Yami No Matsuei Fan Fiction / Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Monozuki ❯ Omi and Scarlet Geranium ( Chapter 18 )

Monozuki - An Idle Curiosity

A Weiss Kreuz/Yami no Matsuei crossover.

 

By Lisa

 

Monozuki 18 - Omi and Scarlet Geranium

 

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Dozing over a cup of hot cocoa, Omi jerked awake at the sound of the flower shop's bell jingling; he hadn't meant to doze off, but the whole cursed wound/cursed kitchen business had left him tired to the bone. The now-tepid liquid sloshed onto the check-out counter, staining the corner of an account ledger pale brown and making him curse - but under his breath so that it wouldn't spoil his Good Boy image - when it hit him: the shop was still closed; there shouldn't be anyone jingling anything. Least of all the bell on the front door.

 

Omi had palmed a lethal sliver of steel from the hidden sheath on his belly and readied himself for a sudden dive to the cover of the floral arranging table, before his half-conscious brain registered tousled dark hair and a rumpled black trench-coat. `Tsuzuki,' that ever-helpful voice at the back of his brain supplied. It also blithely pointed out that the man had previously waltzed into the Koneko's communal kitchen through a state-of-the-art security system, so the guy couldn't be as clueless as his wide-eyed expression suggested. Omi's lips thinned grimly, Well, two can play at that game. I can be innocent, too… then tipped upward in a bright, welcoming smile. “Oh, Tsuzuki-san… you startled me. Your friends aren't here any more. They left a while ago.”

 

“Oh? Well, you see…” Tsuzuki ran a sheepish hand through his long bangs, pushing them back from eyes that shone guilelessly. “To be truthful, you were the person I was hoping to find. I only wanted to make sure that there were no unpleasant side-effects from what happened earlier… but you weren't upstairs.”

 

Ouch… He'd sort of hoped that no one had noticed him quietly slinking away, but the comment did serve to reinforce the young hacker's initial impression that the outwardly bumbling man was a lot sharper than he looked. Caught red-handed, there was no point in denying the observation, and Omi grimaced. “Um, no… I… came down here for a little peace and quiet.” Some of the hot chocolate dripped onto the knee of his thread-bare jeans. Thank all the gods that it was a holiday and they had an excuse to open late, and keep all the fan girls out. Hastily, Omi mopped at the spill and counted his blessings that none of them were around to `help' him clean up.

 

“Ah.” The tall brunet nodded as if that explained everything, and no further words would be necessary. They probably weren't; the continuing quarrel upstairs was faintly audible right through the shop's ceiling. Most of the ranting was Yohji's, but Aya wasn't helping. Every time the older Weiss would start to run down, the team's resident misanthrope would stick in some bitter, cutting comment, and start the whole mess over again. Occasionally, Ken's frustrated growl interjected something, but Omi had no idea if the other boy was helping or hindering the communication process, and it was giving him a migraine trying to decide. It was almost as if there was a whole other conversation underway than the one that was being spoken out loud, some subtext between his oldest teammates that served as a goad when the whole thing should have been over and done with at least an hour ago. He had no idea how Ken could still be sticking it out.

 

Tsuzuki had taken advantage of Omi's introspection to dump his loosely folded coat over the register, and to drag over another stool. He perched on it, for once looking less yakuza-like, and more like a worn-out salaryman at the end of a grueling work-week. His chin was planted in the palm of one hand, and the elbow was perched precariously on the end of the high counter, making him look one step short of falling asleep.

 

It was hard to be on the defensive, when the man acted like that, but Omi had no delusions that the stranger was both powerful and dangerous.

 

“If it's any consolation,” Tsuzuki offered mildly, “Hisoka was almost ready to throttle my companions, which is why he went home in a huff. `Soka-chan doesn't suffer what he considers to be idiocy very well.” Pursing his lips, he seemed to consider that statement from all angles for a moment, then he chuckled and added, “I have no idea why he puts up with me. Must be because he loves me.”

