Pet Shop Of Horrors Fan Fiction ❯ Dear Detective ❯ Dear Detective ( Chapter 1 )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: spare 
Christmas ficcie here! Sort of. A parody of the song "Santa Baby". I wrote this on a sugar-high, so it follows that you might want to read it while on a sugar high, too. Else it could hurt your head. D singing to Leon. Cheers!
Anime/Manga: Pet Shop Of Horrors Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy | Type: Songfic | Uploaded On: 12.19.2004 | Pages: 3 | Words: 2.4K | Visits: 1.7K | Status: Completed
Christmas ficcie here! Sort of. A parody of the song "Santa Baby". I wrote this on a sugar-high, so it follows that you might want to read it while on a sugar high, too. Else it could hurt your head. D singing to Leon. Cheers!
Anime/Manga: Pet Shop Of Horrors Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy | Type: Songfic | Uploaded On: 12.19.2004 | Pages: 3 | Words: 2.4K | Visits: 1.7K | Status: Completed
Disclaimer: I do not own Petshop of Horrors. Matsuri Akino does.
Warnings: A butchered version of the song "Santa Baby" by Ertha Kitt. Purely whimsical nonsense. Not to be taken seriously. Not for those looking for literary masterpieces, let alone deep, involving plot lines. Rated PG-13 for mild swearing, adult themes, and utter blahness.
Dear Detective
by spare
A fifties-themed cocktail bar somewhere in Los Angeles. It's a couple of minutes past nine in the evening. Bar patrons, mostly middle class yuppie types, are either seated round mock rosewood tables or standing by the walls, talking, smoking, drinking, and doing what bar patrons generally do. Onstage, a Latin American trio plays a snazzy jazz number. Our favorite detective sits (conveniently) behind a table in the middle of the room, looking his usual self: blond, blue-eyed, and grumpier than your old man. He glances at his watch for what must be the umpteenth time that evening, sighs impatiently, and turns to look at the fair-haired woman of undivulged vital statistics situated opposite him. "So, Jill," Leon drawls over his third mug of beer, "When does this contact of yours plan to show up?"
Jill sets down her own half-empty glass of sherry. She looks away, lazily trailing a manicured finger over the rim, and clears her throat. "Um, about that..."
Her partner quirks an eyebrow. "Yeah?"
"I kinda... lied." She twiddled her thumbs. "We're not here to meet an informant for the Ravendall case."
Dead silence.
Then, a "WHAT?!?" resounded through the room, sending the jazz band and surrounding conversations to a momentary halt.
True to type, Jill just took a nonchalant sip off her wine glass, and calmly waited for the younger cop's temper to subside.
It did. Well, sort of. The tick mark on Leon's forehead hadn't exactly disappeared when he asked, "Then what the hell are we here for?"
Jill merely grins impishly. "You'll see."
As if on cue, the lights dim, shrouding the room in near-total darkness, only to be pierced a couple of heartbeats later by a single spotlight shining down the stage. The band playing earlier has somehow retreated to the back of the podium, making way for a giant box wrapped in red foil and green satin ribbon trimmed with gold. As they watch, the ribbon falls loose as if an invisible hand was untying it, the lid of the box soon following suit. An observant witness would note that both items landed on the polished platform with hardly any sound, but by then, no one deemed it worth their while to pay them their attention. Instead, all eyes were trained on the lithe figure emerging from what remained of the giant gift box.
It's Count D, wearing a cheongsam of red silk interlaced with gold. Half of it, anyway. The high collar and the left sleeve of the dress were there, sure, but the right side, where the cheongsam would be buttoned up properly, was bare from the collarbone down one lily-white arm. And the side of the dress had a slit high enough to expose one perfect porcelain thigh. A velvet choker appeared to hold the garment together. With an unearthly grace only a kami can possess, he steps out of the gilded box and to the silver microphone propped on a narrow stand at the center of the stage, head hung low, the silken material of his dress shimmering with every movement. The spotlight follows his sojourn like a lover would.
