Yami No Matsuei Fan Fiction ❯ Anamnesis ❯ Chapter 1 :BB ( Chapter 1 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: FoxyGrampa 
Oriya's memory; his POV. c:
Anime/Manga: Yami No Matsuei Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 01.08.2006 | Updated On: 01.08.2006 | Pages: 2 | Words: 3.0K | Visits: 309 | Status: Work In Progress
Oriya's memory; his POV. c:
Anime/Manga: Yami No Matsuei Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 01.08.2006 | Updated On: 01.08.2006 | Pages: 2 | Words: 3.0K | Visits: 309 | Status: Work In Progress
~If anyone can give suggestions for new names, I would likeluffforeveryew. :B~
-Disclaimer: I obviously donÕt own Yami No Matsuei, aka Descendants of Darkness. If I did, donÕt you think I would have made Oriya in more scenes? D: Come on now, Shelly.
-Pairings: Only MurakixOriya as far as I know. I may add more characters later... maybe. ThatÕd be kinda fun, I guess.
-Warnings: Yaoi; no duh about it. May have lemon, and if anything, lime. IÕm hoping lemon. o.o
-A/N: Okay, so I may or may not be well educated on JapanÕs Edo period; letÕs just leave it at that. This is a yaoi fic. Though it will have plot, it will not have in depth analysis on that era in JapanÕs history... so, no snide corrections if I happen to get anything wrong in that sense. If I do, it wonÕt be ÒOriya opened his cellphone....Ó kay? So no need to freak out over details that are only one element of this fanfic. D: LetÕs just concentrate on da love. But please, DO tell me if I get something hugely wrong, and itÕs correctable. o-o Kay? Kay. cx
[}~o~}--{o}--{]O[}--{o}--{~o~{]
My grandfather had an opinion that differed from most people about the occidental people.
My father appreciated the new clients; the new, round eyed customers to his usually exclusive call-girl business. And most other people in town appreciated the occidentals; some even converting to their Christian belief. But most just welcomed the new trade for their business.
At my ripe age of eleven, I had no opinion on these matters at the time. Until I started spending most of my summer months at my grandfatherÕs dojo. My grandfather influenced me to no end on the subject. Not that I ever minded, he had already formed my opinion on my fatherÕs business; that it was shameful. I fully trusted my grandfather, he was wise and taught me the traditional ways.
Throughout that first summer and the summers to follow, he verbally spat about the occidentals; mostly against their Christian belief system, him (and also I) being devoutly buddhist. Also against the guns they brought, saying that they were cowardÕs weapons. He pessimistically predicted would soon replace the sword in our military. With these two elements, he soon formed hate for the people as a whole, stating that most were ignorant of our whole culture and spoke our language disgracefully.
Even though he was a wise man about most things, after a few years, I gained more independent thought; I realized he couldnÕt have had a very educated opinion about the occidentals. They rarely wandered up to his dojo in the mountains, and we barely met any in the village. But whenever we did meet one, he was usually rude and stubborn with them, and the occidental would either be intimidated, or exchange words with him. Some confrontations would get so far that the occidental would be thrown out of whatever shop we were in--only the occidental, since my grandfather was friends with almost everyone in the village.
Most villagers joked that my grandfather would be shot one day; when I first heard such joke, I started to fear the guns most of the occidental carried behind their backs or hidden in the pocket of their coats. With this and my grandfatherÕs constant banter, as I stated earlier it greatly influenced me, and I too became bitter of the westerners and their coming to our country.
But the opinion I gained faltered slightly, one damp and rainy day. One of my grandfatherÕs students told him there was someone at the gate.
I closely followed my grandfather outside. I remember how cold it was as we reached the large closed doors of the gate. My grandfather opened the gate, and both our gazes were met with those of piercing silver. For my grandfather, a very regal looking occidental man with dark brown[1] hair. And for myself, a miniature version of the man, only with the lightest hair I have ever seen, even on an occidental. Behind them both was a large steed carrying some supplies.
