the pen is mightier than the sword

Mon, 04 Feb 2008 00:48:17 GMT

CLOSED

I by and large no longer write fandom-based fiction. So basically don't expect to see anything new in this journal ever again. Original writing will be relocated to a journal I haven't even decided to create yet, or left in my personal journal. I will be leaving the entries here up for perusal even though some of them are outright embarrassing, and additional old fanfiction can be found at my Fanfiction.net profile.

Tue, 04 Apr 2006 00:49:58 GMT

Title: Parallel
Fandom: X/1999
Characters in this part: Kamui, Fuuma, Kotori, Tooru
Chapter 1 (part 2/??)
Wordcount: Just over 3000.
Notes: Damn plotbunnies.
Summary: After ralizing his true wish, Kamui wakes up in a world that has changed to accompany it.

The first sensation Kamui had as the world began to piece itself back together like a jigsaw puzzle was that he couldn’t move. His arms felt heavy – no, his whole body felt heavy, bound down by something warm and thick. He opened his eyes to find himself greeted by a room that was pitch-black.

He attempted to raise his arm, to find it immobile. His whole body felt so heavy, though he could see now that the thing holding him down was nothing more than a set of thick blankets. Settling into them, he turned his head to try and inspect his surroundings.

From the little he could make out in the dark as his eyes adjusted, the room was unfamiliar. The walls were blank, and the furniture was sparse. The bed he was on was situated in a corner of the room, with the door a good distance away.

Slowly, and rather painfully, he scooted himself out from under the blankets and forced himself to sit up. His lungs burned at the movement, and his ribs protested, but soon enough he was sitting up all the way, pressing one hand to his chest.

There was no gash.

The more Kamui tried to recall what had happened, the fuzzier the memory got. Fuuma had been standing over him, holding a sword – the Shinken, that was right – and Kamui had said…

What had he said?

The only thing he was sure of was that Fuuma had stabbed him. The thing he remembered clearest was the Shinken coming down, and an unbearable pain that had set his spine on fire.

But there was no blood, not even a scratch, as far as he could tell.

His hand ran up to his throat. There was no trace of injuries, any of the ones he’d sustained in the battle. He couldn’t feel through his shirt very well (he seemed to be wearing a pair of oversized pajamas), but he certainly couldn’t feel any bandaging below it.

Experimentally, he slid a hand between the buttons of the pajama shirt to test it. His skin was bare under the shirt, sure enough, and not only that…

He pulled his hand out and furrowed his eyebrows.

All of the injuries he’d sustained from his battles with Fuuma, all the scars he’d gathered during 1999, all of them were gone.

His body was beginning to stop its protests against movement, so he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stared around at the room.

The more he looked, the more familiar it seemed. Yet he still couldn’t place it; it was like an old memory just out of his reach.

He swung his legs once, twice, checking the muscles. His body seemed to be slowly realizing that it was no longer in danger of being sliced into small pieces, and his protesting lungs were finally calming down enough for him to take deep breaths.

It was only after he calmed himself down that he realized he’d been shaking.

The door clicked open, and the light clicked on. Kamui brought a hand up to shield his eyes, blinking wildly and trying to dispel the looming headache. Just when his eyes had adjusted to the darkness.

“You’re up.”

He froze, eyes going wide underneath his hand.

“That was quite the fever you were running. We were all worried about you.” His mother came to press a hand against his forehead, pulling his hand away from his eyes. “Are you feeling better now?”

He gasped for air. His lungs seemed to have stopped working again. His voice wouldn’t function. He couldn’t say anything. His mind was frozen.

“Kamui?” she prompted.

“M – Mother?”

“Yes, it’s me. Is something wrong?”

A dream, his mind told him, a nightmare at the moment of death, life flashing before your eyes. But as his eyes darted around the room again, he became more sure of it. This wasn’t what his room in Okinawa had looked like at all. The build was different, the furniture was in different places.

“Kamui, look at me.”

He did, and realized that he was shaking again. Tooru – his mother – frowned, pressing her hand against his forehead again. She rested her other hand against her own forehead.

“You don’t seem to have a fever…” she muttered. “But you’re shaking, and you still seem a bit delusional. Maybe you should get some more rest.”

“Where are we?” he asked suddenly. Tooru furrowed her own eyebrows, looking down at him. He swallowed once, then repeated his question. “Where are we, right now?”

“At home,” she said, as if it should have been obvious. “In Tokyo.”

He sank back, shoulders slumping as he stared at the floor.

“Did you have a nightmare?” she asked, eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re not being yourself.”

“I…” he fished for an excuse, “I still don’t feel very good…”

As if on queue, his stomach lurched. He pressed a hand to his mouth, shuddering and swallowing the bile that rose in his throat.

“Maybe I should get you to the hospital,” Tooru muttered. “If you’re this sick. I wouldn’t want Fuuma and Kotori to catch it.”

Fuuma and –

“Fuuma and Kotori?!” He couldn’t stop himself from asking it.

Tooru’s eyebrows only furrowed further. She knelt before Kamui, inspecting his face from below now.

“Yes, Fuuma and Kotori,” she said, carefully. “You know, the ones who live next door?”

Next door –

He sank forward again, shoulders slumping as his hand moved up to his forehead. He suddenly felt hot, covered in sweat, and the air felt far too cold on his skin. A surge of nausea welled up from the pit of his stomach, and his lungs started protesting again. He could feel his sense of balance failing.

Tooru caught him before he fell off the bed, and helped him back under the heaping pile of blankets. The warmth was a comfort, and Kamui nuzzled into it, closing his eyes and pressing his face into his pillow.

“You must have had some nightmare,” Tooru said, testing his temperature with the palm of her hand once more. “Your fever’s returned, at any rate. Get some rest, Kamui. I’ll let your teachers know you won’t be in school tomorrow.”

Kamui wanted to ask since when he’d consistently attended school, but could find no protests. His mind was already shutting down under the heat from the blankets, and his mother’s cool fingers were tracing the side of his face.

“Just a nightmare, Kamui,” she said as he drifted off to sleep. He didn’t notice the slight shake to her voice. “That’s all it was. A dream.”

The world faded instead of shattering this time.

When Kamui opened his eyes next, his head was throbbing, but the ache in his lungs had pleasantly subsided, as had the burning sensation in his muscles. The room was still dark, but now there was light coming in through the window.

“Kamui-chan!”

He blinked blearily once or twice before the voice registered in his mind and he jerked upright.

“Kotori?!”

The girl was sitting in a chair near the foot of his bed, watching him intently. Her long hair was pulled into a ponytail, tied with a pink ribbon.

Kamui pressed a hand to his temple, the sudden movement from his bed making him dizzy. With a groan, he settled back into bed, closing his eyes.

“You shouldn’t get up, Kamui-chan,” she said softly, tucking the blankets back over him once he’d gotten back into bed. “You’re really sick. Aunt Tooru didn’t even want me to come in and see you, but she let me anyway. Fuuma was here for a while, but he had to go to basketball practice.”

“Fuuma was here?” he asked weakly, looking up at Kotori. He still felt on edge, like this was some sort of illusion that was only going to shatter to leave him with a dead Kotori and a Fuuma he didn’t know.

“He’s been just as worried as I have,” Kotori clarified. “When we heard you were sick, we came over as soon as we could.”

Kamui swallowed as the bile began to rise in his throat again. All he could see when looking at Kotori was her with wide, blank, glassy eyes, blood trailing from her mouth, her body being cut into pieces by wire.

He was nearly sick right there.

“Kamui-chan,” Kotori whispered when he’d swallowed the bile again and quit his shaking, “is something wrong? Aunt Tooru said that you were having nightmares.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, not meeting Kotori’s eyes. “I was.” He wiped the sweat from his forehead.

“Were they horrible?” she asked, eyebrows furrowing.

“Yeah,” he said, closing his eyes. “I really don’t want to talk about them.” Kotori’s blood all over the ground, Fuuma smiling.

And now, Kamui, I am going to kill you.

The very thought of Fuuma – that other Fuuma – and Kotori’s death sent his ehad spinning. Pain seared down his spine again. He let out a small noise, pressing one hand to his forehead.

“Kamui-chan…” Kotori whimpered.

“I’ll be fine,” he forced himself to say. “I’ll be fine.”

There was a rustle of cloth, and when he pulled his hand away from his eyes, Kotori had stood up and was walking toward the door.

“I wish you would tell me when something is bothering you, Kamui-chan…” And with a set of clicks from the door, she was gone again.

Kamui laughed despite himself, pressing his hands to his face again. “What am I supposed to tell you, Kotori? ‘In my dreams, the world ended, and you died’?” Another laugh, high and bitter, cracked from his lips. “I can’t tell you that.”

“Can’t tell her what?”

Kamui rolled over, ignoring the voice of his mother as she came back into the room.

“I brought you some food,” she said, making her way to the chair where Kotori had been sitting moments before. She was holding a small bowl of white rice and a pair of chopsticks. “I didn’t know if you’d be hungry, but I thought I might as well try.”

“I don’t think I could keep it down,” Kamui said, barely glancing at his mother before settling back into bed.

“Kamui…” She set the bowl aside. “I’m your mother. You can tell me what’s bothering you.

He didn’t answer, shifting his shoulders so his face was pressed into his pillow.

Tooru folded her hands in her lap, and asked, calm and clear, “Did you dream about the end of the world?”

His shoulders stiffened.

“I thought so.” She pressed a hand to her forehead and sighed. “Kamui, I’ve told you. It’s nothing to worry about. You’ll be fine. Everything will work out. I have faith in you.”

He mumbled a soft “you shouldn’t” into his pillow, too quiet for his mother to hear.

“Besides,” Tooru continued, “it’s still 1998, you have plenty of time to spare. I don’t know what you’re so worried about.”

He shifted again, turning over to face her.

“I dreamed that Kotori…” he choked on the words, couldn’t bring himself to say what had happened to Fuuma. What he had done to Fuuma.

“It was only a nightmare.” She placed cool fingers on his forehead; he closed his eyes. “You’re panicking over nothing, Kamui.” After a moment, she added, “Your fever’s gone down. That’s a good sign.”

“Still feel like shit,” he mumbled as Tooru stood up, retrieving the bowl of rice.

“You’ll be all right,” she said, her fingers running through his hair. “Take a bit to recover, and you’ll be fine. I’m sorry for letting Kotori in here, but she insisted. Fuuma may come by later.”

“If I’m sleeping, wake me up,” Kamui mumbled, already falling asleep again. Tooru had a special way of knocking him out, it seemed. He wondered idly if she knew magic like Subaru did. A moment later, he found himself wondering what had happened to Subaru.

“All right, all right,” she said, turning and leaving the room. Kamui closed his eyes as the door shut.

He awoke to the sensation of blinding pain, like hot knives being shoved into his spine, and the sensation of someone gripping his neck, hard enough to choke him. The world was dark again, but when he opened his eyes he saw Fuuma was the one holding him, pinned against a wall. There was glass everywhere. Wires were cutting into his skin. The scars that had vanished were being carved again. He screamed.

“Did you think you could get away from me that easily, Kamui?” Fuuma taunted, grip on Kamui’s neck tightening. Kamui writhed, gasped, tried to scream again but it came out as a choked whisper. “Did you think you could escape your destiny? I’ll be the one to kill you. It’s our fate.”

Kamui screamed until he thought his lungs had burned themselves out, but all it ever came out as was a strangled whisper, no matter how loud he yelled. The cuts on his arms were getting deeper, and lancing pain arched through his spine and arms. The bones in his legs felt broken, his ribs cracked, his spine seared a trail of agony down the middle of his back.

“Fuuma, Fuuma,” and it was still a whisper, “Fuuma, please, I don’t want to do this, I don’t want to fight you –”

“Is that your true wish, Kamui?” Fuuma’s arm was coming back in an arch, hand curling itself into a shape like a knife, a dull dagger that Kamui knew would kill him in a single stroke. Carve out his heart like a piece of meat.

“I don’t know what I want!” Kamui yelled as loud as he could, “can’t you see that?!”

And in a storm of feathers Fuuma was gone and Kamui was on the ground, Kotori’s dead body in pieces before him. His shaking fingers found her head, held it against his chest, and he sobbed though no tears would come.

“Not this,” he said, pressing his face into Kotori’s long hair. “I don’t want this.”

And then Kotori was gone too, and Kamui was back in the darkness, alone for a moment before the black gave way to a spread of Tokyo underneath him, and he was atop Tokyo Tower. The city was prospering, all the lights on and flickering like fireflies, before the world started to crumble into dust.

The screams were deafening, red ribbons of light dancing over the sky as Kamui watched helplessly. Streams of blue glittered over the earth in reply, but the city crumbled under the red light as, one-by-one, the blue lights went out.

His Shinken was in his hand. He got to his feet, a cloak whirling over his shoulders like an oversized scarf, and turned as he felt a sickly sensation in his back, something strong and powerful ripping from his shoulderblades.

A mirror image awaited him, black demon’s wings spread and Shinken at the ready. Kamui lunged, and a burst of gold light flowed over the tower as he fought himself.

The clashing sound of steel rang in the air, a sickly sort of melody. Kamui had never learned to use a sword, never, not that he could remember, but he was fighting as if he’d been born with the Shinken in his hands. The swords met again and again, flickering lights through the air as they clashed. His other self fought as ferociously as Kamui did, and the sound of steel on steel was a terrible symphony over the falling city of Tokyo.

The world was dying.

Clang. Clang. The last strike sheared the other Kamui’s sword in two, and Kamui himself leapt back.

“I won’t let you do this to me.” He lunged.

When his sword hit, it was Fuuma that fell to the ground, dead.

Kamui’s shinken fell to the ground, scratched and dented all over the edges. The city below him was flooding.

“Fuuma,” he whispered, and fell back.

The tower below him seemed to disappear, and he was falling, too far to live, too far. The water loomed before him, above him, below him. The world spun.

The reflection seconds before he hit was of himself with an Angel’s wings.

He hit the water.

“Kamui!”

He jerked awake with a start, breathing hard and tasting blood in his mouth. He was still laying down, under the heap of blankets, and a tall figure was standing over him.

“W-water,” Kamui gasped, “please.”

Strong hands lifted him to a sitting position and held a cup to his mouth. He swallowed, weakly at first.

“You must really be burning up,” Fuuma said. “That was some nightmare. You were thrashing around and screaming, but wouldn’t respond when I tried to wake you.”

“Fuuma,” Kamui said, and looked away. “It was just a dream.”

“I’m sure,” Fuuma said. “Some dream. Have you been getting into fights lately?”

Kamui shook his head. How was he supposed to know whatever he had been doing? He didn’t even know if the nightmare he had lived through had been some long fever dream or not.

“Good.” Fuuma sounded approving. Sounded like Fuuma. Kamui couldn’t look at him.

This is all an illusion, and it’s all about to break.

“What was that dream about, anyway?” Fuuma leaned over, arms folded. “You kept screaming like you were being killed.”

“Mm.” Kamui chose not to answer, keeping his eyes on his quilt. He picked at the stitching. Fuuma’s eyes followed his hand, and Kamui heard a soft, slight gasp from the other boy.

“Fuuma?” He glanced up as Fuuma grabbed his hand and examined it.

“Kamui,” Fuuma said evenly, “where did this come from?”

“Where did what come from?” Kamui asked, still trying to recover from his nightmare.

Fuuma lowered Kamui’s hand so that Kamui could see it. There, on the back, was a scar, running from just below his middle knuckle to just above his wrist joint.

“It’s on the inside of your hand, too,” Fuuma said, sternly. Kamui stared at his hand blankly. “It looks like something – something big – cut all the way through your hand.”

The Shinken scar was still there. Kamui tried to say something, but his words stuck in his throat. Even the lies wouldn’t come.

Fuuma inspected it further, running one finger over the thin line of scar tissue. A burning pain hissed through Kamui’s hand, and with a cry he raised his free hand to his forehead. His headache was back, and with a vengeance.

“Kamui?” Fuuma asked, alarmed, as Kamui slumped forward, unconscious.

Mon, 03 Apr 2006 17:00:36 GMT

Title: Parallel
Fandom: X/1999
Characters: Various
Part 1/??
Rating: PG to PG-13 for this chapter, fic may elevate to R status at any time.
Notes: The plotbunnies wouldn't go away. Damn them.
Summary: Kamui realizes his real wish, and in an instant, the world changes itself to accompany it.

The world was made of deafening white noise. Kamui couldn't focus, between the roaring in his ears and the sensation of blood rushing to his wounds. A trail of red dribbled down his chin. His stomach churned, threatening to heave up the nothing that he had eaten.

And over him stood Fuuma, yellow-brown eyes oddly blank.

The only thing that Kamui could bring himself to think was, so this is how it ends.

He'd never been one for melodramatic movies and plays; his life was plenty melodramatic on its own, thank you very much. Besides, the words the characters spewed were all thick, heavy ideals and exaggerated nonsense, put into a blender and set on puree. They never failed to make Kamui want to vomit.

And here he was, helpless and pinned, and all that could come to his mind were those same melodramatic lines he always hated.

So this is how the world ends.

And all he felt was an odd sense of regret.

The world was ending. He had lost. And here he was, and all he could think of was that he hadn't been able to get Fuuma back.

Subaru had said it too. That Kamui had another wish, one he didn't realize. But all Kamui could think was Fuuma, I want to save Fuuma, I want Fuuma to come back to what he used to be, and he was sure that Subaru and Fuuma -- whoever Fuuma was now -- were both mistaken. They couldn't possibly know how much he wanted Fuuma, his Fuuma, to come back.

"You lose, Kamui." He hefted the Shinken upward, face still blank, even of its trademark smirk. Kamui tried to move, pull up his own Shinken as a defense, but every muscle in his body screamed in protest and he winced at the very thought of moving.

Subaru watched from a pillar in the rubble, cloak waving about him like a war-torn battle flag. His mismatched eyes were as blank as Fuuma's expression, but his mouth moved silently, forming words Kamui couldn't hear.

Where are the others? Kamui turned his head, looking for Yuzuriha, Karen, Aoki. Where had they gone? Were they safe? Were they running away?

"You shouldn't worry about them," Fuuma said, his swordpoint hovering just above Kamui's chest. Kamui glanced back up. Fuuma's face was still blank. "You should be more worried about yourself. Unless you realize your wish, you will die here."

"I know my wish," he said, frustrated. "I want you to be the old Fuuma again. The Fuuma I knew."

The swordpoint came up a bit as Fuuma adjusted his footing so he could strike easier.

"Wrong answer."

"Kamui," Subaru's voice called, though Subaru himself didn't move. "Think about it. You know it's in there."

"I don't know!" he yelled. Fuuma's eyes slid to Subaru, and he shook his head. Subaru compliantly took one, two steps back, and Kamui caught the whiff of blood -- Fuuma's? Subaru's? His own? -- on the wind that wandered over the ruined city of Tokyo.

"You should listen to him," Fuuma said in an undertone as Subaru moved away. "He knows your situation better than you think." Another small adjustment of the Shinken, and of Fuuma's footing. "I'll even be courteous and give you a few moments to think about it."

Think about what? Kamui's mind went blank as the Shinken moved up, each small adjustment bringing him a second closer to the end of his life and the end of the world. All he could think of was Kotori, dead, eyes as blank as mirrors; Fuuma, covered in her blood, smiling, eyes almost gold in the dim light; a promise that Kamui would die at Fuuma's hand, the fact that the promise was about to be fulfilled; all the people that would suffer as their world crashed down around them.

The Shinken stopped its ascent. Fuuma's eyes were half-lidded.

Fuuma's old smile and a promise to always protect Kamui, Kotori's smiles and ribbons in her blonde hair, Subaru's striken face as the Sakurazukamori died, Yuzuriha and Inuki, Saiki, Karen, Sorata and Arashi and Aoki...

"Time's up."

There seemed a pause an eternity long as the tip of the sword touched Kamui's chest.

"I wish... it didn't have to happen this way."

And then there was pain, and the world screamed along with every muscle in his body before it all shattered like a glass ball.

The last thing Kamui could recall hearing was Fuuma's voice.

"Wish granted."

1sentence challenge: Alex/Mia

Sun, 26 Feb 2006 20:04:18 GMT

Fandom: Golden Sun
Author: dots @ dotscribbles
Pairing: Alex/Mia ("Imilshipping")
Theme set: Beta
Rating: PG to PG-13, though if you really tried you could interpret a couple as NC-17.
Notes: These take place at assorted time periods. Some are pre-games, some are during the games, some are after, and a couple are completely AU that never happened at all.

1 (walking)
She had never much enjoyed walking in the night with the cold air shrouding her shoulders, but did all the same, trying to ignore the ice and frost that reminded her of home, of the frost-colored skies over an unlit lighthouse, and the smiles of a man with eyes as cold as the winter's moon.

2 (waltz)
"You do it like this, Mia," he'd said, and led her into a whirl of spins and steps that made her dizzy enough that she needed to sit down afterward, and he had laughed and said that she'd improve if she had some practice.

3 (wonder)
There were, of course, moments when she sat down and pondered what had become of the Alex she knew, the one with the smiles and the laughter and the stern determination, but the moments were always ended with the echoes of his voice saying he couldn't stay the same Alex forever -- and, of course, she knew that he had always been that same Alex, and she was just too blind to see.

4 (wishes)
In the older days they'd sat out in the cold, sipping hot tea or hot cider, it didn't matter which, and stared up at the sky; they'd counted the stars and made promises whenever they saw one falling, and even now, she sometimes sat alone after everyone else had fallen asleep, staring up at the starlight dancing in the tree-leaves.

5 (worry)
She'd once made him soup when he caught he illness that circulated Imil every year, and had said prayers at night begging Fate and Mercury and whoever else might be listening to please let him get better, to please let things pass; now she looked back on those days and dismissed them as the delusions of a young and foolish mind.

6 (whimsy)
He would watch her at night, though he was sure she never saw him, just out of a need to see her and reassure himself that everything was going on course, and that she was of course part of the game -- that it was a hobby, not a habit.

7 (waste/wasteland)
The dreams were often of the world alchemy would make under his hands, and how beautiful and blossoming it would be, like a golden flower in the midst of summer, but Mia was always there, and when she turned her eyes on him the world crumbled into waste, and he never understood why.

8 (whiskey and rum)
Saturos was a heavy drinker, and Menardi could give him quite a run for his money, while the stuff merely made Felix sick and he refused to let Jenna touch it, and Kraden would only sip at his glass as he pondered over some notes; Alex never touched it because of old healer's oaths and a knowledge that someone somewhere would never forgive him if he got drunk and did something stupid.

9 (war)
The battles they fought, few and far-between as they were, were always silent, with meetings of eyes and whole unspoken conversations (he'd never believed in telepathy for anyone but Jupiter Adepts, but she had made him wonder from time to time) flying through the air between them, and he could never tell which one of them came away the victor.

10 (weddings)
He had once caught himself wondering what Mia would look like in a dress of satin and lace, thin veil over her eyes, and had just as quickly dismissed the thought from his mind, not sure of what it was doing there in the first place.

11 (birthday)
It was her birthday, and there were only two people in the world who knew it; one sat outside a tiny camp, staring up at the stars and wiping away her tears, while the other stared at the trinkets in a shop before turning away and pretending he'd never looked at them at all.

12 (blessing)
Ply, the messenger of the Goddess Mercury, hovered over him, just beyond what he could see through his eyelashes, and when he found it in himself to speak, it came out a blood-choked "Mia?"

13 (bias)
He could, of course, explain the situation to her, make it clear that he had pure intentions and that he knew what he was doing, but he knew just as well as he knew himself that Mia would never see his breed of reason; she'd been too "purified," too corrupted by the teachings of the temple and what everyone she traveled with told her.

14 (burning)
The pain was enough that it felt like his very blood was on fire, the world and earth crumpling around him like an old paper being thrown in the fire, and he could not move -- not even his voice would come, and he tried to set his mind to praying but could only see the image of Mia and the vindictive look upon her face.

15 (breathing)
She had laid beside him in bed one cold winter night, and the both of them fully-clothed, too cold and too young not to be, content to lean their heads against each other and fall asleep to the rhythm of each other's heartbeats and quiet sound of their own breathing.

16 (breaking)
She thinks that her bones are broken, possibly her whole right arm and both her legs, and it hurts to breathe so her ribs are probably cracked as well, and then Alex is there and healing her with white-shimmering hands and she wants to know how he got there so quickly, when no one else has found her yet after her fall, but she already knows that he won't give her an answer.

17 (belief)
He's not sure if he remembers how to pray anymore, since he's long given up illusions of Fate and Mercury and all the gods and goddesses that could ever be, and lives his life instead in the faith of (and to regain the faith of) a bright-eyed girl with ribbons in her hair.