 

Nonplussed, Omi blinked at that. Loves…? Well… he had noticed that the strange team seemed to take togetherness to new levels; he hadn't been unconscious the whole time, after all. But it did seem a little… odd… that not only the doctor and his weird koi were close, but also the blond angel and the too-gentle yakuza. It made Omi wonder if his own partners would function better if there were something more than the killing missions of Kritiker to bind them together. It was certainly a thought that deserved a little more consideration - but not just now. The violent slam of the door at the top of the stairs, and the rapid pounding of feet on their way down warned him that just at the moment, `love' was not the thought at the forefront of at least one of his teammate's minds.

 

Ken roared through the store like a whirlwind, ball and cleats in one hand, his motorcycle helmet in the other, and a ferocious scowl on his face. As he passed, he snarled, “I am sick of listening to those two bitch. See ya, Omi-kun.” Then the front door's bell jangled, and the portal slammed with enough force that the steel shutters over the shop's windows rattled in sympathy.

 

Upstairs, another crash signaled that one, the other, or both of the remaining Weiss had retreated to his room to lick his wounds. Omi sighed. At least that meant that it would be quiet for a little while… “Ne, would you like a cup of cocoa? It's only instant, until we get the kitchen fixed back up, but it's hot and sweet.”

 

Tsuzuki's face brightened instantly at the apologetic offer, and he fumbled for the pocket of his discarded coat. “I'd like that. Care for an pan? I picked them up at that little grocery store up the street.” The small paper box was a little squashed, but the sweet bean paste buns inside were still fresh and intact, their golden brown skins smooth and unblemished, the little salted cherry blossom `belly button' perfect. As were the sesame seed topped shiro an pan. They made Omi's mouth water instantly, but he had to wonder at the sight of an adult grinning like a loon with childish anticipation. Tsuzuki pushed the carton over, letting the younger blond have first choice.

 

As he picked at random, Omi thought sadly that it was too bad that he couldn't be doing this with his own partners, instead of the equally genki member of an outside group that had invaded Weiss' sanctuary. It wasn't even that Tsuzuki and his companions knew way too much about the Hunters' business for comfort, it was that a pang of what could only be described as jealousy ran through the little tactician. Why couldn't he get past the feeling that it was only Kritiker that kept them together? That if they didn't have missions to force them to cooperate, the others would all go their separate ways, and leave him behind? Sometimes, it sucked being the junior member in age, but pretty much the oldest in maturity.

 

But that was a problem for another day. Just now, the answer to a lot of his other questions was sitting across the counter from him, murmuring hana, mana, mona, mike under his breath to decide which bun to devour. The hacker rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. Somewhere, somehow, somebody owed him big time for this. Sliding off the stool, he headed for the back and the electric kettle full of hot water. The box of cocoa mix envelopes were still sitting out where he'd left them, but for a mug he was forced to swipe Yohji's favorite with its rude American slogan of I'd walk a mile for a Camel… and a hundred for a Bunny. The buxom, cartoon woman with bunny ears always made Omi cringe, but Tsuzuki didn't seem to notice when it was set down in front of him with a clatter of ceramic on Formica. He just grinned and took a noisy slurp, then yelped and fanned his tongue. The baffled Hunter shook his head and hopped back up onto his own seat.

 

“I've been going back through the files.” Omi said carefully around a mouthful of an pan. “That man, the one that you said touched off the whole thing? Yes, we did have a mission to eliminate someone like that. And the evidence was pretty damning that not only did he use his money to influence politicians, but that his restaurant was a front for a very old and long established bordello. By itself, running a house of prostitution wouldn't have been enough to bring him to Kritiker's attention, but there were also indications that he was somehow tied to the disappearances and mutilation deaths of a number of young women. The police never found direct evidence, and Mibu-san had alibis for many of the deaths, but there was definitely some connection. Given all of this, I can't understand why you apparently think the man didn't deserve what he got from us.”

