan. Since that was impossible with the information he'd been given, Noa knew the man was simply an arrogant jerk. It was all over his posture, too.

Bakura smirked for a moment. "Look...If you really want an adult body so terribly, I know something of soul exchanges, and they aren't nearly half as simple as you might think. I see no reason to put myself through such a process for you. Holding two souls within one body adds unnecessary strain if held over for long periods of time without buffer, might I add." Noa's eyes narrowed, but the man went on, sighing with that cruel bemusement still written over his pale features, "The one to speak to on the subject of custom-built bodies would be...Ryou. My...twin as you'd see it. He formed mine after all."

Noa stared at him suspiciously. "...Formed yours, you say?" He ventured. Bakura's lips curled, and he raised a forearm. "By all means, inspect the merchandise if that's what you're planning out. Formed, yes. You know something of the items and their ability to hold spirits, if I am to be any judge. Certainly you've put together that Yugi is no ordinary twin." Noa frowned, taken aback. Who was this man? "It's quite similar in my case." Bakura went on in his arrogant drawl. "My body was made to house my soul in far better quarters than this ever could." And he held up his necklace, then let it drop back down into the water. Noa peered at him.

"Yours was no doubt, made with the same specifications, but with the idiocies of science forced to encounter new technology and try to find an explanation for the inexplicable ways of other means." Bakura added. "Trapped in a body, you said...not 'trapped in my body'. We seem to be in similar positions which, I must admit, is exceptionally interesting...but I see no reason to seek the body of a child in place of my own, especially when it clearly ill-suits you."

Noa pressed his palms agianst the baking stone of the tub, trying to think of the circuitry within to distract himself from his growing agitation. Was this a trick? A person who could create bodies? His had been cloned, and cloned to what those responsible thought was the proper age based on what picture of himself he gave in his machanized soultrap. His body had been painstakingly build, and still had troubles. He'd gone in for surgery only two weeks earlier. The puckered scar showed in his belly. A kidney had failed. Another mishap like that and he would be on dialasis and unable to leave his bed.

His body was failing, though he hadn't been about to tell the man that. And Bakura had seen right through it, or at the least, he was too much of a cynic when bartering to imagine that he was being offered a fair trade. Either way Bakura was distinctly unpleasant. But...some boy could make bodies? When it had taken a team of heavily paid (and even more heavily paid to be discreet) specialists to even clone his form from his own collected DNA?

Noa remained on his side, suspicious. "How did he make it? If you know something about this, you know of some of the problems. So how?" Bakura smirked. "Bones upwards, naturally. Organs. Flesh. Skin." Noa grasped on the last. "If that's so, then why isn't your skin a mess of scars?" Bakura gave him a thin, measured smile. "I'm clothed in his skin. I haven't the time or patience to explain complicated magical theory to one of the Kaiba Family, but believe me when I say I am one of the few capable to explain it in great detail if I chose to. My former host is more than skilled enough in the occult to manage to bring life to dead bone, and grow a seamless skin. Your questions are tiringly simple given the structure of magical theory, but you know nothing about it, and you don't seem in a position to demand my eposition on the subject."

Noa ventured further, "Expound anyway: what about the blood? Any organ will reject foreign blood. At the least you'd have to match the blood types." Bakura shook his head, white hair frothing around his pale shoulders. "My blood manages itself quite well, actually. Living bone marrow, and his blood to keep it all soft and fresh until it's through and ready to live on its own--an empty vessel just waiting for a soul to come by. A process of several days without sleep for the individual or individuals building the creature, but nothing more."

Noa looked him over. Inwardly, he was annoyed with himself. Had he not asked the man to put himself in the heated water, he could check the temperature of his skin. Occult, he'd said. Walking dead weren't something Noa relished the idea of, or even believed in really. But here was a chance...

"Even a body your size could supply enough to complete another." The man added. "Provided you can settle with a lack of blood in advance."

