Yu Yu Hakusho Fan Fiction ❯ True Blue ❯ Chapter Seven ( Chapter 7 )

True Blue

Chapter Seven

or, Cool Blue

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Wow. School Sucks. I wrote this entire chapter today during health -_-

AS A SIDE NOTE: I have seen the Sensui arc. I know about Raizen. Elektra's heritage is an integral part of the story, one that I drafted far before I even knew there were episodes after the Dark Tortament (I was young! I didn't know any better!), but vital. I completely made up a Makaiian ruler. My reason, if not ovious now, should be more so later.

AS ANOTHER SIDE NOTE: After he died, Toguru requested Limbo as his final destination. Koenma was amazed, he couldn't understand why he'd choose Limbo, and described it in great detail. In truth, Limbo is the shallowest level (`circle') of hell, where the great artists, writers, and philosophers reside, the virtuous pagans, and unbaptised children. There is no punishment in Limbo, the atmosphere is peaceful and sad. So the prince of the underworld was wrong.

DISCLAIMER: Woe, that I should be so bland, else I might yield a blotter that spreadeth over the land… and made me own YYH ^^. Kudos to the person who can correctly tell me where that's originally from. (original: Woe, that I should be so bland, else I might yield a blotter. That spreadeth over the land… and sucketh up the water.)

KEY:

(A/N- author's note)

(regular part of story, unless noted otherwise)

//telepathic message//

thoughts

"speaking"

O wrangling hues, that search what fire

Shall burn this world, had none the wit

Unto this knowledge to aspire

That this her fever might be it?

John Donne, A Fever

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"Blue," I croaked, placing my hands in clear view, "please don't do this."

"Why not?" She cried, mashing the barrel to my temple, "why can't I, dear prince? Because you're too rich, too young, too handsome?"

I gritted my teeth, thinking of her ebony hair, so silky smooth between my fingers; her silent tears during the long hours of the night, that charming smile, how her long fingers stroked my cheek. How she sung while she did all the work I didn't want, the pearly underside of her forearm while she poured my tea, the sensual nape of her slender neck, and her eyes, her beautiful, beautiful eyes. I swallowed, my throat tight with anxiety. "Because I love you, Blue."

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At once the pressure eased, and she drew back form me. Uneasiness seeped into her eyes, and I saw for the first time how distraught she was, how distraught she could be. "W- what?" She gasped, her hand trembling at my neck.

"I love you." I repeated, calmer this time, more relaxed, I knew I had her. Slipping my hand up to where her palm grasped the firearm, I slowly eased the weapon out of her hand. "I love you, I love you, I love you." I kissed her dazed eyes and trembling lips until she wrapped her arms around my neck and let me hold her.

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We weren't the perfect couple, that was for sure. She and my father shared a mutual hatred, she said he was misogynistic, self- indulging and narcissistic, he loathed her for her heritage, what she was, and her failure to respect his authority. Once she smacked one of his advisors after he said something crude about what he'd like to do to her in that short skirt she wore (a comment that made my blood boil), so Dad passed a law that stated all female personnel were to wear kimonos to work; Elektra retaliated by showing up everyday since in her full geisha dress. It was a damn good thing he didn't know about our relationship, else I think he may have blown a gasket.

Naturally, we fought a lot. Her secrecy and compulsion to lie about what seemed to be everything caused me to lose patience with her on several accounts, my workaholic attitude rubbed her the wrong way. I hated keeping out relationship clandestine, why should we hide it as if we're ashamed? I loved Elektra Wellington more than anything- or anyone- else, I wanted to marry her, damnit, she made me feel alive with her brilliant theories and eloquent speech. I knew- no, I assumedshe felt the same way. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Because I felt so passionately about her, for her, I was a little possessive, so nothing bothered me more than her play girl lifestyle. I hated the feeling that I was sharing her with other men, like I was just a bystander, momentarily infatuated with her exotic beauty, while she courted men who cared little for her superior intellect and fragile heart. In the time of our relationship, she was married three times (though she swore the second didn't count) and suffered two broken engagements. She was decent enough to let me know if it was moral that we were seeing each other. Not that she cared if it was moral. Not that I cared.