 

Uncomfortable, the stranger perched in the Koneko fidgeted, then heaved a troubled sigh. “We… Hisoka and I… we met Oriya-san several years ago during… a matter that went badly.” Distress warred with the need to speak, and Tsuzuki was silent so long that Omi thought he wasn't going to elaborate. Then, reluctantly, as if every word were being dragged out of him by force, he continued. “Everything you've said, was true about Mibu Oriya, except that he was only acting to conceal his lover's indiscretions. The one responsible for the horrible deaths of those young women was Muraki-sensei. In point of fact, Oriya-san tried very hard to walk the thin line between protecting the person he cared for, and doing what was honorable and right. When I was in trouble… he… gave `Soka the means to find me, and wished him good fortune. I owed him a debt of gratitude for that. And, as the years went by, he was often the only force capable of reigning in Muraki's more murderous tendencies. Now that he's gone, I'm very much afraid that there is nothing left that will temper Muraki-sensei's insanity.”

 

A chill ran down Omi's spine. Had he and his companions only survived two attacks by the same murderous madman because Tsuzuki and his friends had intervened? Had they really unleashed the sociopath? Or, was the man in white a psychopath? Mind skittering away from the unpleasant thought that they were in some fashion responsible, the Weiss researcher mumbled, “Which is he? Muraki? A sociopath or a psychopath?”

 

Tsuzuki snorted, a faint smile hovering on his mobile features. “I'm afraid my familiarity with the psychiatric community is a little too dated to answer that question.” He waved a sweet bun in Omi's direction. “What's of greater importance is that regardless of what form of mental illness he suffers from, Muraki is a brilliant man, and a powerful practitioner of some very dangerous arts. And he's decided to focus that awesome intellect on tormenting and killing you and your friends. I think we can safely say that your only hope lies in persuading your friends to accept our help.”

 

“And you just expect us to believe what you say? Without proof?” Swiftly, Omi shot back the demand. A look of long-suffering frustration flitted across Tsuzuki's face.

 

“But we did help you.” he protested. “You know that Taka healed you - you were there. And even though your kitchen is a bit of a mess, the curse was broken without killing anyone, and that certainly wouldn't have been the case without our assistance.”

 

True… The way that insignificant cut across his stomach had bled wasn't natural, and it had been the doctor's intervention that had saved him. Omi was more than sufficiently familiar with life-threatening injuries to know that, against all reason, the wound he'd taken would have been fatal. And it wasn't that he wasn't grateful for the rescue; he was. Honest. But it just went against his nature to trust on some strange guy's say-so, no matter how genki and innocent he might act. Omi rubbed a tired hand over his face, and pinched at the bridge of his nose; it didn't help that all he really wanted was a chance to crawl into bed and sleep for a week… Which reminded him that the window in his bedroom was still boarded over, and that it was the fault of the beautiful partner of this nut with his wrinkled suit and crooked tie.

 

“Wait, wait…” The petit tactician made a `time-out' sign with both hands. “How do I know that we really needed you? Aya-kun made one of those whatever-you-call-`em's to protect himself and Yohji-kun when the kitchen blew up. An explosion, I'd like to point out, that you said you caused by underestimating what would detonate that bomb-curse-thing.”

 

“Kekkai.” Tsuzuki replied promptly. “A shield like that, made of hardened chi, is called a `kekkai.' And if we hadn't tried to dismantle Muraki's curse, it would have damaged a lot more than just your kitchen.”

 

Deliberately, Omi chose to ignore the whisper from his hind-brain that said, He's probably right. Gut-reaction, there'd probably be a crater right where you're sitting if those guys hadn't tried to defuse it. That was beside the point. So long as he could keep the man on the defensive, Tsuzuki might let a few real answers slip. Omi wasn't stupid; he could see plain as day that no matter how sincere and forthcoming the older man might act, there was a whole world of information that he was carefully avoiding putting on the table. And it also didn't negate the worried, gut-tightening feeling he got every time he thought about what Yohji said Aya had done, down there in the kitchen. The teen leaned back on his stool and folded his arms across his thin chest, putting on the mulish look that generally worked wonders when he saw the need to skip school and work on a project, and Yohji was in a mood to be all parental and make the youngest Weiss go to class. “Oh? And just how did Aya-kun know to make a `kekkai?' Are you going to tell me that he's tapped into some nasty arts, too, like your Muraki-sensei? Hmm?”