Noa looked at Bakura again, thinking carefully. "...And you're telling me this so I keep my mouth shut about your plans?" Bakura's face stretched in a silent grin. "By all means, say whatever you will about me. I have no need to buy your silence." Noa looked at him, "I don't believe that for a minute." He muttered.

To his surprise, Bakura's pale lips peeled back in a grin. "Please yourself. It's nothing but a nuisance to deal with. I'm expected for as much as murder. I am well aware of my target, and he is well aware of me. The fact I intend to kill him should be no surprise whatsoever. And what can he do of it?" Noa looked at him and nodded slowly. "...I see." And he moved, standing. Bakura watched him almost lazily. Noa could see the beads of water on his neck, the droplets in his eyelashes. The slender, uplifted arm had a tuft of white hair in the armpit. Could that really be a created body? White hair certainly wasn't natural for most people. He studied the man. Bakura regarded him with utter unconcern right back, face inscrutiable. He lowered his arm, and leaned back in the water, shutting his eyes.

"...How old are you?" Noa asked finally.

The man grinned nastily. "In Body or Soul?" Noa sighed despite himself. "How old's your brother?" This, Bakura answered. "He's a first year college student at Cambridge, and is legal for just about anything he could put his mind to." Noa's mind flickered recalling stats for British youth and their legalities. "So he's at least eighteen?" He said. Bakura simply smiled that pitiless grin of his and said nothing else. He shut his eyes as though relaxing and lazing in the heat of the tub.

There was something strange about the man... He couldn't look at his face and think this face was put together by a man who can't possibly be much older than me. What sort of man made an image of himself? Or...was it an image of himself? He was thinking about Yugi's strange twin. Those two were all but identical, but perhaps...perhaps this man Bakura looked entirely different from his root builder? No...he'd called the other his 'twin' and he'd used Yugi as an example. Why would he use him as an example if he wasn't at least superficially similar to his brother? Noa would send word out to stop any other white-haired young men from leaving the estate before speaking to him. If this were a trick, he'd see to it that he ruined their lives quite permanantly through his extensive computer network. He didn't take lightly to being toyed with. He'd find the man's twin by his hair...

Or...

"What's his name? His full name?" Noa asked.

Bakura shifted. "Ryou Bakura." He murmured annoyedly, not opening his eyes. Noa's lips curled. "And what's your first name, then?" Bakura opened his eyes. His lips curled. He said nothing. Noa sighed. "Are you Ryou Bakura?" Bakura broke into peals of unkind laughter. "Pull the other one!" He cried, still laughing rather nastily. "I'm not anything. A mere spectator. A movement in the shadows. I'm of no concern." Noa studied him. "Then tell me who you are."

Bakura shifted, giving him a very droll look, head tilted at a lazy angle. "A king." His voice had an especially cruel, amused lilt to it. Noa's face flattened. "If you don't tell me, I can find out easily. There will be a record of you somewhere in a machine, and I will find it." Bakura's lips split in a grin again. There was no warmth in the expression. "Feel free to search and shift as you please. Nothing will give you my name. Hold the name of a person, and you hold their power to start, but my name, like yours will be found in no system of your network. Unlike yours, it's not from any particular skill with mechanical things. I'm simply far too old to be snared by such things as have such a narrow view of history."

Noa frowned.

Bakura stood, water trickling off of him. He vaulted over the edge of the tub again. "Search all you will, little virus, you shan't have my power." He turned his head as he picked up his sweater from the ground, dusting it off with wet fingers, "But do investigate my former host as you like. And ask him to give you what you seek."

"How old's the oldest part of you?" Noa asked as he turned to leave.

Bakura turned his head with a grin. "I'm three thousand years old. Give or take a century." He turned and opened the gate, grinning over his shoulder. "Welcome to immortality, little virus. Do be sure to stop my former host before he leaves. He hates parties. Can't stand the noise. He'll be gone before you get a chance if you don't hurry."