At his table, Leon finally remembers to close his mouth. Snorting back a trickle of blood threatening to drip out of his left nostril, he proclaims, "T-that's D!"
Jill says nothing, opting instead to grin the grin common to yaoi fan girls the world over, and takes another sip of her drink.
A bass and saxophone intro plays in the background, low and lilting. Still not lifting his head, D taps one slippered foot in time with the music. "Ladies and gentlemen," an unseen announcer declares over the speakers, "Our special number for the evening. Count D and his rendition of..." The music halts, and D stands frozen. The announcer's voice drops an octave. "Santa Baby."
Hushed whispers in the crowd.
The music comes back with a vengeance, accompanied this time with the snapping of fingers. D's. The kami looks up to regard the audience at last, right foot tapping the floor in steady, teasing beats. Even from the distance, one amber eye glittered from a fall of lustrous ebony hair as the amethyst one twinkled with barely contained mischief. The knowing smile playing upon his lips deepen. The Count takes a half-step forward, and begins to (drum roll, please) sing. His voice is low and melodious.
/Dear Detective, slip a bonbon under the tree, for me
I've been an awful good boy/
Leon blinks. "What the frag is he doing up there?!"
"Singing," Jill retorts happily. "Isn't that obvious? His voice ain't half bad, either."
Leon snorts. "Whatever." He drains the rest of his beer in one good gulp. This was gonna be one hell of a night.
/Dear Detective, and hurry down the pet shop tonight!/
"You bet I will. I'll slap a case to your ass yet!"
Jill shoots him a sideways glance. "Like it's the /only/ thing you wanna slap his ass with," she mutters under her breath.
"You sayin' something?"
"Nope," she replies, waving at one of the cocktail waiters for a refill.
D seems to glide across the stage, an apparition clad in the fiery colors of autumn. Slight hips move in easy cadence with every step taken. Without missing a beat, the Count reaches for the mike with both hands. He tilts it towards himself as he sang the next verse.
/Oh, Detective, a handsome, manly officer, too, like you/
A sweatdrop trickles down the side of Leon's face. "Like who?"
/I'll wait up for you, dear/
"Ooh!" Jill exclaims. "Looks like this song's about you, Leon!" She looks thoughtful. "Of course, the 'handsome' part is a matter of acquired taste, but..."
/So Detective, come hurry down the pet shop tonight!/
With a flourish, D lets go of the microphone, crooking one slender index finger in invitation to the unseen crowd. Whoops and catcalls could be heard in reply.
Leon blinks, and sweatdrops some more. His mind seizes on the frail hope that all this was just some fever-and-musical-induced dream. Yeah. He'd wake up in his apartment any minute now. Nodding to himself, he pinches his left forearm firmly. It hurt like hell. Oh, darn.
Onstage, D tilts his head to the side. One hand returns to clutch the microphone stand, while the other threads graceful fingers through impossibly glossy, tangle-free hair. It reaches the side of his neck, but doesn't stop, trailing further down his exposed collarbone and skimming over a silk-clad chest.
/Think of all the fun I've missed
Think of all the fellas that I haven't kissed/
"W-what the f--?" Leon sputters, trying in vain to hold down a blush at the Count's display.
/Next year could be just as good
If you'd check off my Christmas list!/
D's hand breaks its descent over his body as the Count half-turns, slightly facing away from the audience and revealing more bare, absolutely flawless leg than was safe for Leon's well-being. The saxophone belts out four low notes in rapid succession, D snapping his finger in time with the last.
/Leon, honey,/
"What... did he just... call me?" aforementioned individual sputtered just as a waiter finally heads over to their table.
"'Leon, honey'," Jill repeats helpfully.
"Thought as much..." Leon mumbles, and faints dead away.
/I want your love and really that's
Not a lot/
"Is he alright?" the waiter, dark-haired and good-looking in a boy-next-door kind of way, inquires, blinking.
