Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Demon Angelic- rewrite ❯ Chapter 10 ( Chapter 10 )

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

Disclaimer: I don't own the men of Schwarz or Weiss and will make absolutely no profit off of the events that take place within the framework of this story. All recognizable characters belong to their creators and FunAnimation.

+Chapter 10+

He supposed the American seer had struck his deal with the girl by now, giving her the freedom she desired in exchange for her cooperation. Crawford had always been a helluva strategist. Buy her loyalty, manipulate the Weiss Katzchen with her artless wiles, pulling their heart strings until they strangled on them, placate the Eszet elders, and then dump the world that despised them on its ass. Gott, I love being the villain…. Especially when all possible futures pointed toward success, Schuldig smirked.

The Tower was quiet, everything running smoothly as Crawford had foreseen. Takatori was making another shady deal. This time for information, a formula for homegrown monsters, he had yet to obtain and was even farther from having Hirofumi, his oldest son and employer of Schrient, perfect. Zertech Biolage International was kept out of the loop on that particular bit of information, of course.
The lanky, red-head snorted inwardly at the idea of hoodwinking a branch of the German mafia, that pissant Takatori had no idea what he was getting into. The Yakuza were nothing in comparison. Sure the Japanese gangs would wipe out your whole family and mount your head on their wall as a trophy, but his people took their time. The Germans had turned revenge into an art form. They ruined you, drove you into hiding, gave a false sense of security, and then tortured you until death was a blessing after demonstrating on your family, friends, neighbors, maybe even the milkman.

He smiled at the image of Takatori eating his own entrails as he watched his fourteen year-old, illegitimate daughter being sodomized. Schuldig translated dutifully, the only function the wrinkly old letch seemed to deem him capable of, as his mind relented the idea. If anyone killed the old bastard they would be local. Preferably Schwarz.
The grey-green eyes narrowed as the clock on the wall indicate it was now almost ten and no sign of the Oracle. Where the hell had the man gone?

At that precise moment, Crawford was admitted to the teleconferencing room by Takatori's fresh, young secretary. His eyes were hard behind his glasses, crystallized caramel. He bowed silently to his employer who acknowledged the American with a dismissing wave before continuing on with his negotiations in Japanese. The gray whiskered face trounced forth any number of lies as Schuldig repeated them in formal German as the speaker on the prompter was not from eastern Berlin.

::Deal?::

::Done.:: the only possible response spoken into the German telepath's mind.

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Thank goodness that's over with! The consultation with the stylist at the neighborhood salon had taken over an hour. Nitta- san, the owner of the establishment and now my personal stylist, had hidden his exuberantly flamboyant personality behind a deceptively masculine veneer. He just LOVED the fact that I was into the natural look, since he was thinking something along the lines of woodsy sex kitten meets timeless nymph for the hair. He showed us some sketches and I am pretty sure I could save the project a few hundred dollars by simply not brushing my hair in the morning and then rolling around in a leaf pile on my way to the studio. Seiko, however, was thrilled with the look. I was beginning to worry…

After thanking Nitta-san and arranging an appointment with the secretary, Seiko and I found ourselves on the street making the trek to No Furi O Suru (Make Believe) Boutique to meet Chidori Aki, the seamstress. Her shop was several blocks away, so Seiko killed the time by interrogating me. To be the human icicle that he is Crawford sure leaves an impression on people.

“So, tell me a bit more about your family…” genki smile.

What she really meant was `how do I get into your guardian's pants'. I may be naïve, but I'm not clueless. “Family?” I found the description dubious, but appropriate if applied loosely—very loosely. Charles Manson's version of the Brady Bunch, yup that's us.

“Yeah, your guardians…” She was giving me a skeptical look now. “Crawford-san?”

“We don't spend much time together. He's a business man, gone most of the day.”

“Oh…” she sounded disappointed that I hadn't gone into detail. Sucks to be her, but it's safer if she doesn't get involved with him anymore than necessary. “Well, what about your foster mother?”

I couldn't keep the corners of my mouth from twitching. Little momma Schu-Schu; he would be so pissed. “Foreign like Crawford, but German instead of American. Tall, thin, fair skin, red-hair, neko green-eyes.”

“Sounds exotic…”

“I can't argue; he's a looker.”

“He?” that got her attention. She actually stopped in the middle of the greenway.

I left her standing there, jaw hanging. Evil internal laughter. “Yaoi much?”

“Kami-sama!”

If she didn't close her mouth soon someone was going to trip.