18 (balloon)
It was a birthday gift from Alex on the day she turned seven, a bright blue balloon with her name and flowers strewn across, puffed up with air and hanging near the ceiling, longing for escape into the sky; she's since pressed it between the pages of her journal and tries not to look at it anymore.

19 (balcony)
The view from the top of Mercury Lighthouse is magnificent, and both he and Mia could enjoy it as they sat, huddled under thick fur coats and blankets, toasting their hot cider to the sunrise peeking over the edge of the sea.

20 (bane)
The more that he thinks about it, the more sure he is that she has become a toxin, running through his mind and heart and even his very veins, dancing in them as if they are hers to own -- but they are hers to own now, even if they were not before, because he has already succumbed to the addiction of her image in his eyes.

21 (quiet)
The girl was small and soft-eyed, and only told him her name when he'd already asked three times -- Mia, she said, and he responded in like near-silence that he was Alex, and it was very nice to meet her.

22 (quirks)
The truth about Alex was that he was more interested in studying than healing and more interested in experimenting than studying, and Mia, along with so many other healers, could not see how he could lose all interest in the arts ordained to him by Mercury and instead study theory, art, music, and anything relating to the Golden Age; Mia supposed it was just a quirk of his.

23 (question)
She never did find out what he had been planning to ask her the night before the strangers came and he disappeared along with them.

24 (quarrel)
They, like any other pair of friends, had their share of arguments in the healer's cloister in Imil, but he had never forgotten the hue of red she turned when one of her friends asked if the two of them were having yet another lover's spat.

25 (quitting)
Alex had, of course, always been one for melodramatics, and so she was surprised when he told her quite privately that he was abandoning his healer's training and would be teaching himself instead -- she'd been expecting him to throw down his staff or snap it in two, but he had surprised her as he always did.

26 (jump)
The ledges of the Mercury Lighthouse were smaller than they should have been, too much space between each to safely jump, and as she forced herself to climb atop one of the sacred statues to get into the deeper sanctum, she found herself wondering if he was watching and laughing at her, and her obvious distaste for defiling anything relatively holy.

27 (jester)
She tried to make herself hate him, time and time again, but when it all came back to it he was still the gentle (if stubborn) boy that had made her laugh and made her love him, and for that she could only hate him halfway.

28 (jousting)
The tournaments of Colosso were large enough that they set her head spinning, and from time to time, when watching a sparring match or a joust, she thought she saw a trail of blue (his hair, his eyes, his Psynergy) out of the corner of her eye, but soon enough concluded that she was tired and her mind was playing tricks on her.

29 (jewel)
One night she found a hairpin set with a miniature blue gem safely tucked into the pages of her journal, and knew without asking who put it there; she wore it every day from then on, but only behind her ponytail where he wouldn't see it.

30 (just)
Mount Aleph's collapse had left much of the party with different sentiments: Isaac and Garet both felt Alex responsible for their town's destruction, and said every day that his death had been justice, but every night, Mia went to her room and prayed desperately for mercy.

31 (smirk)
If there was one thing about him that annoyed her most, it was the self-assured grin he always wore that said he knew something she didn't, and the knowledge that she'd probably never be in on the secret.

32 (sorrow)
She left flowers on his grave every year.

33 (stupidity)
The letters he wrote were ripped up one-by-one and thrown into the fire; he excused that sending them would be foolish, and expecting Mia to receive them even more so, and expecting her to care enough to read them the most foolish part of all.

34 (serenade)
He had foggy, fever-hazed memories from one time when he had been sick, and the only thing that cut through the haze that had been his delusions was the sound of Mia singing him a soft lullaby.

35 (sarcasm)
She hated the way every word from his mouth dripped with mockery, and longed to just once show him that he was wrong about her, and about everything.

36 (sordid)
The simplest human fantasy was something not even Alex could rise above, and he hated himself every night he awoke panting and had to wash himself all-over to get the thoughts out of his mind and hands.

37 (soliloquy)
Drama was his flair, and he'd sometimes dreamt of performing onstage, reciting "to be or not to be," and Mia being his Ophelia.

38 (sojourn)
The night was pleasant, though both of them knew it would not last; in the morning, she'd go back to being the healer trying to save the world, and he'd be the manipulator trying to harness its power, and they'd be enemies again -- but for now he held her and pressed his face in her hair, and it was enough to have him there with him even just for a one-night retreat.

39 (share)
He decided that one day it would be the two of them and the power of alchemy, and all the rest of the world could go to waste as long as they had one another and the world and power between them; already he knew that he was being a romantic idiot.

40 (solitary)
She misses the nights when he would hold her tight, her back against his chest, her hair untied from its ponytail and hanging loose between them and the empty air; and now even her cloak doesn't seem to keep her warm enough on either cold Imilan nights or hot Suhallan ones.

41 (nowhere)
He told Saturos and Menardi that he was a wanderer, and he supposes that it's true enough, because the only place he's ever called home is a place he can't return to until he's gotten proof enough to show her what he can be for her.

42 (neutral)
Alex had never described the world in blacks and whites, and she had never quite understood that, sure that there was good and evil as much as she was sure of her faith; yet he insisted that of all the shades of grey there were in the world, both he and she were right in the middle, the perfect stir of black and white.

43 (nuance)
She knew, however, no matter how alike he claimed they were, there was always the slightest difference -- the slightest degree of darkness in him, and every time she saw that dark in his eyes and his fascination with alchemy, it scared her a little more.

44 (near)
The peak of the mountain is close enough to taste, and as he hurries to get a grasp on the rocks and pull himself up onto the summit, his only thought is that he's going to show her how right he was, and then she'll be sorry for working against him for so long.

45 (natural)
They had been raised as they were born, and born as they should be raised -- he the rebellious scholar, she the obedient healer, and Fate just cruel enough to smash them together like a child playing with a pair of dolls.

46 (horizon)
Alex had always loved the sea, and looking over it from near the base of Mercury Lighthouse, she idly hoped that maybe he was a part of it now, no matter how much more likely it was that he'd become some melding with the earth.

47 (valiant)
The group of heroes is trademark enough to make him want to vomit: the classic leader with determination in his furrowed brow, the brawny sidekick with only a sense of humor to salvage his lack of wit, the intelligent young mage with too-wide eyes, and the healer in the back staring straight at him with what looks like horror and sorrow stirred together in her eyes.

48 (virtuous)
She'd been the healer where he had failed, and the role model where he had fallen, and he supposed that was the reason his love had always been half-jealousy and half-powerlust; if anyone was to have the purest angel in Imil, it was to be him, and that was how it would be.

49 (victory)
The light is glorious and near-blinding, and as he closes his eyes he feels the power flow through him like a rush of flames, and laughs -- what are you now, Mia, for all your philosophizing and all your justification, who is the winner now?

50 (defeat)
She lies on her bed and sobs through the whole funeral, which only Felix attends for any reason besides formality, and presses her face into the pillow, wishing to drown herself in the smell of goose-down.

Tue, 07 Feb 2006 22:27:04 GMT

Title: Understand and Know
Fandom: X/Tokyo Babylon
Characters: Sumeragi Subaru
Notes: A very subpar entry for sumeragiclan's challenge about Subaru and Hokuto's parents. I feel like I can't write at all, lately. Also, beware of mutilations of Subaru's file in volume 11/the last part of Episode 9, "Onmyou."
Summary: Subaru had asked his grandmother once what had happened to his parents. Her response was always that one day, when he could understand, he would know.

The home he stepped into had the faint rattle of death hanging in it, and Subaru found it hard not to choke on the stale air. The house felt empty and ignored, more than anything else, but he put up with it; he was here on a job. He could not let the echoes of ghosts dissuade him.

The woman who greeted him showed utmost respect, though her face was familiar. Upon thought, he recognized her as a distant member of the Sumeragi clan; a member of a branch house that he was seldom acquainted with.

She explained the situation to him quietly as she led him through the house. A woman dear to her had married, and had beautiful children, she said. The children were bright and beautiful, and were born healthy and without trouble.

And then, a few days after the boy was born, the woman's husband had been killed by Sakurazukamori.

Subaru swallowed hard.

The woman continued--the woman had been driven mad with grief, the children taken away to a different relative, as the woman drove herself out of her mind. Only recently, though, has she completely lost her senses, and sold her soul to bring back a semblance of the man that had been her husband.

Subaru knew what the job would be without the woman telling him.

He swallowed hard again, fishing for his ofuda in his jacket and nearly pulling out a cigarette instead.

The door slid open. If Subaru had a cigarette in his mouth, he might have choked on it.

The woman was beautiful, if childlike in appearance. Her hair was long and wavy, stark black against her pale skin, and her eyes were a bright, vivid green. The man--the ghost, Subaru reminded himself--beside her had short, light hair, hanging over his ears and his eyes.

They looked just like all the pictures.

He was starving for a cigarette.

"Obaa-san? What happened to my mother and father?"

Lady Sumeragi, former head of the Sumeragi clan, had looked at Subaru (he had been ten, he'd already been marked) with pain in her eyes, and shook her head.

"One day," she'd said, "one day when you'll understand, you'll know."

"You're sure about this." How had his voice become so strained?

"Please."

There had been pictures in old, dust-covered albums, of who he liked to think were his parents. A beautiful woman and a handsome man, one holding him and the other holding Hokuto. Pictures of them surrounded by flowers, the man pinning a lily in the woman's dark hair.

Subaru, thirteen years old, had thought it must have been nice to be so much in love.

He had asked his grandmother again what had happened to them.

Again, she had told him that when he understood, he would know.

Fingers clasped and eyes tightly shut, he focused on the chant that would exorcise the ghost, and end the spell. It slid from his lips with the ease of many years' practice.

He didn't need to see the spell at work to know what was happening.

The shrieks of the woman were more than enough.

The first memory Subaru had was of looking up at his grandmother when he was three and asking when Mother and Father would be coming back to see him and Hokuto.

He thought he remembered his grandmother crying a little, and telling him that as soon as Mother got better, she would come to see him.

She had told him that he looked so much like Mother, that she would probably be pleased to see him. He remembered smiling and saying he couldn't wait to see her.

She never came.

The shrieks subsided after a time; Subaru knew his work was done and lowered his hands.

"Thank you," his client said. He was certain she knew; how could she not?

"Why?" he asked, softly. Why deprive someone of their happiness, no matter how twisted?

"It's better this way." His client was holding the woman like a child, gently wiping her tears. Subaru watched, unable to look directly at the woman who he had just killed. "Now she can think only of him. Because her heart is broken."

Subaru bit his lip for a moment, and wished desperately for a cigarette.

"Only those with broken hearts can think only of one person, all the time." His client stroked the woman's hair. The woman's green eyes were wide and blank. It was like looking in a mirror. "My heart, too, is broken."

"How much did Mother love Father?" Subaru had asked when he was fifteen.

His grandmother had given him that sad, distant look again.

"More than she loved to live."

Subaru had come to understand years ago that his parents were both dead. His grandmother's confirmation of it, however, did nothing but confuse him, and he wrinkled his nose.

"How can you love someone more than life?"

The sad look grew sadder, though he'd never understood why.

"When you understand, you'll know."

Subaru looked into the eyes of his mother, swallowed, and turned to leave.

X/1999; seishirou sakurazuka, breaking beauty

Thu, 19 Jan 2006 07:03:09 GMT

Fandom: X/1999
Character: Sakurazuka Seishirou
Pairing: Hints of SeixSub
Title: Breaking Beauty
Wordcount: Somewhere around 3300. The wordcount program probably counted "--" as words, so I'm not sure of the exact count.
Rating: PG-13, I suppose.
Genre: Character study
Notes: For this month's challenge at feedingthetree
Author: dots @ dotscribbles
Summary: There is something beautiful about breaking beauty. The story of Sakurazuka Seishirou's life.

There was something beautiful about breaking a pretty thing.

He supposed it was a part of the lessons his mother gave him the few times they met, about appreciating beauty. But then, he always appreciated that, even when he was seven and found a flower in the school garden. It was pretty, and when one of the other children asked to see, he destroyed it so that it couldn't be theirs.

He did not mind destroying beauty because of what it became when it was broken.

--

There was in his childhood home a glass vase, which glittered and sparkled like a jewel. He had sat for hours watching the light glance off it, and the water inside, making little spots of light on the walls. There had been a fat cat which waddled about the floor, chasing the lights as they lazily moved along with the sun.

Seishirou was three then.

The woman who raised him, some distant relative of Setsuka's who was famed for training various Sakurazukamori, had, one day, picked up the vase and shattered it upon the floor. Seishirou cut his hands on the pieces when he tried to pick them up.

She had hit him when he cried and told him that it was useless to cry over something worthless and broken.

He wrapped the bloodstained glass in a handkerchief and hidden it under his mattress. Sometimes he took it out and held it in the sunlight to watch the light dance. It always attracted the attention of the waddling cat, who came in to chase the light on the floor.

One day the woman had caught Seishirou playing with the glass and the cat. She had killed it the next day. Seishirou had seen the carcass lying on the doorstep.

This time he did not cry, but sat down and combed at the waddling cat's thick, fluffy brown hair that curled over its ears. Its eyes were a fogged glass-green, and he thought that it was strange how the cat looked in death, like a fantasy lion from a storybook.

The woman found him there and took him inside, away from the cat. His hands were already covered in the blood that had been staining its throat, and she washed them with soap that smelled like lavender. She scrubbed them so raw that they burned, and then she hit him when he screamed.

A Sakurazukamori, she said, does not scream.

--

When Seishirou was six, there was a market, full of trinkets which were mostly ugly and misshapen. People bought them and called them cute; he didn't know why. Most of them were hideous.

He grew curious.

Seishirou tugged at the woman's arm, asking for her to please-oh-please let him have one. She told him that he should not beg, he should be proud, and he tried stomping his feet and screaming instead. When there was still no response to that besides the stares of the other people in the market, he tried his third approach.

He picked up a trinket, turned to the woman, and said simply that it was his now.

She bought it for him.

The trinket was exceptionally ugly, a glass animal of some sort he couldn't distinguish. Some kind of horse, with a long neck and a single prong upon its head. When he asked, the woman told him it was a unicorn.

He inspected it calmly, and then threw it to the floor. The pieces of glass scattered, and the unicorn's misshapen head was the only thing left intact. He picked it up and snapped the horn off, staring into the beady glass eyes.

The woman asked him why he had done it. He said because it was ugly.

She asked if he was satisfied, and he said no. There was no satisfaction in breaking something ugly, not even the distant sense of loss he felt when something remotely attractive was broken.

She handed him a glass bowl, sparkling with light and carved roses on the sides, and told him to break it.

He did, and smiled as he picked up the pieces afterward.

--

He met his real mother when he was nine years old, and she was like a living doll. Her skin was porcelain and her lips were red, her hair stark black against her pale skin. He could hardly believe a person that fragile and small could exist in reality, that her body was not just one large marionette.

She was beautiful. He could not deny that.

She was possibly the most beautiful person he had ever seen.

Her smile was almost angelic as she told him that he was her child. He could not deny it, but he also could not confirm it. She was a human, just as the woman with the hard eyes that raised him was human, and he felt nothing but an odd sense of wonder at her beauty.

She told him he would kill her. He began to wonder what she would look like when she was broken.

--

When Seishirou was ten, the woman bought another cat, though this one did not waddle through the house like the last one had. This one was skinny and slinky, and Seishirou often fount it twining itself around and between his legs. It slept on his bed at night or in the day, when he curled up against his pillow with his books open on his lap. The books were about onmyoudou, the balance of light and dark, the five-pointed star connecting all the elements with one another.

He had been reading the books since he knew how to read, and sometimes the woman tested him on what he knew, grilling him mercilessly with questions and spells to see if he wavered. He often did. She would send him to bed without dessert, which was punishment more than she knew since he so liked sweets.

One day she found him outside, book of spells and incantations draped over his lap as he watched the cat wandering near the trees. The woman asked if he was studying, and his only reply was to ask why there weren't any sakura trees here.

The woman seemed to approve of that momentarily, and then hit him with a spell between the eyes that sent him reeling back in pain. He knew at once that it was a test and set about trying to find the focus of the spell, the core of it, because the spell was too strong to be just set on her own fingertips. He clawed at his eyes, gasping, and after a while she removed the spell when he could do nothing more to combat it.

He went to bed without supper, but was content to have a candy that she sent up to him later. The candy was cherry-flavored and sickeningly sweet, and he ate it without complaint.

The next day he was terribly sick and again suspected it was a spell, likely laid on the candy he ate last night. The woman watched him with her hard brown eyes and the message was clear: he should have known better.

From then on, he was far more careful with anything he was given to eat.

An assassin, the woman said, had to keep an eye out for other assassins as well.

--

The cat lived with them for a time as Seishirou gradually grew better at detecting spells and combating them. Several nights he went without dinner because the spells were laid so thick on the food that he could not peel them off. He knew the hunger was another message: learn how to remove those spells, quickly and easily, or face the consequences.

Seishirou had grown used to unspoken messages in his lifetime.

The woman found him sitting outside and watching the cat again, and with curiosity in her face, ordered him to kill it.

He held the cat like a baby, rubbing his hand under its chin as it purred, and then carefully broke its neck.

He looked at the carcass and smiled, pleased with how the cat's lips curled back and its eyes were fogged, the softness of its fur and the odd, painful angle of its neck.

He asked what he should do with it. The woman put an illusion up in moments, with a large sakura at the center of a field of blankness.

He laid the cat at the sakura's roots, and watched for a while.

Then he went back inside and scrubbed his hands clean of blood with soap that smelled of lavender. He scrubbed his hands so raw they burned, and frowned when he could not get the blood out from underneath his fingernails.

--

He met his mother again, with the smell of blood on his school uniform from another test the woman had given him. The tests were frequent now, and he learned how to kill without touching or with his bare hands as a knife, ripping into flesh or simply dissolving it in a rain of illusion. He learned how to summon up the illusory realm holding the sakura by himself, and he ate every night after several minutes of peeling the spells from his food.

He never went to bed without dessert.

She said it again, then, that he would be the one to kill her. And again he found his mind wandering to the idea of her, shattered, curled and twisted over the roots of her precious tree. This time the image was more vivid than it had been when he was nine; he could see the way her blood would fall over the ground, the color it would stain her shroud-pale skin, the way her lips would be slightly parted. The spray of her hair against the earth.

He thought she would be more beautiful to kill in the winter, because then her blood would stain the snow like a flower. And the way her black hair would fall on snow would be far prettier than it would look on grass or plain dirt.

She told him he had a heart but no heart, a body but no soul. He found no reason to argue.

He went back to the woman's home and studied his books. That night she sent up a bag of cherry candies to him.

He knew they were another test, and ate every last one.

When he woke up the pain rattled through his chest like a dying gasp, but with a few quick words and his etching a symbol into the back of his hand with a dull knife, the pain was gone.

The woman stood in the door and looked appeased.

--

Seishirou had written everything he could recall speaking with about his mother in a tiny paper notebook. On the cover was a cat, and the pages were blank white. He told the woman he was practicing his kanji; she knew it was a lie but left him alone anyway. (The Sakurazukamori had to be a liar, she had said once, in order to survive.)

The script filled the page, his kanji already neat and unsmudged. He had never needed to practice it.

"You have a heart, but you don't have a heart."

"You do not fear death."

"You have nothing precious, nothing you would regret losing."

"You do not care about me at all."
"That's not true."
"How can you say that?"
"Because you are beautiful."

He slid a hand under his mattress and found a handkerchief full of bloodstained green-clear glass. He held the shards up to the light and watched the sun dance off the glass and cast lights on the wall.

When the woman came to check on him, he was busily studying his onmyoudou books and rehearsing his hand-signs.

--

She died when he was fifteen, and only because she had asked him to kill her.

Something about that was wrong, he thought, old lessons (a Sakurazukamori does not beg, does not plead for mercy) that he ignored. He smiled and killed her, and she was the first human he killed.

She was just as beautiful as he had always imagined, black hair like silk spread across the red-tinged snow. There was steam rising from the snow, the smell of blood thick in the air, and she was smiling.

He kissed her as she died, her beauty magnificent enough to allow him one moment of indulgence. He gave her body to the tree, and felt the power of the true Sakurazukamori rush through him. Like standing under a waterfall, like being drowned slowly in torrential rain.

He did not cry; he smiled.

She was all the more beautiful with blood traced over her pale cheeks and dribbling down her kimono (patterned with camellias, she'd always loved them) and with her eyes gently shut. He knew they were glassy and fogged under the eyelids. Her body was still warm and her lips were still smiling, and so he smiled too.

She was beautiful when she was broken.

--

The woman was the next to die, and she did not seem surprised when he found her alone in her dark room, reading an old romance novel.

He explained calmly that it was nothing personal, but the government saw no need to continue her services and quite frankly neither did he. (Setsuka had told him he did not fear death because he loved nothing, but had also told him the one he loved would kill him. He supposed this meant no one would kill him ever; therefore he would be the last Sakurazukamori and there would be no need to train a successor.)

She died calmly. He was displeased; she was not nearly as beautiful as Setsuka had been underneath the sakura. But it was blood and death all the same, and though she was not as beautiful as his mother, she was still more beautiful broken than she had been alive with the hard eyes.

--

The boy was not supposed to be there.

Seishirou did not know how he had found his way into the illusory realm he had set up after killing the girl under the sakura in Ueno park, the resting place of his sakura's physical form. No one should have been able to enter the illusion, but there the boy was, wearing white shikifuku and holding a set of ofuda in his hand.

The boy flung them at the tree and began an exorcism; Seishirou watched. There was no need for him to halt the boy's actions; the tree, ancient as it was, maintained its own defenses.

The ofuda burned to slivers, and the boy stumbled. Seishirou watched.

A splatter of blood fell from his fingers, and onto the boy's hands.

He looked up, and had the most beautiful green eyes.

--

It was hot that day, abnormally so, and so he held his jacket folded in one arm instead of wearing it. He was tempted to remove his suit coat as well, but decided against it.

And looked up and paused.

There was a boy running headlong down the opposite platform, staring into the air where Seishirou could see a multi-headed bird. He wasn't interested in that, however; he'd seen plenty of shikigami in his lifetime and this one would not be the last.

The boy's hands were far more interesting than his shikigami, besides.

The boy was slim and amazingly feminine, large eyes and long eyelashes with a body that looked like it was made of sticks. His skin was pale, his hair jet-black.

His hands were gloved, but Seishirou could see through the cloth and to the bright stars that burned below.

When the boy tripped, Seishirou casually made his way to the opposite platform and introduced himself. The boy said his name was Sumeragi Subaru, and apologized profusely as Seishirou helped him to his feet.

He still had the most beautiful green eyes. Seishirou wondered how they would look glassed-up and fogged-over, like the cat's, like his mother's.

He supposed he'd find out soon enough.

--

The boy was incomparably beautiful when he was broken, just as Seishirou had expected. Those wide green eyes blank and wet with tears, the blood from his broken arm and his mouth dribbling in a curl down his skin, his matted hair. The sorrow on his face as he was drawn into the tree.

Seishirou was, however, dissatisfied with the lack of struggle. Everyone he had killed struggled, tried to run free, except for his mother and the hard-eyed woman who taught him from when he was small. (A Sakurazukamori does, a Sakurazukamori does not.) The lack of struggle was beautiful in some, but for this boy it was incredibly disheartening. He shouldn't have expected the boy to fight back, not the gentle Subaru-kun with the wide innocent eyes that were the most beautiful shade of green.

He took a moment to admire the beauty of that broken face, those eyes like shattered mirrors, and decided that the reason Subaru's resigned acceptance disturbed him was because Subaru would be even more beautiful if he fought back a bit before he broke into so many more pieces.

A spell cracked his illusion, then broke it, sent across a tremendous distance by Subaru's grandmother.

It was the perfect excuse to let the boy live.

--

The years passed too slowly and too quickly at the same time, and Seishirou soon enough found himself destroying Nakano Sun Plaza out of a fit of boredom. He knew it was a barrier, one of the ones holding Tokyo together like a vast web of strings, but to be honest he didn't really care.

And there Subaru was, suddenly, and Seishirou smirked.

Their fight was over quickly, Subaru too weak (or really, holding back too much) to beat Seishirou. Subaru's coat was stained with his own blood, and his breath was coming short and harsh in gasps. Again, the color of blood was very nice on Subaru's pale skin, under his white jacket and staining his dark shirt.

Seishirou's cheek was bleeding and he couldn't bring himself to care, besides smearing his finger in it and tracing a trail over Subaru's cheekbone, just underneath his eye.