-o-O-o-

An hour later, Noa was neatly dressed again, and walked into the room holding the man who had to be Ryou Bakura. The similarity between the two brothers was remarkable at first glance. They had that same long, white hair, and the same features. But where Bakura's eyes had been cruel and calculating, Ryou's were wide, and nervous. He lacked the mask-like heavy eye-paint, and seemed to be fairly wilting, flushing from under a sweater, even though it was the middle of the summer. He glanced around, and found Noa, and his face instantly warped into an expression of relief. He stepped over as though afraid someone might catch him talking to him, and he bent slightly. "Er. Hello. I'm glad I'm not the only one here. Do you know why we've been pulled aside like this?" His voice was very soft, very gentle while his brother's had been hard and edged by his snarled articulations. His accent was rendered positively melodiac.

Noa didn't even blink. He shrugged, playing on his apparent childishness again. He studied the other man. Ryou sighed, biting his lip and looking around. Noa couldn't help but think he looked alot like a girl. His fingernails were neatly trimmed, and his hair looked painstakingly combed, with little lumps of unruly wave to it in the back.

He hardly looked like some sort of occult expert.

Noa was starting to mistrust the other brother's information intensely. This looked like a very bad practical joke to say the least.

"I wish I knew..." Ryou murmured. He suddenly flushed. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry. I'm Ryou Bakura." He said, nervously outstretching a hand. Noa took it. It was warm and a ltitle clammy. Perfectly alive. Noa raised his eyes. "I'm Noa. Noa Kaiba." Ryou's face paled. "Don't worry. You're not in some sort of trouble. I just wanted to ask you about something." Noa said blithely, letting go of his hand. "Do you need something to eat? Something to drink?" Ryou still stared at him in wilted terror. Noa sighed. "Why don't you sit down?" He asked guiding the other by the arm over into an armchair. He already had a comforting little fire ready. Ryou sank gratefully into the chair. "Anything to eat or drink? This might take a while if things go well." Noa repeated with a semblence of cheer, and childish grace.

Ryou nodded numbly. "Er...tea." His voice was barely higher than a whisper now, and his eyes still advertised terror.

"Any kind you'd like in particular?" Noa asked. Ryou seemed to relax a little at his apparent warmth, raising his eyes. "I'm...partial to Darjeeling if you...have it?" Noa smiled disarmingly. "Please. Of course we have it. I'll ask one of the maids to bring it up for us. We can get down to business afterwards, but for now I just have a few simple questions."

Ryou's body went rigid, and his face paled. "Yes...Yes of course...' He whispered softly. Terror stood out sharply in his face nonetheless. Noa was struck by the mildly disgusted thought that he looked like something out of an Anne Rice book. Three thousand years old, indeed. He was almost entirely certain that he'd been put up for a joke, now, but he wasn't going to let his anger show. His anger was a more tempered variety. He would be patient. He would make sure, first, then he would go off and mercilessly track down that wicked bother of his. He wouldn't ruin this man. Ryou looked like he was the sort that was used as the butt of every ugly joke--the friendless man who desperately hung on, hoping to be taken into a group of friends like some poor, misused puppy.

"Do you have any siblings?" Noa asked abruptly, taken by a particularly interesting thought.

Were they even brothers? They looked similar, the two Bakuras, but perhaps...?

Ryou gave a nervous laugh. "Oh. Er...Well I used to have a sister. I'm afraid...she's...not alive any longer. And at the moment, I have a sort of...well, a twin." He gave a nervous smile. "I doubt you'd believe me if I told you. It's rather...complicated."

"No, go on. I'm not exactly without my own family complications, you know." Noa said, spreading his arms and smiling. "You can tell me."

Ryou bit his lip. "Yes...well...it's not entirely a...well...believable story. And...I'm afraid he and I...don't entirely see eye to eye." Noa sighed. "I understand." Dead end. This had to be a dead end. All the perfect earmarks were there. This was a joke, and he'd fallen for it. "Just tell me one thing, please: do you have any connections with the occult?" He asked, trying to keep his voice light, and avoid all traces of his anger.