I stopped to adjust the straps on my satchel, shooting her a wickedly gleeful smirk, “I'm just kidding… They can't stand each other. Anyway,” I scanned the street catching the name of the boutique on a nearby awning, “the shop is over here.” I didn't wait for her to catch up.

The display in the window made it clear that the boutique ran toward erotica, leather and lace set against a dark screen that left the innards of the shop up to the surveyor's imagination. With a name like `Make Believe' I don't know what else I should have expected. I pushed the door open to the tinny jingle of a chime, as Seiko's warmth drew along side and we entered the shop in tandem, both being on the small side it wasn't difficult. The room was long, narrow and packed with all sorts of lingerie and fantasy related costuming. S&M, B&D, sex kitten, naughty professionals, spice for the happy homemaker,—a paradise for the dedicated debaucher and newbies alike. I know Crawford specified no nudity, but there is a considerable amount of skin that can be revealed without technically being naked. I am out of here!

I was about to tell Seiko I had made a mistake when Chidori Aki sauntered through the beaded curtain behind the counter. She was in her late thirties, early forties, well-bred and fashionably thin. She wore a warm orange skirt suit that played up the garnet darkness of her eyes and brought attention away from the graying strands that framed her face. My companion bowed deeply in greeting. I followed her lead, never taking my eyes off the older woman; she reeked of Yakuza. Chidori wasn't a name I was familiar with, but names are easy enough to come by.

“Hayato-san, I see you've managed to bring me a warm body today,” her voice was soft, cultured. She gave both of us a disarming smile, coming to slip an arm around the sandy-blonde's shoulders. “This one is a beauty, striking eyes.”

Damn hentai bastards distracting me, I cursed three of my four housemates for causing me to forget my shades at home. There are not too many Japanese with dragon's jade eyes, and none with pure blood that I know of. If this woman really was linked to the Yakuza I could be in trouble if she recognized me. Life with Schwarz wasn't easy but, despite the arguments and daily blood loss I seemed to suffer, it was the closest thing to home I had experienced in a long time. Plus, I wasn't too keen on losing my newly bartered freedom.

“My name is Uotani Hikari, Chidori-san.” I gave a shallow bow this time, just low enough to be polite. It wouldn't do to make myself any more memorable than necessary. That meant no backing out—if I caused a scene I had a feeling she would readily remember every detail.

“Of course,” she didn't seem put off by my self-introduction, although she eyed me as though she were memorizing my face. Not that it would do her a lot of good. Only one Yakuza alive could identify me by sight—Kazama Hisoka, the man who had taken away my identity, the night he made me a murder.

“Well, shall we go to the back and take a look at the design. I have some swaths of fabric for you to consider, Hayato-san and I need to get your measurements, Uotani-san.”

“Hikari is fine,” I assured her, as I nodded my ascent, falling into step behind them as they headed for another beaded curtain at the rear of the room. I tried to make myself as small as possible, to keep from brushing anything off the racks in passing; the shop was packed with merchandise stands and display cases.

On the other side of the bespangled doorway lay the viewing area. A taupe couch was pushed up against the rear wall, situated directly behind a raised platform in the exact center of the room that was surrounded on three sides by full-length mirrors. Off to the right was the dressing area, separated from the rest of the space by a thick, navy blue drapery. Near the door on the rear wall, a mannequin supporting an elaborate set of iridescent, tri-level dragonfly wings fashioned to a leather and chrome harness partially shielded a sewing bench and worktable from view. It was the rainbow sheen of the brittle wings that drew me closer, they were magnificently crafted, complete with what I assumed were thin wire veins to help hold the shape and preserve the authenticity.

“Do you like them?” Chidori asked from behind me and to my left. I tried to keep her in my peripheral vision, not that I thought she was an open threat, but you can never be too careful.

“Beautiful.”

“Good, they're part of your costume.”

“I'm going to be a dragonfly?” Great, I always wondered what it would be like to be a bug. Just hope Farfarello didn't take it into his head to try and squash me. After what he had done last night, I wouldn't put anything beyond him.

Seiko's tinkling laughter, earned a glare. “Not a dragonfly. You will be a demi-fey, a creature from the land of Faerie that's kind of like a pixie.”

“Whose idea was that?”

“Shindo-kun's, of course. He's decided you look like a faerie warrior, so he designed this costume with you in mind.”

Wonder what gave him that idea?

“Shall we try them on you?” Chidori moved up beside me, favoring me with another disarming smile. “You'll need to take your jacket off.”

Shit… I had forgotten all about having my bugnuks strapped to my arms when I left the house. They're so natural to me; sometimes I don't even realize I'm wearing them. Well, until I go to use them that is.