Seishirou's own blood on Subaru made him even prettier, that red stirred in with the hate in those green eyes and the bruises lining his pale skin.

Seishirou smirked and dissolved into illusion; from a distance he can see the lost expression on Subaru's face and thinks the younger onmyou is beautiful, and his shattered and twisted state was what made him that way.

He was possibly the most beautiful person Seishirou had ever seen.

--

Seishirou was sitting at home, enjoying a cup of tea by himself, and thinking rather discontentedly about Subaru.

He had broken a glass bowl when the woman with hard eyes told him to, and smiled because it was therefore his; he broke it so it belonged to him. He had found the flower in the school garden and destroyed it so it would always remain his, even if only in memory. To be true, there was a beauty in breaking the thing itself, but the truth of the matter was probably that it became so much more beautiful because it became his and his alone.

Subaru presented a difficulty. He had been broken so many times already, and yet he could always still stray from Seishirou, become someone else's property. Seishirou would take steps to eliminate that "someone else," of course, but the fact would remain that Subaru would have belonged to someone besides him.

There was, truly, only one way to break Subaru so he would remain Seishirou's forever.

Seishirou took a drink of tea.

--

Subaru's eyes were wet and there were tears on Seishirou's face but he didn't care. The blood loss had left him cold and detached and dreamy, and he was smiling the whole time he explained what exactly had happened. The expression on Subaru's face was broken into ten million pieces, an underlying layer of horror visible if you brushed the other pieces aside.

Seishirou's blood was on Subaru's cheekbone, just underneath his eye. Subaru was crying and clinging to Seishirou, pleading, and Seishirou knew that Subaru was his.

He was mildly annoyed that Subaru is blind in one eye. The boy had the most beautiful green eyes.

He said something, quiet tones of secret-keeping, and wasn't even sure what he said before he fell to the ground.

His last thought was that Subaru was possibly the most beautiful person he had ever seen.

x/1999: sumeragi subaru, 20 facts, for 20_fates

Sat, 07 Jan 2006 02:37:58 GMT

20 things that happen to Sumeragi Subaru in a day
(or, 20 random facts about Sumeragi Subaru)
for 20_fates

This probably stretches the guidelines a bit, but the facts are there if you look hard enough.

1

Subaru wakes up in the morning cold, but it's hardly a new occurrence. It's rare that he wakes up entirely comfortable. This is partly because of all his nightmares, and partly because of the fact that he almost never turns on any sort of air-control in his apartment. He doesn't turn on the air conditioning in the summer; nor does he turn on the heat in the winter. He's fine enough as it is, and he doesn't want to cost anyone any extra money than he already does by weighing down on their lives. Besides that, he's used to drifting between extremes and varying degrees of uncomfortable.

Life isn't really any different, he reasons.

2

When he wakes up one day and none of the water in his apartment is working, he apologizes to the landlady no less than twenty-one-and-a-half times over the phone as he lets her know. She grumbles and replies that she'll hire a repairman to take care of it, but only if Subaru pays for it. He agrees, and apologizes exactly five more times before she hangs up on him.

3

The repairman arrives wearing a blue jumpsuit with a toolbox that clatters metal-on-metal. He takes one look into the closet that hosts Subaru's water-heater, and nods.

"The pipes have frozen."

Subaru wonders if maybe it would be a good idea to turn on the heat once in a while.

4

As the repairman is working, and wandering back and forth between the apartment and his supply truck, he comments that Subaru's apartment seems shockingly empty. Subaru nods; there is, after all, nothing hanging on the blank white walls besides a calendar and an old picture of him and Hokuto. (Not the one with Seishirou in it; that one's in a box underneath Subaru's bed. He pulls it out and looks at it sometimes.)

Subaru asks if he has any suggestions, and is silent when the repairman asks if anyone else lives there. He doubts the repairman wants to hear about the ghost in the mirror.

5

By the time the repairman has left, Subaru has gone through half a pack of cigarettes, and it's still only noon.

He wonders if he should quit.

6

Instead, he takes a shower to guarantee that the water is working again. The pipes haven't fully unfrozen, and so the water that pours over Subaru's head and back is freezing cold. He doesn't really mind, and washes himself up anyway.

The only real difference from the other cold showers he's taken is that this one has a reason behind it besides dreams or punishing himself.

7

He's up to nearly a full pack by the time it's three in the afternoon. He hasn't smoked this much in a while, but today demands it, because it is exactly sixteen years, three months, two weeks, and four days since the day that he first met Seishirou.

He doesn't remember what happened the day exactly sixteen years from the first meeting under the tree. He supposes he doesn't want to.

8

He walks through Tokyo in a daze of wandering thought, not really seeing anyone or anything. When Kamui spots him, it takes three calls of Subaru's name to get his attention. He pauses on the corner, very nearly stepping right into traffic but avoiding it. When Kamui asks him where he's been all day, Subaru doesn't reply from behind the mask his cigarette smoke makes for him. When Kamui asks where he's going, Subaru briskly replies that he has work today and he's very sorry that he can't stay and talk but it's very pressing business.

It's only halfway a lie. Subaru finds that he tells half-lies a lot.

9

He ends up doing his job quickly, because if anything he is talented. He pretends not to know it, but it is as obvious as it gets and he really can't deny that he is good at what he does. He's grown out of the awkward self-denial he was in for so long as a teenager, and now really sees no point in acting like he used to.

While it is true that he's still useless, still hopeless, and probably more selfish than ever he has been before, he is talented at all these things and he is well-aware.

10

With the job done, he ends up in Ueno Park, looking up at the sakura tree and wishing both for Seishirou to appear and not to appear.

He seems to end up here fairly often.

"I hate you," he lies.

11

The place he runs into Seishirou is actually a small convenience store where Seishirou is buying a box of donuts. Subaru comes here often enough to get his cigarettes (there's only one left in the pack by now) but pauses when he catches sight of Seishirou.

Seishirou offers him a donut and dinner on him, on the sole condition that Subaru must eat something there because he is looking just terrible and we can't have that, now can we?

Subaru pretends Seishirou really cares, because sometimes it's nice to pretend, and agrees to go along.

12

Dinner is vastly uneventful, with Seishirou's feigned concern continuing. Subaru eats lightly, barely touching the fancy pasta that Seishirou picks out for him from the menu. When Seishirou notices that the dish is mostly untouched, he finishes it for Subaru and suggests they go out for ice cream.

Subaru hasn't eaten ice cream in nine years.

13

Before they leave, Subaru takes the dinner receipt (he's not sure why Seishirou brought him someplace so expensive) and carefully folds it (into nice, small quarters), slipping it into his coat pocket (along with Seishirou's old lighter and an empty box of cigarettes he dropped once).

14

At the ice cream parlor, Seishirou orders chocolate chip (which Subaru knows has always been his favorite). He asks Subaru what he wants, and when he gets no response orders him a bowl of fudge ripple.

Subaru likes it, but thinks he probably would have liked whatever Seishirou ordered him.

15

Seishirou's goodbyes are as casual as they have ever been and Subaru wishes he could hate him for it.

He realizes he forgot to buy his pack of cigarettes before he ran into Seishirou, and heads back to the convenience store, quietly cursing. He buys a new lighter while he's at it, and lights a cigarette the moment he steps out of the store.

He feels utterly alone even though he is surrounded by people.

16

He runs into Sorata and Kamui on the way back to his apartment. Kamui still looks worried from their run-in earlier, and shies away from Subaru as if Subaru hit him. Subaru sighs and puts out his cigarette (which is already almost gone) by dropping it and stepping on it.

Sorata is all friendliness and cheer, and asks if Subaru has eaten yet. When the response is yes, Sorata isn't put off at all, but says that it's a good thing Subaru's eating at all. Kamui, much more reserved than Sorata, asks how the job went, and then asks if Subaru's going to be alone all night.

When Subaru replies with "yes," Sorata interrupts with a chipper suggestion that he really ought to get a pet.

Subaru leaves them in a fit of silence and goes home, where he is indeed alone.

17

Subaru has been told before that he should get a pet, and has always brushed off the suggestion with the same response: he is too busy and too tired to look after an animal. His time is all taken up by work and the pursuit of Seishirou, who is always just one step ahead of him no matter what he does. When he is not sleeping, he is working or chasing, and neither is a favorable condition to own a pet in.

He sits on his bed and stares out the dark window at the city lights for a while.

Secretly, Subaru wouldn't mind having a cat.

18

He stays up late, as is his custom, and manages to get through half his pack of cigarettes in that time. He claims that the nicotine calms his nerves, prepares him for another day chasing Seishirou, makes him stronger in case he should get into a fight. In reality, they don't do any of that. They make him shake and make his mind reel, and until a couple years ago, he still choked on them every time he inhaled. He's never prepared to chase Seishirou, no matter what he does, because if you chase there is always a possibility that you will find, and, like he was tonight, Subaru knows he will be rendered immobile if he indeed finds Seishirou. And cigarettes never strengthen a person, by all the things that Subaru has been taught.

But none of that is important, because smoking is what Seishirou does, and so Subaru will do it too, because Seishirou still represents so much that Subaru wants to be.

19

He puts out his cigarette in the quickly-filling ashtray, and pulls the curtains shut, masking the lights of Tokyo.

He then turns to the mirror and tells the ghost of Hokuto good night.

He's never forgotten since the day she died.

20

It takes him an hour of lying in bed before he even begins to feels tired, but this too is something he's used to. When he finally begins to drift off to sleep, he thinks he smells sakura and tastes blood, but this is hardly new.

He dreams of sakura, as he has for sixteen years, three months, two weeks, and four (no, five, it's been five for almost an hour now) days. It too is nothing new.

new year's: x/1999, part 3

Tue, 03 Jan 2006 09:13:11 GMT

Part 3 of the New Year's pieces~!

These are the longest ones yet, and focus on pairings/couples/etc. The setting is January 2nd. Rating is still nice and low.

--

Fuuma finds Kamui sitting on a bench near Kotori's tree, looking blankly off into the distance. His hands are clasped so tight that Fuuma can nearly see the blood rushing through them; he suspect's it's Kamui's way of keeping them from shaking. All in all, though, the Light Kamui appears very alone, very cold, and very distraught.

Fuuma reconsiders talking with him for all of a moment, then draws nearer again. If Kamui sees him, he gives no indication, still staring blankly at the tree and the empty space beyond it.

Fuuma stops a few feet away, and waits. After a moment, Kamui unknots his hands, but still doesn't look at Fuuma.

"She always liked celebrating the new year," Kamui says, and his voice is distant.

Fuuma turns away from Kamui and walks to the tree, placing one hand on its bark and closing his eyes. To think he can communicate with a dead girl is foolishness; he's merely paying his respects.

"She didn't wish for you to be sad," Fuuma says thoughtfully.

"Then why did she die?" Kamui asks. Fuuma turns back to face him.

"You ask too many whys," he replies. "Why did Fuuma become what he is? Why did Kotori die? Why, why, why."

"Don't I have a right?" Kamui demands, and gets to his feet.

"You do," Fuuma says, "but it doesn't mean you have to dwell on it so much."

"I . . ." Kamui's voice dies, as if it's been cut off with a knife, and he swallows. "I want to . . ."

"No, you don't," Fuuma says, and holds out his hand. There is only a moment's hesitation before Kamui takes it.

--

Sorata finds Arashi in the kitchen, attempting to improve her vegetable-cutting skills. He's hesitant at first, but finally approaches her from behind.

She sets the knife down and turns around, face completely blank.

"Hey, I wanted to . . . uhm . . . apologize. For the other night," Sorata explains, with a gesture of his hand that he thinks should explain everything perfectly. Arashi's reply, however, is a blank look, and she turns back to the vegetables and attempts to cut them properly.

Sorata stands in awkward silence for about a full minute before Arashi glances over her shoulder at him, and in her distraction cuts her finger.

She cries out softly and drops the knife, which clatters to the counter. She stares at the cut on her finger and the small red drops of blood welling up from it, until Sorata grabs her by the wrist and drags her over to the kitchen sink. His voice is casual and rushed at the same time as he explains that she needs to wash out the cut first, unless she wants it to get infected and turn green and puff up. He scrubs the cut with soap, which makes it sting, and then dries her hand. After he gives her a band-aid, he raises her finger to his lips and makes a joke about kissing it better.

Those hundred emotions rush through Arashi's eyes again, and she pulls her hand away. Sorata starts to leave, but stops when Arashi leans up and presses a kiss to his cheek. She leaves the room empty except for Sorata and a mess of poorly-chopped vegetables.

Sorata holds his hand against his cheek, and stares off in the direction that Arashi went.

--

Upon reaching the park and finding Kusanagi, Yuzuriha apologizes profusely to him that she wasn't able to make it to meet him on New Year's Day. But he replies that it's fine, and busies himself with petting Inuki.

Yuzuriha talks idly of whatever strikes her fancy, but mostly the weather and what a relief it is that those earthquakes have stopped for the moment. Kusanagi is very willing to talk about the weather but much less so when it comes to the earthquakes, and Yuzuriha makes a decision to avoid that topic from now on.

There is a fleeting, brief moment where she considers fulfilling her resolution right here and now and telling him how much he means to her, but doesn't carry through. She's happy enough as it is.

So instead, she asks if he'd like to go get some chocolate parfait, her treat. The look on his face is momentarily troubled as he considers it, and Yuzuriha very nearly asks him what's on his mind.

Kusanagi starts to say something, but hesitates and his sentence changes into an affirmation that yes, chocolate parfait would be great, but why doesn't he let her treat? She insists that it wouldn't be fair because he always treats and she really doesn't want him to go broke just from treating her to ice cream all the time!

Kusanagi's laugh lights up his whole face and makes Yuzuriha smile, and she's certain that she's going to be able to keep her resolution this year.

--

When Yuuto comes with cake and tea to try and get Satsuki to celebrate the new year in some fashion, Beast rumbles and shakes the floor again. This makes the second time in two days, and Satsuki grumbles that it must be malfunctioning as she climbs out of the wire-nest. Yuuto comments that he's never heard a computer growl before, to which Satsuki replies that there is no other computer like Beast.

The tea and cake is set up shortly, and the two of them have a delightful conversation about what awaits them in the new year. Yuuto comments that he hadn't been expecting to live long enough to see the turn of the century, to which Satsuki precisely replies that the turn of the century does not occur until the year is 2001. Yuuto laughs and says that maybe he won't see it, then, and for a few brief moments Satsuki looks uncomfortable.

He blinks at her and offers her a refill of her tea, wondering if the cold of the computer room has finally gotten to her. She shakes her head, then takes a deep breath and pushes up her glasses.

The instant she kisses Yuuto, there is another one of those mechanical growls and the lights all through the basement suddenly explode.

Yuuto, of course, takes advantage of the darkness. Why pass up a good opportunity?

--

Aoki comes to Flower with a red face and his eyes on the floor, and stutters when he requests to see Kasumi Karen. Luckily for him, Karen is right nearby and saves him from the embarrassment of being asked to clarify. She takes him up to her room, where they share tea and conversation.

Karen asks Aoki about his family, to which he shares tales what of what he refers to as Yuuka's Christmas Escapades. Karen laughs herself out of breath, smiling and pressing a hand to her chest as she calms herself down afterward. In return, Aoki asks about her holidays, and isn't content to accept just a reply that they were all fine. He is, however, perfectly content to listen to her description of the Christmas services she attended, and smiles at her when she says that New Year's was incredibly dull in comparison.

Their conversation remains calm and tame throughout all that they talk about. As Aoki gets up to leave, with a small bow of thanks, Karen is happy to see him leaving with a smile. Just before he exits, he asks if she'd like to have dinner with his family sometime. She's taken aback for a moment, but accepts cheerfully and sees him to the exit.

She takes her lunch break afterward, smiling and humming "Auld Lang Syne" under her breath as she picks up her jacket and heads onto the street. If she tries, maybe she can catch up with Aoki and they can get something to eat together.

--

Fuuma does not come to see Kakyou today, and so the dreamseer is incredibly lonely. Much as he denies it, there's a comforting presence in having someone with him to talk to him, even if it's the Dark Kamui.

He's feeling better today than he was yesterday, and so draws up the seaside landscape he so often retreats to. The gulls wheel overhead, and Kakyou lets his hand drop into the ocean, to feel the cool water.

"I should hope you're not just going to spend your next whole year in here!" a spritely voice says, and Kakyou turns to face the memory-ghost of Hokuto. "It's not good for you, you know! You should get out once in a while!"

Kakyou doesn't answer, but watches.

The memory-ghost skips over the ocean water, not even making ripples as she does. She bends down in front of Kakyou, examining him with those large green eyes.

"Wanting to die is just stupid, you know," she says casually and informatively, pointing at him with one finger. "You're just like Subaru! Both of you are idiots, I swear. Now that I'm not around to look after you two, really!"

Kakyou doesn't reply.

"Oh, come on, Kakyou, stop being such a downer." Hokuto extends a hand to him. "Are you coming outside with me, or not?"

There, the memory-ghost freezes, in the same position Kakyou has had locked in his mind for years.

He sits and watches it for a while.

--

Subaru doesn't expect to see Seishirou under the tree at midday, and without his sunglasses on either.

"Subaru-kun," Seishirou says. Subaru wonders why he's even here; he doesn't have any weapons at all besides his own two hands with him. But that's not an issue; it's clear that there will be no fighting today.

"Seishirou-san," Subaru replies, and fishes for a cigarette. By the time he has it out, Seishirou is holding out a lighter.

Seishirou puts his lighter away as Subaru takes a long drag from his cigarette. Examining Subaru carefully, he asks, "How's your resolution coming, Subaru-kun?"

Subaru glances at Seishirou out of the corner of his eye, and asks a moment later, "How do you know about that?"

"I heard you," Seishirou says, and gestures to the tree. "I was here. Besides that, it's only the same one you've been making every year since Hokuto died."

Subaru looks at Seishirou with some amazement, and then returns his attention to his cigarette.

"So?" Seishirou repeats.

"How do you think it's coming?" Subaru replies, bluntly.

"It's not, of course."

Subaru taps the ash off the end of his cigarette.

"What about you?" he asks, finally. "Do you make resolutions? Or are they too boring for you?"

"I don't usually make them," Seishirou says, and grins as he plucks Subaru's cigarette from his hands. He drops it to the ground, smashing it under his foot, then grabs Subaru's chin and leans down to kiss Subaru. Subaru resists at first but soon enough softens under Seishirou's grip, and Seishirou breaks the kiss with a smirk.

"But this year, Subaru-kun, I'm considering it," he says with a grin. Subaru looks bewildered for a few moments as Seishirou pushes him back into the tree, but he still lets Seishirou kiss him again.

--

Kanoe is for once not teasing or tormenting Hinoto as the two of them stand in the dreamscape, Hinoto in the center of her spell-circle and Kanoe standing on the edge. In fact, they're entirely silent as they face each other.

"This year," Hinoto's frail voice echoes in the empty dream world, "This year, I . . . I'm going to make things change."

"Can you?" Kanoe asks, and her voice is more concern than scorn.

"I will," Hinoto says, but Kanoe hears the tremble in her mind-speak.

"And that, dear sister, is my promise as well," Kanoe says, and turns to walk out of the dreamscape.

Hinoto starts to call out to her, but covers her own mouth to stop the cry. Tears roll down her cheeks, and by the time she's dropped her hand, Kanoe is already gone.

"I—I can't do it, Kanoe," she says to the empty dreamscape. "I can't—you'll still . . ." She doesn't say it. She can't say it. "Please, Kanoe. Please change things for me."

Kanoe, a large enough distance away to hear Hinoto's voice but not be seen, frowns, and truly leaves the dream this time.

new year's: x/1999, part 2

Mon, 02 Jan 2006 04:35:07 GMT

Part 2 of the New Year's fics, and pretty confident there is a part 3 in the coming. These ones are New Year's Day, and focus on the Seven Angels ~~mainly Fuuma~~

These ones are on the average longer than the Seal fics. Rating still remains pretty low.

--

Yuuto is the one to bring the topic of the new year to Fuuma's attention. Fuuma thinks about it for a few moments before asking what exactly is so important about it when the world's going to end soon anyway. When Yuuto asks if Fuuma's going to make a resolution, Fuuma repeats his question a little too calmly. Yuuto points out that this is his chance to make a mark on the world besides the one he's going to make as the Dark Kamui, but Fuuma's only reply is a reiteration of his previous question.

This continues for a few minutes, until Yuuto is confused and a little anxious because the Dark Fuuma doesn't seem to get it.

"Don't you have anything that you want to change?" Yuuto finally asks, half in frustration.

Fuuma is very silent for a long few minutes, before he gives Yuuto a calm, casual smile—one markedly different from the smirk that Yuuto's grown used to.

"More than you know," he says, and leaves the room.

--

Yuuto, more than slightly disconcerted, leaves the room as well, and heads upstairs and out of the building. No one pays him any mind, as they're used to seeing him around the building by now and probably assume he has a job here.

He stops at the nearest pay phone and calls his sister. As usual, she's not home, and he resigns himself to leaving a message for yet another call that she probably won't return.

He ties his scarf (bright orange) tighter around his neck as he walks through the cold streets of morning Tokyo, and thinks. He had been planning on making some ridiculously idealistic resolution, like spending more time with his sister, but as he thinks about it he realizes that sort of thing is entirely against his philosophy, and would probably be all too strenuous anyway.

He pauses outside a small café, and decides that his resolution is, instead, to drink more tea.

--

When Satsuki's visor lifts, she's frowning. Beast is running slower than usual, and yet a diagnostic scan hasn't revealed anything. So instead, she powers Beast down and opens up a panel under the keyboard.

Sure enough, the wiring is frayed from use, and Satsuki sets herself to repairing it.

Yuuto had approached her earlier that morning with the offer of some tea. She turned him down, as Kanoe had asked her to do some looking into a possible kekkai on the other side of town.

The fact that Beast shook the floor and dug wires into her skin might have had something to do with it as well.

Yuuto had also mentioned something about the new year and resolutions.

She starts Beast's power-up.

Resolution: a course of action determined or decided upon. Synonyms: decision, intention, purpose.

She doesn’t really understand the significance the word held to Yuuto, and ignored him until he left.

Resolutions are entirely too dull, and entirely too human.

After a moment, the wires enter her skin again, and her visor slides down over her eyes.

--

Nataku is discontent when it cannot find its father in the basement, and heads out into town. The people on the streets stare at it and its scarf, which is waving like a banner in the wind.

Its father is nowhere in sight, not even in the tea shops he ducks into. In one of the shops, however, it spots another Angel, Yuuto. He looks up when Nataku approaches in silence.

"Have you seen Father?" Nataku asks, and the reply is no. Nataku's shoulders sink, and Yuuto offers it tea. Nataku, wary, looks over Yuuto but sits down in silent acceptance of the offer.

Yuuto asks if this is Nataku's first new year, which it is, besides the faded memories of party hats and confetti. Yuuto proceeds to explain all about traditions, especially new year's resolutions, and asks Nataku if it's going to make one.

Nataku stares at the tea Yuuto offered it, and bites its lip.

"I think I want to make Father happy," it says quietly.

Yuuto nods, and drinks his tea.

After a few moments, Nataku picks up its own tea and tries it.

--

Kusanagi spends his New Year's Day in the park, and feeds the birds that flock around him in crowds. He's expecting Yuzuriha and Inuki to drop by later today, but not until mid-afternoon, and in the meantime he distracts himself by thinking of all the things he'd rather not do in the coming year.

When the birds all fly away at once, he turns to see the Dark Kamui standing calmly behind him.

"Happy New Year," Fuuma says with a smile. "Are you going to make a resolution?"

Kusanagi replies rather stiffly that he hasn't thought about it, and starts to walk off. Fuuma's next words stop him cold.

"How about you stop lying to that girl?"

When Kusanagi turns to look at Fuuma, he's already leaving the park.

He's gone before Kusanagi has a chance to agree.

--

The dreamscape is as dark and empty as it usually is; Kakyou's too tired and too drawn to dream up his beachscape. He's sure Hokuto would scold him for not celebrating the new year properly, but Hokuto is long-since dead and therefore not around to tell him how he should be celebrating.

His New Year's dreams have been marred with blood and hate, the Kamui and the Dark Kamui and bloodstained wings. The final battle draws nearer and nearer every day, and Kakyou knows that any day now, his wish will be granted.

Hokuto might have asked him to cheer up, might have asked him about his resolution for the new year.

He's long since given up on that. Resolutions are for those that still have hope.

--

Last night was a busy one, and as a result, Sakurazuka Seishirou sleeps late. When he does wake up, he's got a craving for ice cream and coffee, or coffee-flavored ice cream. One or the other.