For myself, I was struck by something when I first saw the boy. It must not have been equivalent for my grandfather, whom immediately spoke in that same harsh tone he used for all occidental people, ÒWhat do you want?Ó he stated in our native tongue.
The puissant[2] man looked slightly taken aback for a moment, then stated with a slight accent but overall decorous Japanese, ÒI and my son were traveling to Kyoto on horseback until the rain started. May I burden you for some hours until the weather softens? My son is sickly and it wouldnÕt be healthy for him to remain--Ó
My grandfather interrupted him, blatantly refusing. This was were I closed off their quarrel that followed, and instead I intended to converse with the manÕs son.
The boy that stood only feet away from me was clearly the same age as me. But he carried a certain grace and dignified manner that seemed almost unnatural at our current age. It took me a moment or so to realize he had spectacles, perched on his aristocratic nose. I may not have known what they were at the time. He was staring at the arguing adults with a uninterested expression, and I then noticed his eyes were not round, like most occidentals. He had more almond shaped eyes, like my own. Perhaps that was why I kept staring at him so.
I decided to finally speak after a few moments, ÒCan you speak my language?Ó I asked him, only loud enough for him to hear.
He turned his head back to me, ÒI was raised in Japan for most of my life,Ó he said with a touch of arrogance, but in perfect Japanese and without his fatherÕs accent.
I scowled a bit, but decided ignore the tone in his voice. He now seemed to be staring at me intently, ÒIÕve heard about your grandfather before. In that village,Ó the boy said with some casualty, looking back at the quarrel which seemed to be intensifying.
I blushed, suddenly finding my grandfatherÕs unreasonable behavior mortifying, ÒIÕm sorry,Ó I muttered. IÕve never apologized for my grandfatherÕs intolerance before this, and it almost baffled me why I decided to now, to this boy.
The boy smirked, which seemed to suit his face perfectly, and for some reason my face heated more.
I pretended to cough so I could turn my head away for a moment. Our elderÕs words started to ring higher.
ÒMY SON IS SICK--Ó was the statement I heard loudest from the boyÕs father. The boy scowled and bit his lip a bit, looking slightly embarrassed himself.
The boy also seemed to be shivering slightly. I noticed both he and his father were wearing thinner clothes than the weather called for and, getting rained on more harshly as both the weather and their argument intensified. Both me and my grandfather were wearing thick enough yukatas, and were shielded better from the rain under the gate.
As soon as my grandfather stepped out of the gate, to perhaps make his point more thoroughly, I motioned for the boy to come under the gate. He glanced at his father, scowling, and soon was stalking towards me. He moved with almost liquid elegance, and luckily didnÕt catch the attention of the two brabbling men.
ÒThank you,Ó he said in a tired voice, smoothing out some of his wet hair to the back of his head, but not doing much else to become more comfortable.
ÒHow did you guess he was my grandfather?Ó as soon I said it I knew it was sort of a stupid question, but I was curious.
The boy snorted, ÒThe villagers also spoke of his long haired granddaughter,Ó he smirked again and looked at me.
My mouth fell open, and then I covered my eyes with my hands. I wasnÕt shocked, itÕs happened before; being mistaken for a girl. At that time, my hair was down to the middle of my back, and was always worn down out of training sessions. My facial features also werenÕt fully developed, most of my features still delicate and appearing feminine. It was something I was ashamed of, and tried to escape from as much as possible back then.
ÒIf you donÕt want people to confused you as being a girl, then why donÕt you cut off all that hair,Ó the boy said as though it was an obvious answer.
I rolled my eyes at him, remembering the idea of my grandfatherÕs that occidentals were ignorant and now agreeing with it once more, ÒItÕs traditional for samurai to grow their hair long,Ó I said in a matter-of-fact tone, Òmy grandfather is training me to become one.Ó
The boy laughed slightly at this, taking me aback. He coughed afterwards, catching the attention of both adults and silencing them for a moment.