 

“Well…” Tsuzuki ran an uncomfortable hand back through his untidy hair and prevaricated. “Faith is a strong force. And your Aya-kun did call out for Buddha's protection…” Omi folded his arms more tightly and glared, and finally, the older man threw up his hands. “Okay, okay! I agree. Faith will only take you so far. It requires real ability to call up a kekkai like that based only on need. Yes, I think that Aya-kun has some true power. But that does not need to be a thing of evil. To be able to tap into the currents that surround us is… is no more a bad thing than being able to plug a lamp into an electrical socket. The electricity is neither good nor evil, and the same is true of the lamp. What matters is what you do with it, once it's lit.” Warming to his analogy, Tsuzuki gestured expansively. “The light may serve a surgeon performing a delicate operation to save someone's life, or it may illuminate an embezzler's work" ” At the stony stare leveled at him by Omi's steady blue eyes, the man flushed and coughed weakly. “Er… you see my point, I take it.”

 

“Yeah.” Omi sighed. “I suppose so. I was just worried that he'd gone over to the Dark Side. We've had run-ins with another group - sort-of like ours, but a lot nastier - over the past couple of years, and they all have these weird, psychic abilities. But I suppose being able to bend spoons with your mind isn't inherently a bad thing, and maybe Schwarz is evil because they had crappy home lives when they were kids. I just don't know anymore. But it does scare me to have Aya-kun suddenly go all super-powered on us.”

 

“Omi-kun…” Tsuzuki said gently. “I think it's in his blood. Those people who tried to abduct his sister, and use her for a ritual, they did so because of what she was. And as her brother, I think Aya-kun has the same potential. If for no other reason… than he has the same eyes as me. When I was a child, I was shunned because there were those who believed that purple eyes were the mark of demonic blood. That may not have been entirely true, but it is a fact that these are indicative of those who are not completely as normal as humans are.” As he spoke, his fingers crept up to cage the sad eyes that stared down at the smaller teen and for a moment, the nails dug in cruelly around the orbs. Then he smiled ruefully, and dropped his hands into his lap. “But power is only a tool. What matters is how you use it.”

 

How you use it… Wasn't that the same argument that Omi had used to himself to explain how and why it was okay for Weiss to slaughter their targets? Sympathy made him examine more closely the slumped figure across the counter, and wonder what Tsuzuki had seen to put such a look of pain and sorrow onto a face made for cheerful smiles. Perhaps… the strangers weren't all that different, after all.

 

The last of the buns had disappeared into the bottomless pit of the older man by the time Omi shook himself all over and said briskly, “Okay. Let's get down to the bargaining. You're offering to help us - fine, but what are you expecting in return?”

 

The lowered veil of long lashes flickered back up and a broad grin split Tsuzuki's face. “I take it that this means that you believe us?”

 

“Well…” hesitating, the teen gave a small shrug. “If you'd asked me a couple of days ago, I'd have said `no way.' But now… Yeah, weird things have been happening, and there's no denying that someone tried to kill us. I'd be stupid not to take help when I can get it. Speaking of which, I would like to know a bit more about your relationship with, um, `Catherine-san.' Matsumada-sensei sounded like he knew her pretty well.”

 

Omi watched carefully as a flicker of apprehension, almost too tiny to be sure of, crossed the would-be yakuza's guileless features. There was something there that Tsuzuki would rather not address, and that alone was enough to raise his interrogator's determination. Omi was willing to extend a kind of `professional courtesy' to the outsiders, and not examine too closely the kinds of questions that he'd rather not have to answer about Weiss, like `who do you work for?' But knowing just how close they were to Birman would do wonders toward easing his mind - especially after he'd gotten confirmation that Tsuzuki was telling the truth from the Kritiker handler.

 

The tall man took a deep breath and straightened from his careless slouch, his harmless mask falling away as he - finally! - opted to lay his cards on the table. The warm voice was deadly serious and low as he admitted, “We work for an organization not too dissimilar from yours, only our cases are most often supernatural in nature. Rather than fall into competition when our jurisdiction intersects with that of the police, or with private organizations such as yours, it's been policy for a long time to cooperate when possible. I think it's been mutually beneficial, since our skills are a little too specialized for most groups to invest in, and often the referral that we receive concerning a problem of a spiritual nature will give us the break that we need in one of our cases.”