He settles for a bowl of chocolate ripple at a nearby ice cream parlor, and heads toward Ueno Park as he eats it. He needs to check on the tree, make sure it enjoyed its meals last night.

There's already someone standing under the tree when he gets there, and Seishirou pauses as he tosses his ice cream bowl into a trash can. The figure turns to face him, and smiles, with sparkling green eyes under a mess of black hair. And then the face of Subaru is gone, and Seishirou is left facing the Dark Kamui.

"Happy New Year," Fuuma says in an overly friendly tone. "Thought about your resolution?"

Seishirou starts to answer that he doesn't make resolutions and never will, but Fuuma just smirks at him and walks past.

"Maybe you should think about it, Seishirou-san," he says, and leaves. Seishirou watches him go.

new year's, part 1: x/1999

Sun, 01 Jan 2006 09:39:12 GMT

So many people think about resolutions at this time of year that I got curious about what the X crew would do resolution-wise. This is part 1 of 2 (possibly 3). This piece is New Year's Eve, and focuses on the Seven Seals/Dragons of Earth.

Genre is pretty assorted, but the rating doesn't really go above a PG. Set probably no later than volume 11 or 12.

--

On New Year's Eve in 1999, Sorata is giddily handing out hats and noisemakers, chatting of how they really should make the best of the fact that hey, none of them are dead yet, even though the year's come and gone. He has the TV blaring, set to some English channel that Kamui doesn't understand and doesn't try to. (Kamui's kind of curious about how Sorata got English cable on their TV to begin with, but figures it's really not that important.)

Sorata, still gleeful even after Arashi's refused his offer of a party-popper, plops onto the couch and says something about resolutions. Kamui, not entirely sure what he means, asks.

"It's simple, Kamui!" Sorata explains, looking slightly baffled that Kamui hasn't heard of this before. "So, what you do is you make a promise to yourself and the world, right? About something you're going to do, or change, in the new year. It's kind of a way to start with a blank slate, and get a second chance."

Kamui thinks about this for a moment, and replies to Sorata with a nod when he's asked if he understands. Sorata asks him what his resolution is.

Kamui doesn't reply, because he's decided not to make one. Resolutions are too much like wishes for his liking.

--

Kamui dismisses himself to bed early, with a distant look on his face that he always gets when he's anxious or worried. Sorata asks if he's feeling all right, but Kamui brushes him off and leaves the room in silence.

"Wonder what's wrong," Sorata mumbles, and promptly receives a glare from Arashi. "What?"

"You're an idiot," Arashi replies bluntly.

"Ahh, nee-chan, you flatter me." He stretches and leans back, arms arching over the back of the couch. "So, what about you? What's your resolution?"

Arashi is very quiet for a few minutes.

"As for me," Sorata continues, ignoring what seems like a cold shoulder, "I think my resolution, nee-chan, is to make you fall in love with me." He reaches out, and almost shyly takes her hand.

Arashi looks up at him, and a hundred emotions pass through her eyes before she says that she, too, is tired, and dismisses herself to bed.

Sorata is left with Yuzuriha in the dim light of the living room, the sound of people speaking gibberish echoing off the walls.

--

Arashi is startled by Sorata's question about her resolution, and ponders for a few minutes on what promises and oaths she could possibly make to time when fate dictates that (Sorata) she will probably die shortly anyway. His statement of his resolution startles her even more, and she has to leave the room to stop herself from appearing undignified.

She sees Kamui standing at the end of the hallway, looking into Subaru's room. It's empty; the onmyouji said he had a business affair to attend to tonight. For a moment, she's tempted to speak to Kamui, comfort him, but knows she is probably lousy at such a thing anyway and instead enters her own room.

She shuts the door soundly behind her, and presses her hand (the one he touched, the one he held) to her chest.

After another few, long minutes of silence, she decides her resolution is not to cry.

She already knows she's going to break it.

--

Yuzuriha and Sorata talk for a few good long minutes about nothing in particular before the topic of resolutions comes around again.

Yuzuriha has completely planned this out already, and Sorata seems appreciative when she states that she's been thinking about hers for the whole last week.

"So, what is it?" Sorata asks, and even that small phrase is filled with his accent.

Yuzuriha presses her hands together, thoughtfully. She's really not sure if she wants to disclose this to Sorata--I'm deeply in love with someone, and this year I'm going to tell him how I feel--but on the other hand, Sorata has never been anything but kind and trustworthy to her.

But it's her resolution, her promise, and she doesn't know if it's something she's comfortable with enough to share yet.

So, when Sorata asks her a second time, she gives him a smile and a wink, and tells him it's a secret. He seems satisfied enough with this.

--

Shimako put Yuuka to bed hours ago, the little girl fast asleep with her hair tumbling out of its pigtails and her clothes rumpled from play. Aoki is sure that in her later years, she'll learn how to stay up, until at last she refuses to go to bed until after he and Shimako have already fallen asleep. In an odd way, he's looking forward to that role reversal.

Daisuke 's parents have already left, but he's still here, and thanks Aoki for the tips on wind control that he shared. Aoki is calm and unconcerned, assuring Daisuke that the wind is easy to master if he has someone to protect. (At this, Daisuke turns red, mutters another thanks/apology, and hurries out the door.)

Aoki's smile fades as soon as Daisuke is gone, and he closes his eyes, taking off his glasses for a few moments. He already knows Daisuke's wish, and therefore his resolution, but grows more discontent every time he imagines how both of them will end. But he has already promised Daisuke that he won't cry if he dies protecting Princess Hinoto.

Aoki heads into his bedroom and turns off the light, climbing into bed with Shimako.

He decides, just before closing his eyes to sleep, that his resolution is not to make any more promises that are impossible for him to keep.

--

Karen's night has been shockingly slow at Flower, and as a result she gets off early. She pays a visit to the nearest church, saying a small prayer before the candle-strewn altar. She stands up to leave, and walks slowly down the aisle, keeping a tiny flame between her hands, which are cold from the weather.

She decides that she will go home, have some hot tea, and call it a night. She likes celebrations as much as anyone else, but it has been a particularly long year, and she knows the coming one will likely be all too short.

She's never much believed in resolutions anyway. If you can make a promise to yourself at the beginning of the new year, why can't you just do it anytime?

--

Sumeragi Subaru is, in fact, not on work-related business, and the stroke of midnight finds him at Ueno Park, standing under a sakura that's in full bloom despite the cold weather. He's smoking and shivering at the same time, and his hands are not gloved. If he tried hard enough, he could bring the marks on his hands into flaring life, but he doesn't care to do it right now.

"I'm going to stop loving you this year," he says to the sakura, and leaves the park.

He arrives back at the house on Clamp campus at an absurd hour of the night. Sorata, Yuzuriha, and Arashi have long-since gone to bed, and when Subaru finds Kamui asleep against his door, facing Subaru's room, he sighs and carries the smaller boy to bed.

In the safety of his own room, the door closed, he repeats his promise to the darkness of the ceiling. A corner of his mind wonders if Seishirou can hear him. A larger part of his mind doesn't really care, or claims not to, anyway.

He thinks maybe this year, he can keep the resolution. Even though he's made it several times before.

christmas 05: x/1999, seishirouxsubaru

Fri, 23 Dec 2005 01:19:08 GMT

TITLE: Mistletoe

Fandom: X:1999/Tokyo Babylon
Characters: Seishirou, Subaru
Pairing: SeishirouxSubaru
Genre: Angst-fluff. Christmas.
Length: 2000+ words
Notes: Subaru constantly amazes me with how much of his mind is twisted symbolism. Really.
Summary: All of Japan loves Christmas, except for one Sumeragi Subaru.

It used to be that his Christmases were spent in an apartment in Shinjuku, filled with smiles and laughter. Hokuto had always been one for big celebrations, so even though neither she nor Subaru were Christian, she decorated the apartment as freely as she wished. A massive fake tree in the corner, with a star on the top and sparkling lights hanging from every branch.

The tinsel had once gotten stuck in his hair, and Hokuto had tied him up with a string of it to "finish the job." She'd then put a bow on top of his head and shown him to Seishirou, urging the older man to hurry and unwrap his present. There had been no small amount of teasing from Seishirou as he carefully and slowly untied the tinsel that bound Subaru's arms to his chest and removed the bow from Subaru's thick, dark hair. Hokuto had bounced off into the recesses of her room to "give the two of them some private time," and Subaru had apologized profusely, sinking down into a chair and covering his face with his hands.

Seishirou had briefly commented on the lack of mistletoe in the apartment, and how if Hokuto was going to go all out, then she really shouldn't miss the most important detail. Subaru, unfamiliar with the tradition, had asked what it meant, and proceeded to turn brilliantly red when Seishirou explained it to him.

It used to be that his Christmases were happy, with trust and friendship, a sister and a mentor.

Years he'd lost count of had passed since then. Christmas Eve, and Subaru wandered the streets of Tokyo alone. He was half-blind and still hadn't adjusted to the change in perspective; he'd tripped over what looked like air at least three times so far. The crowds were thick: families and couples wandered the sidewalks in clusters, and he felt utterly alone despite the fact that people surrounded him. He was alone in a world of people who were not. Surely he was sticking out like a sore thumb: a lanky, plain scarecrow among a world of lights and colors. Japan loved Christmas.

Except for him.

Subaru hated Christmas, because with it came too many memories and reopened scars. The marks on his hands were only two of the wounds that drove him crazy now, most of his other ones carefully hidden under jackets or scarves, or deeper hidden under a mental mask of indifference.

The hurt got harder to hide on three dates: Hokuto's death-day, his (and her) birthday, and Christmas.

Sometimes he still dreamed of tinsel in his hair and a twinkling star capping a tree, and hated himself for wishing things could be that way again. Hated himself for wanting to return to living a lie rather than facing the reality he had now. He was nothing if not a coward, hiding from his current life and seeking a new one in the depths of his own memories.

It was, of course, nothing new. His entire life since the bet had ended had been a revolution of memories and shattered dreams. He could only remember sparse few times that he'd been able to live without thinking of the past.

1999 had only made things worse. Kamui was part of the problem (he was so much like Subaru had been, and Subaru hated to see another person walking the same path he had and making the same mistakes; he deserved better than that), but more than anything, Subaru wanted to help him. Then there was Fuuma, the other Kamui, whatever it was that he called himself now, who was downright unnerving. The way the man looked—the very presence he gave off—was the exact same as the eerie calm and vague amusement of Seishirou's that Subaru had gotten used to. That smirk, those eyes.

One hazel, one marble-grey. He'd never been able to forget those eyes, not in all the years since Seishirou was blinded. Sometimes that haunted his dreams too, a spray of blood running down Seishirou's cheek to protect him (which must have been nothing but mockery to Seishirou; it couldn't have been anything else).

And now it was Christmas Eve in 1999, and for his gift Subaru had gotten a wish granted. He'd been blinded in the same eye Seishirou had been all those years ago. Guilt was a powerful thing, and he'd learned that too late.

For what seemed like the hundredth time that night, he tripped and stumbled, but didn't catch himself this time as he tumbled into a wall. He cursed under his breath as his right side burst into pain, and straightened himself again as he began walking.

No doubt, the other Seals were wondering where he had gone. Subaru had told them not to worry about him, but knew that wouldn't stop them from doing just that. Especially Kamui; the boy worried too much about others for his own good.

Sort of like someone else Subaru knew.

He could imagine the scene now. Sorata, Yuzuriha, and Karen had all been just as enthusiastic about Christmas as Hokuto used to be. By the time Subaru had left their little household, there had been holly and tinsel hanging from the corners and a tremendous tree set up in the main room.

(Still no mistletoe, which Subaru was sure disappointed Sorata.)

He couldn't take it. Too many memories and hurtful images. Karen pulling a tray of cookies from the oven had been the last straw.

("Here, Subaru, have one of these! Your dear sister made them; you're not just going to turn her down, are you?")

He had made excuses, saying he'd had a very pressing job to go to. Aoki had voiced disappointment that he couldn't be with his friends on such a day—Christmas was, after all, a day for friends and family, he'd said.

Subaru's family was long-dead, and he couldn't make friends without them being in danger of Seishirou's wrath. He was unsafe. He had to go.

He'd replied that it was very urgent and very important, and he'd likely be gone for a while. No one had argued.

Three days later, it was Christmas Eve and here he was wandering Tokyo and feeling utterly alone in a mess of people.

Subaru wasn't exactly sure why he was out here in the first place. Other than the fact that he was dangerous, he was tired, and, well, all of those things. He was drained, physically and mentally, and still recovering from his blinding. He was really lucky he'd been able to get out of that house at all, what with Kamui (and the others, but mostly Kamui) worrying over his eye and his well-being and generally feeling guilty.

Kamui was more like Subaru than he knew. Subaru supposed that made him the Seishirou in this picture.

Too fitting, really.

He was older and wiser, a mentor figure to a younger boy. He was gentle and kind and patient, and everything the boy wanted to be. He'd lost his right eye to protect the other boy.

But mostly, it was fitting because Subaru was a liar.

He had been for some while. He was worthless, useless, took advantage of other people, put them through hell for his own selfishness. (For his own need to die.) He depressed people and worried them and didn't even care as long as he got his wish.

The only difference was that he never felt he could make people the same as objects in his mind. It was, in his mind, his one flaw.

He was becoming the very man he despised, and yet he was only doing it because he wanted to.

He gave up on thinking and let his mind wander as he drifted through the crowd. It was snowing lightly, the snowflakes drifting through the air like sakura petals (shouldn't it be the other way around, said his mind) and his breath frosting in the air. With each step he descended into an illusion of his own mind, where he was alone and walking the path to the tree, dressed in white shikifuku. The smell of blood ripe on the air, mingled with the smell of sakura.

Blood on the snow. A wish fulfilled. ("Merry Christmas, Subaru-kun," with a smirk. Never mistletoe. Never a kiss.)

Eventually, he found the way up to an old, near-abandoned apartment complex. A few families still roamed the grounds, but for the most part, the Shinjuku apartments were completely empty. The snow was forming small drifts over the ground; Subaru's boots made a rather satisfying crunch when he stepped.

He still had the key in his pocket. He'd kept it. No questions had ever been asked, and Subaru heard rumors that his grandmother secretly rented the apartment out for Subaru's sake. He appreciated it, even if it was completely untrue. This was hardly the first time he'd returned to this place to greet old ghosts.

He gripped the doorknob and found it unlocked.

For a moment, he paused, and looked at the windows—completely dark—and then at the staircase leading to the apartment—empty.

He took a deep breath, and opened the door.

It was pitch-dark inside, and he fumbled for a light switch as he closed the door behind him. His eye began to adjust, albeit slowly, and he cursed when he couldn't find the lights.

The room, however, lit up of its own accord.

The lights filled the stark shadow of a Christmas tree, and lined the walls and corners. A glittering star—the same one Hokuto had always used—sat atop the tree, and glass ornaments lining the branches sparkled with light.

Subaru took a few steps forward. He knew that he was staring; he just didn't really care. There was a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye, and he turned to see a dark figure straighten from plugging the lights in.

How long had he been there? Been here? Waiting for Subaru, just lurking there like some kind of predator—how long?

"Seishirou-san," he heard himself say.

"Subaru-kun," the voice responded, and Subaru caught the faint white glimmer of teeth set in a pale face. The voice was rife with amusement, as per the usual, and Subaru looked away from an eye he couldn't see in the thick darkness. Not that it mattered; it was likely hidden under a pair of sunglasses anyway. Subaru knew that Seishirou almost always hid his eyes; it drove him a little insane. (He didn't know why he did it.)

"Why did you do this?" Subaru asked, and took a few more steps into the apartment. Seishirou drew back into the hallway, face still masked by shadows.

"Because I wanted to," Seishirou said, still sounding amused. Subaru glanced up at him, and there was no glint of teeth in the dark this time.

"That's not an answer."

"Isn't it?"

Subaru took a few more steps, this time more toward Seishirou than toward the well-lit tree. Closer, the older man's face was easier to make out, and Subaru bit his lip as Seishirou's hands came to run over his bandages.

"You went and got yourself hurt again, Subaru-kun." The tone was only mildly scolding, and mostly indifference. "Hokuto-chan wouldn't be very happy with you."

"Hokuto-chan is dead," Subaru replied, his own tone almost a perfect mimicry of Seishirou's own. But there was an undercurrent of pain that he was sure Seishirou heard, that the other didn't have. Would never have.

"So she is," Seishirou said, and now his tone was dismissive. "I can't say I'm exactly happy with you, either."

"Who are you trying to kid?" The indifference in his voice was wearing thin, and his bitterness was showing through. "You don't care. You never care."

"Maybe I don't," Seishirou said. "Think whatever you like." One pale hand trailed down from the bandages, running down Subaru's cheek. Despite himself, Subaru closed his eye.

"You've never cared about anyone or anything," Subaru replied, as Seishirou's fingers began to unwrap the bandages over his right eye. "I don't mean anything to you."

"Is that really what you think?" Seishirou asked, and Subaru made a noncommittal noise in his throat. The bandages came undone, and Seishirou made a noise almost like laughing.

"What's so funny?" Subaru asked, and opened his eyes—both seeing and blind.

The lights of the tree and room lit up a small sprig of green, hanging just over the two of them. Small red berries mingled with the green leaves. Seishirou's hand was still on Subaru's cheek, tracing a line just under his glass-grey eye. Subaru's breath caught in his throat.

"I remembered what Hokuto-chan forgot," Seishirou murmured, so close that Subaru could feel his breath, and leaned in further.

Subaru tried not to close his eyes, but forgot how to keep them open as Seishirou's mouth closed over his. There was a brief, fleeting moment when he thought about mistletoe—a symbol of love, a parasitic plant, poisonous and toxic if enough was ingested—and how very much like his obsession it was. Poisonous and dangerous, but beautiful all the same.

It seemed like everything in his life had become twisted symbolism. It was hardly surprising, since everything he saw led back to Seishirou in some way. Only fitting that his life would become a mess of poor metaphors and similes.

For a few brief moments, he was drowning in heat and sense, and found it hard to think of much of anything. His thoughts drifted, disconnected, like sakura petals (or was it snowflakes?) on the wind. He was mentally pleading, begging, please don't let this be an illusion, please, anything but that. But his mind seemed as fogged as it was in any of Seishirou's deceptions, and he had no guarantee that this was real and not some kind of dream, some kind of trick.

What a Christmas gift that would be, to only be deceived yet again by Seishirou's calm smirk and those cold eyes. (But it would be like Seishirou, if nothing else.)

The illusion (or reality?) broke as Seishirou's lips left Subaru's, and Subaru breathed.

"Merry Christmas, Subaru-kun," Seishirou said, his voice low, and leaned down again. Subaru felt Seishirou's hands move down his arms, close his fingers around Subaru's wrists. He felt his marks flare into life, two more tiny lights against the darkness of an empty apartment on Christmas Eve.

"Merry Christmas, Seishirou-san," Subaru replied, and let himself be lost again.

drabble meme;

Mon, 19 Dec 2005 08:33:28 GMT

Crossposted to dots.

Give me a character or a pairing from a fandom/roleplay I know, and a word/theme. I will give you a drabble of some size. They probably won't be oneliners as I've done in the past, just because I'm all out of oneliner fuel, but hey, it's something.

[X:1999] Protection (Seishirou/Subaru; AU Volume 16)

Tue, 13 Dec 2005 09:48:52 GMT

Title: Protection
Fandom: Tokyo Babylon/X:1999
Characters: Seishirou, Subaru, Kamui, Arashi, Sorata, Yuzuriha, Hokuto to a lesser extent
Pairing: Seishirou/Subaru
Rating: It's volume 16, come on. PG-13.
Summary: There are some people protected by nature from the time they are born.
Notes: Heavily based on part 1 of the Tokyo Babylon OAV. X spoilers. Blood. Disjointedness and random flashbacks. Tense-switching bandit. And holy crap, I wrote a one-shot over 2000 words. The beginning quote is a loose translation of something from the TB OAV.

"There are certain people who are protected by Fate from birth."

"You could lay a curse on them, and it would just bounce right off."

--

It has been a very good hunt, Seishirou thinks as he walks the calm and oddly-empty bridge. His hand is covered in blood, and for some reason, the bridge is closed today. There's not another soul in sight, and he heads toward the center of the bridge. To make the kekkai collapse properly, he has to initiate it at the centerpoint of the bridge.

He's not surprised to see another figure already standing a small distance away, smoking a cigarette with his back toward Seishirou.The bandage covering the other's right eye disturbs him, however. This is his prey, his property, and yet Kamui saw fit to disregard that fact and blind him regardless.

It bothers him, for some reason he can't even name. Subaru is his. He should be the only one to hurt Subaru. But why it matters to him so much is something beyond his grasp.

He knows this will be the end even as he approaches Subaru from behind, grasping his hand.

There is an exchanged moment of silence between them, and Seishirou does not miss the flash of pain in Subaru's eyes.

"Watch out," Subaru says at last, eyes going from Seishirou to the cigarette in his hand. "The ashes will hit you."

"Very kind of you to be worried about someone like me," Seishirou replies. The ash falls from the cigarette; it doesn't hit his hand. "Of course, you always were that type."

"No," Subaru responds, and something in his voice is bleak. "I've changed. You changed me."

Another brief silence as Subaru draws away, turning to face him.

"Not that you care," he finishes, and his voice turns from bleak to bitter. Seishirou approves; bitterness is an oddly becoming emotion for Subaru, and paints his features nicely. It's hard to recognize that hardened, cold man as the sixteen-year-old boy of the bet, even all grown up. The eyes are different, the frame leaner, and there's something almost endearing about the hatred wreathed about the boy's shoulders.

Seishirou reaches out, takes the cigarette from Subaru's limp fingers. His hand is still covered in blood, but he looks away before he sees Subaru's reaction.

He doesn't need to see his face, though; he hears it in the younger's voice just moments later. "You just killed someone. Killed them right here, didn't you?"

He takes a long breath before replying, preparing the counterspell for the attack he knows will be thrown at him anytime now.

"Well, I am Sakurazukamori." For the time being, anyway.

Subaru looks away and Seishirou is struck by what a beautiful emptiness he has made the young boy into over these nine years. The pain and weariness on Subaru's face makes him like a divine figure, some mythical spirit from the heavens, rather than the normal onmyouji he claims to be. It's almost frightening how that pain transfigures Subaru.

It's almost more frightening how much Seishirou notices that transfiguration. That Subaru has such an impact on his senses should concern him more.

It doesn't.

Subaru leaps back, and in a few moments the star-shaped kekkai is rising into the air around them. Seishirou smirks, and prepares himself.

When Subaru was younger, there was an odd case that arose concerning Nagumo Shinji of the MCC Corporation. The man himself wasn't entirely the problem, of course. Rarely was just one person the problem in the cases that Subaru took upon himself.

Seishirou had been watching the case by himself for several months before the company president contacted Subaru. The case centered around one "Project Five," a construction site heavily based upon fiber optics. The company had mishaps in the past with construction of previous buildings, but nothing that couldn't be explained by accident or circumstance.

Then, Project Five had started construction. Everything had been normal at first, until about a month after a young architect, Aso, had died in a horrible accident.

Then, everything had gone wrong.

"Subaru's kekkai," Kamui breathes, and gets to his feet. "We have to hurry--Subaru--"

"But the princess said--" Sorata cuts him off, pointedly. Kamui hesitates for a brief few moments, and then shakes his head.

"Sorata, I can tell. Subaru--his kekkai. It's up over Rainbow Bridge. We have to go help him."

He doesn't mention that Sakurazukamori is there for the moment.

"Hinoto-hime said that Yasukini would be the next to fall," Yuzuriha says, looking faintly distressed and holding Inuki against her chest as if he was her only tie to reality. He may well be.

Kamui finally gives in, and tells them what he saw in the brief moment of farsight as the kekkai rose.

"Sakurazukamori. Subaru's fighting him."

The color washes out of Sorata's face.

"I have to help him," Kamui says, and the underlying statement is he's the same as me, and if I don't help him win then I won't win either.

Sorata has always been good at hearing what Kamui doesn't say, and gives the request a brief few moments of consideration before he points to Arashi. "Nee-chan. Go with Kamui. Yuzu-chan and I will stay here, just in case someone shows up."

Arashi gives a nod, and Kamui is already running toward the bridge by the time she turns around to leave.

Nagumo Shinji was ambitious, motivated, and, above all, dangerous. Seishirou had been put on him as a monitor by the government, but only in small increments of time. He still had plenty of free time to feed his tree and take on more important jobs, but the fact was that even if Nagumo got the company and all the power he wanted, he would soon thirst for more. Seishirou's employers couldn't take that chance, and had notified him that if Nagumo started showing too much power-lust, Seishirou had permission to kill him without hesitation.

