Gravitation Fan Fiction ❯ Splinters of a Song ❯ = track six = ( Chapter 7 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: GoneLoki 
Shuuichi learns of his replacement for arrangements and Ryuuichi gets his songs done.
Anime/Manga: Gravitation Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance / Hentai / Drama | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 08.16.2003 | Pages: 1 | Words: 2.1K | Visits: 362 | Status: Work In Progress
Shuuichi learns of his replacement for arrangements and Ryuuichi gets his songs done.
Anime/Manga: Gravitation Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance / Hentai / Drama | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 08.16.2003 | Pages: 1 | Words: 2.1K | Visits: 362 | Status: Work In Progress
Warnings and disclaimers same as in the Prologue. Nothing has changed much from that one to this one. Ryuuichi POV. Some mentions of ep. three of the anime and some more randomness from characters.
AN: Here we go, the long awaited chapter. Sorry about the delay to those that are still reading this, RL caught up with me and my muses decided they needed a break. The tiny sample lyrics come from my own imagination and I shall appologise for it's silliness in advance. Thanks goes out to my reviewers, the few of you that there are. I do love the encouragement to continue with this piece.
~*~*~*~*~*~
= Track Six =
I woke up the next morning thinking that K or Touma or someone would be waiting for me to get up, most likely holding a pot full of cold water to dump on me, or an air horn by my ear or something. I was almost disappointed to find that I was alone. In silence I took my shower and brush my teeth, giving the person in the mirror the finger before going back to my bedroom to pull on some clothes. Me dislike mornings? What would ever give anyone that idea?
Looking into my closet, I decided on some blue jeans with a fancy stenciled design on the leg, a long white turtleneck underneath a short and battered yellow sweater to wear today. It wasn't like I really needed to wear anything to impress anyone, or that anyone cared what I would wear. I had the feeling that if I decided to wear a grass skirt and bondage straps the rest of Japan would still find no fault with me. The press already thought my bunny outfit was an outward sign of my genius.
It was just one of those days where I felt like taking everyone around me and stabbing them repeatedly. Just a swing in moods that hits and nothing and no one could really snap me out of it. I stepped out the door thinking evil thoughts but a large insolated cup being shoved under my nose interrupted my lovely homicidal funk. I blinked at it, noting the tiny shinigamis and angels dancing cross the black surface then raised my gaze to look into the broadly grinning face of K. I blinked and gave him a scowl.
"Take it," he said, grinning insanely and thrusting it into my hands. I took the cup gingerly, hissing at the heat I could feel spreading through it and taking a sniff at the steam curling from the opening at the top.
The heady burnt bean smell immediately caught my attention. Nothing in the world was like American coffee- - not the stuff found in gourmet coffee shops where coffee is carefully ground and brewed, but honest, home brewed coffee from either a coffee machine or from a percolator. K grew up on the stuff, and as he went from the CIA to managing musicians, what little taste buds he had for the stuff had been completely ruined. Office coffee tended to be that kind of stuff that had been perking for several hours with twice the amount of grounds needed for the amount of water in the pot. And boiled stuff too, not seeped like it should be.
I've had good coffee; the beans freshly grounded, set into a strainer and having boiled water poured gently over it then mixed with fresh sweetened cream. But after three years of American coffee, especially K's type of American coffee and the terrible tar-like substance that circulated my American label's office, I was addicted to it. Taking a small sip, the strong bitter brew caused my toes to curl in my shoes and relax those nerves that were starting to clamor for caffeine.
"Mm, I needed that, K," I told him with a grin, taking another savoring sip of the black brew.
"I thought you might," he replied, making a 'v' sign then slinging an arm over my shoulders, directed me to the elevators. Wrapped up in my caffeine-loving haven, I actually let him lead the way to the car without protest that six flights of stairs were good exercise. I didn't even protest that he was driving us there again. The entire ride there, I sipped at the brunt sludge and sighed happy sighs of complete enjoyment. Okay, so I was addicted, but there were worse things to be addicted to in the world.
It didn't seem like it took any time at all to get from my place to NG Studios. I blinked the sudden arrival of the building and wondered if it moved or if K had put a warp drive into his van. Since it didn't feel like I've been warped, I figured that the building had moved. Carefully leaving the car so not to spill my precious drink, I went inside barely listening to K talking about what I had left to work on. I nodded in the right places, took the elevator up to the studio I was working in and did not protest when K left to talk to Touma. I settled into a chair at the studio and waved at my two helpers then asked them to play back what was recorded from before.
Maybe it was the coffee or maybe it was because Touma said that Nittle Grasper can get back together again, but I had an idea for those three tracks. The first song, a slow throbbing base with a darkly seductive guitar that wails then sighs softly, was a good background for a song about seduction and death. Giving it one listen through to make sure of the beat and the rhythm, I started to sing.