The two women were staring at me expectantly. Not too many people ever realize that the intricately tooled gauntlets I wear actually house four, eight inch long titanium blades. Few people need that information in their daily lives, and I had to trust that these women were in the majority. So, I shrugged of my blazer and laid it out on the work table. I stiffened when Seiko sucked in a whistling breathe.

“Wow!”

I relaxed a little, only to stiffen again as my left arm was jerked away from my body so she could get a closer look at the workmanship of the leather. “Your gauntlets are so kool! And they will even go with the design, you could wear them!”

I needed some Tylenol.

“Ooooh! What's this?” She ran a finger over the silver bracelet I had pushed to rest below the bend of my elbow.

“A reminder…”

“So you have a fella, huh?” Seiko grinned brightly and winked at Chidori who was watching us bemusedly.

“Nope, just a headache,” that was putting it mildly where he was concerned. “So, are we going to try this on or not?”

“Whenever you're ready,” the fount of seemingly infinite patience soothed.

“Let's do it.”

The graying seamstress started to show me how to work the clasps on the harness. “These are fairly simple; the spine of the harness is hinged down the center as is the sternum. All you need do is pull the pins at breast, solar plexus and waist.” She demonstrated, handing the quarter inch metal dowels to me. Seiko came around to the other side to help lift the harness off the wooden figure and hold it steady while Chidori fitted it to me. The chill of the chrome brought gooseflesh up on my scantily clad back. “The frame is made to fit snuggly atop your breasts, like a strapless gown.” Prudent hands met the metal hinges and rammed a dowel home. “There is a center stay that runs parallel to evenly distribute the weight, and has some fancy chrome off shoots for looks,” she repeated the process, “the main support sits on your hips and will end in a v mid-point on your lower abdomen. Looks like this part may be a bit too large…” she fussed over the final hinge.

“Remember, though, she will have on several layers of muslin and tulle.”

“True…” The sudden narrowing of those garnet eyes startled me. “Who bit you?” Chidori sounded almost angry. Her gaze drew

Seiko's who looked slightly sickened.

I really hated Farfarello at the moment. However, the infuriated expression on the shop owner's face made me rethink the possibility of her being a Yakuza. Most of those women bore similar marks or worse. “A rabid mongrel slipped its leash and took a bite out of me.” It wasn't too far from the truth.

“Those look like human teeth marks?” Seiko deflected, peering closer at me.

Damn it. “Well, they aren't.” I dragged some hair over my shoulder to put it out of sight.

The two older women exchanged a guarded glance.

“Honey, anytime I see marks like that on a child, I have to wonder after his or her safety,” the tone was soft, meant to soothe. It just put me more on the defensive. The last thing I needed was for someone to call social services on Crawford.

“I am not a child,” I sounded petulant. “Even if I were, I'm not one that warrants your concern.” I glared stubbornly at them, giving each a turn, daring them to say otherwise.

“Okay, calm down, Uotani-san,” the seamstress had her hands up in a gesture of surrender. Eyes locked onto mine. “I don't know you well enough to disbelieve you.”

“Exactly.”

“Goodness, look at the time!” Seiko gave her nervous `heh' again, blinking us out of the showdown. “If we want to get all this in today, we should probably get the measurements taken and decide on some fabric,” she clapped her hands enthusiastically, “Love the wings.” She was trying too hard.

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By lunch, Nagi had exhausted himself trying to figure out what Schuldig had been talking about that morning. An artistic endeavor? He couldn't possibly be suggesting that Crawford-san was entertaining the idea of Hikari modeling at Ju-Dan… could he? He selected his food absently from the line, and went to find a seat. Maybe Eszet was coming to claim her, take her to the training facility in Berlin… After her display that morning he wouldn't be surprised if Crawford had her on a plane right now. Berlin was close enough to hell for Nagi's taste, frozen over or not. He hated going for his annual refresher, not a pleasant way to spend his winter break.
An obnoxiously loud voice from the table behind him got his attention.

“Did you see that chick this morning coming out of Auimata-sensei's room?” Junya, a fourth-year, exclaimed as he clacked his tray down excitedly.

“Yeah, she had a nice rack.” Nagi really disliked Tasume, another fourth-year that went out of his way to be an ass. The two unknown girls sitting at the table frowned at him between twills of rice.

“You are a hentai!” the bolder of the two bitched, whacking the boy in the back of the head. Nagi smiled secretly, fully agreeing with the sentiment.

“Yeah, that too,” Junya agreed hurriedly, ducking a piece of flying broccoli, “but she had the weirdest eyes.”