Ò... Fine. IÕll pay you[3],Ó the boyÕs father finally said after a moment of silence, ÒAt least allow my son to stay the night if the rain doesnÕt cease. IÕll sleep outside if you wish me to.Ó
My grandfather closed his eyes, which was what he always did when he was in deep thought I noticed, then answered, ÒDonÕt bother. You both may stay,Ó he sighed deeply, then took the blanket that had been over his shoulders and threw it onto the boy. (Whose legs buckled slightly at the weight.) He stalked back past the gate without giving any of us a second glance.
The occidental man had a troubled look on his face, looking completely flustered and shocked at my grandfatherÕs sudden change of person. He then looked at me and regained his composure he showed before, ÒShow us a room if you please, young man.Ó
I jumped a bit, then nodded, bowing slightly, ÒUm, you may have to wait, since it would be proper to ask my grandfather where you may stay...Ó the man looked a bit shocked for a moment, ÒAH! I mean wait in the dojo!Ó I bowed again and lead them back to the dojo. I heard the boy laugh again, coughing a bit more violently afterwards.
[}~{O}~{]
I consulted my grandfather, and I soon realized he only let the occidentals stay because the boy was sick. He felt no sympathy for the father, and only let him stay if he did housework for the rest of the day. The boy would be in the room near the kitchen, where it was warmest in the house.
When I told the boy what his father would be doing, he laughed once more, which was again followed by more coughing. He settled into the futon we provided for him and set to staring at me serving him tea.
ÒIn case you were wondering,Ó the boy spoke suddenly, ÒI have a weak immune system.Ó
I furrowed my brow a bit, ÒWhatÕs that?Ó
He smirked, ÒIt means I get sick easily. ThatÕs why I have a cold after only being out in the rain for barely any time at all.Ó
ÒOh,Ó was all I really could say.
A few more moments passed, and I gave him his tea, ÒThis will make you feel better,Ó I said, feeling myself smile.
He took it, then sniffed it slightly before taking a sip from it. He soon scrunched up his nose and set the tea aside.
ÒAre you sure you were raised in Japan?Ó I said raising my eye brow.
The boy laughed slightly, "I wasn't, I just tell everyone that."
I was taken aback for a moment, "Why?"
The boy sighed, "Whenever I speak to people here, they're always so amazed about how well I can speak the language. They start to ask me how I know it so well at my age, and without and accent... it just gets tiresome to explain," he turned his body away from me and was now staring at the wall.
I decided not to pry into the matter further, since now he looked as though he wanted to be alone. I felt slightly guilty for a moment, it seemed like I had brought back something unpleasant for him.
As I got up to leave the room, the boy spoke again, "You never told me your name," he turned to face me.
"Ah, I'm sorry. How rude of me," I blushed slightly and sat back down, then bowed and introduced myself, "Oriya Mibu[4], from Kyoto. What's yours?"
[}~{O}~{]
"Oriya-sama?" Midori took a peek into her employer's room, seeing him with his pipe as per usual, perched in his mouth. He was closing his eyes, and had an expression of utter seriousness on his face that unnerved her slightly.
She was about to call him again when his eyes fluttered open and he peered at her.
"Ah," Midori was struck by a sudden giddyness at his gaze, but soon recovered, "There's a man in the front requesting a meeting with you. I don't believe he's a customer, or an associate of ours..."
Oriya-sama put a hand on his chin and took the pipe from his mouth, blowing out a mass of smoke from his mouth before speaking, "What's his business?"
"He wouldn't say," seeing her boss' expression grow tired, she chimed in again, "Ah... he was an awfully strange looking individual," she added the term 'beautiful' in of her mind, "Perhaps you both have history? I mean, it seemed to be that way when he walked in, so casually... perhaps it would help if I described him?"
