Yami No Matsuei Fan Fiction ❯ Mysteryland ❯ Sakura Petals... ( Chapter 1 )

A requested Oriya-Post-Kyoto-Dare.

The conditions: Oriya-centric, Post Kyoto, One Shot, Hints of Muraki/ Oriya, other/own characters allowed...

And that's what I made of it!

P.S: As a marginal note, please think of Tepesh as some sort of strange, wicked parasitical shiki. Nothing else. I have a serious dislike against Series Character/OC Pairings, so won't find them in my stories. Thanks for your attention.

For you, Bea-Chan!!!

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The Cherry-Blossom-Festival...

Every year, thousands and thousands of people would travel long ways from their homes to visit the festivities that were held in about each and every one of the bigger cities. Natives and curious foreign visitors alike would herd around the wonderfully blooming trees, participate in the offered events, buy from the stands and much, much more...

Mibu Oriya didn't particularly like the time of the Cherry Blossoms.

Not since Muraki had vanished about a half year ago...

Watching his servants mingle themselves with the happy crowd, Oriya couldn't help but heave a heavy sigh at the thought of the silver-haired man.

"Muraki... Where did you go this time?"

The whole thing of his closest friend vanishing and re-appearing again and again was nothing new to the tall, black-haired man, yet it still hurt him every time anew. They were so close for so long...- Sometimes he really hated those shinigami and the fact that they had such a power over Muraki. It wasn't right, being possessed of death like that... Not right at all.

A tired smile formed on his face, as he remembered that the shinigamis weren't completely alone to blame. Muraki´s grandfather and his notices were also important. Without them, his beloved, maniacal friend would have never heard from that certain violet-haired shinigami and his insanity wouldn't have been able to progress that far...

..an insanity that not even Oriya had been able to restrict...

The ebony-haired man shook his head in a silent sigh. That wasn't true... Nobody and nothing could have ever cured Muraki´s possessive insaneness, and Oriya knew that too. He always had. But that had never stopped him from trying it anyway. Feeling tired of watching the happy crowd, Oriya turned his back to the crowd and started heading towards a more secluded section of the voluptuous Sakura tree field.

There were more than five hundred Sakura trees blooming, and still Oriya couldn't bring his mind from the depressive issue of the silver-haired doctor. Watching the white and pinkish hued blossoms fall, Oriya continued further away sounds of the festival. If he remembered right there had to be some smaller shrine around there somewhere... Maybe he could relax himself a little there.

It didn't take him long to find the shrine. Though it could be hardly called that. Miniature-shrine would be more fitting. It sufficed the swordsman's wantings, however. The red-clad swordsman flew over the formalities which were expected from visitors (skipping most of them in the process), and finally settled himself in the little hall right before the shrines main-artefacts.

Artefacts... Oriya silently hmped in displeasure. Most of those oh-so-holy stuff were cheaply-made copies anyway. Still, he guessed he should bid the resident deities (whoever they were) his good wills at least a little. The fact the he possibly wouldn't be as alone, as he thought he was, never crossed his mind.

Watching from the shadows, a figure raised delicate yet pointy-nailed fingers to it's lips, a faint chuckle escaping it's lips. What a great opportunity!

Dawn had passed before Oriya found himself exiting the small shrine again. Small as it was, it's simplicity had held something within it that had helped the dark-haired man find his inner peace again, if only for short. He knew that as soon as he'd re-entered the festival area and returned to his overly worrying staff, everything would be back to it's old pace again. But yet, he still had time.

Slowly walking past the silent alleys of Sakura trees, Oriya found himself wondering about how he had to be looking right now. A tall, red-cloth man with long dark hair, traditional styled clothes and a small pipe in his mouth. Really. All that missed was a pair of Katanas hanging from his belt and everybody who saw him would have to involuntary think of him as an apparition of a Ronin from the past centuries.

Oriya´s lips twitched into a lazy smile at the thought. Muraki would surely have liked that, his old friend Oriya running around and scaring people into thinking him a specter... The doctor would have heartedly laughed at that. - And probably taken care that possibly much people would cross the ebony-haired man's way.

Muraki had always held a rather strange sense of humor...

The call of a lone flute broke through the night. Jerking slightly in surprise, Oriya quickly scanned his surroundings, searching for the reason of the loud noise. Whoever it was, he/she was playing only single notes, holding them shortly and creating a haunting, yet beautiful melody. Oriya followed the sound further. It led him to a couple of trees that were standing in a loose crescent, creating a dead end in the other-wisely open alley of trees. Oriya raised an eyebrow. The place was practically perfect for an ambush, close enough to the main part of the festival for every noise that could raise suspicions to be drowned out , but far enough away that there would be no unintentional witnesses walking in on the spectacle.

Were Oriya any other man and not befriended with Muraki Kazutaka, one of Japan's strangest man(and thus used to strange and creepy occurrences), he'd probably feel at least uneasy about noticing these facts. But Oriya was Oriya and didn't feel particularly bothered by it. Especially not since he'd finally found the mysterious flute player.

Her lone figure was casually draped against one of the trees, her head facing away from him. A long, red kimono-like over cloak was fluttering silently in one of the evenings many breezes before hanging close to her figure again. Standing like that, she looked like from one of the old masters paintings that had come to life. Oriya sucked in a silent breath. What a jewel of a woman! She had to be breathtakingly beautiful. (-and thus valuable, as his business-man instincts immediately supplied.)

At least Oriya assumed that it was a her.

The figure lowered the wooden flute from her lips, halting momentarily. It was obvious she knew that Oriya was there.

Pale, long fingers brushed through long, raven-black hair, making highlights in the colours of fresh ashen appear for seconds in the loosely worn mass before disappearing again. Oriya´s eyes narrowed at the gesture. The fingers were long and slim, each digit moving with refined elegance - an artists fingers.

But that wasn't what caught the dark-haired man's interest. It were the sharp finger nails that were each cut in a way to imitate a youkai´s claws perfectly, though still managing to look human and alluring. A soft chuckle escaped the figure's lips. The voice was low and melodious, but also sounded somewhat muffled, as if the sounds were hold back by something else.

"Did you like my little night music?"

There was clear cockiness swinging through the voice. All intentions of a polite answer were cut off Oriya´s lips as the figure turned, unfathomable eyes watching him through the pinkish-rimmed eyeholes of a Noh-cat mask.

A cat-mask that Oriya knew just too well.

It was his own.

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Come with me and you will see,

When we are going through the mirror,

You won't believe your eyes anymore.

Just be brave, trust me, this world will please you too,

Full of the most beautiful and unbelievable horror.

Full of the most beautiful and unbelievable horror...

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Disclaimer: The author of this story doesn't have any rightful claims to the series Yami no Matsuei. This story was written for the entertainment factor only.