 

“So… you're what? Exorcists for hire?” the blond hacker asked slowly. The last of his childishness had been stripped away by a look of thoughtful calculation. “Not law enforcement, I'm guessing, because you talk about the police as `them,' not `us.' ”

 

“Aa.” Slurping noisily at the dregs of his hot chocolate, Tsuzuki nodded. “Depending on the situation, we usually refer to ourselves as onmyouji, or as yamabushi. Like you, we can be Hunters.” At the last, the pain returned to his gentle eyes, thinning his expressive mouth and tightening the long fingers that wrapped around the ceramic until the knuckles went white and Omi worried that he'd have to explain how the Bunny mug had gotten broken to the older blond. Then Tsuzuki's head snapped back up, and he met the teen's startled blue eyes directly. Fiercely, he said, “The worst thing is when those who are guilty of nothing more than being late have to die.”

 

Startled by the man's vehemence, Omi reflected for an instant that the lazy looking stranger had more in common with Aya than just his violet eyes; the Weiss swordsman would hiss just like that over the wrongness of sacrificing the innocent - and then he would do whatever he saw as his duty anyway. “Ooo-kay… So, what's an onmyouji, and a yama…bushi?” Cautiously, the wary blond wrapped his tongue around the unfamiliar words, and was relieved to see the hurt fury fade.

 

Tsuzuki accepted the tacit cease-fire with a small relaxing of the bunched shoulders within his crumpled suit-coat, and his voice was nearly normal, as if he were only explaining some odd terminology rather than talking about himself. He said earnestly, “Onmyoujitsu practitioners use Taoist principles of yin and yang to work spells. Sanskrit and symbolism, both written and verbal, form the structure for the casting of magic. Originally, onmyouji were concerned mainly with divination, but they became the protectors of the Imperial capitol during the Heian period. Yamabushi are Buddhist ascetic monks. They use both the martial arts and esoteric Buddhist scriptures. We, my companions and I, what we do is a fusion of both disciplines, and bits of other systems, as well.”

 

“Sugoi…” Omi breathed, impressed in spite of himself. The hint of structure and form was intriguing - almost like the nearly organic feel of a well-written computer program. The idea that spells might be slung like programming code was briefly distracting, and it took an effort of will for the hacker to get his mind back on track. But before he could press Tsuzuki for more details, the clatter of hard-soled boots on the stairs made him roll his eyes; honestly, for a bunch of assassins, his teammates could be incredibly loud.

 

The owner of the offending foot-ware, all six-feet-two-inches of him, slouched through the back door and into the shop proper, only to halt beside the cash register with one hip cocked out at a provocative angle, and his sunglasses at half mast. “Yo, Omitchi.” the older blond drawled.

 

“Hi, Yohji-kun.” Omi replied warily. It didn't pay to stick his neck out until he tested the waters a bit, and right now, they were looking down-right shark-infested. The lanky playboy had poured himself into jeans that were every bit as old and frazzled as the teen's, but where Omi's were snug because the boy had finally managed to shoot up a couple of inches, Yohji's were designed that way. From low-slung waist with its chunky belt, to the hems that flared over a set of scuffed boots best suited for kicking street punks, the pants screamed `trouble.' The tight, midriff baring sleeveless tee that had been scrounged from somewhere exuded just as much bad attitude with its slogan of `Live Fast, Die Young, Leave a Good-Looking Corpse.'

 

Definitely a sign that it would be a good day to keep conversation to a minimum.

 

Normally, Yohji was laid back and easy to get along with; almost too lazy to get worked up about anything. That Aya had managed to provoke him meant that the older Weiss would be aiming to go out, get drunk, and find some entertainment - and not necessarily in that order. As the tactician of the group, Omi knew when it was time to cut and run, but his guest obviously didn't. Tsuzuki ran a considering eye over the tall Hunter, and sent both brows into hiding behind his perpetually mussed chestnut-brown bangs. “I recognize that-” Surprised, he gestured at Yohhi's worm tee-shirt. “A friend of mine is fond of old American movies. That's from Knock on Any Door.”