“I thought they were beautiful,” Koriu-kun, a third-year from D-class, defended as she sat her tray down across from the other two females. She looked up, catching Nagi's eyes and smiled sweetly. Koriu-kun was in his Cultural Arts class next period and a celebrated member of the art club. She was always optimistic, cheery with her olive brown eyes and dimples. Her smile made him feel uneasy.

“I bet anything they were contacts. Probably dyed `em green with food coloring,” the opinionated girl piped up.

Green? It couldn't be… Nagi thought only giving the rest of the conversation half an ear.

“Oh, yeah?” Tasume quipped, eyebrows waggling retardedly, “Like what?”

The black- haired girl thought a moment, “My first kiss…”

“Stiff wager, Ani-chan,” her friend warned, sipping from her tea.

“And if I win,” Ani continued unconcerned, “you take me to dinner at that new Thai place.”

“Geez you two, can't you just confess you like each other and start going out like a normal couple?” Junya rolled his eyes as two tongues were thrust out in his direction.

“Anyway,” the still unnamed female broke in, “I heard she's going to model for the art club after school. Do you know anything about it, Koriu-chan?”

“I would assume so. Auimata-sensei announced today that we would be starting a portrait in club this week,” she replied digging into her stir-fried vegetables.

“Is it a nude? I might just join if it is… weird eyes or no, she was really hot. I'd ditch kendo club for that!”

The table erupted with exasperated breaths all around as another resounding thwack bounced off the back of the jock's head. There was no way Crawford-san would have agreed. Maybe it was just some stupid model sporting colored lenses to make herself unique. If not, then that meant Hikari was finally being given some of the freedom that she wanted so badly. Again he wondered what Crawford-san was playing at.

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It had taken a while for me to get my temper back under control after my confrontation with the seamstress, and Seiko was anything but helpful. She took her sweet time picking out the fabrics for the costume despite her nervous pronouncement about staying on schedule.

I didn't pay much attention to the rest of the details, just held still for the measurements and then slid my jacket back on. From what I did catch, other than the fact that both of the women clearly didn't believe me about the marks, was that the bodice of the strapless bodysuit was going to be made of a black underlay of velvet, and a muslin sheath that would cling like a second skin to give an iridescent sheen to the glossier fabric. The detachable skirts were actually several layers of ripped tulle and muslin in shades of blue, silver and gray that would hang to about mid-thigh. The design Chidori kept pointing to fell within the bounds of decency, so I didn't protest. I had already failed at making myself completely forgettable.

“Stage make-up will cover that scar well enough. Or, I could add a necklace to the design. I was considering a high-line leather choker with scalloped drapes of brushed nickel or blacked fine chain,” she held up samples for Seiko to inspect.

“I like the black. What do you think?” She kept glancing from one to the other as if it really mattered.

“Whatever, I'm going outside,” I headed for the beaded curtain, calling back over my shoulder, “The flower shop… Koneko no Sumu Ie?”

“Hmm, yeah…” engrossed in her work.

I left No Furi O Suru, stopping just outside on the greenway to let the sun warm me. The air-conditioning had been on full-blast in the shop and without my jacket it had sunken into my bones. Lately, I don't feel the cold unless I've just used my powers. My body can't deal with the lower temperatures after exerting massive amount of energy. So far, the only problem I've experienced was after the blackout, I had to soak in skin-peeling hot water in Crawford's tub for the better part of a day to get warm again. Schuldig and Nagi had been convinced that I was going into shock; Farfarello could have cared less.

Just the thought of him pisses me off. I could just see the condescending smirk on his lips if he found out the trouble he had indirectly caused. Apparently tormenting me `hurts his God'. When did I become so instrumental in the scheme of things? What a ridiculous idea… protecting me? Hurting me to save the trouble of me hurting myself? Who the hell was Nagi trying to convince by telling me that?

I had to cross the street to make my way to the flower shop. The walk in front of the Koneko no Sumu Ie was covered with black-wire display racks brimming with flowering plants of soft pinks and baby blues, ferns hung from the awning to tickle the cheeks of the taller passersby and two potted Sakura saplings guarded the entrance, straining proudly up from their ornate bases. The delicate whitish-pink of their blossoms alluding to the gift of blood that the first of their kind drained from the bodies of entombed soldiers at the whim of some forgotten emperor; a story my father had been fond of telling laying beneath them. My thoughts are so random today; I berated myself slipping between the two guardians and into the fragrant atmosphere of the shop, So much has happened in the last five hours.