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I remember everything about that night, the playful tone in her voice as she flirted with the waiter, the way her slender fingers curved around the fragile stem of her wineglass as she rose it to her lips, the soft musk of her perfume that wafted over the flickering candle light when she leaned forward to slide my finger back in place on my fork. There wasn't a man in the room who didn't have his eye on her, and I was blindly proud to be the one she was with.

We made light conversation about the flow of paperwork in Reikai, she told me of her sister in France; I spoke glowing words of Sensui. When she finally cleared her plate (she ate slowly, lady- like, as she was taught to do) and dabbed at her rouged lips with the linen napkin, I found the courage to reach across the table and cover the hand with mine. She looked up, surprised; her exotic eyes like wide black saucers.

"You know I love you very much." I said, softly caressing her hand with my thumb. She nodded, eyes never leaving mine. "How long have we been seeing each other?"

"I don't know," She answered, confusing registering in her face. "Years, I think. Why do you ask?"

Eleven years, five months and twenty- four days. "I just… never mind." It was a bold move to take her out to a public place, bold because if we were seen together, doing anything that would be considered more than friend to friend, or even employer to secretary, we would both be severely punished. The son of the exalted King of Reikai couldn't court the daughter of the rogue Duke of Makai. It was simply unacceptable.

The geisha cocked her head to the side and grinned. "I have something to tell you." She said. The waiter cleared the table and she thanked him, no thank you, we wouldn't have desert tonight.

"I have something to tell you, too," I removed my hand from hers to swipe a lock of hair back from my forehead, "but ladies first."

She shook her head. "No, you. You were going to tell me before I interrupted."

"Alright." I sat back and studied her again. Her enameled hair was pulled back at the nape of her neck in pearl pins, a gift from her current boyfriend. She was so beautiful, sitting there so prim in the smoky candlelight, and I loved her so much. "Blue-" Somehow the words couldn't formulate properly, my throat was tight and dry. The plush box in my jacket pocket was heavy and I fingered the surface, remembering seeing it in the store, a tiny diamond set in a thin silver band, beautiful and perfect under the glass counter, thinking of how it would sparkle in her deft finger. I reached for my water and sipped the cool liquid.

"Es- tu cava?"

I nodded and swallowed. "You go first."

The duchess smiled. "I don't want to see you anymore."

Her words were cold and they hung in the air. "I d- don't understand." Stammering, I reached for her again, she drew back. "It's simple, darling, we just aren't compatible."

"Yes we are!" I cried in defense. Those in the surrounding tables began to whisper to one another. Elektra frowned slightly and I lowered my voice, saying "We're perfectly compatible, Elektra. That's bullshit."

"Don't be difficult, Koenma. Please?" I think she noted how harsh she sounded, so she softened, leaned forward, and folded her hands on the table. "We both know that this relationship wouldn't last very long. I'm taking the first step and ending it."

"Blue," I shook my head, this couldn't happen, "you can't do this."

"I can and I am, Koenma." She sat back. Something caught the light on her hand, a glittery something; it was on her finger, yes, there. She noticed it also, she tried to draw her hand her hand away, I caught it and pulled it in front of my nose. It was a ring; large, sparkly, expensive, on the fourth finger of her left hand. She yanked her hand back but the damage was already done.

"So who is he, Ely?" I fought very hard to keep my anger contained, but it ebbed at my heart, burning the inside of me, "a scholar, a poet? Does he write you sonnets trying to describe his love for you? Does you soul reflect in his dark eyes? Did he spend his entire life savings on that jewel?"

"You're proving my theories about you, Koenma." She hissed. "I'm not surprised you can't take it." She gathered her purse. "Pay the bill and take me home. Tomorrow morning I'll be gone from your life for good."

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"Elektra?" I knocked lightly on her door. "I just want to talk to you, honey. Please let me in." No response.

Sighing, I sat down in the hallway, my back against the wall. I removed my jacket and loosed my tie. "I'm sure we can talk about this. Please Blue, just give me a chance." Another sigh. "You know I love you very much." Nothing.

Her stillness was beginning to frighten me. "Elektra?" Nothing. I pounded my fist harder. "Please open the door, Elektra." Panic set in. Something, anything could have happened to her. Standing, I jiggled the handle with sweaty palms. Nothing. It was locked.