In the darkness
I'm stalking my prey
In the darkness
When light fades away
Do you love me?
Hunter to prey
Do you know me?
You're my prey
Several more verses followed all of it a song about a killer who made his victims love him before he killed them. The next song was a happy, cheerful beat surrounded by screaming guitars and excited keyboards. The perfect background for something about love and having problems to find it in the world today. Another sip of coffee, and I was singing the lyrics inside my head, dancing in the studio as the music surrounded me and blended with my voice.
The last song was slow and sad, the guitars wailing and the keyboard twisting. Listening to it for a while, I thought of ghosts of the past, of how things never stay the way one wanted them to. The words that escaped my lips echoed inside my skull, talking about hope lost, love lost, despair found and lost of the life inside one's soul. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I was aware that the two technicians with me were gapping at me like I grew an extra set of eyes. It was one of those songs that caused me to shudder and I knew that it would do well in America just because of the haunting words.
Being rough tracks, we did have to go over them again, with me singing over again to make sure that everything fitted right. We didn't break until well after one when my stomach started to growl loud enough to be heard outside the studio. Everyone agreed that it as time to take a break anywise, so we all headed for food. I went to the vending machines, trying to decide what to buy to eat on when several people rushed down the hall and past me. I blinked and scratched my head.
Another group of people ran by, talking excitedly but not acting like people who herd that the building was on fire, risking being drowned or was under attack by a giant monster. Since the alarms haven't gone off for the flood or monster attack and no one was really screaming about the end of the world, I blinked puzzled at them and tried to flag down the next bunch of running people with a hand. A technician stopped long enough to say that something exciting was happening in the one studio before running off. Food forgotten, I decided to follow them.
Down the stairs and around a corner, a man's head poked out of an office and asked me what was going on. Pausing in mid-jog, I answered him in a child's voice before taking off, the man's shoes making squeaking sounds as he followed me. I wondered how his shoes could get so wet inside an office but the thought fled when we hit the crowd around the big airy studio on the second floor. We easily got through the crowd at the door and made our way to the front to see that guitar player for Bad Luck- - Hiro I think, and a kid that was vaguely familiar playing a remix of that song from the other day.
It was good. No, better than good, it was excellent. The minor discords and vague jumbling notes were straighten out and the track played far smoother than the track in Zipp Tokyo. No one ever sounds their best on a stage; after all, one has the screaming moving fans, the ceiling, the air conditioning or lack of it, and a hundred other things that can make one sound gritty. But I had been performing longer than Shuuichi has been alive. I have the ear as well as the voice and could tell that this track was far superior to his despite the studio conditions.
Poor Shuuichi. He must have never thought that he could make so many glaring mistakes.
The last notes trailed off and the young kid- - oh I remember him now, Touma's little cousin Suguru Fujisaki- - popped out of the booth to tell Shuuichi that he would make another arrangement for when they put the lyrics in. Shuuichi looked lost confused, excusing himself for the bathroom. I wasn't sure if anyone else noticed it, but he looked crushed, completely without the energy that made him himself. I wanted to talk to him, to tell him that Suguru would only make his music stronger but he did not even stop when I said his name.
Poor, poor Shuuichi.
After that, I dragged myself from the studio and through the halls until I found myself in Touma's office. Sniffing loudly, I threw myself onto the floor and pulled out Kumagorou to hug close. The conversation around me fell silent and I could feel two pairs of eyes staring at me.
"Poor, poor Shuuichi," I muttered into pink fuzz.
"Ryuuichi, what's wrong? Did something happen?" Touma's voice was soft with concern.
"You better not be skipping practice again," K growled, the familiar click of a gun being slid free of his holster echoing his words.
"K-san, there is no need for that," Touma sighed then his face came into view, long keyboarder's hands prying Kumagorou from my face. "What's wrong, Ryuu?"
"Shuuichi didn't know about his arrangements," I whimpered, clutching Touma since he had Kumagorou and there was no one else to cling to. He didn't pull away, instead returned the hug.
"It will be just fine, Ryuu. He'll get over it, I am sure," Touma replied softly, running fingers through my hair and causing me to purr. "Eiri-san will help him understand what I am trying to do."
I blinked and pulled away, eyeing Touma. "Eiri. . . Touma, what. . .?"
He hushed me with a smile and handing me back Kumagorou. "Don't worry about it, Ryuuichi. He is an interesting person isn't he? And I am sure Eiri-san knows what he is doing with Shindo-san. You still have those tracks to finish, don't you? Why don't you go back to work and we'll talk about it later, okay?"
