Fox and Fool

Summary: When life is determined to bring misery and pain, what might be made of it? What faults might be overlooked, and what measures might be taken, to find happiness after loss? Or is it impossible?

Warnings:
1) Shounen ai.
2) Sexual implications.
3) Post-sexual nudity.
4) Alcohol/drug use.
5) Moderate violence.
6) Slight lenience with the plot.

Author's Notes: This is a rewritten version of the fic I posted approximately two years ago. I might see fit to post the original somewhere for comparison's sake, but otherwise it remains stored away on my computer. It is by far more detailed and elaborate already, and I've only written the first chapter, so I can hope that everyone enjoys it all the more. On a more discontent note, I'm rewriting the chapters as I find time, so there will be no regular posting schedule. You'll get them as I write them, as most people on this site tend to do (but I always attempted to avoid the habit of). Offhandedly, if anyone is vaguely curious about why I've suddenly reappeared (and you're reading this note any time within the proximity of it having been posted), you can see my bio for details.

Enjoy.

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The afternoon was cool but throbbing, a rhapsodic collection of rural tones and chittering that characterized the wood and brought it to life. The leaves broke the sunlight into shards, sufficiently masking the location of whatever small mammals hid within the undergrowth. Some manner of rodent was hunting this hour, scouring the forest floor for the insects it favored. Some hunters, however, did not rely solely on their sight. The sudden sweep of wings did little more than rustle the foliage before the rodent was whisked away by the talons of some carnivorous avian demon. It was this same cacophony that made existence evident within the demon realm, where death ordinarily held a stringent rein on life.

The late afternoon provided little relief from the violence that enveloped the denizens of the demon plane, the sun offering no deterrent for the worst offenders. Daylight provided no sanctuary to the innocents, only gave them a false reassurance that the night was over and the majority of the killings were finished. The dead were interred or cremated; the wounded bandaged; the fearful set to peace for a few short, misguided hours; the night approached once again.

This was the fox's hunting ground, his territory, his home. A haven it was not, definitely so, but he had never known his home to be safe. It was a rare commodity to know security in this world: built within the great walls of a tower, in which no entry or exit was allowed. That was no life to be lived, no treasure to keep. For all the restraint that allowed on the outside dangers, surely the internal ones would grip the heart and soul of whosoever should choose such an existence. If the hangman's noose proved unavailable, a demon would find more creative means to end himself. There was no such measure that could properly be dubbed "being under aegis" within the demon realm.

Most preferred the dangerous life, chasing what they would prize and hold closest.

By far more often than not, the treasure that would catch the eye of a demon was power, the physical ability and knowledge of having the life of another within his merciless grip; the ending of that life left no end to a demon's delight, and there were forever more lives to be taken and memories of deaths to excite and bemuse the aggressor. The demon realm bore and cultivated minds and bodies specifically for such a purpose. This was the most perfect example of survival of the fittest that the four realms might ever offer, and the vast majority of this world's inhabitants relished the challenge. They never stood a chance to think otherwise; they existed within a world that did not offer to teach compassion, therefore most did not believe in it.

The rare few that survived beyond their time—those that proved more tenacious than most and felled whatever enemies would do the same to them—came to learn that perhaps a more visible form of prize would be more satisfying. Not only were the recollections of murders executed a credible source of pride and pleasure, but a physical trinket left from the action would serve as a reminder, preventing the memory from fading away.

This realization became what started to be the fox's pastime. Acting the demon and slaying whatever lame or pitiful creature that intercepted his path branched into a habit of keeping knickknacks that were either from the scene or had been kept on the victim's person. From this, he had found a hobby of sorts, a release from boredom and monotony. This became his prime reason for interaction with others, his raison d'être, his profession.

It was this motive that had him positioned a few short kilometers from a barricaded village, his keen ears attuned to the forest and his calculating golden eyes directed to the couple dozen demons that would shortly follow him into the tiny town. These creatures, morsels that the fox could easily devour, had found themselves under his tutelage by some chance of fate and divine luck. Any other day—save the one that he'd chosen to take these stragglers under his wing—he would not have hesitated to slaughter to lot of them and take his leave of the sea of blood and pulp that would remain. But to their benefit, the fox had found himself for want of company, and these demons had unwittingly adopted the appearance of needing a teacher.