Something waswrong, I was sure now. I hurled my full weight at the door, feeling the hinges weaken. Pain shot through my shoulder; nevertheless I repeated this twice more until the door broke down.

"Elektra?" I called into the impending darkness.

Her room was just as I had last seen it, bed neatly made, books organized in their respective, labeled shelves. At the far end, her window had been thrown open so that the full moon cast a mysterious haze while the pale silk curtains fluttered in the late- night breeze. But no sign of Elektra.

I crossed the room and peered out the window, worried hands resting on the satiny- wood sill, searching for any clues that might give me a hint of her whereabouts. Nothing. Nothing at all.

Turning, I sighed in relief. There she was, sleeping, her back against her bed, evening gown slightly rumpled from her slouched position, arms limp at her sides. She must have fallen asleep before getting undressed. I knelt by her side, a sting of pain immediately cut into my knee, accompanied by a soft cracking. Frowning, I groped about the dark floor until a sharp something pricked my hand. I help it up in the moonlight to see what it was, an amber shard from her glass vial of sleeping pills.

Blue took pills when she wanted to sleep, as moon demons (even half ones) had no need for slumber. After all, they thrived at night, when their mother moon caressed their pale skin and gave them their vital energy. However, on the several occasions where she crawled into my bed in the middle of the night, I would sometimes mumble sleepily into her hair how odd it was that she never slept. So Blue drafted a fake doctor's prescription and bought a vial. Just the night before she purchased a new one.

I found it odd that her pills were out, as she had no need to take them tonight, when she obviously wasn't going to sleep with me, and she had taken them before preparing herself to retire. I searched for the pills that would have spilled, there would have been quite a few of them, but found none. Odd. Very odd.

It took me a moment to realize what she had done. There were no more pills, of course not, she had swallowed every last one of them. A kind of cold, distraught sweat fabricated along my hairline and palms. My fingers found the niche at the base of her neck, I checked for her pulse but found none. Panicked, I scrambled to her vanity table and snatched up a silver enameled hand mirror, holding it under her nostrils, waiting for it to fog from her warm breath. Nothing. She was gone; there was nothing I could do about it.

With a sob I swept her into my arms and held her to me, bridal- style, her cheek to my chest. My hot, angry tears soiled her silken hair. I wept and held her and repeated her name, over and over again, maybe I was dreaming, maybe she was playing a cruel joke. I ran my fingers through her cool hair, over her cool skin, kissing her cool lips. She didn't wake.

I tenderly lay her down on her bed and pressed my lips to her forehead. Something caught my eye to the side, there on her bed table, a cream- colored enveloped. I seized it from where it was propped up against her lamp. "Aurore," It read in her slanted script. I ran my finger over the writing; it smeared slightly under my touch.

Maybe- that was it! Maybe she had left me a note! I ripped about her room, searching through books, through drawers, in the pockets of her clothes. But I found nothing. I picked up her note to Aurore and inhaled the slight musk, turning it over in my hands.

It was wrong, I knew it, but I ripped the back open, tearing the wax seal. My heart sank when I found it was written entirely in French, still, I used my meager skills and scanned it, looking for my name. Nothing. She didn't mention me once.

She had left me with nothing.

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In all my reign, in all my years of judging souls, both good and bad, there were three people that stuck out the most vividly in my mind.

The third would be the psychic Genkai, who died at the hands of her former lover, Ototo Toguru. Though her death was predicted, even anticipated, she still left so much behind, and it was hard on all that she had touched. Her trial was short, decided, I had reviewed her paperwork earlier, not that it changed my decision of course. She was immediately scheduled for revival.

The second was my mother, whose name I never knew, the first trial I had ever attended. My father judged her; I was just a bystander, far too young to fully comprehend the significance of trial, too young to even recognize my mother, standing before my father in a white dress, her soft hair in ribbons. Jorge says I look just like her, and I guess it's true, as I look nothing like my dad. Anyway, looking back, it was horribly sad.

The first was the trial of my ex lover, the Grand Duchess of Makai, Elektra Selene Rowena Wellington.