"He'll be fine." Jill allows a fleeting glance at Leon's prone, unconscious form slumped over the table. "The song's just... gotten into him a little too much," she finishes, looking up at the young man and smiling flirtatiously.
/I've been an angel all year
So, Detective, come hurry down the pet shop tonight!/
D leans forward, cradling the microphone close to perfectly-shaped lips, his free hand extended upwards in a sultry salute to the heavens. The lush material of his dress ripples like fire with the motion, outlining every arch and curve it covered of the Count's body.
Back at the table, the waiter regards the slumped-over Leon dubiously. "Shouldn't we wake him, though?"
"Hey, good idea." Still grinning happily, Jill shakes Leon awake.
"W-wha--?"
/Leon cutie,/
Leon manages to ramble "H-he called me... cu..." before fainting again.
Jill sweatdrops. "Oh, well."
/there's one thing that I really do need, the deed
To make you mine
Leon cutie, and hurry down the pet shop tonight!/
The song nearing its close, D takes a step back with a small, alluring shimmy of his hips. The spotlight gradually brightens into the white, milky glare of moonlight, soaking his features and lending an even more ethereal, otherworldly quality to his beauty. The smile with which he regales the crowd is angelic radiance and playful deviltry combined. He releases the mike once more, holding up both hands in the air this time.
/Come and drink my Christmas tea
With some fruit tart platters bought at Madame See's
I really do believe in you
Let's see if you believe in me!/
Onstage, D glides forward again, and tilts his head up slightly, both arms still upraised. One hand slowly trails down the length of the bare arm of the other as the crowd watches with hungry eyes.
/Dear Detective, forgot to mention one little thing, a (bling!)/
"What's a (bling!)?" The waiter asks, scratching his head.
"Something that doesn't belong in a PG-13 fic," Jill replies, gleefully grinning as she took a healthy swig off her newly-refilled glass of sherry.
"Eh?"
D stops singing, suddenly. With a voice half-breathed, half-purred over the microphone, he whispers, winking,
/I don't mean on the phone./
Back on their table, Jill nods her head sagely, and smirks. "See?"
The waiter blushes briefly, cutely, and sweatdrops.
"Anyway, what's your name?" Jill inquires, leaning over.
"What?"
"What's your name? It's getting old having to refer to you as 'the waiter' all the time."
The waiter graces her with a sheepish grin. It revealed the dimple in his left cheek. "Like it matters now. The fic's about to end."
"Screw the ending," Jill retorts dismissively, eyes dancing. "Tell me anyway."
/Dear Detective, and hurry down the pet shop tonight!/
"It's Jack," the waiter finally declares, holding out a free hand.
Jill blinks. "That's funny," she remarks, taking it. "I'm Jill." She shakes his hand once, lingering a second longer than it should, before dropping it. "We'll make one hell of a riot."
/Hurry down the pet shop tonight/
"We sure will," Jack agrees, and Jill could not help but feel flattered by the way his blush extended to his ears. "My, uh, my shift ends at ten."
Jill smiles into his eyes. "I'll be waiting till then."
/Hurry down the pet shop tonight!/
Count D belts out the last line with a final, forceful tap of his foot and a come-hither wave of his hand. The song ends. The stage is filled with light for a few, fleeting moments, before blinking back into darkness once again, swallowed up by the cheers and wild applause of an enthusiastic audience.
"That was one hot number," Jack the waiter notes with a low whistle.
"Yeah, it was, wasn't it?" Jill says. Sighing, she looked over to where Leon was still slumped-over, snoring a bit. "Too bad poor Leon here fainted halfway through it. And I went through so much trouble to talk the Count into this gig..." She pouts.
"Is it OK to leave him like this?" Jack asks her.