Pathetic, the entire group, had they been upon first arriving under his instruction, but those that survived in the demon realm beyond the first decade were often quick studies. A few short months had evolved most of them from rudimentary thieves to at least mediocre ones. Those that couldn't keep pace never found the path back to camp.

Approximately half of these thieves were lacking in the necessary resolve and desire that would bring them to true mastery of the fox's trade. They trained their bodies, their minds, and their tastes for treasure, but there was something fundamental to the soul that gave one a nonpareil passion for thievery that took the skill and grace necessary for the act and refined it into art. This was what the fox had discovered in himself, and this was what he found missing from half of his votaries: a disappointing statistic.

Within this large group, however, there was potential for a possible protégé—one whom the fox could take individually under his wing and mold into a true virtuoso—among the decadent miscreants that would go no further than petty pillaging. A savant of the trade could endeavor to be a shadow of the night, a presence hardly noticeable in the dark and capable of delving deep into a fortress stronghold to pluck a precious artifact and escaping without ever arousing attention to himself. This was the true intention of his art, to see without being seen and thereupon take something, and to have that object worth having for the effort spent in obtaining it.

Perhaps one of them would prove a suitable distraction. Never a replacement, there would never be the slightest chance for any of them to build up the respect and admiration that the fox had felt for his former partner, one with whom he had gathered a veritable dragon's hoard. They had been quite a pair, completely synchronous together, each the other's perfect compliment.

The extended silence from the fox was never cut apart with words. The group knew their orders, their missions, but not their purpose. Today, though they went together into the target township, the fox had a different goal in mind than simply to instruct his followers and gain them experience. He would part company with them briefly, leave them to their own devices, and pursue a rumor that had crossed his path the evening previous. This he had never ventured to do; if trouble should arise, those with weak constitutions or poor ability would hardly be capable of sufficient self-defense. A great portion of their numbers would fade from existence.

However, the fox would be disinclined to shed even a single tear. If any of them died, it would be his own fault, his own negligence, and the fox would only take blame for the death in the eyes of those that remained. "Why did you not keep us safe?" they would bid him. "Why have we lost some of our numbers?" And, because he had taken them in and made them his responsibility, he would have to answer to their questions with clever lies about disobedience and ineptitude. It would fall to his shoulders to relieve the tension that would spread through the camp, to take the blame for their deaths and assure those that remained that better precautions would be taken in the future. He would endure their paranoia and their fear, console them with indifference that would say he did not fear more death among them, pretend to care that others had died, and suffer their complaints as he would never have done even a year ago for creatures even twice as useful as the collective. But this was the price he paid to not be alone.

The torrent of demons flooded through the forest, following the path that the fox opened up before them, no one paying attention to the foliage and undergrowth merging together at the tail of the group. The location of their camp hidden in the trees remained a secret to all but their leader, and he kept it very well indeed; not so much as a wild dog had found its way to their encampment.

Grass emerged from the shrubbery and the trees dwindled, leaving a view off a cliff of the village below. The fox normally led them by route of hills and plains, but occasionally a more direct—and often less safe—path was necessary or more convenient. In this case, a less hazardous route would defer them by no less than an hour, and that was unacceptable.

Smoke rose from the smithy, where swords were likely being forged. Jewels and silks were on display in the market. A vendor in front of a fruit stand exchanged a few items for pieces of silver. A brothel girl smiled at passing males from a half-open doorway, her pimp likely lingering just inside to take fees from whatever customer should enter. Two guards were stationed at each entrance, faces stolid and inhospitable. All of this the fox could see from where he stood, which was a testament to just how close one could approach a town without detection if he chose the proper road. Below, at the bottom of the cliff, was another stretch of forest, where he would slink ever closer. With the proper cover, the entire group could come within ten meters of the entrance, so near that a swift approach would enable them to kill the guards before either had time to scream.

Beyond that was where stealth would become unnecessary. Pillaging was not so much an art as a hobby—or, for these demons, a lesson and future profession—and the only necessary furtive action was entering the target town before the guard could warn the inhabitants and block them from potential quarry. Afterwards, it was a matter of grabbing whatever was at hand. This method brought great material gain in a short period of time, but there was little to be won in the sense of pride. How the fox longed for an individual job, something what would rekindle his appreciation for what he did. But none of the demons accompanying him had the experience, and his heart fluttered uncomfortably at the thought of being left alone.