Mutely I nodded. Yuki Eiri, Mika's brother, and the other keeper of the secret that brought on Touma's stranger face. His secret that I know of too, having learnt of it from Touma when the keyboardist was too drunk and too hurting to keep it bottled up inside. He knew I knew about it, but I don't know if anyone else knew of what happened six years ago.
I took Kumagorou back and nodded again, even though no one said anything to me. Then I headed back out to finish those three tracks and to think.
Poor, poor Shuuichi. Eiri clung to his ghosts and it would take someone really special for him to let them go.
AN: Here we go, the long awaited chapter. Sorry about the delay to those that are still reading this, RL caught up with me and my muses decided they needed a break. The tiny sample lyrics come from my own imagination and I shall appologise for it's silliness in advance. Thanks goes out to my reviewers, the few of you that there are. I do love the encouragement to continue with this piece.
~*~*~*~*~*~
= Track Six =
I woke up the next morning thinking that K or Touma or someone would be waiting for me to get up, most likely holding a pot full of cold water to dump on me, or an air horn by my ear or something. I was almost disappointed to find that I was alone. In silence I took my shower and brush my teeth, giving the person in the mirror the finger before going back to my bedroom to pull on some clothes. Me dislike mornings? What would ever give anyone that idea?
Looking into my closet, I decided on some blue jeans with a fancy stenciled design on the leg, a long white turtleneck underneath a short and battered yellow sweater to wear today. It wasn't like I really needed to wear anything to impress anyone, or that anyone cared what I would wear. I had the feeling that if I decided to wear a grass skirt and bondage straps the rest of Japan would still find no fault with me. The press already thought my bunny outfit was an outward sign of my genius.
It was just one of those days where I felt like taking everyone around me and stabbing them repeatedly. Just a swing in moods that hits and nothing and no one could really snap me out of it. I stepped out the door thinking evil thoughts but a large insolated cup being shoved under my nose interrupted my lovely homicidal funk. I blinked at it, noting the tiny shinigamis and angels dancing cross the black surface then raised my gaze to look into the broadly grinning face of K. I blinked and gave him a scowl.
"Take it," he said, grinning insanely and thrusting it into my hands. I took the cup gingerly, hissing at the heat I could feel spreading through it and taking a sniff at the steam curling from the opening at the top.
The heady burnt bean smell immediately caught my attention. Nothing in the world was like American coffee- - not the stuff found in gourmet coffee shops where coffee is carefully ground and brewed, but honest, home brewed coffee from either a coffee machine or from a percolator. K grew up on the stuff, and as he went from the CIA to managing musicians, what little taste buds he had for the stuff had been completely ruined. Office coffee tended to be that kind of stuff that had been perking for several hours with twice the amount of grounds needed for the amount of water in the pot. And boiled stuff too, not seeped like it should be.
I've had good coffee; the beans freshly grounded, set into a strainer and having boiled water poured gently over it then mixed with fresh sweetened cream. But after three years of American coffee, especially K's type of American coffee and the terrible tar-like substance that circulated my American label's office, I was addicted to it. Taking a small sip, the strong bitter brew caused my toes to curl in my shoes and relax those nerves that were starting to clamor for caffeine.
"Mm, I needed that, K," I told him with a grin, taking another savoring sip of the black brew.
"I thought you might," he replied, making a 'v' sign then slinging an arm over my shoulders, directed me to the elevators. Wrapped up in my caffeine-loving haven, I actually let him lead the way to the car without protest that six flights of stairs were good exercise. I didn't even protest that he was driving us there again. The entire ride there, I sipped at the brunt sludge and sighed happy sighs of complete enjoyment. Okay, so I was addicted, but there were worse things to be addicted to in the world.
It didn't seem like it took any time at all to get from my place to NG Studios. I blinked the sudden arrival of the building and wondered if it moved or if K had put a warp drive into his van. Since it didn't feel like I've been warped, I figured that the building had moved. Carefully leaving the car so not to spill my precious drink, I went inside barely listening to K talking about what I had left to work on. I nodded in the right places, took the elevator up to the studio I was working in and did not protest when K left to talk to Touma. I settled into a chair at the studio and waved at my two helpers then asked them to play back what was recorded from before.
Maybe it was the coffee or maybe it was because Touma said that Nittle Grasper can get back together again, but I had an idea for those three tracks. The first song, a slow throbbing base with a darkly seductive guitar that wails then sighs softly, was a good background for a song about seduction and death. Giving it one listen through to make sure of the beat and the rhythm, I started to sing.
In the darkness
I'm stalking my prey
In the darkness
When light fades away
Do you love me?
Hunter to prey
Do you know me?
You're my prey
Several more verses followed all of it a song about a killer who made his victims love him before he killed them. The next song was a happy, cheerful beat surrounded by screaming guitars and excited keyboards. The perfect background for something about love and having problems to find it in the world today. Another sip of coffee, and I was singing the lyrics inside my head, dancing in the studio as the music surrounded me and blended with my voice.