He waved his, suggesting much indifference, "If you must, Midori-san,"
She bowed and sat down, taking note of her employer's grumpy mood, "Well, he was obviously occidental. Very light hair, (So beautiful! I was almost to the point of jealousy...) but his skin and eyes almost gave him a slight oriental look, sir. I would almost dare to say he was mixed..." she took a moment to see her boss' reaction. His eyes were wide with shock, or perhaps realization of something, "Sir?"
After a pause he shook his head, smirking slightly, "Nothing... go on."
"Well, he was in the oddest of clothes. I couldn't possibly tell what country they came from, but they were pure white. Head to toe! (I swear I was nearly blinded when he came in. I think my eyes still are a bit blurry...) He was also wearing glasses, sir," she nodded, brow furrowing slightly at her boss' next expression, his eyes closed once more in deep and serious thought.
"Ah... sir?"
"Tell the man I'll be down in a moment. And bring him into my private tea room, if you will," he said, eyes still closed.
"Yes, Oriya-sama," Midori bowed and left the her employer quietly.
[}~o~}--{o}--{]O[}--{o}--{~o~{]
Kay, stopping this chapter cuz it's like..... 6:30 am... and I'm tired.... and I can't do much more to this chapter that wouldn't turn up more awkward. :]
And sorry if not everything makes sense right now; if you want it to make sense... you'll hafta review so I can muster up another chapter for ye. cx
[1] - I don't give a crap what Muraki's dad's hair color was. It's dark brown in this, damnit. :[ I need a drink.... o-o
[2] - .... *snort* Pussy. o-o
[3] - Am I the only one that laughed at that? THE MAN WAS GOING TO MAKE HIM PAY.... wow, I am really giggly when I'm tired. ._.
[4] - WAIT.... is his first name Oriya, or Mibu.... I'm pretty sure it's Oriya..... cuz Mibu would be a really crappy first name..... e-e Confusing.... *edit* YAH IT'S MIBU. o///o Teehee, he has a dorky first name.... oh, and he would still introduce himself as Oriya Mibu, if you didn't know. D: I'm lyk, so edumacated about Japan and stuff. xBBBB
^ Yah, that so mattered, right? Anyway, I really need reviews for this. Otherwise I prolly won't continue, cuz there would be no point in contemplating all the obvious stuff I hafta work out (like how I'll sneak Muraki being western but still having his name... *pulls hair out*) if you guys don't even care enough to comment on the dang thing. Right? Right, :[ I'm tired. So very tired.
Peace ya'll. .o.
-Disclaimer: I obviously donÕt own Yami No Matsuei, aka Descendants of Darkness. If I did, donÕt you think I would have made Oriya in more scenes? D: Come on now, Shelly.
-Pairings: Only MurakixOriya as far as I know. I may add more characters later... maybe. ThatÕd be kinda fun, I guess.
-Warnings: Yaoi; no duh about it. May have lemon, and if anything, lime. IÕm hoping lemon. o.o
-A/N: Okay, so I may or may not be well educated on JapanÕs Edo period; letÕs just leave it at that. This is a yaoi fic. Though it will have plot, it will not have in depth analysis on that era in JapanÕs history... so, no snide corrections if I happen to get anything wrong in that sense. If I do, it wonÕt be ÒOriya opened his cellphone....Ó kay? So no need to freak out over details that are only one element of this fanfic. D: LetÕs just concentrate on da love. But please, DO tell me if I get something hugely wrong, and itÕs correctable. o-o Kay? Kay. cx
[}~o~}--{o}--{]O[}--{o}--{~o~{]
My grandfather had an opinion that differed from most people about the occidental people.
My father appreciated the new clients; the new, round eyed customers to his usually exclusive call-girl business. And most other people in town appreciated the occidentals; some even converting to their Christian belief. But most just welcomed the new trade for their business.
At my ripe age of eleven, I had no opinion on these matters at the time. Until I started spending most of my summer months at my grandfatherÕs dojo. My grandfather influenced me to no end on the subject. Not that I ever minded, he had already formed my opinion on my fatherÕs business; that it was shameful. I fully trusted my grandfather, he was wise and taught me the traditional ways.