The best entrance was the one immediately before them, as that had the best coverage. A few of the demons behind him stepped forward and gazed at the village as well, exasperating the fox into casting them a glance. He'd long since explained that they needn't yet know the precise reasons for which entrance they took advantage of, nor which target they chose, but there were always those that disobeyed direct orders, regardless of the trade.

The first of the pair was an uncomely creature, long since too far hidden in the shadows and left to sour. His gait was smooth and precise, and his gaze thoughtful but sharp. He was among the half that was in possession of the necessary something that would make an excellent thief. Pity that not all those of grace and dexterity were attractive, although that might have been the point. His eyes were too narrow below his thick brows, and his high cheekbones made his too slender nose seem to continue forever. His lips were thin and his chin square and strong. He lifted a large hand and swept his filthy auburn hair from his eyes. His features didn't meld together well at all. If he had ever cared to bask in the sun for even a few hours, it would certainly have improved his perceived constitution, his complexion, and perhaps even his disposition. He, like most demons, was of strong build, but the fox wasn't certain how he adapted to the pair of wings let go lame from disuse that adorned his back. A single look at him would have told volumes about hindrances and inability. However, that was far from the case; after all, appearance often belies ability. This one was proven to have been an assassin prior to discovering thievery.

His associate was by far more generous to the eyes. Slight of build, but hardly lacking muscle tone, this one had an olive complexion and slender features. On his hands were long, elegant fingers, perfect for the firm grip necessary for handling the sword at his side. His eyes were not narrow, but not so open to convey a false innocence. His lips were smooth and vaguely curved, making the slightly too sharp angle of his jaw a little more subtle. A curtain of black hair flowed gracefully down his back, held away from his smooth forehead by a pair of horns protruding just below his scalp. In many cases, such an addition would take away from a demon's appearance, but it gave him a more austere feel and bore through and demolished the last traces of naïveté that his gentle features might implicate.

Similarly to his accomplice, the attractive one held that nameless quality that would make him a remarkable thief, however he possessed it to a much smaller degree. His would need to be cultivated carefully, else it would be whittled away by impatience or disinterest. That would be a worthy challenge, a distraction from himself, his loneliness, his loss.

That would need to be set aside for now, though. He had more pressing issues at hand, including this theft and instructing the reprobate exactly when it was or was not appropriate to lead himself in an excursion. If he had wished to learn himself how best to go about things, he would not have allowed himself to be brought into the fox's fold. And such audacity did not please their leader in the least.

With a swift glance over the township, the fox assessed the possible and likely threat that the inhabitants might offer. The ostentatiously high walls and multiple guards at each entrance denoted that the people therein were not particularly tenacious, although it was a trading town, which offered shelter and convenience for those willing to pass along a little gold. This presented the possibility that a demon of significant strength might have settled for the evening within. The fox considered this for a moment, judging the risk involved if such a thing did happen to be. Weighed against the rumor he'd heard of the treasure within the state house, this threat seemed minimal enough.

Leaping suddenly from the precipice, the fox plummeted toward the ground, catching his heels against the narrow protruding ledges offered down the face of the bluff to slow his descent. Even a demon would die from dropping from such a height, but these tiny catches against the rock arrested his speed enough that landing on his feet would not immediately shatter the bones in his legs. His landing was admittedly an unsteady one that left his ankles mildly sore, but the encumbrance was hardly worth a thought. There were those in the group that would be much worse for wear after this, and they would be left behind, never to find the camp in their attempts to return. A thief that couldn't go through with the act—either due to physical inability or an attack of conscience—might as well have died in the process.

Two died from the drop, having not given enough attention to how quick their fall had been. Beneficial, though, was how silently they had succumbed to death. A scream would have aroused the attention of the guards and ruined the theft for the rest of the party. Either the pair had been too dim to understand that death had come for them, or they'd had the sense to understand that the fox would have sought them out in the afterlife and tormented them for eternity for proving to be cowards.

The forest before them was similar to the forest they had just left behind, but here they need be more cautious, taking great pains to avoid causing a single sound that would catch the ears of the guards. Where they had been swift and sure above, the fox instructed the group to keep their eyes on the ground in case a branch or an animal might fall under his heels. A few took to the trees, not trusting their feet on the earth, and as long as they made not a sound, the fox did not oppose. After all, if thievery was an art, each would need to develop his own personal style. He himself preferred the earth. No matter that plants were his expertise as much as theft, the earth gave life to his abilities. Perhaps he was being superstitious, but he would rather be closer to that would gave life than that which took advantage of it—as he himself was prone to do.