Seishirou had chosen not to kill him for quite some time, preferring to observe. He always found that observation was key to understanding a person like Nagumo.

There had been a series of accidents surrounding Nagumo ever since childhood. He'd been the center of disasters wherever he went. The problems only intensified after an incident where Nagumo and a coworker, Aso, had both fallen off the seventeenth floor. Nagumo survived; Aso did not.

Seishirou had thought it curious how a safety net had caught only one of the two men that fell that day.

About a month afterward, the disasters surrounding Nagumo got worse. The work site of Project Five was soon rumored to be haunted, and MCC's workers were afraid to carry the project any further.

A few more months passed before Sumeragi Subaru, Japan's leading onmyouji, was put on the case.

The fight has been a good one, and Seishirou can tell it is winding to a close. They stand on the shattered bridge, safely shielded by Subaru's kekkai, and face each other.

More for the sake of experimentation than anything else, Seishirou raises two fingers on one hand, and with them crafts an illusion. Thick vines of sakura spring from the thin air as the landscape turns to darkness, and Seishirou looks up at Subaru who now hangs captive above him, like a very pretty little doll. Or like a puppet, really, tangled in its own strings.

Subaru reacts as Seishirou thought he would; an ofuda is drawn, and soon the illusion is broken as Subaru pierces his own thumb with the edge of the paper. Subaru lands with all the grace of a cat, and Seishirou rewards him with a smirk.

"Stop using illusions against me," Subaru hisses. "It's not going to do you any good."

Seishirou inclines his head just slightly to one side. Subaru can interpret that how he likes, whether as a question or as a mockery.

Subaru, however, seems oblivious. Not something that Seishirou approves of.

"I've been trapped by the sakura... ever since that day."

Obvious, Seishirou wants to say, I knew that already; you can't hide anything from me, Subaru-kun.

But Subaru apparently has hidden something from him, or so the Kamui claims, and it rather dissatisfies Seishirou to know that there is something about his pretty little toy that he doesn't fully possess or understand. Subaru is his, through both body and soul, and yet the Kamui claims that the most important part of that soul is missing from Seishirou's grasp.

He takes off his sunglasses.

In the end, Nagumo had proven too dangerous and too power-hungry, and had also tried to kill Subaru. Being that it was still the year of the Bet, that was something Seishirou absolutely could not allow.

The government asked no questions when he informed them that Nagumo had been disposed of. They simply paid him, and that was the end of that as far as his employers were concerned.

Seishirou, however, had found himself thinking over the case of Nagumo Shinji for several weeks afterward. While he had never seen it at work himself, Subaru had suggested something that made far more sense than anything else Seishirou had considered. When he thought about it, he didn't know why he hadn't understood it sooner. After all, the Sakurazukamori were said to benefit from the same protection that Subaru believed Nagumo had.

Subaru had said that there were some people born into the world protected by nature and fate. By the very spirits of the world, if you wanted to look at that way. And in truth, that was the only way to explain Nagumo's infallible luck: he bounced all his bad luck off to others.

Any spell cast on Nagumo would only have affected those around him.

You could have laid a curse on Nagumo, and it would bounce right off.

"The Kamui of the Dragons of Earth told me that your true wish can only be granted by me, Subaru-kun." He's smiling, though he's not sure if it's to put Subaru off his guard or if it's because he knows the end is coming soon now. "But he also told me that your wish isn't what I think it is."

His only answer from Subaru is complete silence; he takes this as a chance to continue. The bandages are coming loose from Subaru's eye; Seishirou catches one in the air as he begins talking again.

"I know that your desire has always been to kill me and avenge your sister. That's your wish, isn't it?"

The bandages in his hand blow away with the wind, as do the remainder of the bandages on Subaru's face. His right eye is glass-grey, the same color as Seishirou's false one, and Seishirou feels a brief moment of satisfaction with how very like him Subaru has become.

That moment is shattered when Subaru replies, "No."

Seishirou is taken aback for a brief moment, and the bridge explodes into energy as Subaru lunges at him, ofuda bared, and the only thing Seishirou can think is that he must have been lying, because what else could Subaru possibly wish for?

He decides to grant Subaru's wish, and draws back his arm as Subaru draws closer.

When Subaru was younger, his sister had died in red-stained white shikifuku under the petals of the sakura that Seishirou guarded with his life and his very being. There had been a plea made--"I want Subaru to keep living, even if it's selfish of me," and a fateful prophecy told to Seishirou, for his ears only.

Even Subaru did not know of the last spell his sister had cast, and it was better that way.

Then Seishirou could grant Subaru his wish and fulfill his own at the same time.

There is an ear-splitting crackle of energy as the kekkai starts to tear apart.

Seishirou realizes several moments too late, and by the time he knows what has happened, Subaru has slumped against him, gasping for air through a throat choked with blood.

"Subaru-kun," he mutters, and somehow his voice sounds oddly raw.

"Seishirou... san," Subaru manages, and only collapses further as Seishirou withdraws his hand from Subaru's chest. Subaru makes a small, choked noise as Seishirou clutches him, sinking to his knees.

"This isn't how it was supposed to happen," Seishirou says, and tries to quell the utter shock. His mind has gone oddly blank, almost devoid of thought beyond what has just happened.

"No, it is," Subaru pants, fingers knotted tight in the hem of Seishirou's blood-covered jacket. "You are... Sakurazukamori, after all."

"No, Subaru-kun--"

Subaru pulls back, and Seishirou is the most startled he's been all night to see peace in Subaru's eyes--an abnormal level of peace, his mind says, for one who's about to die.

"Did it mean something?" he asks, and Seishirou has no idea of what he means. "Was I finally enough of a threat to you? Was it..." He coughs and chokes on the blood. Seishirou's fingers tighten in Subaru's coat, and he comes to a realization a moment later that, for some reason, his eyes are wet.

"Subaru-kun--"

"I had to mean something to you," Subaru continues, raising one hand to the wound in his chest. "That's--that's all I wanted."

There is a sudden, unexplainable feeling in Seishirou's stomach, and he can't seem to get his thoughts in order. Of course Subaru wouldn't want to kill him, of course it's not in him, Subaru's too kind for that sort of thing, why didn't he see it before--

Too late, too late, too late.

"Subaru-kun, I--"

"Shh. I... I know I didn't mean anything to you." Subaru's words are becoming more of a struggle, harsh against labored breaths. "I don't care if you love me, I... really don't." There's a semblance of Subaru's omnipresent lie in that statement, but Seishirou can't think to say anything in response. "I... this was my wish. To mean enough to you that you would finally..." A sharp breath, and a wince across his features. "Seishirou-san, I..."

"You wanted to die," Seishirou says, realizing he is stating what should have been obvious to him all along. His mind is still oddly blank; no anger, no satisfaction, only a distant feeling that something very important has been stolen from him.

"Only if it was you who killed me," Subaru replies. "Because I..."

He somehow has the strength to bring a hand up to Seishirou's cheek, and has a distant smile on his face.

"Because I... really did love you."

The hand falls, and Subaru's eyes close. Seishirou is frozen for another few moments before he touches Subaru's face in return.

"Subaru-kun."

There is no response.

"Subaru-kun."

Nothing.

He calls Subaru a few more times before he understands that Subaru is gone, and the blank, dead feeling in his mind only intensifies. If he knew the name for the blankness, he would call it as such, but this is the first time he can recall feeling as dead as the corpses he gives his tree.

He holds Subaru's body against his, and doesn't care that the kekkai is almost gone.

"This is my last spell, for you and for Subaru."

A pointing finger, almost accusatory. White shikifuku and red bloodstains. Pink sakura.

"If you should ever try to kill Subaru the way that you killed me, your spell will reflect back on you, and you will be the one to die."

"I'm not the sort of man you can trust."

There were more words. Ones that hardly mattered. And, then,

"But no one in this world is beyond the reach of love."

Hokuto had always been a bit too much of an idealist.

She had died, and Seishirou had, for some reason, let her spirit free instead of binding it to the sakura like he did for everyone else. He had watched her body bleed itself dry, feeding his tree, and had felt nothing.

What Hokuto had forgotten was that there were some people protected by nature and fate from the time they were born. What she hadn't known was that the Sakurazukamori was one of those people.

You could have laid a curse on him, and it would bounce right off.

By the time Kamui and Arashi reach Rainbow Bridge, it has already crumbled into Tokyo Bay, leaving only a mass of wreckage behind.

Neither Subaru nor the Sakurazukamori are anywhere in sight.

[X/1999: Subaru]

Sat, 26 Nov 2005 05:52:24 GMT

Title: Seven Deadly Sins
Fandom: Tokyo Babylon/X
Character: Subaru, implications of Seishirou/Subaru
Rating: "Lust" is R; everything else is PG-13 at most.
Word count: 1750 without titles, 1757 with; each part is 250 words.

.lust.

Sometimes at night he lies awake under too many blankets and stares at the ceiling, seeing things that never really happened and never will. He sees rough kisses under a sakura, the sakura barrow, and he imagines he feels strong arms sliding around his waist, holding him close against the other. He imagines kisses traced down his neckline, a bite at his neck leaving a mark—different from the brands on his hands, but a brand all the same.

He pretends the hand around himself is not his own, but his, and that it's his body over him, pressed tight against him in that bed, and that he can hear noncommittal grunts mingling with his own whimpering and pain, and that if he looks up he sees one dark eye and one milky glass, and no sunglasses hiding them this time.

He pretends he can smell sakura, and pretends he can taste blood. Pretends that he hears three words that he knows will never really come, even as he loses himself over the edge and cries his name.

When he falls asleep at last, he knows he will hate himself in the morning. But he also knows he will do it all over again come another night, or two, or three.

He likes the illusory smell of sakura, the imagined warmth against his body too much to just let the illusion of Seishirou go that easily. And the imagined taste of blood in his own mouth is somehow oddly soothing.

.gluttony.

It’s a dangerous habit, and Subaru knows it. To smoke is to slowly kill himself, to leech his life out in smoke with every breath. It's a filthy habit, one indulged in only by rebels and bad boys.

Bad boys like Seishirou.

Neglecting to ward his hands anymore is another dangerous habit. Subaru is well aware that Seishirou could find him at any time, in any place, just by following the fiery trail of those old marks. The twin pentagrams are like bright beacons, tying the two of them together.

More than once, Subaru has been tempted to follow the links back in an attempt to find Seishirou. He has never tried, though; he's sure that Seishirou's taken precautions.

He wants Seishirou, the same way he wants his old life back. In compensation for his own foolishness, he uses up his own life in chunks. Smoking, drinking, letting Seishirou take whatever he wants with only the very slightest of protests. He has scars besides the ones on his hands, traced all across his chest, and sometimes he wears a scarf to hide the bruises Seishirou's hands leave around his throat.

He hides the scars; he doesn't want Kamui or the others to worry.

And sometimes he reopens the old wounds just to make sure they leave a mark, because they are caused by Seishirou's hands.

He drinks up the pain like so much nectar. Sometimes he's sure that it's the only thing that keeps him going for all this time.

.wrath.

There are some times when he fully hates Seishirou, with all the passion that he can possibly muster. He has thought too many times of what it would feel like to have Seishirou's blood staining his hands (he can never think on it long, however, because though blood itself doesn't scare him, the prospect of Seishirou's is something else entirely) or how Seishirou would have any power at all if Subaru burned his beloved tree to the ground (which he doubts is even possible, let alone a smart idea).

He idly thinks about using a lighter to set the sakura on fire, watch the flames spread from flower to flower until the whole tree is a mass of dancing golden flames. There would be a column of smoke streaming up into the already-hazy Tokyo air, coloring the air over Ueno a misty grey.

Seishirou would surely appear, either out of anger or confusion, and Subaru dreams of taking everything Seishirou had, just as Seishirou had taken everything of his: kill his precious tree, trace his own brands on Seishirou's hands using a burning cigarette, and then blind Seishirou completely using the same cigarette. He can imagine a torrent of blood running down Seishirou's cheek, then down his chest as he kills him in a magnificent splash of red.

The omnipresent hunter's smirk, however, never leaves Seishirou's face, not even underneath the blind mask of blood, and so Subaru crushes those thoughts as easily as a cigarette butt under his foot.

.envy.

There are many things that Seishirou possesses that Subaru recognizes on sight: a glass eye as white as smoke or ghosts, a pair of sunglasses, and a bloodied hand.

It would be inaccurate to say that Subaru wants what Seishirou has. He has no desire to be bound to a blood-drinking, soul-devouring tree, where he must make a sacrifice to appease its hunger. Nor does he have any desire for that dark trenchcoat, the firm smirk, though he admits he wants Seishirou himself more than even he understands.

What he wants is to be like Seishirou in what he lacks. Seishirou has no family; no ghosts of a dead sister, no grandmother to please. Seishirou truly has no opinion on the end of the world; while Subaru claims he lacks it, he's lying, but Seishirou just works however he wishes. Seishirou lacks an eye that Subaru wishes he had lost those years ago, in the hospital, instead of leaving a mark forever to remind Subaru of his own weakness.

But what Subaru wishes for most is Seishirou's inability to feel.

Then, then, he would no longer care about Hokuto's death, whether she was at peace or had been bound to that demonic tree. No longer care about Kamui's heartache and his grandmother's worry, no longer care about the fate of the Earth or anything besides his own wish.

And then, perhaps he would be able to entertain the thought of killing Seishirou without so much pain in his own heart.

.greed.

A glass cup breaks on the floor.

Subaru watches it shatter with little interest.

He has been told before that there is no difference between him and a glass cup. Between him and a precious toy. Between him and a million other objects, none of which were important in ways other than being momentarily useful.

He picks up another cup and drops it. The sound echoes off the walls; he's the only Seal home at the moment. A third and fourth cup follow, and Subaru watches each break, trying to understand.

They are not his. But he still feels a twinge of guilt as the shards scatter on the floor.

He doesn't understand. He wants to.

He knows it's impossible to become the man that Seishirou is. He knows he'll never fully comprehend what it's like to feel nothing. He knows it's unlikely he'll ever be able to kill Seishirou as he should, knows that even if he kills Seishirou, he'll feel immense pain.

He wants to change Seishirou.

He knows this is more impossible than his other wish. But the thought of killing Seishirou pains him, so deeply that he tries not to think about it. He wants to make himself believe that Seishirou can feel something, anything, even just annoyance or displeasure. He wants to see Seishirou's heart. He wants to put some semblance of emotion into that blankness.

He wants to die, so he can see if his efforts merited anything.

He wants.

He drops another cup.

.pride.

Kamui had asked Subaru once why he smokes, and even after getting his answer asked him if he would quit. It wasn't good for him, Kamui had said, and he didn't like that Subaru was doing something so deliberately unhealthy.

Subaru keeps smoking.

His grandmother had asked Subaru once why he searches for Sakurazukamori, and even after getting his answer asked him if he would quit. It wasn't safe, his grandmother had said, and she didn't like that Subaru was putting his life at risk by trying to find one dangerous, elusive man that had shattered his world before.

Subaru keeps looking.

Yuzuriha had asked Subaru once why he is always so alone, and even after getting his answer offered to help him not be as lonely anymore. It was sad, Yuzuriha had said, and she didn't like to see someone she prized as a friend looking so unhappy all the time.

Subaru keeps himself isolated.

He hears advice day after day about how his life is unhealthy, is dangerous, too isolated and cold and tiring. He knows everything he's told is right. He knows living like this is tearing him apart piece-by-piece. He knows that he can't stand against Seishirou if he continues on like this, that he's more weakening himself than making himself stronger, and he's sure that the Sakurazukamori is watching it all and laughing at him privately.

He knows he can't keep at this. He knows he can't live this kind of life.

He keeps living.

.sloth.

Subaru is not the boy he used to be.

The early-morning prayers and incense-burnings of his earlier days are long since forgotten, and Sorata claims that he's seen the onmyouji lie in bed all day once or twice. Kamui keeps quiet, and Yuzuriha gets worried, but Subaru dismisses their anxiety with a small nod and a promise that he's fine.

He's not fine. They don't need to know that.

Sorata always asks if it's nightmares or if he just overworks himself. Subaru claims it's a little of both. It's not a complete lie; he's always had a bad habit of using too much power all at once, and his dreams can't always be called pleasant.

Kamui glances at him, and Subaru knows that the younger boy knows far more about Subaru's problems than the rest of the Seals combined.

He stays in bed because the sunlight hurts his eyes. Because the whole world hurts his eyes.

In his dreams he's sixteen again, and he has a sister and a mentor and everything is all right. But in the waking world he's seen a hard twenty-five years, with cold eyes and no assurance that he even has a soul anymore.

In his dreams, there's a voice telling him that he's loved. There are shameless confessions of adoration, and smiles and childhood nicknames. Lab coats and a dark shikigami, sakura and three words from a hunter's smile.

He hates waking up, because the happy dreams remind him of how unhappy he is.

crazyrinoa chapter 4;;

Sun, 23 Oct 2005 20:42:32 GMT

Before I even open the door the next day, I know that Griever's wating outside. He stares up at me with those glittering yellow eyes.

"Did you sleep well, Mistress?"

I don't bother answering and just head to the kitchen of my dormitory, finding that I've again slept late. At least I have an excuse for that--I was dreaming about him, and anytime I dream about him I never want to wake up. Just sleep forever, dream forever, dream of him.

There are dishes that need doing and counters that need scrubbing, trash to be taken out and leftovers in the fridge to throw away. Too many things to do, anyone else would say with a roll of their eyes and dismiss the chores for the day.

It's too many things to do, I'll agree there, but there's still not enough to do to distract me from thinking of him.

Griever wanders off toward my bedroom, but I'm not worried today--the pendant is tucked into my jean pocket, where he couldn't get it without ripping a good chunk out of my hip. So I turn my attention to straightening up the kitchen, washing the dishes, dusting the cabinets.

By the time I am done cleaning up the kitchen, Griever is still not back from my room, so I go to look and see what he is doing.

He's sitting very still on the floor near my bed, eyes wandering the room, tail twitching as he looks around. He looks over my rumpled sheets, the plain white walls, the Shooting Star hanging against a wall like a dreamcatcher. (Sometimes I think it ensnares any dreams about him, but doesn't bother to sort the good from the bad.) Other than that, the walls are empty. My desk is clean and my closet is closed.

"It's a very plain room," Griever muttered.

I don't see why it matters, I reply, as it's my room and not his.

He rustles those white-feathered wings and lets out a small, soft growl. I roll my eyes at him, as I still don't see why it's any of his business how I keep my room or what I do with all that white space. For a while, I'd wanted to paint a mural on it, a mural of a field of flowers with the sun and moon shining overhead, the stars dancing in the sky over the garden.

It was a Garden of Eden, and it was ours, and yet we never even made it there before time took it away from the both of us.

The ambition to paint my mural only faded as time grew older and my missing him grew stronger. In storybooks, as the absence gets longer, people become more and more determined, but it never seems to work that way in real life. In reality, people just lose their determination bit by little bit until suddenly they wake up one day and it's just completely gone.

That's been happening with me a little. I still want to paint my mural, but every day that I wake up and he's still not here, I want to paint it a little bit less. Every time I visit the flower field and there's still no sign of him, my ambition dies a bit more.

And yet when I think of his eyes, that steely blue, his scar and his unruly brown hair, the half-smiles that never fully formed, I suddenly want to paint again, more than ever and so much that it nearly burns a hole into my chest.

It's an odd paradox that way. It seems like almost everything is paradoxes and oxymorons. The world is built in loopholes and patterns that don't make sense no matter which way you turn them.

Honestly, I guess it shouldn't surprise me. That's why we stopped Time Compression--one reason, at least--it would be a paradox in a paradox, and everything would loop back into and onto itself. That's why no one could exist except Ultimecia; we'd all be looping back from our deaths right back into our own births, and time would just become an even bigger knot.

At least, that's how I understood it, but there were a lot of things about Time Compression that I didn't understand at all, so it's entirely possible for me to be wrong.

More likely than not, actually.

I turn and leave the room. Griever pauses and takes one last look around the room as I watch him from the doorway. Finally, he turns to follow me out of the door, and out of my dormitory. I lock it behind him--behind me, Rinoa, behind yourself, Griever isn't real, remember that--as we--I--leave.

"Where are we going?"

Training center, I reply as I test the door to make sure that it's securely locked. I've been needing to brush up on my magic, and this is as good a chance as any. There's a lot of weak monsters there, after all, so it's a good place to practice. Unless I run into a T-Rexaur, and if I do then I'll deal with that when it happens.

Griever just growls again, slight and soft in the silent air of the hallway. I put the keys in my pocket--right next to Squall's pendant--and head down the stairs and through Garden, Griever following me the whole way like a lost dog or a hungry animal looking for food. A few times, he tosses snarls at some of the students who glance my way, but I'm the only one who takes any notice. To the rest of Garden he may as well not be there, and I may as well be a sorceress being tailed by a tremendous lion-shaped ghost.

I see Zell heading for the cafeteria out of the corner of my eye, and Selphie and Irvine chatting as they walk around the atrium of Garden. I make sure that I avoid them.

Only to run into Quistis in the gateway to the Training Center.

"Rinoa," she says with a nod. "Going to brush up on your magic?"

Yes, I reply, and glance over her to see that she's in simple civilian clothes, her pink vest and skirt with her high-cut gloves and boots. Wasn't she supposed to be heading up the SeeD exam today? I ask.

She rolls her eyes slightly under her glasses. "It's been put off for a couple of days. The area SeeD was planning to deploy the trainees to has called a cease-fire for the time being. We're looking into other places to send the students, but it's going to take all day to find one, at least. And since I was scheduled for the exam today, I got an automatic day off." She gestures toward the Training Center. "I was brushing up myself, along with doing some para-magic tutoring with the students that didn't pass the written exam."

Maybe she should have left the magic tutoring to me, I tease. Griever growls. I ignore him.

"Yes, well." She gives me a small smile, hand on her hip. "But your magic isn't exactly para-magic, now, is it?"

It's magic all the same, I reply, but she's already brushed past me and is now passing by Griever. All I see is a swipe of black and red as he swings out a paw toward her legs.

And she's on the floor, blinking. Shaking my head at Griever, I hurry to help her up.

"I must have tripped. Lost my balance." She sounds slightly dazed.

I ask if she's all right, and then notice the blood welling up on one of her legs, her boot ripped clean through to the skin.

She's noticed too. "Hyne almighty, how did that happen . . . ?" She inspects the floor, checking for a scrap of metal or a snag or something of that sort, while I just stare at Griever.

He gives me a level, yellow-eyed lion's stare right back.

"I'd best get to the infirmary and get this looked at." She stands up, testing her leg cautiously, and starts off down the hall again, being extremely careful in how she walks.

As soon as she's out of earshot, I demand what that was for.

"She had insulted you."

She wasn't insulting me, we were joking around, I reply heatedly.

But Griever just stares at me patiently, tail flicking over the floor and feathers of his wings shuddering slightly in the air-conditioning breeze.

He knows.

He saw that I was strained and that Quistis' refusal to let me help hurt deeper than I let on, and I don't know how he knows, but it's driving me crazy. How he can see what I want, what I think, what I feel, when I don't even say anything to hint at it.

Is it some kind of magic in the necklace? Did Squall have this thing following him around, seeing his every thought and wish?

I want it to stop.

"Aren't you going into the training center, Mistress?"

Stop calling me that, I'm not your mistress I'm not anyone's mistress--

Yes, I reply, and start walking, not caring if he's following me or not.

Sure enough, though, after I've killed my first pair of Grats and gathered up any materials they left behind--maybe Quistis can do some sort of blue magic with these later, I think--I turn around to see Griever standing there, a silent observer of the whole ordeal.

I start walking further into the training center, hearing his nearly-silent footfalls behind me as I go. He won't leave me alone--he never leaves me alone--

Another pair of Grats, quickly dismissed with a pair of fire spells. A few more steps draws out three more, all taken down with a Fira each. More swarm out to replace the ones that have already fallen, and the Firaga in my hands fizzles uncontrollably, my concentration wavering enough for it to backfire and burn my own skin.

Griever snarls and I swear, cast a quick Curaga, and concentrate on the wellspring of power in my own mind, Fire Thunder Blizzard Aero, there's got to be something simpler to control than that Firaga spell.

I settle at last on a succession of Blizzara spells, one right on the heels of the other, quick succession like dance steps, one-two-three-one-two-three-whenever sang my songs on the stage--

Can't start thinking about that. About him. Not here, not now.