Throughout that first summer and the summers to follow, he verbally spat about the occidentals; mostly against their Christian belief system, him (and also I) being devoutly buddhist. Also against the guns they brought, saying that they were cowardÕs weapons. He pessimistically predicted would soon replace the sword in our military. With these two elements, he soon formed hate for the people as a whole, stating that most were ignorant of our whole culture and spoke our language disgracefully.
Even though he was a wise man about most things, after a few years, I gained more independent thought; I realized he couldnÕt have had a very educated opinion about the occidentals. They rarely wandered up to his dojo in the mountains, and we barely met any in the village. But whenever we did meet one, he was usually rude and stubborn with them, and the occidental would either be intimidated, or exchange words with him. Some confrontations would get so far that the occidental would be thrown out of whatever shop we were in--only the occidental, since my grandfather was friends with almost everyone in the village.
Most villagers joked that my grandfather would be shot one day; when I first heard such joke, I started to fear the guns most of the occidental carried behind their backs or hidden in the pocket of their coats. With this and my grandfatherÕs constant banter, as I stated earlier it greatly influenced me, and I too became bitter of the westerners and their coming to our country.
But the opinion I gained faltered slightly, one damp and rainy day. One of my grandfatherÕs students told him there was someone at the gate.
I closely followed my grandfather outside. I remember how cold it was as we reached the large closed doors of the gate. My grandfather opened the gate, and both our gazes were met with those of piercing silver. For my grandfather, a very regal looking occidental man with dark brown[1] hair. And for myself, a miniature version of the man, only with the lightest hair I have ever seen, even on an occidental. Behind them both was a large steed carrying some supplies.
For myself, I was struck by something when I first saw the boy. It must not have been equivalent for my grandfather, whom immediately spoke in that same harsh tone he used for all occidental people, ÒWhat do you want?Ó he stated in our native tongue.
The puissant[2] man looked slightly taken aback for a moment, then stated with a slight accent but overall decorous Japanese, ÒI and my son were traveling to Kyoto on horseback until the rain started. May I burden you for some hours until the weather softens? My son is sickly and it wouldnÕt be healthy for him to remain--Ó
My grandfather interrupted him, blatantly refusing. This was were I closed off their quarrel that followed, and instead I intended to converse with the manÕs son.
The boy that stood only feet away from me was clearly the same age as me. But he carried a certain grace and dignified manner that seemed almost unnatural at our current age. It took me a moment or so to realize he had spectacles, perched on his aristocratic nose. I may not have known what they were at the time. He was staring at the arguing adults with a uninterested expression, and I then noticed his eyes were not round, like most occidentals. He had more almond shaped eyes, like my own. Perhaps that was why I kept staring at him so.
I decided to finally speak after a few moments, ÒCan you speak my language?Ó I asked him, only loud enough for him to hear.
He turned his head back to me, ÒI was raised in Japan for most of my life,Ó he said with a touch of arrogance, but in perfect Japanese and without his fatherÕs accent.
I scowled a bit, but decided ignore the tone in his voice. He now seemed to be staring at me intently, ÒIÕve heard about your grandfather before. In that village,Ó the boy said with some casualty, looking back at the quarrel which seemed to be intensifying.
I blushed, suddenly finding my grandfatherÕs unreasonable behavior mortifying, ÒIÕm sorry,Ó I muttered. IÕve never apologized for my grandfatherÕs intolerance before this, and it almost baffled me why I decided to now, to this boy.
The boy smirked, which seemed to suit his face perfectly, and for some reason my face heated more.
I pretended to cough so I could turn my head away for a moment. Our elderÕs words started to ring higher.
ÒMY SON IS SICK--Ó was the statement I heard loudest from the boyÕs father. The boy scowled and bit his lip a bit, looking slightly embarrassed himself.
The boy also seemed to be shivering slightly. I noticed both he and his father were wearing thinner clothes than the weather called for and, getting rained on more harshly as both the weather and their argument intensified. Both me and my grandfather were wearing thick enough yukatas, and were shielded better from the rain under the gate.