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Everything was completely ready for her trial, I read & reread every paper ever written on her, reviewed every camera footage Reikai had in possession that included her. I couldn't sleep the night before, so instead I paced around my office, thinking of what to do, what to say, how to act, not that it changed anything, of course. Everything was completely ready for her trial, except of course, for me.

"She's here, sir," Jorge wrung his hands, he knew how hard this was for me, "are you ready?"

"No." I answered truthfully, rubbing my eyes. For once the lights were too bright, the atmosphere, too sterile, and I saw how Reikai must look to the demons and criminals who passed through. "Send her in."

He didn't need to, because she entered by herself, allowing Jorge to pull up a chair for her, she'd never stand before me while I sat. She grinned, not an honest one, though, a grin I'd never seen before, dark and mischievous.

Jorge left, nervously bowing to both Elektra and me, he always thought very highly of her. I had asked him before of his opinion on her, he confessed he had a tiny crush on her, but he admired her for her strength and wit. I told him I wanted to marry her, he was overjoyed. He was overjoyed, said she had everything; brains, beauty, and breeding.

She wore the same black dress the day I first met her, her hair the same, the kohl lined her eyes. And if I had a picture of her from that first day, and snapped a picture of her then, they would be the same, unchanged, untouched. I would be different.

Several moment of silence passed between us. Elektra wore a smile and sat primly, I tensely straightened her papers.

She spoke first. "I want the eighth circle."

I stared at her openly then, amazed at her request. "But that's insane. No one in their right mind chooses the eighth circle." In truth, that was where she was scheduled to go, but why should she request it?

"I want the eighth circle." She repeated, smoothing her skirt over her knee.

"Elektra," I said patiently, "the eighth circle of hell is the second worse place you can be. You'll be whipped by horned demons, forced to walk in lead- lined cloaks, ducked in boiling pitch, wedged into stone holes where your bare feet are licked by flames. When you get there, you'll put your hands over your ears to block out the lamentations of the sinners there, who are afflicted with scabs such as leprosy, and furiously scratch off their skin with their nails."

I stopped and studied her, not wanting to imagine her pale skin charred, ebony hair burnt, features mangled beyond recognition. I forced myself to look away.

"Koenma," She said with equal patience, bringing my attention back to her, "I want the eighth circle. By law you must grant my request. Besides," She folded her hands, "I'm going there anyway."

And so she sat do prim and proper before me, relaxed and confident, she could have been chatting over tea and cake with her friends, wearing a pastel chiffon dress; but she was here, in Reikai, before my desk, in a black dress of morning. How dare she be so calm? Anger flared up inside of me. How dare she sit before me with her damn hypnotizing eyes, so beautiful, knowing what I would do, knowing I couldn't have her? She was selfish, heartless, cruel, I saw it now, it was so damned obvious I cursed myself for not seeing before, not saving myself before I fell into this void of loving her. But above all I hated her, hated her glorious waves and porcelain skin, her long fingers, her lilting voice, her grace, her perfection, her beauty, and her damn eyes, always, always predicting and anticipating what I would do. She thought I was going to revive her- she thought wrong!

I moved my stamp over the paper that would condemn her, the Malebolge was waiting. So happy was I with my position that I was so caught up in my own pride, I glanced up at her, and all those angry thoughts disintegrated. Her eyes, which I had recently cursed, were glassy, and her dark fringe of lashes were lined with wetness. My world collapsed then and there.

"Jorge!"

The oni appeared instantly. "Yes, Koenma- sama?"

Focusing my eyes on the shape- shifter, I said firmly and deliberately "Take Elektra to be scheduled for revival."

"But sir-"

I silenced him with a glance; he nodded nervously and took her arm.

"Wait a minute!" She cried, attempting to wrench herself from Jorge's grasp, "Koenma, you can't do this!" The oni, who was much stronger, managed barely to remove her from my office.

And all I could do was sit there, her papers strewn around all around my, and all I could see were her damn eyes.

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And even when he sat beside her, pale skin tinted with quicksilver, her eyes were the only things that kept him there, the only thing he could see. He reached out and touched her hair softly, the feel the same, silky coolness.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: Urgh. I love this chapter, yet hate it at the same time…