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“Konnichi-wa! Welcome to The Kitty in The House,” the blonde gave a lazy smile as he straightened from where he was leaning on the register. He had wondered how long the girl was going to loiter outside admiring the trees before making her way in. He adjusted his ever-present sunglasses so he could give her the Kudo once over. Verdict… nice. Shapely, but not overstated, conservative taste, nice face, lean and angular. Not in school at the moment which put her at eighteen—legal. “Can I help you with something today? Shopping for a friend, relative?” He turned on the charm, coming around to the edge of the counter to pose nonchalantly.

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Like I said, naïve but not clueless. “No, just waiting for someone.” I strolled further into the low lighting of the shop, toward the wall of refrigerated display cases that housed their cut flowers. The women from the Teniawai compound had been right, the shop did host an exotic fare, I admitted looking to the very rear of the shop where a man of about twenty sat ramrod straight at his bench working on an arrangement of stargazer lilies, white orchids and rich magenta roses. His hair was the color of overripe cherries rotting on the branch, odd color but apparently natural if his nearly translucent skin was any indication, so loud against the solid black of his baggy sweater. He tensed on his stool.

Realizing I was staring, I redirected my attention to the fogged panes in front of me. I could pick out a few of the species on display, but most of them were beyond my meager knowledge. Several varieties of Oriental lilies; a few orchids; white and yellow daisies; white, red, pink, magenta and silver roses; and five colors of tulip. Sight meant little to me, but I spoke their language. I'm good at crafting words.

I felt him move up beside me, but didn't acknowledge him. The blonde with his ponytail was handsome in a needy sense, his tight, crisp jeans, forest green shirt and pristine black apron pushing to be noticed. I stepped back as he reached across me to open the cooler door and removed a single orchid.

“Here.”

I tilted my head to take in the flirtatious grin he was extending along with the flower; its frilly, blushing blossom straining for my regard. I took it gently between my fingers, careful not to touch him in the process.

“It's my image flower- Cattelya orchid. It means `fierce beauty'.”

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Aya kept his head in his work, wondering disgustedly if the blonde had any shame. He did the same to all the `of age' girls that came into the shop, grinning at them, telling them what they wanted to hear. He didn't have to turn around to know the girl, whoever she was was blushing up at the older man, probably batting her eyes. The way Yoji used women was reprehensible. He went through them like he did his noxious cigarettes, one after the other.

“Actually, the Cattelya orchid means `mature charm or grace',” the voice was even, unimpressed. “But arigato for the thought… and the flower.”

The red-haired hanaya (florist) had to suppress the smirk that assaulted his lips. It was the first time had ever heard anyone, other than Manx, turn down the playboy's advances so indifferently. Smart, whoever she was.

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Before Yoji could regroup from the rather staunch brush off, the bell above the door rang out and one of their regulars stood in the shop panting. She looked good, like always, just flustered. She didn't spare him a glance. just stomped over to the girl beside him and without preamble started to ream her out.

“Where the hell have you been? I have searched all over the block for you!” Seiko-chan demanded, her fists clenched at her sides, until she had to stop shaking long enough to shove the satchel back up her arm.

The dark-haired girl looked unconcerned, if anything the slant to one sweeping eyebrow denoted more amused distaste than anything. “Didn't know you cared.”

“Anything could have happened to you! You could have cost me my job!

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Good, at least we're finally cutting through the bullshit. “I asked which shop.”

“You disappeared…” bronze eyes were wide with agitated concern. “What if…”

“Don't worry about `what if?', worry about what is. You found me, be happy.”

She looked as though she were making a hard decision, “I know I shouldn't say this…” she huffed resignedly, “but you are a BITCH!”

The blonde man's eyebrows went up when I smiled at her flustered admission. “Like wise, I'm more than sure.” I might actually like her after all; she's more fun when she's angry.

“Uhhn, ladies?”

We both turned to glare at the forgotten shop keeper. He looked not the least bit uncomfortable, as if women fighting in his presence were a common occurrence. I heard the scarp of metal against tile and assumed the red-head was seeking shelter elsewhere. “Seiko-chan welcome back to The Kitty in the House.” He moved artfully between us, lacing an arm through the assistance's, which relaxed after a moment and allowed herself to be led, chatting all the way to the counter.

I exhaled softly and went back to staring at the display cases, twirling the long stemmed orchid between my fingers. The brush of the petals felt like the kiss of Koi against my palm.

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“So, what's the occasion? I haven't seen you in a couple of weeks, Seiko-chan,” Yoji finally inquired, feeling that the ladies were far enough away from each other that the shop wasn't in danger of getting trashed. He had never seen the sandy-haired woman that upset before and wondered who the girl was.