As large as the group was, they managed to approach the gates with perfect silence. The fox gave a sly grin and motioned for the others to remain behind for this particular obstacle. He'd yet to assess the speed of each individual, and being unsure of who might prove too languid, the fox chose to do this on his own. He withdrew a rose bud from his silver locks—only subconsciously aware that they caught the shattered light piercing the foliage—and flitted forward. The first of the guards did not notice his approach before the flick of his wrist transformed the rose into a whip, only becoming aware as his trunk was severed in two. Rather than a scream, a gurgle of blood spilled from his lips.

However, the splatter and scent of blood aroused the second. He pivoted with enough time to gaze upon the figure of his murderer: merciless golden eyes, silken silver locks, lean of build, with long, slender fingers, a strong mouth, and ears and tail befitting of an animal. 'So, the rumors are true,' the guard thought to himself, knowing that he had no chance of raising his weapon in time. 'Death is beautiful when gazed closely upon.' His blood painted the ground half a second later, and the fox gave a signal for the rest to approach. The time for concealment had ended; the time for haphazard pillaging had begun.

It took less than five seconds for the first shout of horror to ring through the air, accented by a crash of merchandise not coveted littering the ground. Jewelry and expensive fabrics were prime targets, as they could be sold to another town for a good deal of gold, then stolen back in a few months and resold to a third, unsuspecting village. One third of the thieves were assigned to take as much of these items as possibly found. The second most significant quarry was food and drink, although the fox often found himself exasperated that none of these idiots seemed to understand the difference between water and alcohol, so often he found himself submerged in an encampment filled to bursting with inebriated demons. A second third was assigned to this task. The final element to a successful heist was to take whatever suited the thief's fancy. More often than not, this fancy was expressed through unbridled lust, and the prime object of the final portion of the group's eyes were women. The fox had not intended for something so base to drive a thief that had that certain something inside that made him worth individual assignments, but he soon recalled that, for many within the demon realm, there was no underestimation, regardless of how low his opinion happened to be. These groups were rotated once a week, allowing for each individual to experience the roles necessary to profit, survival, and occupational gratification respectively.

Civilians scattered and screamed about them, felled by a sword or fleeing into a building and securing the door. An orphaned child wept over his mother's corpse, left alone under the fox's orders. Children were not to be harmed: they would potentially grow to be targets that could provide quarry. A prostitute that would not be taken lost her head to a glaive. A man was deprived of his limbs for attempting to hide his wares, then left to bleed to death. The remaining guard approached to dispel the assault, but just as the rest, they stood no chance against a hoard of avaricious demons; their high walls were proven to be an empty threat.

The fox's followers were ruthless in their efforts, focused on profit before pity. They offered the perfect distraction for the fox, who slinked carefully into the state building, where the rumor drew him irrevocably.

One of the demons, assigned to take whatever caught his eye and nothing else, caught sight of the fox deviating from the plan. He would justify his actions later as an experiment in taking advantage of another efforts, which had earned him significant acclaim while he had been training as an assassin. Certainly the fox would reward his efforts, similarly as his previous master had. No other demon took notice of his pursuit of their master.

The inner walls of the building were stone, similar to the outside, but these had various cracks and crevices that were absent on their other half. The fox gave a weary frown to this, by far too skilled to fall victim to traps such as these. Perhaps the amateurs outside would, but he knew by far more about their trade. He removed a seed from his silver locks and pressed it against the wall, where it dug through the stone and earth, thriving under the energy given it by its master, and curled strenuous vines around the arrows that would have otherwise shot from the walls without the proper disarming maneuver. The fox tested the effectiveness of these measures by taking a single step forward, confident in his seed's ability. The stone shifted under his weight, but no attack came from panels in the walls.

He strode casually at first, then rolled his eyes at the thought of having to return to find his thieves had gotten bored with his leisure and left without him. If the fools happened to get lost in that time, he would be frustrated to need to rescue them from a forest they were dangerously unfamiliar with. Every expedition through the wood had been under the fox's lead, at the mercy of his ability to shift plant life from their path. If a carnivorous plant happened to catch their scent, and the fools should step in the wrong area, the fox would have need to find new disciples. Although their insolence and ineptitude caused him great strains, he was fretfully afraid of being alone.