Grat after Grat falls, more just popping up to take their places, and I switch from Blizzara to Thundara with a flick of my wrist. More fall, their bodies shimmering with electricity.

And then Griever leaps forward, very nearly standing on his hind legs alone instead of using all four, wings out and shimmering silver-white. Then he's down on all fours again, tearing into the Grats with his teeth and claws, leaving blurs of black and red and white and silver bleeding through the air. Each bite downs a Grat, each swipe downs two.

And yet more keep coming.

He keeps on tearing through them, in some form of rage I've never seen him show before, red claws shimmering with white energy, his black muzzle covered in dark, discolored Grat blood. The Grats are in dead piles across the Training Center floor, one on top of another on top of another, strewn all across each other in a disjointed line across the floor.

A few of them get past Griever and head for me. Before I can prepare any sort of counterattack or defense, even a Protect or a Shell or something like that, they're right in front of me, and I open my mouth to scream--

Only to have them rush right past me and into the foliage behind me, leaves and grass rustling. More of them are making it past Griever now, his blows becoming more careless each time he strikes, and yet none of them are attacking me. They're all just headed right into the grass and shelter of the trees.

I call out to Griever, who seems to have realized the same thing I have, and leaps back to my side, tail whipping at the air around us.

The Grats continue to pour from the bushes, rushing past us and deeper into the forest of the training center, rustling through the plants in their way.

That's when I hear the roar, and feel the reverberating slam of a nearby footstep.

I start to swear. I don't think the word ever quite makes it out of my mouth.

The Grats are running.

And a moment later, the thing they were running from emerges from the brush as well, first as a shadow among the forestry, then taking firmer features and with emerging details.

A T-Rexaur.

I turn to run myself, the reek of dead Grats and the T-Rexaur's horrid breath both strong in the air. Griever follows my turn, flapping his wings once. I'm caught off my guard by the flap of those tremendous wings, and stumble to the ground.

A moment later, I can feel a tremendous, scaled snout pressed to my back, sniffing. There's the slightest scrape of teeth.

Quick as I can, I roll over and blast the beast senseless with a Flare.

It lets out a roar of disdain, rearing back slightly before launching forward to clamp its teeth down on my arm, yanking me up into the air. With a whip of its head, it's tossed me against a wall, and I'm slumped down against it cradling a bloody arm and searching for a way out when there isn't one.

Oh Hyne, I'm cornered, and I'm going to die.

Griever lets loose a roar to oppose even the T-Rexaur's own, and it roars in return, turning its head away from me for just long enough for me to set off another Flare spell.

Then the T-Rexaur's snagged me by my other arm, tossed me into the air, and I swear I can hear something in my body break as I hit the wall behind me. I'm soon slumped against the floor again, both arms mangled and bleeding.

I'm going to die. The wall is cold and metal though it's disguised to be part of the Training Center's forest, and I'm going to die. The T-Rexaur is looming huge above me, teeth glittering with saliva and my own blood, and I'm going to die.

I never got to see Squall again, and I'm going to die.

Griever lets loose a feral cry and leaps on the T-Rexaur, tearing into the thick reptilian skin with claws and teeth that could kill a human man. The T-Rexaur responds with a roar of its own, tossing its head and thrashing its tail in an attempt to shake Griever loose. Griever is at last flung free, but only after marking the great monster in so many places that it's hard to count. Dark, nearly-black blood stains its body, coursing from one eye all the way down its nose, dripping onto the floor below.

Griever, meanwhile, attempts to use his wings to catch himself in midair, but smashes headlong into a tree and falls to the grassy ground, dazed, golden eyes unfocused.

The T-Rexaur returns its attention to me then, working eye focusing on me, and it lunges.

I'm going to die.

And in that bleak instant when the teeth of the beast are looming over me, inches from me, I feel immense power swelling within me, powerful to the point that it blasts the monster back, and bursts from my shoulderblades in immense wings of light.

Angel Wing--as Squall explained to me once, it's a special Sorceress ability. To manifest inner power in its truest form when she is threatened or when she feels extreme emotion. He'd said SeeDs learned something similar, and that they had given them the term "Limit Break."

The breaking of an invisible barrier, the crossing of an invisible line. The point of no return. After that, power was manifested in more potent and more dangerous forms. Squall's Lionheart, Selphie's Rapture, Quistis' special Blue Magics. Techniques to be used in a pinch, and Sorceresses came pre-made with them.

Angel Wing. A power for a Sorceress in danger. Squall had also said that from all documented evidence on Sorceresses, each of their powers were unique to the individual, according to her power.

Mine just happens to be a pair of white angel's wings, formed by light and air and little else.

Soon I'm back on my feet on the ground, wings neatly folded behind me, hands shimmering with energy as I concentrate on a Curaga for my arms. The spell flows as easily as water, sliding off my fingertips with ease and blanketing me in healing light. My arms still ache, but the bleeding has all but stopped. Another Curaga, and the bleeding does stop, and the ache in my arm subsides a little.

The T-Rexaur gets up from where my Limit had knocked it, and lets loose an ear-shattering roar.

Annoying. Silence.

The next time it tries to roar, nothing comes from its mouth except the sound of vocal cords attempting to work and failing. Its working eye narrows, and it lunges toward me. I knock it back with a single Ultima; it reels back, and would probably be screaming if it could. While it's distracted I give it another Flare for good measure--its skin is already black and scorched, but this spell brings blisters. It reels more, and while it's distracted I give myself another Curaga, and a Haste just in case it lunges again. I need to be fast enough to dodge it.

It does lunge, and I jump to the side and set off a Sleep spell, hoping to down it. It glances off the monster's skin, flying off uselessly into the air, and the T-Rexaur lunges yet again.

I'm caught off guard by the roar I hear, half-wondering if the Silence spell has already worn off, before I realize Griever's leapt on the beast again, sinking sharp claws into its back. It tries to roar again, having no success save the silent gasps of its throat. Griever tears deep gashes in its skin, distracting it from me, and it turns its head to try to snap at him.

I let off a quick succession of spells, hardly thinking about it--Ultima, Flare, Tornado. The last one cuts deep gashes in the T-Rexaur's skin, deeper than even Griever's been able to manage. One cut runs clear through its neck--not enough to cut it into pieces, but enough to draw a whole wash of blood over the forested floor.

The T-Rexaur turns, shakily, attempts a roar again, this time only managing the gurgles of a blood-filled throat and desperate lungs. It lunges one last time, and I knock it back with a simple Aero.

There is more choked gurgling, and the T-Rexaur stumbles before falling to the ground, blood spreading further over the floor.

My shoes are covered in the blood.

The monster stops moving a few seconds later. Griever detached from its back the moment the Tornado hit, and now watches it carefully from a few feet behind. Griever's covered in blood from head to toe now--the greenish Grat blood, the dark red T-Rexaur blood, and some of his own, bright red and shining against his dark fur and the dark stains from all the other blood.

I think I forget how to breathe for a few minutes, the stench of blood and death blocking my thoughts from working right, and still caught up in my Angel Wing and the lack of emotion, of thought, that comes with it.

If I look I keep thinking I see Squall standing next to me, swinging his gunblade, wiping it on the brush to clean off the monster blood. Griever still watches from the other side of the beast.

But when I blink I can tell Squall's not really there. That it's a memory of my own, after we'd run into something like this before, and he'd been the one to down the monster.

He's not here now, and I downed it on my own. Well--with Griever, but still . . .

Would he be proud of me?

Did he even ever feel things like pride?

I don't know, and I wish I did. I wish I understood more of how he worked, how he thought, but it feels like even the little about him that I knew dissolved into nothing after he disappeared into Time Compression.

I can't make a noise, too caught up in my own thoughts and illusions.

The next time I blink, the illusion of Squall beside me is gone completely.

I breathe.

There’s been no sound from Griever for over a minute now as I was busy chasing my own elusive ideas, the only sound in the whole of the Training Center being my own labored breath, against the wall, staring at the fallen T-Rexaur before me.

Finally, my light wings fade into nothingness, dissipating in the dim light of the Training Center.

“Mistress,” the great lion says at last, just before I feel my legs collapse from underneath me.

Before I can fall to the floor, he's underneath me, catching me between his vast silver wings.

I choke on a mouthful of blood-soaked fur, hands latching around his neck as he carries us over the carcass with a couple flaps of his wings. My arms are getting covered in monster blood as he then begins to half-carry half-drag me from the Training Center, my legs scraping themselves raw on the floor of Garden.

There's no one in the halls except one cadet, half a hot dog hanging from his mouth, who watches us pass in stunned silence. Whether he sees Griever or not, I can't imagine. We're quite a sight either way--either a sorceress being dragged down the hall by a great lion, or a sorceress being dragged down the hall by some invisible force. Either way, few people are likely to believe him.

Somehow we make it back to my dorm, and I manage to fish the key out of my pocket, using Griever as some kind of ladder to get to the doorknob and unlock it. We slip inside, and he closes the door behind us with one bat of a rear paw.

I'm asleep even before he can drag me into bed.

I dream of Squall and flowers and pendants and promises, and of a black lion covered in blood, watching from a distance away as its silver feathers float through the air.

I think I wake up briefly here-and-there, but always fall right back to sleep.

And my dreams are always the same.

X/1999: Seishirou/Subaru, for fanfic100

Mon, 17 Oct 2005 05:13:54 GMT

First entry for fanfic100.

Title: Midnight Encounter
Fandom: X/1999
Characters: Seishirou Sakurazuka, Subaru Sumeragi, in pairing
Prompt: (060) Drink
Word Count: 1311 with the beginning quote, 1293 without
Rating: PG at best
Author's Notes: Just a random piece, not even that shippy, really. Seishirou's watching Subaru's apartment, and Subaru's late coming home from work.

Drink

~

Ever since that day, he knew where I was. He kept track of my whereabouts, knew where to find me.

~

The problem with Subaru was that he was entirely too easy to find.

Every time he changed apartments, every time he had a job that had him set foot outside of Tokyo, Seishirou knew where he was.

It was only his responsibility. Subaru was, after all, his prey. The marks on the back of his hands confirmed it. Even had he wanted to let Subaru go, those marks would have made him keep Subaru as his target.

He'd been waiting outside Subaru's apartment for nearly an hour now, and there was still no sign of the younger onmyou. He'd lit a cigarette in the past few minutes, the smoke drifting lazily up toward the half-dimmed overhead light that loomed over the Subaru's door. Subaru had a job downtown today, a simple exorcism of some rather spiteful spirits that had been murdered weeks ago, seemingly by their landlord. He should have been home at least a half hour ago. Probably even sooner, actually; Seishirou had never known Subaru to take an extreme amount of time on a rather simple job. If nothing else, the boy was talented.

Come to think of it, it was extremely odd that Subaru wasn't already home. He'd left his apartment in the early afternoon, and Seishirou doubted Subaru would have taken this long on something as simple as an exorcism unless something came up. Subaru probably should have been home hours ago, before the sun had even set.

Even as Seishirou thought about that, idly flicking the ash off the end of his cigarette, he heard footsteps thudding heavily on the metal stairs that led to this floor of apartments. He sank back into the shadows at the corner, watching the stairs and Subaru's door carefully.

Sure enough, it was Subaru, stumbling slightly, almost as if he was limping on the way to his door. Seishirou squinted in the poor lighting, trying to make out if Subaru's leg had been injured or if some other wound was causing his staggering. But he saw none; Subaru appeared to be in perfect physical condition.

He was soon at his door, leaning back against the think metal railing as he fished for his keys in one of his jacket pockets, fumbling slightly. He finally pulled them from his pocket, only to drop them again and have them clatter against the floor. Cursing, he knelt to pick them up, only to freeze as Seishirou took a few steps out from the shadows and into visibility, still inspecting Subaru.

"Subaru-kun."

He glanced up from the floor briefly, green-grey eyes fogged in the hazy light, before quickly looking down again, fingers shaking as he attempted to pick up his keys.

"Is something wrong, Subaru-kun?" He bent, picking up the keys himself, offering them to the younger boy in an open palm. Subaru, hand still trembling, reached out, fingers locking around the keys for a moment.

Only to have them fall to the floor again as Seishirou twisted his hand just right to clamp his own fingers tight around Subaru's wrist, fingers tugging at the hem of his gloves.

"It's been quite a while, hasn't it, Subaru-kun?" One finger snaked under the hem of the glove, tugging it partway off to reveal the slightest of that old scar on the back of his hand.

For the first time that night, Subaru spoke, voice oddly slurred. "Let go of me."

Ah. That explained things.

"No, Subaru-kun, I don't think I will." Still firmly gripping Subaru's hand in one of his own, he picked up the keys with his free hand.

"Let go."

"You've been drinking, Subaru-kun." There was a stretch of silence. "I'm right, aren't I?"

He tugged slightly, halfheartedly trying to get away from Seishirou. "My clients offered after work, and wouldn't take no for an answer."

"That, or you refused to say no," Seishirou said. "You always were too worried about offending people." He got to his feet, dragging Subaru up with him and slinging that arm over his shoulder. "And once you got started, you couldn't stop, could you?"

"I don't see why it matters," Subaru muttered, leaning against Seishirou's shoulder. "It's not like you care."

Seishirou slid the keys into the lock and opened the door, tugging Subaru inside. He shut the door behind them, then turned to halfway toss Subaru against the wall.

"Get out of here," Subaru said, voice almost pleading.

"I don't think I will." He extinguished his cigarette in an ashtray sitting on the dresser. There was a half-empty cigarette carton lying next to it. "I see you've taken up smoking."

Subaru was still half-slumped against the wall, refusing to look up. "You knew that already, I'm sure."

"There's a lot that I don't understand about you, surprisingly, Subaru-kun." He turned to face Subaru, and removed his glasses. "Why the drinking?"

"I told you, my clients offered, and . . ."

"And you kept going after a first drink, a second, a third . . . do you even know how many you had on their tab, Subaru-kun?"

Subaru still refused to look up. "Please, just . . . go."

"No."

Subaru pried himself off the wall, making a staggering, weaving path to his bed, where he sat and buried his head in his hands.

"Are you trying to make yourself forget, Subaru-kun?" Seishirou walked toward the bed, shoes softly clacking against the floor. "Trying to erase any traces of your sister, of me, from your memory?"

Subaru didn't look up from his hands, shoulders shaking.

"I suppose drinking actually only made it worse, didn't it?" He was standing right in front of Subaru now, staring down at him. "You're too gentle. Drinking doesn't make you forget, it makes you remember."

Subaru's voice was a harshened whisper. "Stop it."

"Am I hurting you, Subaru-kun?" He grabbed Subaru by the collar, and yet Subaru still refused to look up. "Have I touched a nerve?" He yanked Subaru's chin up, toward him, to see that boyish face streaked with tears.

"Seishirou-san . . ." It was halfway a whimper. "Please, just go."

He released Subaru, stepped back, and raised his hand before his face. Two fingers extended, he concentrated, and the room seemed to dissolve, leaving a vast blankness and a towering cherry tree in its place. Subaru was already halfway-devoured by the tree by the time the illusion solidified, and made no attempt to fight back.

"It stuns me, Subaru-kun," he said, lowering his hand now that the illusion was firmly in place, "that you won't fight back against this spell, even though I've used it against you before."

Subaru didn't answer, fogged eyes barely able to focus on Seishirou as the tree continued closing its bark around him.

"Again, Subaru-kun, I'm sure that if you tried, you could find the weak point of this spell without trouble. You're a smart boy, after all."

The tree stopped as Seishirou inspected Subaru once more.

"Why, Subaru-kun, are you not fighting back?" The tree withdrew slightly as Seishirou racked his brain. "Ah . . . the drink? That must be it."

"Why don't you just kill me?"

The tree released him; the illusion faded.

"It wouldn't be fair to either of us to destroy you in this state, Subaru-kun." Soon, the room was back in place, Subaru slumped against the side of his bed.

"You've already destroyed me, Seishirou-san." He wouldn't make eye contact. "There's not much worse you can do."

Seishirou wandered back over to the dresser, coat flapping behind him, and pulled one of the cigarettes from the package sitting there. "I'm not satisfied, Subaru-kun, unless I can destroy someone completely. You know that."

" . . . why don't you just kill me?" Subaru repeated.

"I could ask you the same question." He lit his cigarette.

Subaru didn't answer.

"You won't remember any of this in the morning, Subaru-kun."

He walked back over to the bed, placed a cool hand against Subaru's forehead. His fingertips glittered with white energy.

"I'll make sure of it."

001.	Beginnings.	002.	Middles.	003.	Ends.	004.	Insides.	005.	Outsides.
006.	Hours.	007.	Days.	008.	Weeks.	009.	Months.	010.	Years.
011.	Red.	012.	Orange.	013.	Yellow.	014.	Green.	015.	Blue.
016.	Purple.	017.	Brown.	018.	Black.	019.	White.	020.	Colourless.
021.	Friends.	022.	Enemies.	023.	Lovers.	024.	Family.	025.	Strangers.
026.	Teammates.	027.	Parents.	028.	Children.	029.	Birth.	030.	Death.
031.	Sunrise.	032.	Sunset.	033.	Too Much.	034.	Not Enough.	035.	Sixth Sense.
036.	Smell.	037.	Sound.	038.	Touch.	039.	Taste.	040.	Sight.
041.	Shapes.	042.	Triangle.	043.	Square.	044.	Circle.	045.	Moon.
046.	Star.	047.	Heart.	048.	Diamond.	049.	Club.	050.	Spade.
051.	Water.	052.	Fire.	053.	Earth.	054.	Air.	055.	Spirit.
056.	Breakfast.	057.	Lunch.	058.	Dinner.	059.	Food.	060.	Drink.
061.	Winter.	062.	Spring.	063.	Summer.	064.	Fall.	065.	Passing.
066.	Rain.	067.	Snow.	068.	Lightening.	069.	Thunder.	070.	Storm.
071.	Broken.	072.	Fixed.	073.	Light.	074.	Dark.	075.	Shade.
076.	Who?	077.	What?	078.	Where?	079.	When?	080.	Why?
081.	How?	082.	If.	083.	And.	084.	He.	085.	She.
086.	Choices.	087.	Life.	088.	School.	089.	Work.	090.	Home.
091.	Birthday.	092.	Christmas.	093.	Thanksgiving.	094.	Independence.	095.	New Year.
096.	Writer‘s Choice.	097.	Writer‘s Choice.	098.	Writer‘s Choice.	099.	Writer‘s Choice.	100.	Writer‘s Choice.

lion

[ff7] wildflowers; sephiroth

Sun, 18 Sep 2005 08:48:04 GMT

Fandom: Final Fantasy VII
Title: Wildflowers
Characters: Sephiroth
Rating: PG I suppose?
Summary: There's a brief break in the fighting during the Wutai war, and Sephiroth needs some time to think.

A break in the action of the Wutaian war was rare, and something that the men savored whenever they had a chance to do so.

Of course, for many of the soldiers in Sephiroth's contingent, "savoring" it meant alcohol and cheap Wutaian whores all around. Neither was something that he had any sort of interest in, and during the brief moments when the Wutaian armies reconvened and made their plans, he often found himself leaving camp for long strains of time, Masamune by his side. The other commanders had stopped asking what he was doing after, the third or fourth time he'd left camp, he'd refused to tell them.

As far as Sephiroth was concerned, it wasn't their business what he did while the other soldiers were too busy drinking and fucking to even spell their own names. Let them look after their own men first, before they tried to look after their general.

His trips were generally within some small walking distance of the camp, just to the rolling plains outside of camp, bordered by mountains on every side. The war was all fought on treacherous ground, the only greater problem than the mountains themselves being how much the soldiers tended to underestimate them.

He made pointedly sure to steer clear the city, which was to the north of the Shin-Ra encampment. He'd made the mistake of entering it once before during a brief spat of peace, only to find himself greeted with closed and locked doors. The people who were still outside had cursed among themselves in Wutaian, forgetting easilly that he knew enough of the language to negotiate. But he'd forgiven their anger. He was, after all, a foreign soldier on their land, standing on a doorstep where he knew he wasn't welcome.

He hadn't gone to the city again since then, too wary of the fear reflected in their eyes.

He was growing wary of his own armies, now--partly because, if he looked carefully enough, he saw some degree of the same fear in their eyes, the worries that Sephiroth was just power-lust and madness rolled tightly enough together that it came into a semblance of sanity.

What made him even more wary was that sometimes he wondered that himself. There had always been a feeling at the back of his mind, tugging at his own consciousness, that he was different from these people. His white hair, his bright green eyes, his strength, demeanor--

And then there were the voices he could recall hearing as a child, a woman softly telling him how precious he was, how much he meant to her, how very special he would be--

You are different, you will always be different.

Where the thought of being different was comforting to a five-year-old, it grew quickly stale after years of the military and learning that every man's blood stained steel the same way.

Wildflowers grew in hoardes on the plains and foothills, though the mountains themselves were barren and nothing but stone and a few sparse trees here and there. He'd wandered through the tall grasses before, flowers mingling with the green, and taken little heed as to where he trampled a flower here or there.

There had been a bloody battle earlier today, Shin-Ra's pistols against Wutai's swords and gunpowder.

Wutai had lost many.

Shin-Ra had lost none.

He'd been at the tail end of the fighting, cutting down anyone who hadn't been shot down already. He'd never needed to move his feet to do it--they were, after all, by and large aiming for him, seeing him as the cause of all their troubles. He didn't move to greet them, and with a simple turn of his swordblade--

The bodies had been cleared already, taken back to Wutai for proper rites and burial. This ground was neutral, the no-man's-land between the city--which, while Shin-Ra soldiers were permitted to enter, was far from welcoming--and the encampments of his own men, drunk and distracted tonight after another overwhelming victory against Wutai.

He hadn't noticed, in battle, that they had been fighting in a veritable flower garden, wildflowers stretching every which way, less of the tall grass that covered almost every other foot of the Wutaian plains. Beyond the trampled garden they'd been fighting in, he could see reds, yellows, purples, bright blues and pinks against the grey-brown mountains. A few small flowers had been spared the trampling, halfway-rising above the dying flowers that plastered the dirt.

He'd seen men die, men that deserved to live. His own enemies had a decent number of them. And he'd seen other men survive, and sometimes they didn't have the right to live that those who died did.

He hated himself for thinking that way--who deserved to live, and who deserved to die; who was he to make judgment? General of Shin-Ra's troops or not, he was still just a man--a different man, different, always different--and had no right to call himself anything resembling a god.

He was no judge, and Masamune was no gavel.

He'd seen people live who didn't have what he considered basic decency (that was better than considering it a basic right to live)--his own soldiers, drunk and busy fucking any whores that smiled at them right, oblivious to the fact that they were still Wutaian and still dangerous, oblivious to the fact that tomorrow morning they'd be sleepy and hungover in the middle of battle. He'd met men who were twisted beyond any reasonable understanding--Hojo came to mind, that leering grin and his constant talk of specimens, his lust to constantly observe Sephiroth as if he were no greater than an experiment himself.

He'd met the lazy, the pigheaded, the hard-hearted and stupid, and he didn't understand how they were granted life while the brave, kind, decent, honest men were killed.

And he hated his own way of thinking for it, because (you are different, you are special, you are mine) he was still, at heart, not a general or a savior.

Just Sephiroth.

He bent, picking up a half-crushed yellow poppy, and raised it so he could inspect it.

The bright petals were stained with blood.

No matter how he rubbed his thumb and fingers over the petals, the stain remained.

After a moment, he bit his lip, barely, and tucked the flower away into his pocket.

He turned, and walked back to camp.

Fri, 12 Aug 2005 22:38:08 GMT

Title: Peeping Tom
Fandom: Tales of Symphonia
Characters: Zelos, Sheena
Summary: Sheena mentioned once that she'd caught Zelos trying to peek at her in the shower...

It was a warm day in Meltokio, the sun reflecting off the rooftops of the city, and Zelos was bored.

All of his hunnies were out for the day, taking care of their dresses or their families or something else like that, and so he was left alone to wander the streets of the city. The heat was enough to empty the streets and send people inside to stay cool, so there was not a hunny anywhere in sight. No pretty girls made for an unhappy Zelos, and so he did what he did best.

Looked for a girl.

His search was vastly unsuccessful, many of the ladies having headed out to the beach for a day of sun and swimming. (Zelos bemoaned the fact that he wouldn't get to see those beautiful ladies in swimsuits, possibly ever.) The remaining ladies or the town were, by and large, not interested in him for some reason he couldn't understand.

Sulking, he headed for the research institute. Maybe there was a lady scholar there who would be interested in acccompanying the Chosen for a day on the town. If he offered to get them a book, then possibly...