“Shindo-kun is doing another painting for a new calendar and giving the art club a chance to make use of his model. Hikari-kun is about to drive me crazy though and I've only just been with her a few hours,” she replied, leaning on the counter as though she would like to bang her head against it instead.

“Yeah, I kinda figured that...She that bad?”

“Am I normally this excitable?”

The blonde assassin shoved his glasses farther up on his nose and denied to answer. She blushed furiously, no doubt memories of their date a few weeks ago coming back. “So, what can I get for you, bijin (beauty)?”

She blushed harder before replying, “Well, Shindo-kun wants to set up an ethereal clearing, backlined by a grove of Sakura saplings.”

Yoji watched the other girl draw closer, her eyes narrowed at the mention of the ornamental cherry trees. “No, no Sakuras.”

Seiko-chan jumped at the soft spoken demand as the girl drew up beside her. “Then what would you suggest?” It held a challenging edge.

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“Mimosa trees. They have delicate leaves that weep toward the ground and the flowers are understated, but attractive in a humble way.” Sakura trees make me think of dreams, blood and a life I was denied. Mimosas are saner.

The other woman in her conservative pantsuit seemed to be considering. “Actually, they might give it a more somber, whimsical feel. Good thinking.” She stopped herself before she patted me on the back.

The blonde man took note of it; I could tell by the way he shifted. Seiko didn't seem to think beyond the halted gesture and continued with her order of potted ghost ferns; flaming red spider lilies; a pampas grass sunningdale silver, a plant with tall elegant plumes of grass that boasted fringy white bottle brush blooms; and flats of obsidian Coral bells, their bluish black, club-shaped leaves are said to attract butterflies—or so the shopkeeper claims.

He nodded with each request, jotting it down on an invoice in neat shorthand.

“We also need some of those ornamental, fiberglass rocks. And that should be it…” she looked around, gave me a quick smile, guess she doesn't hold a grudge even against a bitch like me, and nodded. “Yup that's all.”

“Okay, let me read this back and make sure I got everything.” He read the rather extensive list from the invoice putting a check as she confirmed each item. “When do you need all this by?” He looked up poised to record date and time.

“Thursday at two pm.”

I waited for him to laugh at her, but he didn't, just took it down with a slow smile.

“Where?”

“Ju-Dan room 233. It's the art studio on the second floor. I'll make sure the office is expecting the delivery.”

“Make sure to do that, wouldn't want Kasumi-chan to get too excited. Ummm, the plants of course you know you can't return, the trees and rocks can be returned for a refund of all but ten percent as long as they are undamaged. Same deal we gave Shindo-kun last time.”

“Hai, arigato,” she dipped her head to show her gratitude, taking a copy of the invoice from him. I watched his hands, long, slender, golden skin ridged with pale veins and riddled with faint scars. Tending flowers must be more dangerous than I imagined.

“Have a wonderful day, Seiko-chan. And, it was a pleasure to meet you.” I looked up to the barrier of his sunglasses, wondering what he really thought. Then I dismissed it, he had a nice smile now that he wasn't trying to ooze pheromones.

“Arigato,” I replied bowing and followed Seiko-kun from the shop still absently twirling the flower he had given me. Today was certainly full of pleasant nuances.
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The rear door to the shop was flung open with a careless shove, it would have chipped the corner of the vinyl countertop had Aya not heard the brunette approaching and moved within range to prevent the damage. Ken was always breaking something in his thoughtless haste. Rash and impulsive—two of many things Aya detested about the younger man-- made him nearly unstoppable in the field, but a nuisance in daily life.

Inside the threshold, Ken gave the tall, slender red-head a bare nod and ambled on through to the shop, ignoring the fact that the sword-wielding assassin was still holding the door, glaring stonily at him over the rim of his favorite teacup. After the soccer fanatic was out of sight, Aya shut the door quietly and went back to his chair at the banged up collapsible card table they used in the break room. They were opposite ends of the social spectrum and had no hope of ever finding a happy medium, not that it bothered Aya any. He would rather not develop any emotional attachments; the pleasure wasn't worth the pain.

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“It's really hot out there today!” Ken exclaimed running a bandana across his sweat-speckled brow, as he made his way into the damp, cool air of the shop.

“It was pretty hot in here a few minutes ago,” the rangy, blonde grinned softly, taking in the boy's appearance, only Kenken could get that dirty making deliveries. The front of his royal blue jersey was marled with granules of rich black potting soil, the white piping around the collar and sleeves were grungy and the left leg of his light blue jeans sported a dark patchwork of damp spots.

“Oh, yeah?” he replied only half interested as he moved around the lounging slacker to tack the delivery confirmations to the corkboard for Omi to deal with later.