The remainder of his path, twisting and turning in a desperate bid to find his treasure before his thieves grew wary of his absence, was fairly uneventful. A guard here or there would be on his way out to assist those that had already died, and subsequently fell as well. He left a trail of corpses in his wake, blood clinging to his rose leaving a gentle stain on its petals that would serve to give it more vibrancy. Cut off from a source of water, this was the best nutrition he could offer the bud without consciously feeding it energy. It was a very content plant to be killing so many, yet so innocent in that it didn't understand that its life resulted in death; damned without knowledge of its sins, such a despicable, woebegone existence.

Following at a distance, as his training had made second nature, the assassin crept behind his new master, admiring the skill with which he slaughtered so many without a drop of blood falling on his person. The fox would have done well as an assassin, although that might be due to his great skill in thievery. It was these similarities that had drawn him away from paid murder and to theft; the killing of demons not worth his effort had grown pitifully dull, but to kill for the killing and to get a reward, that had been certain to be more entertaining. And it had proven to be, but the transition between lessons was a progressive one, with which he had little patience. In trailing the fox, he was hoping to be excelled within the program and given more difficult assignments. That would rekindle his already failing passion with this.

The first window to be seen within the building—quite possibly the only one facing this compass direction—gave the fox a brief glimpse to check on his followers, all of whom he saw were distracted with their chores. He nodded to himself more than to their progress, and continued on.

Immediately behind him, the assassin ignored those that he thought below him, unable to grow as a thief with the speed that he had. Perhaps the fox would order them to leave for an amount of time to train him individually. He grinned with ambition, imagining all of the things that would soon be his.

The long hallway finally came to its end, opening into an impossibly small chamber incapable of even storing a bed. The room bore no windows, no lanterns, no designs or crevices through which traps might be hidden. This room was exclusively for the single pillar situated in the very center of the room, on which was a jewel that shone with such brilliance that at first the fox thought a piece of the moon had been stolen from the sky, stained emerald, and set into a necklace of platinum. This pendant was the twin of the one his lost partner had died for, with the exception that its stone was not the enchanting sanguinary crimson. The rumor had been true, he understood with an satisfied grin. His slender fingers trapped the jewel and lifted it reverently from the pedestal, taking its weight from the stone and testing it on his palm.

This action was cut short as the walls and floor began thrumming discordantly, while a fine dust descended from the ceiling. The fox immediately understood the nature of this particular trap, and dashed hastily from the room. When he nearly drove a demon from his feet, the fox first thought it was another guard, but it proved to be one of the pair of demons that had so boldly stepped forward prior to dropping from the cliff. In a minor fit of anger, the fox hollered, "You fool, run if you value your life!" and swung around the dumbstruck demon. The ceiling collapsed from above him before his wits returned enough for a reaction, leaving him a pathetic blood stain buried in stone. It persisted in following closely after the fox and was gaining distance rapidly. He gritted his teeth against the soreness that was now especially prominent in his ankles and knees, forcing his legs to move when his joints wanted desperately to rest.

At long last, as the dust was beginning to sift through his hair and catch in his lungs, the window he'd seen before came into view and he leapt straight out of it, avoiding the collapse of the hallway and plummeting to the street below. His landing on a tarp above a vegetable stand was about as graceful as the tread of a newborn colt, but it softened the impact with the ground significantly and allowed him to stand without considerable effort. He checked his grasp, found the pendant still clutched within, admired it for a brief second, then gave a shrill whistle from between his teeth. This was his signal to the others that they should gather at the gates to leave. He sped there himself, folding into the group of thieves that were prepared to abscond at a moment's notice, and shot to the front to lead their escape.

The pendant and its chain were both gathered protectively in the fox's palm, hidden from the eyes of his followers and at no risk of scrutiny or greed. It would remain in his custody until he saw fit to part with it. This was his last chance at reminiscence, to have a memory not strangled hopelessly by bamboo shoots and blood, to recall again what it was like to hear and see and know the fallen Kuronue.

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Better than the original, no?

Much of my use of language has been inspired by Wuthering Heights, by Emily Brontë. But I've tried not to sound too classic and, hopefully, not so much as to make it too ostentatious and verbose. If nothing else, I'd like a note on that.

Glad to be back.

6:30 P.M. Eastern Daylight Time. U.S. Friday, 08 February 2008.

Tschüss!

Ari.
Chiisai Mu.