Pause.

Apartments.

Score.

He turned to look over the apartments, caught sight of an open window, and someone--a very distinctly female someone--moving about inside.

Hello, hunny~~

The shape moved, grabbing something and leaving the room to move into another. Zelos, a little upset at having the lovely hunny leave without even giving a look at him, climbed into the window and headed for the room where she had gone to.

The door was closed, and from inside there was a sound of running water, but ajiggle of the doorknob told him that the door was unlocked.

He opened the door and peeked in to see a distinctly female shape, half-clothed, leaning over a bathtub and testing the temperature of the water.

Wait. A. Minute.

Black, spiky hair tied with a pink ribbon, and the clothes on the floor were obviously from Mizuho--

He didn't manage to keep his "ohshit" quiet enough to make an escape.

She whirled around, fury blazing in her brown eyes as one arm flew to cover her chest.

"Zelos Wilder, what are you doing?!"

"Ack! Sheena!" He quickly stepped back, but didn't cover his eyes. It was a nice view.

She stood up, chest still covered, fuming. "Were you peeking at me when I was about to take a shower?!"

"Uhhhhm," he looked down at her rather nice-sized chest, "no, no, of course not."

Sheena gritted her teeth, and Zelos could practically see the steam pouring from her ears. "Zelos, you idiot!"

Corinne appeared out of nowhere and launched itself at Zelos.

"YEAAAAARGH!!!"

-

A while later, Sebastian sat, holding out a roll of bandages while Zelos inspected his wounds.

"It's not funny," Zelos snapped, wincing as he inspected an injury on his arm.

"OF course not, sir."

At long last;

Mon, 01 Aug 2005 06:16:52 GMT

Crazy!Rinoa, chapter 3.

I open my eyes and scream.

Yellow eyes blink back at me before the events of last night come back into my mind--the argument and Quistis telling me I needed to get my head out of the clouds, and coming back to find a monster claiming that I'm its--

"Mistress. Good morning."

I can see its face clearly now with the light coming in through my window. It's the face of a lion, pitch-black, with long horns sweeping back from his head, tinged red at the ends. As I saw in the darkness of last night, it has a long white mane, running from the top of its head all the way down its back.

And wings. Shaped like the wings of a dragon or perhaps a demon, but instead of the leathery wings that usually mark both dragons and demons, in between the spines are rows upon rows of silver-white feathers.

The feathers. How long has this thing been watching me?

The head tilts slightly to the side. "Mistress? Are you all right?"

I get up and don't speak to it. Maybe it's a hallucination, brought on by stress and memories and the pendant most of all. I'm imagining things again, making up stories and daydreams like I used to do when I was a child.

Without even a second thought I grab my towel from near the bathroom door and head inside, shutting and locking the door behind me. The rustling of paws and feathers sounds outside the door.

"Mistress?"

I ignore it. It's not real. It's not real, it's a daydream, a hallucination brought on by stress and memories. I'm imagining it, it's just something I've made up or dreamed with the pendant.

There is a growl, but the only other noise from Griever is the rustling of wings. I ignore the noise as I attempt to wash my thoughts down the drain with the hot water.

I try to assure myself that it's nothing more than a bad dream, a delusion brought on by stress and sorrow and two whole years (and six more whole months, now) of missing him and wanting him back here with me. Griever is no more than a pendant, and I'm imagining the great black lion who lurks outside the bathroom door.

But when I come out of the bathroom again, fully clothed with wet hair sticking against my shoulders, Griever is still sitting there waiting for me. It watches as I dry and brush my hair. And when I leave my dormitory to go get something to eat, it follows me.

I reach the cafeteria to find it's already eleven and I've wasted nearly half the day away just sleeping off the argument from last night. Griever follows me into the cafeteria, and no one looks at me as I enter with the gigantic lion, all too absorbed in their own activities and lunches. I avoid everyone in the cafeteria, and I am sure their conversations are all about me, as well as all their laughter. Puny little Sorceress Rinoa and her sad delusions that Squall is coming back, did you hear about what she did to Quistis last night? Yeah, she'll be kicked out of the Garden for sure this time.

I can't even hear what they're saying, and I still hate them for it.

Griever sits next to the table, and no one even says anything as its tail swishes back and forth and it folds those immense wings against its back. No one even looks my way.

I only wonder about this for a moment before I unwrap my sandwich and start eating. Griever watches me, head tilted slightly to the side as I eat. He doesn't seem interested in the sandwich so much as he does in the pendant around my neck.

I give him a look that I hope communicates the fact that I know he's not real so he can stop trying to fool me anytime now, and go back to eating.

"Rinoa?"

. . . it's Quistis.

I don't know what she wants. I don't want to know what she wants. If it's an apology then I won't give it. I was in the right last night and it was my Hyne-damned birthday and isn't that the one day of the year I should be allowed to keep my fantasies? Does she really want me to apologize to her for being optimistic?

"Rinoa." She thinks she hasn't caught my attention. I look up at her but don't smile. After last night it's too hard to even pretend.

She sighs and rubs her forehead. Looking up at her I can see Zell and Irvine standing behind her (but not too far, really), and Zell clears his throat loudly.

"Right," Quistis says, and puts her hand down. "Rinoa, I came to apologize to you about last night. It wasn't my place to say things like that."

She's standing right next to Griever, and yet doesn't even seem to notice he's there. I stare pointedly at him, trying to get her to look over and notice him. She follows my gaze and frowns.

"Rinoa, what are you staring at?"

Well, isn't this just dandy. Either she can't see him or she's trying to make a fool of me. Make me seem crazy. Get me locked away in jail or a mental ward, never to see the light of day again. Never to see the flower garden again. And if he came back he wouldn't be able to find me.

So I tell her it's nothing.

She signs, hands on her hips. "Anyway. I'm sorry I said those things. I suppose we could go to Centra after all. It's not too far out of our way." There's an underlying tone that I know means she doesn't believe I'll find anything, but I want to go anyway.

Besides, the question lingering in my mind is where are we going anyway? That Centra isn't too far out of the way? We've never been going anywhere, to my knowledge. After beating Ultimecia, we've been drifting. Almost endlessly. It's like being in space all over again, except this time I don't expect to die.

I suppose I'm still waiting for him to come save me again.

Centra sounds great, I say, and go back to eating my sandwich.

And Griever speaks.

"Is she irritating you, Mistress?"

I glance at Quistis to see that she either didn't hear Griever or just chose not to react to the growling voice of the lion. I blink slightly, shaking my head.

"What is it, Rinoa?"

Griever growls. "Should I get rid of her for you, mistress?"

I turn and blink in his general direction. Quistis follows my gaze.

"Rinoa, what are you looking at? There's nothing there."

There is. Griever's there. And maybe this is some kind of sick and twisted joke and she's just playing along with Garden's rumors, Rinoa is the crazy Sorceress lost all control of her own power and it's too bad that Squall isn't around to keep her on a leash anymore, isn't it? Who knows what she'll do to all of us once she really loses her mind, and then we'll have a real excuse to get rid of her.

I've heard them whispering that the only reason I'm even allowed in Garden anymore is because I suck up to Quistis and kiss Cid's ass. That I don't belong here, I'm not one of them, not a SeeD not a trainee not a student not even a civilian. But I do belong here, I do because I was Squall's Sorceress and he was my Knight and Quistis and the others all reasoned that if he was still here he would have wanted me to stay in Garden for the sake of my own safety and sanity and all what-have-you.

"Rinoa?" Quistis repeats, and I quickly glance up at her.

"Mistress?" Griever growls, and I give just the tiniest shake of my head. He growls, flapping his wings once and baring his sharp teeth, before settling back on his haunches. He stares evenly at Quistis.

She still doesn't notice.

"Well . . ." Here, she tilts her head slightly to one side, eyebrows lifting as she inspects me. "Rinoa, are you sure you're feeling all right?"

Fine, I say briskly and get up to take my lunch tray to the returns. Even though my back is turned to him, I can hear Griever's footfalls as I head toward the cafeteria doors. In the background, I can hear Zell start to pester Quistis about what she said to me and what's going on that has me so distant.

I need to clear my head. I need to think and get this thing, this Griever, out of my mind.

No one notices Griever as I leave the cafeteria. No one glances at him--just at me, I'm sure, pointing and laughing and mocking in their undertone whispers. No one even looks at the massive wings, horns, long sweeping tail.

They just look at the Sorceress Rinoa, and make the derisive comments that I only hear in my own mind.

I'm going insane. I'm going insane and Griever is just a testimony of how much of my mind I've lost.

The place I find myself wandering to after leaving the cafeteria is the Training Center, and before long I'm nearly choking on the humid air from all the plants. My feet keep moving halfway without me willing them to, and I circle around the Training Center twice without so much as a glance of a single monster. After a third time, I can no longer hear Griever trailing behind me. A fourth, and it's confirmed. When I glance behind myself, he's nowhere in sight.

And I collapse again, this time against the walls bordering the door to the secret area, and bury my face in my hands and try not to sob.

I'm insane, I'm losing my mind or I've already lost it. I'm seeing monsters that aren't real, that no one else can see, and all because I've been two years without Squall and I can't stand it anymore, can't stand the weight of the two rings around my neck and the weight of the silver pendant that used to be his--

--his pendant.

I didn't put it on today. I forgot it, left it in my dorm room, lying underneath my pillow.

My hand grasps at the rings I wear on a chain, but my neck suddenly feels oddly light and empty without the thick chain of his necklace against it.

I have to go get it. I need it.

I need to calm down, I need to think, I need to get my thoughts in order, and all of that seems inexplicably tied to his pendant.

Everything leads back to him in some way.

I pull myself up from the forested floor and leave the Training Center, killing a few Grats on the way out, and head back to my dormitory at a fast walk. Griever is still nowhere in sight.

Thank Hyne.

The dormitory halls are flooded with people coming and going, whether for lunch or for anything else. I avoid meeting their faces, too worried I'll see Quistis or Selphie or Irvine or Zell--

--or perhaps I'm too afraid I'll see Squall there, and he won't recognize me after two and a half years being gone. And I've changed, I'm sure I've changed and he'd probably not even know who I am were he to see me now.

I probably wouldn't know who I was, if I was someone else.

I find that I left my dormitory door unlocked and enter, glancing around inside, kitchen, hallway, bathroom, then at last into my bedroom.

The pillows on my bed are askew and the sheets are messy, and Griever suddenly looks up from where he is on the floor, something silver glittering against his black fur.

I stand in silence for a few moments, angry at myself for not being rid of him like I had hoped, and then bend down when the silver glimmers in the light of the room.

A chain?

I pull it from his mouth to find that it's Squall's pendant, and clutch it to my chest protectively.

He looks up at me, lips curled in a lion's snarl, as I ask what he was doing with the pendant.

And then, he doesn't answer, turning away, his tail swishing as he leaves the room and wanders down the hallway, the soft sound of his paws and claws on the floor echoing behind him.

I pull the necklace on quickly, finding that it's not wet at all, and hold it together with my rings in a vague hope that it will make everything clear again.

But nothing becomes clear, and I turn my attention to fixing up my bed, remaking the sheets and arranging the pillows and clearing the bed of Griever's silver-white feathers and dustings of black fur.

I lay down, hand again clasping the pendant and the rings as I let my mind wander all on its own, running itself around in the same tired circles, and all of those circles running around the thought of Squall, Squall disappearing, Squall coming back with a soft "sorry I'm late" and a look of concern as I burst into tears, his distant gray-blue eyes and his leather jacket, his messy brown hair and now I've even begun to miss his soft "whatever" and the way he would roll his eyes, fold his arms, brush his hair out of his eyes in annoyance.

Everything about him leads back to everything about him, and it's a sad circle that I lead myself in.

Sad as I realize it is, I can't stop tracing those patterns in my mind. If I stop thinking about him, he might cease to exist. If I stop thinking he's alive, then he won't be.

If I start thinking he'll never come back, then he'll never come back.

I read a story once, or maybe it was my mother that read it to me, where if someone said they didn't believe in fairies, a fairy would fall down dead. But as long as people kept believing, the fairies would keep on living.

But fairytales are just fairytales, the others would say, and I need to stop believing that we live in a world where boys are young forever and you can fly if you believe hard enough.

I never liked the idea of growing up, and I always wanted to fly off to Neverland and live as a child forever.

But now I know that I can't do that.

I spend a few hours lying on my bed before Griever returns, staring at me in silence for a few moments before he at last speaks.

"Mistress?"

Go away. I don't want to talk to you right now, I tell him, though the truth of it is that if I had it my way I wouldn't be talking to him at all. He's just a figment of my imagination, he has to be, nothing else makes sense. No one else can see him, hear him, even knows he's there.

Fairytales, Rinoa.

Stop believing in him and he will drop down dead. Like a fairy. All the light faded out, all the feathers and fur fallen away, until there's not even a skeleton left, not even a ghost of him left in my imagination. Not even a shadow of him left fading on the cold dormitory floor. Just the rings, the pendant, and me.

But no Squall either.

I bury my head in my pillow and try to tell myself, over and over again, that Griever isn't real. It's just something I'm imagining, something that's not really there, has never really even been there. It's just a side-effect of stress and maybe something I ate, and it's not real.

There is a soft noise of wings flapping in the still bedroom air, and Griever nudges me slightly with his snout.

I don't believe in you, I don't I don't I don't--

What, I ask, peeking up, and sure enough he is still there, vivid as ever in the whitewashed bedroom.

I guess in a corner of my mind I am still believing he's there.

He shifts, moving back, eyes a bright golden yellow. "You have been here alone for some hours now. Are you sure you are all right?"

Fine, I reply, again in my short, brisk tone of voice, and try to go back to believing that Griever doesn't exist, never has existed.

Though I'm doing a terrible job at that thus far.

There is a pause.

"Do you do anything besides lay around your room and think all day, Mistress?"

This time I actually glare at him. Of course I do, I retort. I read, I play cards, I train my powers in the Training Center, I go shopping, I eat, I sometimes--

--sometimes go to plays.

The memory of the play jumps back too easily into my mind, along with my own visions of Squall being taken away by a black-winged woman and leaving me to die at the hand of another.

I heard that in a variation of the play, the sorceress was killed by a lion. And somehow, I find that oddly fitting right now.

Griever examines me carefully before continuing. "So today is not a normal day then?"

I hate how even with the voice of a lion he sounds so mocking, so confident, almost like if Seifer were the great black beast, smirking at me from behind those yellow lion's eyes. It was the confidence that had drawn me to him, so it's ironic that I find it so appalling in Griever.

I guess it's just that I'm so used to Squall and his quiet insecurity that to have someone sound so mocking and oversure, like Seifer all over again, is disconcerting.

But at the moment I'm so unsure of my own mind that I don't even know if that's right or not. I can't even begin to guess at my own motivations, and my own speculations could be horribly misled for all that I understand myself right now.

I keep wondering if other people so often feel this lost, this confused. Do other people ever completely not understand themselves? Do other people sometimes let their thoughts roam the same well-trodden paths over and over again? Do they chase ghosts through the empty shadows of their own mind?

And then I remind myself that I am not like other people, and even if they do those things I probably don't want to know.

No, I reply at last, today is not a normal day. (I don't tell him that it's all because he appeared that things aren't normal anymore.)

He gives a small rumble in his throat, and I suppose it's some sort of laugh. He finds me amusing. That shouldn't surprise me since almost everyone else does as well. But I'd hoped there would be at least one person, one thing, one whatever-Griever-is, that thought I was sane, thought I wasn't funny, thought I wasn't just something to be laughed at or pitied.

And now I catch myself thinking that he's real and stop myself in the act--he's just your imagination, Rinoa, just shadows on the wall and your mind's delusional illusions and hopes traced in the shape of a lion that no one else can see or hear or feel.

It's all in your head, Rinoa, all in your head and if you don't stop it now or stop it soon, you'll lose your mind entirely, and then you'll be the monster everyone's been expecting you to become ever since Squall disappeared (or maybe before, I've never been sure how long people have been watching my every move for any sign of insanity).

I turn away from him, returning to my thoughts, and hear a small rustle from him. When I turn back to look at him, he's curled up on the floor like a great oversized cat. His wings are folded against his massive back, his tail flicking gently along the floor.

It's almost comical, and I even giggle a little as I watch him. He stirs, one yellow eye rolling up at me, then closes his eyes and settles down to sleep.

Shortly afterward, I head out to get something for dinner. I leave Griever slumbering on the floor of my room as I head out. Let sleeping lions lie, I guess.

I'm early enough that the cafeteria is fairly empty, only a few people here and there grabbing early meals, many of them studying over their plates for the written SeeD exam later tonight. Quistis was saying that the field exam was tomorrow.

That'll make it almost three years since I met him.

There go my thoughts again in those same worn circles, pacing the path and making the grooves in it deeper and deeper. Everything leads back to him, and he leads to everything.

I eat my dinner alone, and head back up to my dormitory room alone. I'm not sure if Quistis is avoiding me or if I just haven't been coming and going at the right time, but I haven't seen hide nor hair of her or any of the others since breakfast.

I don't quite know whether that makes me lucky, or unlucky.

My dormitory is still unlocked, and I enter quietly, locking the door behind me, to find Griever standing in the hallway, watching me.

"You left."

I had to eat sometime, I reply, heading into the kitchen to wash my hands.

"You could have woken me."

I don't tell him that I'm quite happy to eat dinner on my own and pretend I'm not crazy for a little while. Instead I tell him I didn't want to bother him, while I make a point of not looking at him as I wash my hands.

He growls, flaps his wings once, and watches me. I almost want to scrub my hands raw, wash them over and over and over again, just to see if he'll stay there all day and all night and wait for me to finish. But I know that would be pointless, so I shut off the water and slowly dry my hands on the towel that's lying on the counter. I turn to face him, and ask him if there was something else he wanted.

"You're not going to bed this early, are you?"

Not that it's any of his business. I don't even dignify him with an answer, picking a book up off the counter and heading back into my room. As always, Griever follows me.

I lock the door behind me before he can get inside, and read my book until the sun goes down. Griever makes periodic noises and paws at the door like a dog, but I pay him no mind, reading until I reach a good stopping point and the ocean landscape would be pitch-dark if not for the millions of stars dotting the sky.

At which point, I go to sleep, only bothering to take my shoes off and not changing out of the shabby sweater and jeans I've been wearing all day. I just pull my covers up over my head and close my eyes.

I don't let Griever in before I fall asleep. I'm too afraid that he'll devour me whole while I'm resting.

Wed, 27 Jul 2005 21:49:00 GMT

Title: ....eh, untitled of yet.
Fandom: Golden Sun (specifically The Lost Age)
Characters: The TLA crew, Alex
Summary: If things had gone differently, what would have changed? What would have stayed the same? Alex joins the group in Daila instead of turning them away, and the story of The Lost Age both changes and remains the same.

Chapter 1 of many

He was back in Daila again after days of wandering northern Indra and finding nothing even remotely similar to what he'd been looking for.

Daila was a small village, smaller than any he had ever seen. Smaller even than Lalivero, and that had been such a backwater hole of a town that he'd doubted it even counted as a city.

Indra was one of the few continents he had never been to before. He'd seen the frosty wasteland of Prox, the thick forests of Hesperia, the deserts of Gondowan and the great Karagol Sea in Angara.

But Indra, by and large, seemed mostly mountains and not much else.

He'd wandered around Daila for a while, looking to see if there were any other cities as close to Idejima, but had no luck. It seemed that northern Indra was, by and large, unoccupied save Daila and a few crumbled, deserted temples. There was no sign of a lighthouse anywhere near. Not that he had expected to see one; he knew Mars Lighthouse to be in Prox and had suspicions of Jupiter's location.

There was very little usable coastline near Daila, and even less now that Idejima had collided witht he continent. Bays on this side of Indra seemed sparse, and Alex hadn't crossed the Dehkan Plateau to check elsewhere. He wasn't planning on going anywhere too far from Daila without proper supplies and some sort of map.

Regardless, everywhere he had looked within walking distance of the village, there were mountains and forests, a river or two, but the only bay he found was Idejima.

It was for this reason that he hadn't been expecting to find a boat in or anywhere near Daila. The closest coast had been where Idejima merged with the continent, and it was still some distance away. Having boats in a village like this one would be virtually pointless.

Regardless, he headed to the mayor's house to ask whether they had any ships (which he highly doubted, unless said ships had been very well hidden) or where he should look to find a ship if they had none.

He pulled aside the curtains that served as a door to the mayor's house and stepped inside, blinking once or twice as his eyes adjusted to the dim light inside the hut.

"Sir Mayor, you have a visitor," a man near the door said. The mayor, a rather stooped, elderly man, turned to look at Alex.

"How may I help you, young traveler?"

Alex swept a bow, long blue hair falling freely over his face and shoulders. "Sir Mayor. I am but a simple wanderer, brought to your land by the recent tidal wave. I am seeking a way back to my home," --he'd always been good at lying-- "and am therefore searching for a ship. I was hoping, sir, that you might have one I could use, or purchase."

The mayor bristled, apparently put off by Alex, who was so obviously foreign from the tan-skinned people of Daila, but responded politely. "We have no ships here."

Alex glanced up, still bowing, but managed to make eye contact. "I did not think so. However, I felt it polite to make sure." He straightened, pushing some of his hair out of his eyes. "Do you know where I might find a ship?"

The mayor surveyed Alex, eyes narrowing. "What for?"

"I thought I had already made it clear that I was seeking to return home."

"You have other reasons." The mayor jabbed a bony finger in Alex's direction.

"If I do, sir, they are not your business."

The mayor examined him for a few more minutes before turning his back on Alex. Alex, irritated, turned to leave.

"Madra," the mayor said just as Alex was leaving. "It is to the south, through the Dehkan Plateau."

Alex paused, then left without thanking the mayor.

Who was that man to assume he could call Alex out? To assume he knew Alex's intentions and act the better of him?

One day, Alex thought, one day we'll see who knows what here...

He pulled aside the curtains and took a few steps outside, momentarily blinded by how bright it was in comparison to the mayor's home.

He had barely left, standing a small distance away and blinking in the bright Indran sunlight, when a familiar voice called out.

"Alex!"

He blinked a few times, eyes adjusting, and turned to see Felix approaching the house. Jenna, Sheba, and Kraden followed shortly after, Sheba eying Alex suspiciously.

"Felix," Alex replied, then regarded each of the others with a nod. "Well, well, it appears our happy little family is all together again." With the exception of Saturos and Menardi, of course, but that was beside the point. They were dead, killed by Isaac and his crew, and Alex found little point in thinking about corpses.

Jenna joined in Sheba's suspicious watching of Alex. "Where did you go?" she asked, one eyebrow raised.

Alex gave a little shrug, a light breze rippling his cape. "To look for a ship, of course."

"That's what Kraden said," Sheba muttered, still watching Alex under furrowed eyebrows.

"And?" Kraden interrupted. "Did you find one?"

"Unfortunately, no," Alex said, giving the others a slight shake of his head. "There are no boats to be had, not here." He paused as he saw Felix wince slightly, mouth curling into a frown. "However, I spoke to the mayor, and he suggested that we look in the large town--" What an oxymoron, he thought, somewhat amused, "--to the south of us."

"Is that where you're going?" Felix asked. "We'd heard it was called Madra."

"Yes, Madra," Alex replied. "The mayor said that it may have boats available, so I am on my way to look there. If I still cannot find any there, I suppose I'll have to keep looking."

There was a pause, and Alex shrugged before starting to head off away from the group. "Perhaps I'll see you there."

"Hold it, Alex!" Jenna grabbed his arm; he turned to face her. "We're going there together, aren't we?" She glanced back at Felix, who hesitated slightly.

"I thought so, but if Alex prefers to go alone--"

Alex gave a small laugh. "You want to travel with me?"

"What, you don't like that idea?" Jenna stepped back, putting her hands on her hips and smirking.

Alex thought for a moment--if he insisted on going alone, he would raise their suspicions. Sheba already was well aware that he had his own agenda, and after their conversation at Venus Lighthouse, he suspected Jenna might be getting the same idea. To heighten their suspicions was certainly not his goal at the moment.

On the other hand, he could travel faster and accomplish more on his own. He had things he needed to accomplish, goals he needed to fulfill...

"No, I am merely... preoccupied."

Kraden gave a great harrumph and shook his head, glasses slightly askew. "Don't be foolish, Alex. We can get more done traveling as a group, and since we're all working toward a common goal anyway..."

Alex bit his lip. The old scholar was making some rather good points, but... "I simply prefer to work alone."

"Oh, come off it, would you?" Jenna shook her head, hands still on her hips. "We're all trying to light the other beacons, whatever goals we may have, and there's no reason for us to split up. It'll only hinder all of us."