To his surprise, the boy's body straightened, and an unusual light came to his eyes. Color returned to his face. "Oh! Well I'm afraid I'm a bit strange like that." He laughed. "Yes. Actually, I adore the occult. I've been practicing it since...well...since my sister's death. My mother passed away around the same time, you see, and my father's an archeologist, so he's often not home. It gives me rather a bit of leeway there. But father doesn't mind. He says it's good to have a hobby." He smiled brightly. Then he sighed.

"You're...well...one of the Kaibas. Certainly you play duelmonsters?" He asked quietly, with that same eager light in his eyes.

Noa nodded faintly, still trying to disguise his surprise. "I play a little." Ryou smiled with perfectly angelic cheer. "I just adore it myself. I'm fairly good at it. I've made it into two tournaments, and even went into the semifinals in your brother's battle city tournament." He sighed. "I lost to Yugi, of course, early on...and I don't really remmeber much else of the trip." He said, lookign suddenly evasive and worried before eh brightened again. "But I even built an occult deck. It's served me quite well." He smiled again, then looked embarassed. "Er...I suppose I got a bit carried away. I'm sorry if I'm babbling. But yes, I...I know a bit about the occult. I certainly like it. Er...any particular reason?"

Noa shook his head faintly. "No, at least, not yet. I don't suppose you could tell me what sorts of things you do with the occult? Self-empowerment? Riches?" Ryou flushed. "Oh no, nothing like that. My fascination is more along the sphere of death...er...perhaps Necromacy is the proper term for it, but the connotations aren't quite right. Whenever I say it, people always seem to imagine I mean to resurrect zombies and ghouls and all sorts of half-dead things. I don't intend to bring back their bodies so much as return lost souls. So far, I haven't had much success, though, but I try to be optimistic."

Noa pursed his lips trying to think. "You...want to resurrect your sister?" He asked quietly. Ryou's face twisted at that, and he slumped. "No...I can't help Amanae at this point. Maybe if I had set up the proper rituals and holding possibilities beforehand, I would have had a chance, but...she's gone beyond where I can reach at this point." He suddenly smiled with that hurt angelic brightness. "But she's guiding me. I know she is. And I know if I can ever save someone, she'd be very proud of me."

Well.

This was unexpected success. Noa frowned to himself thoughtfully. Perhaps Bakura had been telling the truth. Perhaps this body could do it...

"This might sound a little strange, so I hope you won't get the wrong impression of me." Noa began with careful politeness. Ryou gave a nervous laugh. "No, no of course not!" He said, pale face flushing. He seemed desperately pleased to have someone to talk to. "I wonder...have you ever tried to make a body for someone? Like if you had the soul, but the body was destroyed? Beyond repair?" Ryou blinked. "You mean...a bit like Frankenstein's Monster, yes?" He asked, suddenly seeming more hesitant. Noa made sure to give an embarassed laugh. "Maybe I read too many stories as a kid..." he started. Ryou shook his head, with a suddenly serious frown. "Well Mary Shelley's ideas didn't take into account several key facotrs of occultic theory, but in theory, with care, and the proper amount of...of raw materials. It's...possible."

Noa looked at him intently now. "And have you done it before?" He asked quietly. The boy stiffened. "Look...it's nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone wants to bring back the dead sometimes. All I want to know is if a person like you, with all that knowledge, with that...hobby as you called it, actually went far enough to make a body for someone." He paused. "And if it worked."

Ryou stared straight ahead of him. His lips pinched and he blinked rapidly, his hand shaking his teacup.

There was no way he could avoid it. He'd, after all, directed Mokuba explicitly to invite "both of the Bakuras" to the little gathering. And the only prompting Mokuba had needed was a "they're my friends." to really give in. He'd stay away from the one Mokuba knew as Bakura. Ryou was a nice enough man, but he owed him nothing as far as he was concerned. He'd paid the boy handsomely, directly to his bank account. If he hadn't already discovered it, he soon would, and...probably in some surprise at that. No, he was all but done with Ryou. The one that interested him was the other. Now that the backstory of Mokuba's "kidnapping" came about, Noa could only like the man more. He was nasty, and ruthless from the sound of things.