As soon as my grandfather stepped out of the gate, to perhaps make his point more thoroughly, I motioned for the boy to come under the gate. He glanced at his father, scowling, and soon was stalking towards me. He moved with almost liquid elegance, and luckily didnÕt catch the attention of the two brabbling men.
ÒThank you,Ó he said in a tired voice, smoothing out some of his wet hair to the back of his head, but not doing much else to become more comfortable.
ÒHow did you guess he was my grandfather?Ó as soon I said it I knew it was sort of a stupid question, but I was curious.
The boy snorted, ÒThe villagers also spoke of his long haired granddaughter,Ó he smirked again and looked at me.
My mouth fell open, and then I covered my eyes with my hands. I wasnÕt shocked, itÕs happened before; being mistaken for a girl. At that time, my hair was down to the middle of my back, and was always worn down out of training sessions. My facial features also werenÕt fully developed, most of my features still delicate and appearing feminine. It was something I was ashamed of, and tried to escape from as much as possible back then.
ÒIf you donÕt want people to confused you as being a girl, then why donÕt you cut off all that hair,Ó the boy said as though it was an obvious answer.
I rolled my eyes at him, remembering the idea of my grandfatherÕs that occidentals were ignorant and now agreeing with it once more, ÒItÕs traditional for samurai to grow their hair long,Ó I said in a matter-of-fact tone, Òmy grandfather is training me to become one.Ó
The boy laughed slightly at this, taking me aback. He coughed afterwards, catching the attention of both adults and silencing them for a moment.
Ò... Fine. IÕll pay you[3],Ó the boyÕs father finally said after a moment of silence, ÒAt least allow my son to stay the night if the rain doesnÕt cease. IÕll sleep outside if you wish me to.Ó
My grandfather closed his eyes, which was what he always did when he was in deep thought I noticed, then answered, ÒDonÕt bother. You both may stay,Ó he sighed deeply, then took the blanket that had been over his shoulders and threw it onto the boy. (Whose legs buckled slightly at the weight.) He stalked back past the gate without giving any of us a second glance.
The occidental man had a troubled look on his face, looking completely flustered and shocked at my grandfatherÕs sudden change of person. He then looked at me and regained his composure he showed before, ÒShow us a room if you please, young man.Ó
I jumped a bit, then nodded, bowing slightly, ÒUm, you may have to wait, since it would be proper to ask my grandfather where you may stay...Ó the man looked a bit shocked for a moment, ÒAH! I mean wait in the dojo!Ó I bowed again and lead them back to the dojo. I heard the boy laugh again, coughing a bit more violently afterwards.
[}~{O}~{]
I consulted my grandfather, and I soon realized he only let the occidentals stay because the boy was sick. He felt no sympathy for the father, and only let him stay if he did housework for the rest of the day. The boy would be in the room near the kitchen, where it was warmest in the house.
When I told the boy what his father would be doing, he laughed once more, which was again followed by more coughing. He settled into the futon we provided for him and set to staring at me serving him tea.
ÒIn case you were wondering,Ó the boy spoke suddenly, ÒI have a weak immune system.Ó
I furrowed my brow a bit, ÒWhatÕs that?Ó
He smirked, ÒIt means I get sick easily. ThatÕs why I have a cold after only being out in the rain for barely any time at all.Ó
ÒOh,Ó was all I really could say.
A few more moments passed, and I gave him his tea, ÒThis will make you feel better,Ó I said, feeling myself smile.
He took it, then sniffed it slightly before taking a sip from it. He soon scrunched up his nose and set the tea aside.
ÒAre you sure you were raised in Japan?Ó I said raising my eye brow.
The boy laughed slightly, "I wasn't, I just tell everyone that."
I was taken aback for a moment, "Why?"
