A/N: This is kind of a strange piece of writing, and I posted it partly because I wondered if anyone had any suggestions as to how I might improve it. This is about and from the viewpoints of Hiei and Kurama, directly after the Dark Tournament, before they leave the hotel. Hopefully everything else will become clear as you read. The first poem is Hiei's. Please enjoy it.
Aces
I.
You have no idea, fox.
Six of spades, two of hearts. I remember how
My fingernails bit into my hands as I watched him torture you.
Your blood fell like rose petals on the white tile and gods, fox,
It was as if I had never seen blood.
He touched you like sunlight and opened you
so gently
And your blood fell like rose petals. Ace of hearts.
I need the queen; otherwise, the whole hand is useless. The bile
Rose in my throat at your screams. At the falling blood, red on white. Ace of hearts.
The rain fell on the window panes, providing a continuous whoosh of background noise as the two sitting at the table continued to play. The rainclouds filtered the afternoon sun so that the only light to enter through the window was dark and muted, tinting the room a deep blue-gray.
After a slight pause, the smaller boy placed a card faceup on the table. The single red heart blurred in and out of focus as rainshadows drifted across the room. The boy shifted his gaze to his opponent, waiting for him to make a move.
The tall boy removed a card from the facedown stack to his left and studied it. His eyes traveled over a vast expanse of white marred by a single black shape, its dark stem branching elegantly into three sections. He glanced at the mirror on the wall of the hotel room as he contemplated his strategy. His card's reflection caught in the spiderweb of cracks that ran the length of the mirror, and for a moment there were many clubs, dozens of clubs, falling through the blank white background like a-
((A vast expanse of white, marred by a single black shape))
-a flurry of raven's feathers. Crow's feathers.
((marred by a single black-))
II.
Your hands were warm. That was what surprised me.
Ebony and violet and cold, hard gray and gentle threats and hands on my neck and if you want the truth I was afraid. The sun
Shone in your confident eyes as you drew close
And the white tile gleamed. You spilled me
Petal by petal on the white tile
And laughed as I opened before you
As helplessly as a rose raped by the morning sun.
I know this. But your hands were warm. Does a spade beat a diamond? I know sometimes
There is more than one level to these things.
"You are weak" and I believed you,
"You are helpless" and what you said was true,
But your hands, your hands...
The tall boy's body swayed slightly as he stared unblinkingly at the card in his hand. His eyes rose to the exposed ace of hearts waiting on the table, then flickered upward to search his opponent's face for a hidden motive. The smaller boy's cool eyes met his gaze and held it, seemingly making an overture. Finding no sign of a trap, the tall boy reached uncertainly into his hand and selected his ace of spades.
Determinedly maintaining eye contact, he lifted it from his hand and began to lower it to the table. His fingers tightened on the card and his lips parted slightly as his hand trembled. He suddenly broke eye contact with his opponent, hurriedly placing the card facedown opposite his opponent's ace. He then withdrew his arm and lowered his eyes.
Across the table, the small boy flushed slightly at his unmet attempt. The ace of hearts lay exposed, facing the shadowed ceiling. The small boy glanced back across the table, but his opponent did not look at him again; his card lay hidden on the knotted wood.
The small boy briefly closed his eyes.
III.
Here it goes again.
How many years has it been? And neither one of us can...
What is it? Is it so terrible?
Probably.
Finish your move, fox. I'm waiting.
The tall boy shifted slightly in his seat, realizing that his turn wasn't over. Still avoiding his opponent's gaze, he once again glanced at his hand again . The patch of bright red he saw contrasted so sharply with his previous card that he jerked in his chair, caught off guard. He made to quickly throw it facedown next to the other one, but paused, realizing that he could not make this move twice.
The tall boy's eyes flew to his opponent's face accusatorially, as if he had planned this. The other boy stared back impassively.
The tall boy exhaled and stared uncertainly at the card in his hand. A distant roll of thunder faded into the silence of the afternoon. The tall boy glanced at the window, then back at the card, and before he could stop himself he threw it onto the table faceup and waited, breathing quickly, his eyes focusing automatically on the sharp red shape that cut into them with perfectly straight edges.
IV.
Few things are perfect. You said I was one of them.
You heard my screams and saw my blood and touched my face and called it
Perfection. A rose
Is a lukewarm creation, with one foot in heaven and one in hell,
Useless, as you say. Then what is perfection? Is it
Silver-white, running through a deep forest,
With cold eyes and moon-touched hair caressing the dark sky?
A diamond, a knife, a razor, skillfully crafted and sharpened?
A knife is sure of its purpose.
You were always so sure.
And when I saw you, finally, strangled and punctured
and your blood, your blood, your blood a red lake on the tile,
My hands were cold.
If perfection is a razor's edge...
How strange.
In a single draw, two aces.
His eyes shook as he watched his opponent recover from the slight shock of the sudden, bold move. The small boy looked at him for a few seconds before reaching over to draw the final card of the game. As his opponent's hand touched the deck, the tall boy tensed. He knew, without even having to read the satisfaction on the small boy's face as he looked at it, what the card would be. The single black spade, the tool of the gravedigger. The small boy looked across the table at him, preparing to make his play. The tall boy closed his eyes, waiting for his opponent's answer, his judgment...
It didn't come.
He opened his eyes. Across the table, his opponent was still simply looking at him, his card still unexposed. Green eyes met crimson ones, and the tall boy spoke.
"Did I do the right thing"
The small boy did not ask him what he meant..
"You did what you had to."
"Yes. Did I do the right thing"
The small boy did not answer. He looked down at the still-unrevealed card in his hand, and stood, placing it in his pocket. "We need to pack. We'll be going home soon."
He walked across the room, passing the tall boy without looking at him. He paused at the door and looked back over his shoulder at the other boy, his mouth opening slightly as if uncertain as to what it should do.
"Don't..."
His face twitched slightly, as if he wanted to say more but did not know how. After a while, he closed his mouth and looked at the taller boy for a while longer before turning and stepping out of the room, closing the door behind him.
The tall boy closed his eyes, and the sound of the rain washed his thoughts away.
A/N: Thank you for reading, and please review with any suggestions!