The last song was slow and sad, the guitars wailing and the keyboard twisting. Listening to it for a while, I thought of ghosts of the past, of how things never stay the way one wanted them to. The words that escaped my lips echoed inside my skull, talking about hope lost, love lost, despair found and lost of the life inside one's soul. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I was aware that the two technicians with me were gapping at me like I grew an extra set of eyes. It was one of those songs that caused me to shudder and I knew that it would do well in America just because of the haunting words.
Being rough tracks, we did have to go over them again, with me singing over again to make sure that everything fitted right. We didn't break until well after one when my stomach started to growl loud enough to be heard outside the studio. Everyone agreed that it as time to take a break anywise, so we all headed for food. I went to the vending machines, trying to decide what to buy to eat on when several people rushed down the hall and past me. I blinked and scratched my head.
Another group of people ran by, talking excitedly but not acting like people who herd that the building was on fire, risking being drowned or was under attack by a giant monster. Since the alarms haven't gone off for the flood or monster attack and no one was really screaming about the end of the world, I blinked puzzled at them and tried to flag down the next bunch of running people with a hand. A technician stopped long enough to say that something exciting was happening in the one studio before running off. Food forgotten, I decided to follow them.
Down the stairs and around a corner, a man's head poked out of an office and asked me what was going on. Pausing in mid-jog, I answered him in a child's voice before taking off, the man's shoes making squeaking sounds as he followed me. I wondered how his shoes could get so wet inside an office but the thought fled when we hit the crowd around the big airy studio on the second floor. We easily got through the crowd at the door and made our way to the front to see that guitar player for Bad Luck- - Hiro I think, and a kid that was vaguely familiar playing a remix of that song from the other day.
It was good. No, better than good, it was excellent. The minor discords and vague jumbling notes were straighten out and the track played far smoother than the track in Zipp Tokyo. No one ever sounds their best on a stage; after all, one has the screaming moving fans, the ceiling, the air conditioning or lack of it, and a hundred other things that can make one sound gritty. But I had been performing longer than Shuuichi has been alive. I have the ear as well as the voice and could tell that this track was far superior to his despite the studio conditions.
Poor Shuuichi. He must have never thought that he could make so many glaring mistakes.
The last notes trailed off and the young kid- - oh I remember him now, Touma's little cousin Suguru Fujisaki- - popped out of the booth to tell Shuuichi that he would make another arrangement for when they put the lyrics in. Shuuichi looked lost confused, excusing himself for the bathroom. I wasn't sure if anyone else noticed it, but he looked crushed, completely without the energy that made him himself. I wanted to talk to him, to tell him that Suguru would only make his music stronger but he did not even stop when I said his name.
Poor, poor Shuuichi.
After that, I dragged myself from the studio and through the halls until I found myself in Touma's office. Sniffing loudly, I threw myself onto the floor and pulled out Kumagorou to hug close. The conversation around me fell silent and I could feel two pairs of eyes staring at me.
"Poor, poor Shuuichi," I muttered into pink fuzz.
"Ryuuichi, what's wrong? Did something happen?" Touma's voice was soft with concern.
"You better not be skipping practice again," K growled, the familiar click of a gun being slid free of his holster echoing his words.
"K-san, there is no need for that," Touma sighed then his face came into view, long keyboarder's hands prying Kumagorou from my face. "What's wrong, Ryuu?"
"Shuuichi didn't know about his arrangements," I whimpered, clutching Touma since he had Kumagorou and there was no one else to cling to. He didn't pull away, instead returned the hug.
"It will be just fine, Ryuu. He'll get over it, I am sure," Touma replied softly, running fingers through my hair and causing me to purr. "Eiri-san will help him understand what I am trying to do."
I blinked and pulled away, eyeing Touma. "Eiri. . . Touma, what. . .?"
He hushed me with a smile and handing me back Kumagorou. "Don't worry about it, Ryuuichi. He is an interesting person isn't he? And I am sure Eiri-san knows what he is doing with Shindo-san. You still have those tracks to finish, don't you? Why don't you go back to work and we'll talk about it later, okay?"
Mutely I nodded. Yuki Eiri, Mika's brother, and the other keeper of the secret that brought on Touma's stranger face. His secret that I know of too, having learnt of it from Touma when the keyboardist was too drunk and too hurting to keep it bottled up inside. He knew I knew about it, but I don't know if anyone else knew of what happened six years ago.
I took Kumagorou back and nodded again, even though no one said anything to me. Then I headed back out to finish those three tracks and to think.
Poor, poor Shuuichi. Eiri clung to his ghosts and it would take someone really special for him to let them go.