The boy sighed, "Whenever I speak to people here, they're always so amazed about how well I can speak the language. They start to ask me how I know it so well at my age, and without and accent... it just gets tiresome to explain," he turned his body away from me and was now staring at the wall.
I decided not to pry into the matter further, since now he looked as though he wanted to be alone. I felt slightly guilty for a moment, it seemed like I had brought back something unpleasant for him.
As I got up to leave the room, the boy spoke again, "You never told me your name," he turned to face me.
"Ah, I'm sorry. How rude of me," I blushed slightly and sat back down, then bowed and introduced myself, "Oriya Mibu[4], from Kyoto. What's yours?"
[}~{O}~{]
"Oriya-sama?" Midori took a peek into her employer's room, seeing him with his pipe as per usual, perched in his mouth. He was closing his eyes, and had an expression of utter seriousness on his face that unnerved her slightly.
She was about to call him again when his eyes fluttered open and he peered at her.
"Ah," Midori was struck by a sudden giddyness at his gaze, but soon recovered, "There's a man in the front requesting a meeting with you. I don't believe he's a customer, or an associate of ours..."
Oriya-sama put a hand on his chin and took the pipe from his mouth, blowing out a mass of smoke from his mouth before speaking, "What's his business?"
"He wouldn't say," seeing her boss' expression grow tired, she chimed in again, "Ah... he was an awfully strange looking individual," she added the term 'beautiful' in of her mind, "Perhaps you both have history? I mean, it seemed to be that way when he walked in, so casually... perhaps it would help if I described him?"
He waved his, suggesting much indifference, "If you must, Midori-san,"
She bowed and sat down, taking note of her employer's grumpy mood, "Well, he was obviously occidental. Very light hair, (So beautiful! I was almost to the point of jealousy...) but his skin and eyes almost gave him a slight oriental look, sir. I would almost dare to say he was mixed..." she took a moment to see her boss' reaction. His eyes were wide with shock, or perhaps realization of something, "Sir?"
After a pause he shook his head, smirking slightly, "Nothing... go on."
"Well, he was in the oddest of clothes. I couldn't possibly tell what country they came from, but they were pure white. Head to toe! (I swear I was nearly blinded when he came in. I think my eyes still are a bit blurry...) He was also wearing glasses, sir," she nodded, brow furrowing slightly at her boss' next expression, his eyes closed once more in deep and serious thought.
"Ah... sir?"
"Tell the man I'll be down in a moment. And bring him into my private tea room, if you will," he said, eyes still closed.
"Yes, Oriya-sama," Midori bowed and left the her employer quietly.
[}~o~}--{o}--{]O[}--{o}--{~o~{]
Kay, stopping this chapter cuz it's like..... 6:30 am... and I'm tired.... and I can't do much more to this chapter that wouldn't turn up more awkward. :]
And sorry if not everything makes sense right now; if you want it to make sense... you'll hafta review so I can muster up another chapter for ye. cx
[1] - I don't give a crap what Muraki's dad's hair color was. It's dark brown in this, damnit. :[ I need a drink.... o-o
[2] - .... *snort* Pussy. o-o
[3] - Am I the only one that laughed at that? THE MAN WAS GOING TO MAKE HIM PAY.... wow, I am really giggly when I'm tired. ._.
[4] - WAIT.... is his first name Oriya, or Mibu.... I'm pretty sure it's Oriya..... cuz Mibu would be a really crappy first name..... e-e Confusing.... *edit* YAH IT'S MIBU. o///o Teehee, he has a dorky first name.... oh, and he would still introduce himself as Oriya Mibu, if you didn't know. D: I'm lyk, so edumacated about Japan and stuff. xBBBB
^ Yah, that so mattered, right? Anyway, I really need reviews for this. Otherwise I prolly won't continue, cuz there would be no point in contemplating all the obvious stuff I hafta work out (like how I'll sneak Muraki being western but still having his name... *pulls hair out*) if you guys don't even care enough to comment on the dang thing. Right? Right, :[ I'm tired. So very tired.
Peace ya'll. .o.