Jill glances at her watch. "He ought to wake up in an hour or so," she assures, shrugging. "If not..." She adds with a grin, "I'm sure Count D will be more than happy to take him home." She lifts her glass close to her lips and gazes off into the darkened stage. "Yes, I'm sure he will be."
x x x
Post Script: I never intended for Leon to faint; he just went and did, the poor dog. And I never consciously intended for this fic to be a Jill x OC, either. (Sigh) This is my second Christmas songfic in... what, two years? I should be working on my other PSoH fic right about now, yeah. Still, I had to get this out of my system first! Pure junkfood, I know. But please drop a holiday cookie or two before you hit the back button. Happy Holidays!
Warnings: A butchered version of the song "Santa Baby" by Ertha Kitt. Purely whimsical nonsense. Not to be taken seriously. Not for those looking for literary masterpieces, let alone deep, involving plot lines. Rated PG-13 for mild swearing, adult themes, and utter blahness.
Dear Detective
by spare
A fifties-themed cocktail bar somewhere in Los Angeles. It's a couple of minutes past nine in the evening. Bar patrons, mostly middle class yuppie types, are either seated round mock rosewood tables or standing by the walls, talking, smoking, drinking, and doing what bar patrons generally do. Onstage, a Latin American trio plays a snazzy jazz number. Our favorite detective sits (conveniently) behind a table in the middle of the room, looking his usual self: blond, blue-eyed, and grumpier than your old man. He glances at his watch for what must be the umpteenth time that evening, sighs impatiently, and turns to look at the fair-haired woman of undivulged vital statistics situated opposite him. "So, Jill," Leon drawls over his third mug of beer, "When does this contact of yours plan to show up?"
Jill sets down her own half-empty glass of sherry. She looks away, lazily trailing a manicured finger over the rim, and clears her throat. "Um, about that..."
Her partner quirks an eyebrow. "Yeah?"
"I kinda... lied." She twiddled her thumbs. "We're not here to meet an informant for the Ravendall case."
Dead silence.
Then, a "WHAT?!?" resounded through the room, sending the jazz band and surrounding conversations to a momentary halt.
True to type, Jill just took a nonchalant sip off her wine glass, and calmly waited for the younger cop's temper to subside.
It did. Well, sort of. The tick mark on Leon's forehead hadn't exactly disappeared when he asked, "Then what the hell are we here for?"
Jill merely grins impishly. "You'll see."
As if on cue, the lights dim, shrouding the room in near-total darkness, only to be pierced a couple of heartbeats later by a single spotlight shining down the stage. The band playing earlier has somehow retreated to the back of the podium, making way for a giant box wrapped in red foil and green satin ribbon trimmed with gold. As they watch, the ribbon falls loose as if an invisible hand was untying it, the lid of the box soon following suit. An observant witness would note that both items landed on the polished platform with hardly any sound, but by then, no one deemed it worth their while to pay them their attention. Instead, all eyes were trained on the lithe figure emerging from what remained of the giant gift box.
It's Count D, wearing a cheongsam of red silk interlaced with gold. Half of it, anyway. The high collar and the left sleeve of the dress were there, sure, but the right side, where the cheongsam would be buttoned up properly, was bare from the collarbone down one lily-white arm. And the side of the dress had a slit high enough to expose one perfect porcelain thigh. A velvet choker appeared to hold the garment together. With an unearthly grace only a kami can possess, he steps out of the gilded box and to the silver microphone propped on a narrow stand at the center of the stage, head hung low, the silken material of his dress shimmering with every movement. The spotlight follows his sojourn like a lover would.
At his table, Leon finally remembers to close his mouth. Snorting back a trickle of blood threatening to drip out of his left nostril, he proclaims, "T-that's D!"
Jill says nothing, opting instead to grin the grin common to yaoi fan girls the world over, and takes another sip of her drink.
A bass and saxophone intro plays in the background, low and lilting. Still not lifting his head, D taps one slippered foot in time with the music. "Ladies and gentlemen," an unseen announcer declares over the speakers, "Our special number for the evening. Count D and his rendition of..." The music halts, and D stands frozen. The announcer's voice drops an octave. "Santa Baby."