Nasty things were always fun to play with.

He smiled, bubbles frothing and playing around him in the water. He almost missed the benefits of being a "child"... But... He flexed his long fingers and smiled. He waited, and he waited, and he waited, and finally, the almost inaudible creak of the gate resounded.

"It's rude not to say hello." Noa murmured, a teasing note in his voice. A white haired figure straightened, but Noa didn't need another look to tell even from behind that shape of long white hair could only belong to one man. The pose, even between the two of them, gave away which one of the twins it was. Bakura turned, and scowled. "Yes? So?" Noa rose. "So what do you think?" He asked mischeiviously, hugging his knees in the water. Bakura's kholed eyes narrowed. "I think you look rediculous." He spat. The remark so caught Noa off guard that he laughed. "Come into the water, Bakura." Bakura scowled. "I don't have time for this." He snapped. "Oh stop running. I need to thank you, nothing more. If nothing else, for needing a new swimsuit. It's been long enough, hasn't it? It doesn't cost you to keep me company."

Bakura tilted his head. "On the contrary, if anyone holds a debt it should be you."

Noa laughed. "Come on. What will it cost you? I dont suppose you know what I would have done if you'd been playing with me? Really, my gratitude is far more endurable."

Bakura glared at him, then snapped the gate shut. He locked it immediately, Noa noticed. He didn't even need it pointed out--he locked it. Why did he feel so excited? He hadn't seen the man face to face since their first meeting. He looked roughly the same, though his movements were more jerky, perhaps. As Bakura pulled off his shirt, Noa added. "I heard you're the one who came up with the disposal idea." Bakura paused, and nodded, guarded. "It was a stroke of genius. I approved. I really did. Everyone else thought it was too horrible, but I knew it was you who sent me that letter. We think alike, we really do, and I took your advice to the letter. The ashes should be delivered soon. Would you like to see them?" Bakura frowned. "...No. No I wouldn't."

Bakura pushed aside his shirt without another word, and leapt over the edge into the hot tub, just the way he had before. The water rose when he was in, Noa noticed. Had he even noticed the first time? He was real, tangible. He wasn't some figment of his imagination. "Your brother calls you Yami. Is that your name?" To his surprise, Bakura bared his teeth. "It's nothing but a silly one of the Pharaoh's cast-offs. Idiocy..."

Noa shifted, smirking almost to himself. "You didn't mention you were from here." Bakura shut his eyes, face flat. "Clearly. I'm not from here." He sounded tired and rather annoyed, his head tilted back to rest on the edge of the tub. He didn't even bother to pull his hair up behind him this time, and ghostly tendril-ends played in the water around his shoulders like living things. Noa watched them for a while. "You don't sound it, true. You...know english?" Bakura nodded, replying in strange, foreign syllables. It took Noa a moment to translate it--which was frustrating, compared to having everything easily accessible in computer code, "Of course I do" he'd said. Noa shrugged. "I could hear the accent when you spoke. I just didn't realize it might be your second language." Bakura's lips curled humorlessly. "It isn't. Neither is japanese." Noa tilted his head. "Then where are you from?" he inquired, though he half suspected the answer. Suspected, but didn't believe it. Bakura's eyes opened, and his smile faded, he raised the golden necklace around his neck out of the water, giving it a slight shake. "Here." He said, letting it drop back into the water. Noa shut his eyes. "And...before that?"

Bakura paused a moment. "...Kul Elna." He murmured almost absently. Noa frowned, opening his eyes. That didn't sound familiar at all. It was no country he knew, no city he knew. "Care to tell me where that is?" Bakura lowered his head slightly, eyes still shut. "If you don't know, it doesn't affect you. I'll tell you where it isn't, though. It isn't here. Now what could possibly compel you to be so bloody chatty?"