 

“Yeah… 1949. John Derek played Nick Romano - and Humphrey Bogart was the attorney who tried to get him off. The movie's a dog; quote's about the only good thing in it.” There was a subtle challenge to the blond's tone as he shook a cigarette out of the pack that had been jammed into his back pocket, but Tsuzuki only grinned affably.

 

“True, true…” Still nodding, he spread his hands helplessly. “Not everything Bogart starred in was of good quality. I'm afraid I was never a big movie buff.”

 

The apologetic tone won him a piercing stare from the ex-P.I. but Yohji let slide the question of what one of the potential enemy was doing sitting down for cocoa and snacks with a member of his own team. Instead, he growled, “Tell Matsumada he's on. I'll meet him at that club tonight. And he'd better not blow me off.”

 

Whirling, he waved a hand carelessly over his shoulder at Omi and strode for the back door and the alley where his car was parked. Omi twisted about on his stool, his protest of But what about your shift… dying unspoken. It looked as if the Koneko wouldn't be opening up for the afternoon, after all.

 

A polite cough drew the younger Hunter's attention back to the other tall man, Tsuzuki sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “Ne, I should probably get going too, before `Soka gets annoyed with me. I'll give Kudoh-san's message to Taka; I just hope that they aren't going to go and get into too much trouble.”

 

“Wait- ” Desperate, Omi almost reached across the counter and snagged the wrinkled black sleeve, only stopping himself at the last moment. For some reason, he didn't want the kind man to leave - and that by itself was enough to make him pause; why would the thought of being left alone generate an ache in his gut?

 

Quizzical purple eyes met Omi's unflinchingly, and it was the boy who flushed and abruptly turned away, lowering his gaze to the tiled floor. “Sorry,” the teen muttered. “I know you're busy. I just… wanted to finish working out the details on how we're going to combine forces against Muraki-sensei.”

 

The boy didn't even sense the older man's approach until a warm, gentle hand settled on top of his head, stroking his blond locks. The sweet scent of fresh baked pastries made Omi suddenly want to cry. Tsuzuki murmured softly, “Don't worry. We'll be back. And I wouldn't spend too much time thinking about what it will cost; we'll help you because Muraki-sensei has to be stopped. Not because we expect repayment. Understand?” Tremulous, Omi managed a tiny nod under that tender caress, and the self-proclaimed onmyouji continued, his voice low and hypnotic. “You still need to rest some more, to finish recovering. Why don't you go lie down a little? We can always discuss this when your friends are ready to be more objective.”

 

Eyelids drooping, Omi yawned. A nap did sound good… and it wasn't as if he could settle things without talking it over with the others, anyway. Knowing his teammates, Ken and Yohji both would be back after they'd worked off a little of their ire - Ken by playing soccer, and Yohji by driving too fast and smoking an entire pack of cigarettes. That would be soon enough to propose an alliance against a common enemy to them. “Hm. Yeah. Sleep's good…” Another jaw-cracking yawn stole over him, and he wobbled to his feet. But lingering distress still made the smaller teen peer up anxiously and ask, “You will come back, right?”

 

“Hai, hai.” Chuckling, Tsuzuki agreed, gently propelling the skinny teen in the direction of the stairs. Omi barely had the presence of mind to balk long enough to send the man out the back door and lock it after him, before he staggered up to his messy bedroom.

 

A last thought crept into Omi's mind as sleep turned his thin body limp and boneless: …there are those who believe that purple eyes were the mark of demonic blood.

 

Aya?

 

 

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Author's Notes:

For more than you might want to know about Japanese filled buns and what they look like, scroll down to the review of Ginza Kimura-ya Tokyo Bakery and Café. Yummy.

http: (slash-slash) onokinegrindz. typepad. com /ono_kine_grindz /2004 /07/

 

All of this has also reminded me that I've had several people complain about the spellings of some adjectives, so it's about time that I offer some explanation. This is my official disclaimer that I use the French conventions of the masculine forms of petit, brunet, and blond in describing the boys. I know English isn't gender-specific, but I'm used to a language that is. I gag every time I see a word like "brunette" because that implies that the person so described is female.

 

 

Scarlet Geranium - Friendship; comforting; kindness