“Hnnnn, about had a fight.”

“Schwarz?” He didn't think so, Aya wasn't running around screaming shi-ne and swinging his katana, but one could never be too sure where the red-head was concerned.

“No, Seiko-chan and her new protégé.”

“Really? She's usually so calm though… what happened?” Ken looked enticed.

Sensing he had an audience, Yoji launched into the recounting with gusto. “Well, this really attractive girl comes into the shop; nice body, raven-dark hair with red tints, sharp face and these amazing eyes- like green marbled jade. Anyway, she says she's here just to `wait on someone,' scope the scenery. So, I'm busy making polite conversation,” he was not even about to admit he had tried to pick up on her and she had shot him down without batting an eyelash, “when in barges Seiko-kun looking like she just ran the hundred mile dash. Hikari-chan, the protégé, was about as expressive as our resident icicle until Seiko-chan stomps over and reams her out for disappearing. The whole time that's going on she's wearing this expression like she wants to laugh but is too annoyed to bother.”

He broke his narrative long enough to demonstrate, earning a snort from the younger man now perched on the rickety barstool behind the counter. It had been pretty damn sexy when she had done it, guess it wouldn't work for him. “`Bitch' was thrown around a few times and then, maestro that I am, I used my honeyed tongue to diffuse the situation and smooth over frayed nerves.”

“My hero,” Ken cooed, batting his lashes in exaggerated admiration.

“You're a fine one to talk, baka. The only girl you've ever had any luck with is your soccer chick,” he retorted bemusedly, watching the brunette huff up indignantly.

“Her name was Uo-chan!” Yoji damn well knew that, he teased Ken about her constantly. “Besides, I don't see a phone number anywhere.”

“Patience, Kenken, a bishojo this feisty takes considerable skill and insight to snare.” Not willing to concede defeat, Yoji decided to be more direct when next they met. A woman like Hikari-chan could appreciate the more brusque nuances of his personality.

The soccer player rolled his eyes heavenward in a silent plea that one day soon some girl would have the brains to shoot the oversexed Casanova down. “So, what did Seiko-chan want?” A new model meant a big order and a grueling trudge up several flights of stairs with him and Aya doing most of the grunt work. Yoji would do what Yoji did best, shirk work and flirt. Not waiting for the blonde assassin to answer, Ken leaned back on the stool and plucked the invoice from the delivery board. Shit, trees-- eight of them, he hated wrestling trees up stairs and through narrow doorways. Thursday was not going to be his day; he cringed, anticipating a sore back.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++

The blade was cleansed and honed—Farfarello decided—to an acceptable edge. The biting hew could split fine hairs and slice through industrial grade plastic and metal components with equal ease. He had quality controlled his work and deemed it acceptable, before grinding and polishing the nicks out, the only evidence of his spiteful obsession disappearing with the passage of time and an even pressure.

His teammates for the most part, with the exception of Nagi, viewed him as he intended, the ranting, slathering, soul-stained Berserker of Schwarz. The few glimpses he had allowed of the keen intelligence he harbored beneath had unnerved them, especially Crawford. He was counting on it now.

Pain only antagonized her. Denial incensed her. She was impetuous and raucous in her rage, but confusion? Dubious skirmishes? Would the bitch gnash her teeth at them in futile defiance of dissipating illusions? Or would she find the demented impetus to strive on, to fortify those hopes with more of her obtuse logic?

The world is shit, the savage garden devours vital parts of the soul, He drowns the rest in his fetid light, but still I strive; I stumble but do not fall. For whatever reason, the girl believed those things. Someone was completely insane in their troupe, but it wasn't him.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++++

Nagi stared at the smudged whirls of his fingerprints along the surface of the wispy white clouds he was dabbing onto his nearly completed landscape; Auimata-sensei had been right, it gave the thin white smears more texture and marked each as unique. As if the greased finger-prints of Farfarello's hated god dragged along the crystal pane of the evening sky were the origins of each cottony trail. What better way to mark their passage through his memory and onto the canvas than to imitate the force that had fashioned them.
He felt his sensei's towering presence, felt his warmth close to his back and resisted the urge to lean into it. He didn't want to imagine the older man's reaction. He would probably brush it off as an accident, but he wasn't sure enough to give the idea any more than a passing consideration.