Noa leaned forward. "I want to know more about you. I'm allowed, aren't I? You're quite unusual. Go on. Tell me what that is. Kul Elna. I've never even heard of it." Bakura opened his eyes, and studied him for a long moment. he had very hard eyes, Noa realized. The paint around them had a way of twisting the edges of them, making him look strange. Noa wondered dimly if beneath the makeup, Bakura's face could be as softly featured as Ryou's. Bakura didn't say anything for a very long time, their eyes locked. Noa wanted to look away, but somehow felt he couldn't. If he did, he'd lose, and somehow he knew he couldn't lose. If he lost, Bakura wouldn't say anything.

Finally Bakura's lips twisted. "...Where this is from." He raised the ring again, and the needles on it jingled faintly in the water.

Noa was irritated. That had to be important somehow for him to give it up so reluctantly, but...he couldn't seem to figure out how it fit together.

"I...suppose it doesn't matter, then?" Bakura tilted his head and scowled. "Not to you. No." Noa raised his eyebrows. "Should it?" Bakura's look flattened suspiciously. "No." He replied sullenly. "Then why be upset with me?" Bakura hissed through his teeth, picking wet hair from his shoulders impatiently. "There's no need for you to know, and you insist upon it. I don't need a child following my every move." Noa leaned forward, smile still on his face. "I'm not a child. How old are you anyway, really? Ryou-kun wouldn't tell me." Bakura gave him a guarded look. "Centuries. Millennia. Ages. Aeons. Which would you prefer? I am in fact, older than this." He raised the ring again. The gold sank down into the bubbles after with a careless drop. Noa sighed, hiding his annoyance behind a smile. "Well if you don't want to tell me..."

Bakura gave him a pointed look, "And how old are you?" Noa replied in the same light tone. "Older than Seto." Bakura raised a hand as though to say that proved his point. "I'm not a child, you see. I'm older than your body is." Bakura blinked, seeming to think over this, his lips curled. "I'm certain a bit of thought on your part will reveal all the holes in that phrase to you." His voice was almost curt.

Noa smiled. "Are you always so vicious to people?" Bakura's lips curled slightly higher at that. He didn't answer.

"You know...if you hadn't come, I'd prepared several other plans to have this meeting." Bakura's eyes slitted. "...Tell me, little Kaiba...Are all mortals your playthings?"

Noa grinned. "Not really. You're interesting though. One of the more interesting people I've met since I got out of my virtual world..."

Bakura lifted his chin, eyes shut. "I am no mortal."

Noa laughed at that. "You're just a ghost." Noa said. "Like me. And even I have a name. And there's something I wondered after you left the last time, after what you said about names...If you don't have a name to give, does that make you powerless?"

Bakura's eyes snapped open and his body jerked, the look of fury on his face was surprising. Noa knew he'd hit a nerve, and somehow relished it. "All this over your name, but you're nothing but a ghost stealing names for yourself." Bakura's body bolted up, and before he realized it, Noa felt a hard hand around his throat. Bakura's eyes were dark with fury, his breath on his cheek. His voice was a soft and lethal whisper nearly lost in the sound of the bubbling water. "I'd mind your words if I were you." Bakura whispered, and Noa felt hot metal against his throat, realizing it was the man's necklace. "I could part your soul from your body as easily as I shed my clothing."

Noa couldn't speak, couldn't breathe. Bakura went on--he really must love the sound of his own voice, Noa recognized somewhat irritably. "I'd cast you to the shadows, and you'd become nothing more than a part of me, my domain, my mercy, my rule-" Noa slammed a knee into the man's midriff, and Bakura's grip slackened. Noa sucked in air, just in time to see the man's hand rise up with murder in his eyes. Noa flew at him without thinking. Bakura fought gracelessly, but viciously, all knees and elbows, and lighting fast jabs, trying to twist his arm behind his back to break it. Noa, fortunately, knew how to slip free. He seized the man by his long hair, and hurled him down into the water, holding him under. Bakura thrashed, but Noa somehow managed not to let him up. The man's body went limp, and stopped struggling. Noa breathed a sigh, and lifted him back out-

Quick as a flash, the man's hard hands were on his collarbones. Noa made a startled noise, and grabbed ahold of the edge of the tub to prevent Bakura from pushing him under. Bakura laughed mirthlessly. "Clever little virus!" He exclaimed, killing light in his eyes. Noa grimaced, thrashing, and somehow found with his shin, the one spot that would make the man yeild, and kicked, hard.

