Yami No Matsuei Fan Fiction / Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Monozuki ❯ Hisoka and Monkshood ( Chapter 5 )

Monozuki - An Idle Curiosity

A Weiss Kreuz/Yami no Matsuei crossover.

 

Monozuki 5 - Hisoka and Monkshood

 

By Lisa

 

 

 

Why in the Seven Hells do I let Tsuzuki talk me into things like this? There's only two of them home, he tells me, the older blond has gone clubbing, with Kyo as his tail. He won't be back for hours. Another is at an awards banquet for a bunch of soccer-playing kids. Kids he's coached to some junior inter-league win or other. Given the speeches and parents deep in vicarious victory dances, plus the fact that it's on the far side of the city, and it'll be late before we see him either.

 

Only two of them home, Tsuzuki. That's still two mortals who kill with a speed that would put a deranged Shinigami to shame. Two youths who do this for a living, which is horribly ironic considering what we are.

 

Damned cake-loving, pie-munching sugar-fiend.

 

When we get out of this, I am so hanging your ass out to dry.

 

I'll tell Tatsumi-san, for starters, that we're still here on Earth, wasting time and money, and mucking around in his district no less. If there's one thing in Meifu that my lazy partner fears above all else, it's the Wrath of the Accountant. Then, when he's been reduced to a shivering wreck by one of the Shokan secretary's precisely aimed lectures, I'll kick him out of the bedroom, and lock the door. We'll see what a couple of nights whining on the too short couch does for his feckless attitude…

 

Stupid Hisoka.

 

I've been so busy plotting, that I didn't hear the door to the room I'm searching open, until now it's too late, and I'm caught, red-handed.

 

Startled, I jerk to a stop. It's a boy, the exact same size as me, slender and wiry. His eyes, however, are a dark blue, deep ocean waters, and his hair is a shade darker too, tawny lion and savanna colors. We blink at each other, too surprised to do a whole lot more, although I instinctively shift my weight, slipping into the balance necessary for kenjitsu, even though I haven't my sword. Comprehension flickers across that smooth, young face, and he moves, too. The difference is that a handful of shining needles appear between his fingers, and shit now I remember that he knows how to use them, now I recognize him. The baby of the assassins. Omi. The kid who really is the age that I still appear to be.

 

My heartbeat leaps, and settles into a new, quicker rhythm, and a pulse of adrenaline shoots through my veins. If those thin slivers are poisoned, recovery would slow my reaction times, and I might not be able to escape without him being any the wiser as to my true nature.

 

Sometimes, being dead really sucks.

 

“Who are you?” The demand, spoken rapidly in an educated, Tokyo dialect, takes me by surprise. He's asking…? Not just stapling me to the wall at my back? Maybe there's a way out of this, after all.

 

“Hisoka.” My own voice is pitched low in an effort to avoid being heard, but the other boy jerks back, snatching open the hallway door in that instant when I'm not ready for him to move, when I'm thinking `dialogue,' not `attack.'

 

“Aya-kun! Intruders!” he shouts, his voice echoing clearly down a corridor, and a stairwell, and throughout the building.

 

Aw, shit! Options… I could risk taking the needles and rush this slender assassin, or I can try for the unexpected. We're three floors up, and there's no fire escape outside the closed windows, no reason for him to anticipate my leap in that direction. So, I do, not giving him a moment's warning by thinking too long, by telegraphing the instinctive decision. Glass is shattering, falling in a glittering spray, even as the tangling embrace of draperies seeks to hold me back. Free air, a quick twist, and gone… slipping into invisible flight between one heartbeat and the next. Let's see that boy follow this trick.

 

Needles shoot with alarming accuracy out the gaping hole, a nanosecond short of piercing a once-vulnerable back. Damn, that kid has fast reflexes for a mortal! He's in the window opening, crouched, feet braced on the twisted aluminum track, even as an outstretched hand steadies him, and tellingly, his gaze flickers rapidly to the dumpster full of floral debris below, and seeing nothing, proceeds upward, looking for ropes or other evidence… For me.

 

Finding me.

 

In a stuttering, frozen heartbeat, we're again locked into a face-off, green eyes and blue. Then the boy-assassin, Omi, recoils, and flailing wildly, falls backwards into the unseen spaces.

 

Shit… He saw me.

 

**************

 

 

Monkshood: Beware, danger is near.