Hushed whispers in the crowd.
The music comes back with a vengeance, accompanied this time with the snapping of fingers. D's. The kami looks up to regard the audience at last, right foot tapping the floor in steady, teasing beats. Even from the distance, one amber eye glittered from a fall of lustrous ebony hair as the amethyst one twinkled with barely contained mischief. The knowing smile playing upon his lips deepen. The Count takes a half-step forward, and begins to (drum roll, please) sing. His voice is low and melodious.
/Dear Detective, slip a bonbon under the tree, for me
I've been an awful good boy/
Leon blinks. "What the frag is he doing up there?!"
"Singing," Jill retorts happily. "Isn't that obvious? His voice ain't half bad, either."
Leon snorts. "Whatever." He drains the rest of his beer in one good gulp. This was gonna be one hell of a night.
/Dear Detective, and hurry down the pet shop tonight!/
"You bet I will. I'll slap a case to your ass yet!"
Jill shoots him a sideways glance. "Like it's the /only/ thing you wanna slap his ass with," she mutters under her breath.
"You sayin' something?"
"Nope," she replies, waving at one of the cocktail waiters for a refill.
D seems to glide across the stage, an apparition clad in the fiery colors of autumn. Slight hips move in easy cadence with every step taken. Without missing a beat, the Count reaches for the mike with both hands. He tilts it towards himself as he sang the next verse.
/Oh, Detective, a handsome, manly officer, too, like you/
A sweatdrop trickles down the side of Leon's face. "Like who?"
/I'll wait up for you, dear/
"Ooh!" Jill exclaims. "Looks like this song's about you, Leon!" She looks thoughtful. "Of course, the 'handsome' part is a matter of acquired taste, but..."
/So Detective, come hurry down the pet shop tonight!/
With a flourish, D lets go of the microphone, crooking one slender index finger in invitation to the unseen crowd. Whoops and catcalls could be heard in reply.
Leon blinks, and sweatdrops some more. His mind seizes on the frail hope that all this was just some fever-and-musical-induced dream. Yeah. He'd wake up in his apartment any minute now. Nodding to himself, he pinches his left forearm firmly. It hurt like hell. Oh, darn.
Onstage, D tilts his head to the side. One hand returns to clutch the microphone stand, while the other threads graceful fingers through impossibly glossy, tangle-free hair. It reaches the side of his neck, but doesn't stop, trailing further down his exposed collarbone and skimming over a silk-clad chest.
/Think of all the fun I've missed
Think of all the fellas that I haven't kissed/
"W-what the f--?" Leon sputters, trying in vain to hold down a blush at the Count's display.
/Next year could be just as good
If you'd check off my Christmas list!/
D's hand breaks its descent over his body as the Count half-turns, slightly facing away from the audience and revealing more bare, absolutely flawless leg than was safe for Leon's well-being. The saxophone belts out four low notes in rapid succession, D snapping his finger in time with the last.
/Leon, honey,/
"What... did he just... call me?" aforementioned individual sputtered just as a waiter finally heads over to their table.
"'Leon, honey'," Jill repeats helpfully.
"Thought as much..." Leon mumbles, and faints dead away.
/I want your love and really that's
Not a lot/
"Is he alright?" the waiter, dark-haired and good-looking in a boy-next-door kind of way, inquires, blinking.
"He'll be fine." Jill allows a fleeting glance at Leon's prone, unconscious form slumped over the table. "The song's just... gotten into him a little too much," she finishes, looking up at the young man and smiling flirtatiously.
/I've been an angel all year
So, Detective, come hurry down the pet shop tonight!/
D leans forward, cradling the microphone close to perfectly-shaped lips, his free hand extended upwards in a sultry salute to the heavens. The lush material of his dress ripples like fire with the motion, outlining every arch and curve it covered of the Count's body.
