For Sakura
Part I: Suppi Doesn't Get Mad, He Gets Even
"Suppi-chan!" Nakuru sang cheerily. She pranced into the room, a large tray in her hands. "Suppi!"
The tone in Nakuru's voice—a peculiar ring of sunshine, innocence, and, "I've-got-toothsome-sweets-to-up-your-glucose-levels-dangerously-high"—would have caused the little animal to fly hell for leather out of the room. Fortunately for Nakuru, however, Spinel lay sprawled out on the plush velvet divan, asleep in a warm pool of autumn sunshine.
Nakuru set her tray on the table and leaned down, poking him gingerly in his stomach. "Suppi-chan," she crooned. The little animal did not respond. Instead, he turned over onto his side and giggled slightly.
Nakuru jabbed at Suppi again. He rolled over again with a vague, unintelligible mutter. Nakuru straightened up, tilting her head to one side in puzzlement. "Suppi never sleeps this deeply. I wonder what he's dreaming about. . ."
As if on cue, Spinel mumbled, "Beg, Cerberus . . . Let's see you beg. . ."
"Suppi-chan, wake up." Nakuru shook him gently. Spinel did not stir. "Suppi-chan. . ."
After several more attempts to wake Spinel, Nakuru rose, pouting. "Mou. And I baked these macaroons especially for Suppi. I guess I'll have to wait. . ."
As she turned towards the door, her eyes fell on the mahogany commode that stood beside the threshold. Coiled neatly on the shining surface was a length of twine. New and long, perfect for anchoring a kite, wrapping a package, binding a roast, or. . . A mischievous gleam suddenly appeared in Nakuru's eyes.
Binding a roast. . .
She stole a sly look at the prone form upon the divan. Without further ado, Nakuru snatched the twine up, rapidly unrolling it. The twine quivered in her grasp, stretched taut between her hands.
"Oh, Suppi-chan. . ."
**********
The last thing Spinel remembered was the manic glint in Nakuru's eyes as she drew the knots tight. After that, mercifully, everything dissolved into a blur. He only recalled waking up the next day in the soup tureen, a frilly doll's apron (where did that come from, anyway, hadn't Nakuru gotten rid of his dolls long ago?) hung askew over his stomach and an origami flower pinned behind one ear. It was fortunate that he woke at that moment, otherwise he might have drowned in the split pea soup that Nakuru—blissfully oblivious as usual—was about to ladle into the tureen. As it were, Spinel was only splashed with a few spoonfuls of the stuff (he still smelt of pea soup and his ears were a little tender still), so, relatively speaking, he got away unscathed.
But he was fuming inwardly.
Normally Spinel was a very quiet, patient creature. "Saint Suppi," Nakuru had dubbed him after a particularly hair-turning episode that would have earned Nakuru a penance of six hundred "Hail Marys" if she were Catholic. But Spinel was running out of patience. This was the fifth time within a fortnight that Nakuru pulled one of her stunts. (The last time, Nakuru had just learned how to use a lasso, and managed, rodeo style, to bring Spinel down—a feat that Eriol later said was quite thrilling.)
Suppi was indeed saintly, but he wasn't aspiring for martyrdom. And last night's episode was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back.
Yes, Suppi decided grimly, it's payback time.
**********
"Guess what Eriol made me!" Nakuru warbled, skipping into the library.
Spinel did not glance up from his book. "What is it, Nakuru?" he asked.
"A new outfit! Isn't it fabulous?" Nakuru pirouetted about the room.
"Very nice," Spinel remarked, turning a page.
"Tell me, don't I look divine?" Nakuru demanded as she danced over to Spinel. She snatched Spinel up and whirled him around. "Don't I look stunning?"
"If you put me down, maybe I can tell you," Spinel answered. Nakuru immediately deposited the tiny creature onto the sofa and struck a graceful pose.
"So, how do I look?" she asked demurely.
"Typical—shamelessly garish and tawdry."
"Suppi!" Nakuru exclaimed indignantly. "That's not nice! I'll have you know that Eriol copied this design from the latest fall issue of Paris Vogue!"
Spinel snorted.
"You haven't a particle of style, Suppi," sniffed Nakuru, slightly miffed.
Spinel shrugged. "You know, you really should stop wearing girls' clothes," Spinel began.
"Why should I? I'm sexless, remember? It doesn't matter what I wear!"
"No, I guess it doesn't," Spinel conceded after a moment's thought. Especially if said sexless being would have thrown a fit if he couldn't wear girls' clothing.
"Besides, I look good in girls' clothes. Not everyone call pull off an outfit like this."
On this point, Spinel was forced to agree. Yes, not everyone could pull off a pair of sequined hot-pants and a fringed bolero jacket. Well, except maybe Sakura-san or a Dallas Cowboy cheerleader.