Sheba said nothing, still watching Alex's face carefully. He returned her gaze, then glanced at the others. Jenna seemed ready to shout down any other argument he might have, while Kraden and Felix seemed more hesitant.

"We would like you to travel with us, Alex," Felix said at last, "but if you are really set on traveling alone..."

"I don't think I have a choice with how Jenna seems to want me to come, Felix," Alex said with another short laugh. "No, no, I'll come. Let's be on our way."

Jenna turned and gave Sheba a grin. Sheba nodded curtly in reply.

Alex's stomach sank. Maybe he should have just gone on his own after all.

"We've picked up all the supplies we need," Felix said. "Do you need to get anything before we go, Alex?"

"No, I'm quite prepared for traveling. I was planning on leaving shortly anyway, before I ran into the lot of you, so I had already bought all the supplies I needed." All that he needed being a few herbs and nuts. His sword sufficed quite nicely as it was, and it wasn't as if he used it much anyway. He relied almost completely on his Psynergy, and with good reason.

"Well then... it was to the south, right?" Felix shifted uncomfortably, looking around the group. It seemed that with Saturos and Menardi gone, he'd become their surrogate leader.

Jenna nodded, as did Sheba. Kraden adjusted his glasses and said, "Yes, to the south through the Dehkan Plateau. It's a long trip, but we should be able to make it in a few days. From there, it's a fairly straight shot south to Madra."

"Are you just a walking map or something?" Sheba asked, looking at Kraden in slight amazement.

"No, I bought a map at the shop," he said, huffing a little.

"And promptly memorized it," Sheba added, grinning.

Kraden huffed again and made a point of looking away. Sheba laughed, clapping her thin hands together and smirking.

"It's not funny," Kraden said.

Felix rubbed his forehead and gave Alex a look.

"I take it they do this often?" Alex said, stifling a laugh of his own.

"You have no idea what you're in for," Felix replied. "It's more like a traveling circus than a crew of Adepts."

He promptly received a blow over the head from Jenna. "I could hear that, you know!"

Alex laughed again as Felix and Jenna got into a small argument, standing back and watching.

This was going to be all too interesting--and all too easy. Tangle the puppetstrings, and one by one they'd tie themselves in knots.

Leaving just him and the quintessence of Alchemy.

A few minutes passed, Alex standing by and watching as the rest of the group sorted themselves out, and Felix glanced up at him again.

"I guess we should head out now." There was still a hesitation to the words; Alex knew that Felix wasn't used to being the one handing out orders.

So, Alex would just have to help him out, and take charge for the time being.

"All right, then. Let's head to Dehkan Plateau."

Thu, 30 Jun 2005 23:39:02 GMT

Title: Lure
Fandom: Kingdom Hearts
Characters: Riku, Mickey
Rating: PG-ish?
Summary: A battle with the Heartless, and a few thoughts on what calls them out. "The odd thing about Heartless, Mickey had said, was that they needed to be invited in before they could destroy."
Notes: A fairly short piece, though more of a ficlet or vignette than a drabble.

It was dark tonight.

Then again, everything was dark to him now.

The smell was pervasive, the taste more so. Riku turned, summoning up Souleater in a deft movement and slicing outward. The shadows drew back, he smelled them as they rose from the ground one at a time. Even with his eyes closed and covered he could tell what they were—Neo Shadows, the first Heartless to appear since Sora had locked Kingdom Hearts before.

"You ready?" Riku muttered, and dashed forward.

The odd thing about Heartless, Mickey had told Riku under a sky so full of stars that you never would have known so many had fallen only short years ago, was that even though they were perceived as invasive and reckless, they couldn't enter a world unless something called them there. There had to be some kind of bait, some kind of lure. Someone who held a hand out to the darkness and offered to let it in.

Souleater cut through the Neos with a few quick slices here and there, the darkness dissipating through the air in clouds. Where one fell, two more were quick to rise, claws out and grasping at Riku's cloak, blindfold, skin, hair--

He turned completely around, Souleater spinning like a pinwheel, and the darkness filled the air. He smelled it, tasted it in his mouth, and continued his mad dance with the Neos, Souleater moving as if an extension of himself.

Riku had been oddly quiet as Mickey had continued—Ansem for Hollow Bastion, Hades for Olympus Coliseum, Captain Hook, Clayton, Ursula, Maleficent, the list went on. Each had welcomed—or rather, Mickey had corrected himself, called, the darkness to their world. Each of the worlds that had been destroyed had someone who had called the Heartless, and each world that Riku had visited had someone or something in it that had served as a lure.

After all, Mickey had said with a shrug, what fish would bite a hook if there was no bait?

The Heartless were relentless, grasping at Riku as they sensed the taint of darkness in him. Claws bit into his cloak as Souleater whirled, left and right and around back and forth, and the darkness dissipated and solidified time and time again. Riku was horribly outnumbered, and he knew it.

But he kept on fighting, Souleater singing like a siren as it bit through the shadows and the air, both darkness and light dancing upon its red blade. The play of light and shadow on the blade intensified, and he leapt back into the air before starting a flurry of slashes from seemingly every direction at once.

Dark Aura had always been a favorite of his.

It had taken him some time to get up the gall to ask Mickey about what was on his mind.

"The person in my islands who called the darkness there . . . was that . . .?"

Mickey had known the rest of the question without any need for Riku to finish it. "Well, Riku, it's hard to say. It could have been you. But it also could have been someone else, anyone else, someone you might not even know. I can't say for sure who it was. I just know that every world has someone whose heart calls to darkness, and lures the Heartless there."

Riku had studied Mickey for a few moments before asking his next question.

It was no use. They came back as strong as ever, Riku's own dark power calling them back from the shadows and the corners and the dark edges of the town. Despite the abilities over light he held, nothing could keep the Heartless from sniffing out the darkness in his heart and seeking it out.

And as he turned to face the Heartless, a golden keyblade pierced through them with ease. They scattered as Mickey performed the same sort of deadly dance that Riku had, only with a keyblade instead of Riku's Souleater.

Soon, the street was empty except for the both of them and the echoing sounds of Heartless claws scrambling away from the keyblade and the light.

"Your majesty . . . if every world has someone who calls out to the darkness and invites the Heartless in, why hasn't your world had any Heartless in it yet?"

Mickey had looked startled by the question, eyes larger than normal underneath the hood of his cloak, and had deliberated for a bit before answering, and even then with some hesitation.

"Riku," he had started, closing his eyes, "there are several reasons why I left Disney Castle."

"Are you all right, Riku?"

"Yes, your maj--"

"For the last time, Riku. Call me Mickey."

"Yes, Mickey. Thanks. I owe you one."

"It's no trouble." Mickey shook his head at Riku, his keyblade vanishing from his hand as he grinned slightly. "Just, no more wandering off on your own like that, all right? We're a team, you and I. That means we stick by each other."

"I know, I know," Riku said dismissively, with a wave of his hand and a smile of his own.

"So, where to now?" Mickey leaned back, tail peeking out from under his cloak.

"Where else? We're going to keep looking for them."

And they had sat together in silence for a while, staring up at the stars, each one wondering which of them was home.

Neither one had been able to tell.

Mon, 20 Jun 2005 18:24:57 GMT

Title: Greeting the Morning
Fandom: Zelda: Majora's Mask
Rating: G
Characters: Anju, Kafei
Synopsis: Link has whisked himself back in time, leaving Anju and Kafei at the end of a timeline soon to be extinguished. They'll greet the morning--and the end of the world--together.

"They said you weren't going to come back."

Kafei looks up at her, red eyes wide in the face of a child. Link is already gone, whisked away in a whirl of white and leaving them in Anju's room, alone but together. Together, and that's what matters.

When he speaks his voice has a lisp like it did back when the both of them were six and seven, "Well, I came."

Their mask is gone, they gave it to Link as proof that they may as well have been married. And he took it and with a flourish of notes was whisked away from them in white light that left them half-blind for a few moments, and there was a sudden silence in the room before the floor once again began to shake.

Outside the window they can hear the tiles of the rooftops shaking and the thatching from other rooftops coming loose. The wind would be blowing wild at this hour any other night, but tonight it's deathly still out there save the rumbling as the moon falls ever closer.

"They said," and here Anju laughs a little at the recollection of what they had said, "they said that you had left to marry Cremia."

The looks on Kafei's face when he is shocked have always been priceless, and are even more so now that he is a child.

"Cremia?" he echoes, his eyebrows jumping higher than they should.

"Yes," Anju confirms, still laughing a little, "Cremia."

Kafei shakes his head, his hair wild with the motion. His hair had always been messy, but it was especially so as a child. "Why would I leave here--leave you--for Cremia?"

The list is far too long for Anju to name everything, but ever since he vanished she's been reminded again and again of why she's lucky he chose to stand by her before, when he could have had someone much better. "I don't know. I'm clumsy, I can't cook, I forget even the simplest of things I'm told, I worry too much, I'm not beautiful--"

"Anju."

"--and I can't take decent care of my clothes or hair, I'm just an innkeeper's daughter while you're the son of the mayor, I can't do anything constructive without messing it up--"

"Anju."

She looks over at him to find his look of shock has softened to one of disbelief--and slight hurt is in his eyes as well.

"Do you think," he says, that childlike lisp muting for a moment to give evidence to his real status as a man, "that I love you because I feel sorry for you?"

She's wondered about that many a time. After all, Kafei is a great man even as a child, he's gone far and is bound to go farther in his life, and all she can do is hold him back. Cremia wouldbe better for him, she's more mature, intelligent, helpful, kind, cheery--

"I--" she manages, and then looks away from him.

There is another moment of silence before an audible crash sounds outside; one of the roofs in the town has just caved in. Anju would worry for the safety of whoever was there, but she knows that the only people left in town are her and Kafei and a few others who are either too stubborn to leave or have no where else to go. The whole rest of the town has fled, gone to the bay or the swamp or even the mountains, which she's heard are ice-sloped and cold despite the fact that it's summer everywhere else. Or even the canyon where she knows there are thieves just waiting to prey on them, or to Romani Ranch despite how unbearably close to town it is.

A smaller hand covers hers, and she glances back to see Kafei looking up at her with what looks like pain in his eyes.

"Anju, please. I came back to you, didn't I?"

She nods slightly, but is still unable to make eye contact.

He sighs and looks down at his hand, atop hers.

"This is all wrong," he says, closing his eyes. "If I hadn't been so overconfident, if I hadn't been so sure of myself against that mask-wearing demon, I wouldn't have been turned into this, I wouldn't have lost my mask, and we could have gotten married before now. We could be at the ranch, or at the shore, safe and sound."

He takes a breath and continues, "If only I was a man right now--"

She turns over her hand, interlacing their fingers. Kafei stops mid-sentence.

"I'm glad you're back," Anju says, "whether you're a child or not."

He smiles. She smiles back.

And they embrace even as the sound of the clock tower collapsing tears through the air and the earth shakes harder than ever before.

Fri, 03 Jun 2005 06:08:41 GMT

MASSIVE UPDATE TIME.

[fics]
Kingdom Hearts: 3
Tales of Symphonia: 1
ALL OF THESE HAVE SOME SORT OF SPOILERS.

Kingdom Hearts
(all of these were entries in kh_drabble)

Entry one
Challenge: Importance
Title: Paopu Promises
Characters: Sora, Riku, Kairi
Rating: G
Summary: A warm night in the pre-KH1 Destiny Islands, and Sora's asked Riku and Kairi to come meet him for something. Friendshippy.
Wordcount: 382

Sora was standing on the beach when Riku and Kairi found him, clutching a yellow fruit. He had told them both that he needed to talk to them, and that it was important. Usually, they would have just ignored something that, by Sora's priorities, was "important." But he had seemed serious, so here they were.

"Sora!" Kairi was the first to run over, and he turned to face her. He held out the fruit, looking somewhat nervous and a tad flushed.

"Here. It's a paopu."

Kairi didn't take the star-shaped fruit, instead looking down at it and picking at its leaves anxiously. "Yeah, so?"

Sora performed a purposeful fall into the sand, laying back and holding the paopu in the air over his head. "Haven't you ever heard? If people who care about each other share one, they'll be together forever."

Black-gloved fingers pulled the paopu from Sora's hands.

"Come on, Sora, don't tell me you believe that."

Sora brought his hands back to rest at his sides as he examined the night sky. The stars were just starting to come out, tiny lights against a sea of darkening blue. "I thought it might be worth a shot. After all, we're friends, right?"

With that, Riku turned and threw the fruit toward the distant horizon. It landed some distance away, vanishing into the sea.

"Riku, what'd you do that for?" Kairi put her hands on her hips and gave Riku a scowl, though his back was turned. "Sora picked that for us. Now we can't share one."

"We don't need it," Riku replied, wind tossing his hair into strands of roughened silver.

"Huh?" Sora sits up, blinking.

"We don't need it," Riku repeated, turning around. He offered them a smile. "We already have each other, right? I don't plan on leaving either of you behind. Not now or anytime."

Sora grinned and nodded. "We'll promise, then. Wherever we go, we go together."

"It's a promise!" Kairi chirped, holding out her hand. Sora and Riku placed their hands atop hers.

"Yeah, a promise," Riku replied. "And we don't need a paopu."

Sora just laughed. "Told you two it was important."

He found himself ducking a fist of Riku's shortly after, and the three ran down the beach together, all three of them laughing.

Entry two
Challenge: Masquerade
Title: A Game
Characters: Zexion, Lexaeus
Rating: Eh, PG? PG-13 for tehghei?
Summary: Lately, or so Zexion claims, he's begun to smell emotions. And Lexaeus likes to help him test that theory. Shounen-ai, LexZex, for handsomewoman.
Wordcount: 300

It's a sort of game they play.

It's rare that Lexaeus will win. But then again, it's rare that he will win either. The game most often has no winners, but no losers either.

He'll stand in the darkness, eyes closed as he distincts things by scent alone. Scent and taste are two senses that he has in spades, even moreso than the other members of the Organization.

Lately, or so Zexion claims, he's begun to smell emotions. Hate, fear, sorrow, despair, all dark and black emotions. He claims he can't smell good ones—not that anyone in the castle ever feels anything, save Naminé.

Lexaeus comes in through the door to find Zexion with his back turned. He approaches slowly, knowing that Zexion's eyes are closed.

There is a small sound as Zexion breathes in and identifies him by scent. "Lexaeus."

"Zexion."

There are only few rules to the game. One is that very little is said.

"What do you smell?"

Another is that Lexaeus cannot mask whatever emotion he has at the moment. Zexion has never liked masquerades, has never enjoyed the thought of playing pretty and hiding behind painted paper veils.

There is a pause here—as there always is—and Zexion replies, sounding frustrated (and maybe a bit confused), "Nothing."

It is only now that Lexaeus approaches, and, with a slight brush of his hands against Zexion's shoulders, turns the smaller man to face him.

"Do you need to smell anything?" And with that sentence and a quick motion to kiss Zexion's cheek, then brush lips against lips, Lexaeus has broken the rules.

He leaves then, Zexion watching him in stunned silence.

As the door closes, Zexion's hair moves briefly in the draft that accompanies it before settling over his face like a thin silver mask.

Entry three
Challenge: Moonlight Battles
Title: Mist
Characters: Riku, Sora, Namine
Rating: PG for blood I guess?
Summary: A dark night in the coliseum, and two boys that are friends and enemies all at once. A misty moonlit night and a clash of keyblades...
Wordcount: 271

It was a cold night in the coliseum. Sora had been training for so long that he didn't know whether it had been hours or seasons, and his breath frosted in the moonlit air.

A fog had been rolling into the coliseum since earlier that night, that week, that year--Sora had, after all, lost track of time. The mist was thick around him now, but the shape that emerged before Sora's eyes, from the vast, dark gate against the coliseum wall, was too easily recognized.

A dark keyblade was gripped in dark fingers, the Heartless symbol on his chest seeming to shine despite its darkness.

"Riku."

"Miss me, Sora?"

Both keyblades rose to a fighting position at the same time, green eyes and blue meeting despite the mist between them, the moon overhead turning the scene silver regardless of the night surrounding them.

A smirk was exchanged with a grimace, the two keyblades glinted in the faded, mist-filtered light, and both of the boys started toward each other at the same time. There was a clash of metal on metal, and Riku lunged at the same moment Sora did, the air colored with a spray of blood--

And Namine jerked herself out of her reverie, and stared at the scene she had sketched on her notepad.

She turned her pencil over, rubbing out some of the false memory before hesitating for a moment.

Maybe it would be better this way, maybe it would be easier--

And, instead of erasing the memory she had drawn, tore it out of her sketchbook and crumpled it, leaving it on the floor to her side.

Tales of Symphonia
(written for the hell of it)

Title: eh. untitled.
Characters: Kratos, Lloyd
Rating: PG?
Summary: The next time Kratos saw Lloyd fall was in Triet Ruins.
Wordcount: 100! only drabble of exactly 100 I've ever done.

Lloyd fell in Triet ruins.

He had been about to cast a First Aid when the boy fell, bleeding and bruised from the injuries the Mimic had given him.

His swords were first to drop, followed by the rest of him. His legs gave out under him and he collapsed, managing a few words.

"I'm sorry . . ."

Kratos rummaged for a Life Bottle in his pack--

" . . . dad."

--He thought he had been ready to ignore whatever came.

But that statement alone hurt more than he had expected.

Because it wasn't him that Lloyd meant.

Wed, 11 May 2005 03:31:44 GMT

Title: Let Her Go (or, Half-dreams)
Fandom: Semi-FF8, AUish, based once again on _thedreamers
Characters: Squall, Rinoa
Pairing: Squall/Rinoa
Summary: After Rinoa passes out at Squall's house, Squall has some interesting dreams.

He can't very well sleep in the same bed as she's lying in.

She looks so still, one voice at the back of his mind whispers. Still and cold, cold and unmoving, and what if she's dead? What if she's not coming back?

It's a silly thought. He dismisses it, grabbing some blankets out of the closet and a pillow from the guest room. He'll sleep in his clothes tonight; he doesn't care.

He settles onto the floor, the door shut, and watches her for a minute. His hands drift to his forehead as they often do, and he runs his fingers diagonally down his face. Down his forehead and over the bridge of his nose and down to his cheek.

She's sick or tired or something, so what she said to him shouldn't mean anything. But he has a distinct feeling that it means something.

A scar. Why would he have a scar? He always wears a mask in club, he always is careful around any knives or blades . . . why would he have a scar?

But something in him screams that not only should he have one, he does have one, and it's just healed over or gone but still there in the vaguest ghost of a sense.

He leans against the doors of his closet, the blanket strewn over his legs, not even bothering to right the pillow behind him.

He falls asleep fast. He's always been good at that.

-

And he's in a dream now, and he knows it can't be real, but it feels real. He's standing in a flower field and he can feel the wind on his face, he can smell the sweet overthick perfume of a thousand blossoms.

And hears his own voice, "I'll be waiting—" and someone is turning to face him, someone with dark hair streaked through with red or is it gold? He can't tell, and just as he gets a glimpse of brown eyes between thick lashes the scene blurs, fades, melts into fog and dew.

And then he is surrounded by stars, a smattering of them all across the night sky, turning almost against his will because there is no resistance in space. He can hear his own rushed breath in the spacesuit. Little oxygen, less fuel, but if he doesn't find her, doesn't save her, it'll all be worth nothing anyway.

But save who? Find who?

And then there is a rush of air and images flashing before his eyes, blurred and faded images of her face that his own mind can't quite seem to get right. A pale dress and a pair of rings—one of which is the one Rinoa wears now and something in his mind says it was yours once, you know—and clanking machines and faces he should know but doesn't recognize, faded images he last saw in his childhood nightmares and a broken helmet in space, rings floating over dead lips as she fades into static.

She's dead—

And they're standing beside a vast red ship—it looks like something out of a science-fiction B movie—landed in the middle of a desert. He's wearing a leather jacket and can feel white fur trim against his neck. Despite the fact that it's sweltering, he doesn't take his jacket off.

She's with him. There are two men standing there, in uniforms of some government he doesn't recognize.

"Sorceress Rinoa, daughter of Hyne."

There is something eerily familiar about this as Rinoa—he recognizes her now, she looks only slightly different from the Rinoa he knows.

"Come with us. We must seal you for the sake of the world."

"All right," Rinoa says.

No, his heart interrupts. But he says nothing.

The men leave. Rinoa starts to follow.

" . . . Don't go." His own voice is strained. Hoarse.

She comes over, taking his hands. "I have to." She tells him things. Half of them, he doesn't hear. Talk of sorceresses and time and things he only partly understands.

What he fully understands is that she's leaving. Just like his parents.

But . . . I have mom and dad . . .

Just like Ellone—Sis.

She's leaving him, and he knows that this time he might never be the same afterward and the thought scares him. Don't count on me. I don't depend on people. I don't need anyone. Go talk to a wall.

I worry what other people think of me.

I don't want to be alone.

"I still have your ring." She fiddles with her necklace.

"Keep it."

I can take care of myself. I can be strong on my own.

He's holding back the urge to cry. He's never cried since he was six and in an orphanage—

orphanage?

—and he's not about to start now.

"It's . . . it's better this way."

"Sorceress Rinoa!"

"They're waiting." She looks away from him, nervously fiddling with her chain. "I should go."

She turns, and he can't even find it in himself to say goodbye.

And she fades into static and there are two cold rings and she's dead.

Because he let her go.

He let her go.

And he awakes to the sound of his alarm clock buzzing in his ears. He's covered in cold sweat despite his blanket.

He reaches up to push back his damp hair, and is half-startled when he finds that there's no scar on his forehead.

Rinoa's still on the bed, unconscious, oblivious to the sound of the alarm clock. He gets up, stumbling across the room to shut it off.

You let her go. You let her go. How could you just let her go?

Did you go all that way to save her just to give her up again?

He manages to find his voice to reassure himself. It was just a dream. Only a dream.

"I dreamed," and his voice is hoarse as if he has been screaming, "I dreamed I was a moron."

And even that phrase is far too familiar.

Fri, 06 May 2005 23:53:22 GMT

Title: Untitled of yet?
Fandom: Somewhat FF8. AUish. Based off _thedreamers.
Characters: Squall, Raine, mention of Laguna, vague mention of Rinoa
Rating: Nice healthy G
Summary: It only happens when he comes back from visiting Ellone.
Notes: You'd need to understand the premise of _thedreamers to really get it. This is just an idea I had, and I had to get it down before I lost it.

It only happens when he goes to visit Ellone.

When Raine comes outside, intending on working in her garden, she finds him among the flowers, looking off at something she can't see and swaying slightly.

"Squall?"

He doesn't reply, doesn't even acknowledge that he hears her voice. He turns slightly, but it's away from her, and despite the fact that he's not looking at the ground, he doesn't step on a single flower as he takes a few small, slow steps deeper into her garden.

"Squall?" She says it slightly louder this time. And this time there is a response, though a small one; his shoulders shake just slightly. He still does not turn to face her, instead looking toward the sky as it begins to rain.

She sighs; she had been hoping that she could get some work done before the weather turned sour. "Squall, you should get inside before you get wet."

"I can't go back in," he replies, at last acknowledging her presence.

She walks forward, grabbing his arm and pulling him back. "Come on. You have to."

"I can't," he repeats, and pulls his arm away. "I . . . I promised."

Raine pauses, and can hear Laguna calling her and Squall from inside in the brief moment of silence. After another moment of thought, she asks, "Promised what?"

"I'd . . . meet her here." He's shaking more now, and his hands are clenched into fists as the raindrops speckle his shirt.

"Who, Squall?" Raine grabs his wrist again, and this time he makes no movement to push her away, raising his other hand to his forehead as he is apt to do when confused.

"I . . ." He can't seem to find the words, and shakes his head. "Someone. I promised."

"Squall, I don't know what you're talking about. Now come inside. I'll make dinner, and it sounds like your father wants you."

She pulls him back, and he follows, albeit hesitantly. "I told her I'd meet her," he says, half a plea.

"Squall, you're talking nonsense."

He turns to look at her, and there is a distant look in his eyes, as if something precious has just escaped him.

" . . . yeah," he replies at last, and with another shake of his head he is back to himself. "Yeah, I guess I am. Sorry."

"It's fine," Raine says, raising a hand to her chest. "I was just worried."

He regards her for a moment—more quiet and distant than his mother, more thoughtful and analytical than his father—and nods at last. "Let's go in."

She nods and leads him back toward the house, worry dissipating as they get inside and he examines his damp shirt.

But she can't help but wonder what about visiting Ellone does this to him.