Back at the table, the waiter regards the slumped-over Leon dubiously. "Shouldn't we wake him, though?"
"Hey, good idea." Still grinning happily, Jill shakes Leon awake.
"W-wha--?"
/Leon cutie,/
Leon manages to ramble "H-he called me... cu..." before fainting again.
Jill sweatdrops. "Oh, well."
/there's one thing that I really do need, the deed
To make you mine
Leon cutie, and hurry down the pet shop tonight!/
The song nearing its close, D takes a step back with a small, alluring shimmy of his hips. The spotlight gradually brightens into the white, milky glare of moonlight, soaking his features and lending an even more ethereal, otherworldly quality to his beauty. The smile with which he regales the crowd is angelic radiance and playful deviltry combined. He releases the mike once more, holding up both hands in the air this time.
/Come and drink my Christmas tea
With some fruit tart platters bought at Madame See's
I really do believe in you
Let's see if you believe in me!/
Onstage, D glides forward again, and tilts his head up slightly, both arms still upraised. One hand slowly trails down the length of the bare arm of the other as the crowd watches with hungry eyes.
/Dear Detective, forgot to mention one little thing, a (bling!)/
"What's a (bling!)?" The waiter asks, scratching his head.
"Something that doesn't belong in a PG-13 fic," Jill replies, gleefully grinning as she took a healthy swig off her newly-refilled glass of sherry.
"Eh?"
D stops singing, suddenly. With a voice half-breathed, half-purred over the microphone, he whispers, winking,
/I don't mean on the phone./
Back on their table, Jill nods her head sagely, and smirks. "See?"
The waiter blushes briefly, cutely, and sweatdrops.
"Anyway, what's your name?" Jill inquires, leaning over.
"What?"
"What's your name? It's getting old having to refer to you as 'the waiter' all the time."
The waiter graces her with a sheepish grin. It revealed the dimple in his left cheek. "Like it matters now. The fic's about to end."
"Screw the ending," Jill retorts dismissively, eyes dancing. "Tell me anyway."
/Dear Detective, and hurry down the pet shop tonight!/
"It's Jack," the waiter finally declares, holding out a free hand.
Jill blinks. "That's funny," she remarks, taking it. "I'm Jill." She shakes his hand once, lingering a second longer than it should, before dropping it. "We'll make one hell of a riot."
/Hurry down the pet shop tonight/
"We sure will," Jack agrees, and Jill could not help but feel flattered by the way his blush extended to his ears. "My, uh, my shift ends at ten."
Jill smiles into his eyes. "I'll be waiting till then."
/Hurry down the pet shop tonight!/
Count D belts out the last line with a final, forceful tap of his foot and a come-hither wave of his hand. The song ends. The stage is filled with light for a few, fleeting moments, before blinking back into darkness once again, swallowed up by the cheers and wild applause of an enthusiastic audience.
"That was one hot number," Jack the waiter notes with a low whistle.
"Yeah, it was, wasn't it?" Jill says. Sighing, she looked over to where Leon was still slumped-over, snoring a bit. "Too bad poor Leon here fainted halfway through it. And I went through so much trouble to talk the Count into this gig..." She pouts.
"Is it OK to leave him like this?" Jack asks her.
Jill glances at her watch. "He ought to wake up in an hour or so," she assures, shrugging. "If not..." She adds with a grin, "I'm sure Count D will be more than happy to take him home." She lifts her glass close to her lips and gazes off into the darkened stage. "Yes, I'm sure he will be."
x x x
Post Script: I never intended for Leon to faint; he just went and did, the poor dog. And I never consciously intended for this fic to be a Jill x OC, either. (Sigh) This is my second Christmas songfic in... what, two years? I should be working on my other PSoH fic right about now, yeah. Still, I had to get this out of my system first! Pure junkfood, I know. But please drop a holiday cookie or two before you hit the back button. Happy Holidays!