"I can't wait to show this to To-ya-kun! Won't he be bowled over?" Nakuru continued gleefully.
"Yes, indeed."
Nakuru failed to hear the caustic tone of Spinel's remark. She was busy twisting her long tresses into an elaborate knot. "You know, I just absolutely adore girls' clothing!" she chattered on.
"Even though you're not supposed to," muttered Spinel.
"I think it would be terrible to dress in men's clothing all the time like Eriol," she continued. "How boring it would be to wear pants and shirts, day in and day out. There's absolutely no variety in men's clothing."
"I wouldn't say that," Spinel protested mildly.
"But there isn't!" Nakuru insisted. "Button-downs, chinos, jerseys, boxers. . ." Nakuru shuddered. "I can't possibly imagine wearing those drab things every day."
"You should try and see what it's like sometime."
Nakuru looked scandalized. "Me?! That would. . .that would be insane!"
"Actually," Spinel retorted as Nakuru retreated into the living room, "It would be more sane if you did."
**********
Eriol twitched his tie into place. He stepped back, eyeing the mirror critically.
"Looking very natty, Master," Spinel commented, flitting into the room.
"Thank you, Spinel."
"I assume a date with Tomoyo-san occasioned this seven-hour primping?"
Eriol nodded absently as he surveyed his reflection. He peered into the mirror, holding the length of his tie away from his shirt for a few moments. Eriol leaned forward, squinting experimentally. "Maybe it's the lighting in this room. . ."
Spinel noted the perplexed look on his master's countenance. "Something wrong, Master?"
"Spinel, do you think this tie goes well with this shirt?" Eriol asked, jerking at the apparel in question.
"Turn around and face me," the tiny creature commanded. Eriol obeyed. Spinel flew back, his brow furrowed. He fluttered close for a moment, his tiny paw rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Finally, after a few more moments of consideration, Spinel pronounced, "I think that pale blue tie goes well with the white shirt."
"Wonderful," Eriol said as he slipped into a jacket.
"So—"
"Oh, bugger!" Eriol exclaimed, staring at his sleeve in dismay. "There's lint on the sleeve. Be a good chap and get me the lint brush, will you please? It's on top of the dresser."
Spinel obligingly darted out of the dressing room. In a moment he returned, bearing the heavy wooden brush in his paws. "Thank you," Eriol said as he relieved Spinel of the brush. Eriol immediately set to work on the few slight specks of fluff on his sleeve.
"That's a new suit, isn't it?" Spinel queried, settling on the edge of a shelf.
"Yes. Mousse, please, Spinel," Eriol requested, his hand stretched out.
"What kind of suit?" Spinel inquired, handing Eriol the bottle. "Ralph Lauren?"
"Armani." Eriol squirted a generous amount of mousse onto his palm and began to work it through his hair.
The diminutive creature gave Eriol a meaningful look. "You must have a very special date with Tomoyo-san, then."
"Yes," Eriol replied, a faraway look in his eyes. "We're going to dinner and then to the symphony." He began to hum as he gently patted a splash of cologne onto his cheeks.
"You know," Spinel began, his tone conversational, "Nakuru was saying the other day that he would hate to dress like you."
"Really?" Eriol continued humming. Dress. . .he mused. Yes, Tomoyo-chan would be wearing a lovely gown tonight. A strapless dress; something to set off the creamy pale skin of her bare shoulders. . . That skin, so soft and warm. . .
"Yes. He said girls' clothing is much cuter and that boys' clothing is really boring."
"Oh. That's nice." Ah yes, clothing. Tomoyo would be wearing clothing. But not for long. Oh no, he would slip off her clothing, piece by piece, and—
Spinel glanced at his master. The young man's eyes were slightly glazed and a slow trickle of saliva was dribbling down his chin. It's a pity he's wearing a new suit, Spinel thought. Cold water would probably ruin it. But— And Spinel glanced at Eriol again. I'm sure a lascivious Master would not be a fun date for Tomoyo-san—at least early on in the evening, anyway. Poor Tomoyo-san would have her hands full. A little water wouldn't hurt. Master (not to mention Tomoyo-san) will thank me later for this.
**********
Two weeks later, Spinel was in his room, making the final adjustments to his revenge.
Finally, at long last, Spinel was ready. It had taken hours of careful planning and a lot of Eriol's credit cards but now, "Operation: Torture Nakuru" could begin.
The look in Spinel's eyes would have scared the hell out of Nakuru and earned the admiration of Eriol, patent-holder to the "I-have-another-devious-and-nefarious-scheme-for-Sakura-san" expression.
"It is time," Spinel announced. "Now, Nakuru! Mourn! Wail! Repent! And then weep yourself to death!"
Spinel began cackling madly.
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NEXT INSTALLMENT:
The consummation of Suppi's revenge! (Notes and acknowledgements at the end.)