Bakura's face when blank, then he gave a slow groan, doubling over. Noa pulled him by the shoulder worldessly back to the edge so he wouldn't push his face into the water. "...You plan on killing him like that?" Noa asked, panting. "Don't. You're fast, but the water slows you down. And you stopped to gloat. If you hadn't done that, you could have killed me rather easily."

Bakura's hair was half-wet now, and it clung to his shoulders. He looked somewhat less feminine with his hair flat and dripping. Somehow his shoulders looked larger, more angular that way...

"I wouldn't kill me. You need to keep getting invited so you can watch the man you want to kill. That was a dumb move, really."

"Fool!" Bakura hissed between his teeth. He hadn't straightened out, yet. "I am well aware of that. Had I wanted to kill you, I would have done it!"

There was a sudden banging on the door. "Noa? Noa, is everything alright?" Noa turned, with a sigh. "I'm fine, Mokuba."

"Why's the gate locked? You know Seto doesn't like you locking things!"

Noa gave Bakura a weary look. The man was chuckling nastily agianst the water. "I'm speaking with a friend and don't want to be disturbed, Mokuba. Seto can complain later."

Bakura raised his eyebrows. "Friend." He sneered almost inaudibly. Mokuba gave a groan at the door. Noa gave Bakura a look, then his lips curled nastily as he had a thought.

"A very close friend, Mokuba. One I don't want tabloids to know about."

Mokuba went silent on the other side of the door, while Bakura simply glared, trying to figure out what he was saying, but obviously not understanding at all. Mokuba however, was sure to think Noa meant he had a girl in there. Bakura glared all the harder in unfounded suspicion, still catching his breath.

"Don't worry about it." Noa said with a smile down at him. "We can talk now."

Then he heard the key turn in the latch.

Noa scowled as the door opened. "Mokuba." Mokuba peered in just long enough to catch sight of Noa's arm holding Bakura up and out of the water, and the glare of one scab-colored eye before he jerked back with a cry and the door slammed, locking them in. Noa blinked. "Well. This is compromising." He said lightly. "You do anything to Mokuba that'd scare him off like that? Because I don't think he's homophobic considering what Seto's like."

Bakura's lips curled in a nasty smile. "I sent his soul to the shadow realm so I could use him as a bargaining piece with his brother."

Noa blinked. "Oh." He smiled. "You know, I was just content with kidnapping him and having a few nice conversations with him while he was hypnotized."

"Perhaps he's scared of you then." Bakura said sourly.

"Nah." Noa said. "He can't be. He let me use his body for a while. He's a nice kid. He's the brother I actually like. He's even pretty good at chess, you know?"

Bakura grimaced. "Where I come from, sodomy is a rather demeaning activity." Noa snickered. "Who said anything about me sodomizing him? Really, you have a very sick mind, Bakura." Bakura scowled more blackly. "I wasn't referring to Mokuba. I was establishing that I have no intent of being unmanned by someone like you."

"Ah." Noa said. "You mean you're three thousand years old and you're still a virgin?"

Bakura gave a derisive snort. "What sort of king would I be if I were? I am Touzoko-ou."

Noa grinned. "The king of thieves? What, so you're a heart-breaker who likes stealing from other people's relationships?"

"I meant That in my day, women were a prized sort of plunder. And it was always a good idea to keep a few young men along just in case you managed to find and hold onto a rogue greek pedagogue run from his master. Courtesans of the Pharaoh's gardens, those flowers of the nile were a marketable substance, you see."

Noa was unable to keep down a snort. "So...what, now you're an Egyptian Pimp? God, and I thought Yugi's brother was bad..."