“That really made a difference didn't it?” He ventured not turning from his work, fingers still dabbing lightly over the Milan sunset.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ +++++

“Hai, the tone of the sky is more muted now that it has hi-lights to break up the blare.” The dark eyes roved over the canvas before tracing the teenager's lean form. Nagi was one of his most talented students and also one of the most aesthetically pleasing. His wide, sapphire blue eyes and small sharp-boned features made him easily recognizable among the sea of moon-faced humanity that flooded the halls every day. Not that his other students were without redeeming features; they each had a few, but the boy was—like his older adopted sibling—striking. Brown hair the texture of butter soft suede and dusky skin the color of tea-stained silk; he had wanted to proposition the teen for his next project, but decided against it when he first noticed the pale waves of lust that the boy was trying, ineffectually, to smother. His job was to observe, he was good at that.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++++

Feeling the eyes caressing him, he fought the urge to shiver knowing that sensei would notice. He wanted the man's respect, although free-reign of his body would be a welcome perk that would unfortunately never be awarded. Another untouchable, just like Crawford-san, just like Hikari…

“Thank you for your help in convincing Hikari-chan to model for us.”

His head snapped around, eyeing the other man gapingly. Crawford-san hadn't! “Hikari-chan was here?”

“Hai, I had a meeting with her and your guardian this morning. Hikari-chan has a rather forceful personality.” Auimata-sensei smiled down at him in a way he could only describe as fondly.

The brunette didn't know if the warmth was meant for him or the memory of something his teammate had done earlier. With Hikari involved there was no telling what sort of madness had ensued. She had not been in the best humor that morning; thinking back on it the anger had rightly been long over due—foolhardy and wasted, but overdue. She wasn't drawn to the darker emotions often, but once shaded the displays were spectacular. “Hai, she does…”

“So, you will be here to pick her up after school?”

“Huh?” Black-brown eyes gave him a dubious glint. “I mean hai, sensei.” Damn Schu for not telling him about all this before hand.

“It will be interesting to see the two of you together, up close.” An odd look passed over Auimata's face and was gone, lost in the wake of his leaving.

Nagi had seen the look often as a child on the streets, hunger. The realization didn't bother him. Being an artist, the older man had a passion for beautiful things and, though he was not vain in any sense, Nagi had been made well aware that he was considered physically attractive.

His insides were another matter all together, no longer worth dwelling on. He had found his nitch in life, come into his own and learned to bask in the power of his strange gift. He embraced it instead of struggle against it like Hikari… she was so confusing. She mistook her power for devilry. He smiled softly at the idea, it was ridiculous. Power was neither inherently benevolent nor evil—only its wielder could make it so. She may never have been innocent as Schuldig said, but neither was she evil. She complimented them all in that respect, light to their darkness.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ +++++

The American restaurant that Seiko suggested was actually very good, but really how badly can you mess up a hamburger and fries? The conversation had been mostly about business, until Seiko finally clued into the fact that there was a single orchid lying off to the side, delicate brightness against the bolder backdrop of the solid forest tablecloth.

“Where did you get that?” she asked curiously around the tip of her straw.

“The blonde at the shop gave it to me.”

She nearly choked on her soda. “Yoji-kun gave that to you?”

I just nodded, taking a bite of my smothered burger. I like mustard, its salty tang makes my lips tingle. She looked miffed; we still hadn't apologized to each other for the scene in the shop and frankly I had no intention of doing so. From the expression on her face, I assumed she is just as unapologetic.

“That is his image flower…You are really something…”

“Awful?” I supplied helpfully, when she didn't finish. “What? Do you want it?” I quirked a brow. She was welcome to it and him.

“Huh?”

“Did I stutter?”

“You don't want it?”

Bingo! I lifted the flower and extended it to her dangled between two fingers. “Trust me; if it's to be had, it's yours.”
I saw the recognition cross her face. She understood I wasn't referring to the flower at all.

“Gomen nasai, Hikari-chan,” she replied plucking the bloom from my fingers gently. She looked a little sheepish. Must have felt pretty silly, squabbling over something that wasn't hers to fight over in the first place.

So often people forget that another's heart and soul are no one's property but their bearer's. To assume ownership over another being is the greatest crime one person can commit against another—to dehumanize a person, reduce him or her to property is the ultimate blasphemy. One I seemed destined to endure for the remainder of my life.

“Not your fault really.” Society teaches us at an early age that ownership is security. Someone who had never endured possession in the true sense of the term could never understand.

Possessiveness is kin to desire, and submission is the ultimate obsession. An obsession I have never been inclined to feed. I have been and still am possessed, but the true power lies within me. Submission is not inherent in my nature.

We finished our meal in silence, paid and wandered back toward the school. We had to pass the flower shop on our way back; the security gate was closed, a sign hung out for lunch. Guess Seiko and I weren't the only ones who had been too busy to break for food.