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Chapter Rating: G
Overall Rating: PG-13 for some blood and language.
AN: Moderate Tomoyo/Sakura, but here they're fifth cousins rather than second-- hey, FDR and his wife were, too. Why? Because they're just so darn cute! Homophobics beware; I grill chicken over your flames. T/S shippers, I must warn you that they may not actually get together. I haven't decided yet. Otherwise, you're welcome to enjoy the fic!
I got my ideas for Tomoyo's vampiric aversions from The Moorchild, by Eloise McGraw. I don't own Card Captor Sakura, nor do I particularly want it. It's much better off in the hands of CLAMP anyway. Summary: She wakes up with moderate hangover-like symptoms. The pendant her mother gave her burns her skin. She has to force herself through the kitchen door, and she can't abide the salt she usually sprinkles on her morning eggs... what's wrong with Tomoyo?
Warnings: Hmm... none, really. A very tame chapter-- and warnings against alcohol to boot.
"And then methought my dream was chang'd,
The streets no longer rang.
Hush'd were the glad Hosannas
The little children sang."
--Charlotte Church, The Holy City
Tomoyo awoke with the first belligerent rays of sunlight filtering through the creamy sheers over her window, aggravating her slight headache to a throbbing not quite unlike a hangover. Drowsily turning over, she clumsily felt around for the bedside clock, groaning when the stark red digits registered: six-forty-five in the morning. An ungodly hour for anyone to be awake on a Sunday.
Nevertheless, there was no reason not to get up other than her headache, and that would clear once she found the aspirin. She swung herself out of bed despite the protests of her body, finding her towel and brush on the nightstand as usual.
Easing her feet into flowered silk slippers, she padded silently out of the room and down the stairs. She switched on the light in the bathroom, then grimaced as her stomach roiled violently. Eurgh, and she was supposed to go biking with Syaoran and Sakura, too. She hung the towel over the shower rod and set her brush on the soap dish. Swinging aside the beige and white striped curtain, she checked to see that everything was in place. She flicked warm, sleepy eyes over Sonomi's bath salts, her own shampoo, conditioner and shower gel, the soap... yes, everything was there, and she was still more nauseous. Ah, there was the aspirin... her mother was especially susceptible to cramps, so she kept the painkillers with the hot baths.
Her mother's alarm began to echo softly through the house. Tomoyo hummed along with the sound of the classical Mozart she loved, so vibrant and fierce, as she adjusted the water. Mom must have forgotten to turn it off, she thought, and grinned at the abrupt slap and silence from the clock. Hell would freeze over before her mother would refuse the opportunity to sleep in when she got it-- which was rarely.
The water was roughly room temperature. She lifted away her nightgown and stepped in, now feeling like she was about to vomit; even stranger was that it seemed to subside when she moved away from the bath salts. She reached toward them experimentally and was surprised to feel a burning, tingling sensation pervading the area nearby, and her stomach turning like a dinghy in a storm.
Forcing herself to get hold of the jar, she splashed across the bathtub to set the salts in the cupboard, out of sight. The nausea lessened noticeably, but her fingers were red and sore. Almost like a burn... I wonder what's going on. Unsettled, she finished her shower in silence, barely remembering her shower gel. The soft, spicy apple scent soothed her, but not enough.
She toweled herself dry and picked up her nightgown and brush, then headed upstairs to dress, where she met with another strange obstacle.
She simply couldn't bring herself to touch her favorite pendant.
She'd tried countless times, each attempt getting the same result: a sensation very like the one she'd gotten with the bath salts, and she'd reflexively snatch her hand away. Sonomi had given it to her when she'd been accepted into honor choir in seventh grade; a little eighth note plated with silver suspended on black elastic cord. In some spots, the metal underneath the silver peeked through, revealed through constant rubbing. Simple, charming, relatively cheap. She had treasured it ever since.
Once again she reached for it, this time going for the steel clasp. She grasped it in relief, the tiny rings cool and firm in her hands; unhooking them, she looped it around her neck, making sure that the charm rested on her shirt. Even so, she felt its warmth through the thin linen of the collar. It isn't burning the cloth, so why does it feel hot to me?
Her question went unanswered; her mother called her.
"Tomoyo-chan, could you bring me some water?"
Shuddering for a reason she did not know, she obliged resignedly.
"Sure, Mom."
The water was generally obtained from the refrigerator, which also, incidentally, had an ice dispenser. The problem, she discovered, was getting herself through the door. She finally managed it by squeezing her eyes shut, holding her breath, and leaping through the open frame. Now the problem was getting out.
She managed it somehow, and, hands still trembling with adrenaline, brought the water to her mother. While Sonomi sipped, Tomoyo slipped in her questions.
"Mother, do you know what the kitchen doorframe is made of?"
"I think it's rowan. It's supposed to be holy wood. The builder was really superstitious-- he snuck it in where he considered it most important, and I haven't found time or reason to replace it since."
"What's usually under silver plating for necklaces?"
"Nickel. I think your necklace is iron. It was supposed to ward off Olde English fairies."
"Thanks, Mom-- oh, is salt supposed to be good luck, too?"
"Yes. American pioneers would sprinkle it around their houses to keep witches from coming in. Are you doing a report on this?"
"Er-- yes. We're supposed to analyze something related to the supernatural and explain it. I've got most of it done anyway," she excused herself hastily, making a quick retreat.
So, whatever's happening to me is making me react negatively to good luck charms. Oh dear, this could be messy...
That morning, she refused the usual salt on her eggs, claiming she wanted ketchup instead. Of course, she sorely missed it, and the ketchup was the cause of her frequent grimacing, but if Sonomi noticed, she said nothing. Sakura didn't see anything amiss either, chattering blithely on about her latest exploits with Syaoran, oblivious to her friend's brooding. It sounded fun-- they had planted a small radio-type thing in Toya's ear, activated it randomly so that a constant ringing tone would block out anything anyone said, and taped his reaction from an inconspicuous vantage point-- but she was in no mood for games. To add to her troubled state, Syaoran was watching her from the corner of his eye-- he definitely suspected something.
"Tomoyo-chan? Are you alright?" She awoke from her thoughts with a start.
"Huh? Wha? What's going on?" Sakura was looking at her strangely now. Uh-oh, that can't be good...
"Are you okay?" Looking down at the dirt road rushing by underneath her, she thought quickly, playing for time. Can I trust them with this?
Now Sakura had dismounted and stopped Tomoyo's bike as well. "What's wrong?" Too late for an explanation... she'd just have to go with the default. She looked up, smiling, and lied through her teeth.
"Nothing, Sakura-chan. Let's keep going, I'm getting hungry." After a few moments of scrutiny, Sakura sighed in apparent relief, then got back onto her bike and started pedaling, catching up to Syaoran in a few moments. Tomoyo hung back, too amazed to do anything but stare. She actually believed me...? I never knew I could be so deceptive. Well, Sakura-chan always was gullible... Twirling a lock of her braided hair around a finger, she finally gained the presence of mind to catch up to her friends.
They dismounted their bikes, leaving them chained together at the curb, and raced to the picnic tables. Sakura swung her backpack over her shoulder and removed their lunches; three sodas, a plastic container full of soba noodles, and two simple rice and chicken meals.
"D'you want salt on your noodles?" Syaoran asked, taking out a packet and tearing it open.
"No, thanks," Tomoyo said quickly, suppressing a shudder. "Mom already put some on them." Which, of course, was a lie. He shrugged and put the salt down (to Tomoyo's great relief.) Sakura rummaged in the backpack, coming up with three clear plastic bottles.
"We're out of water-- could you fill these while I set up lunch?"
"Sure." She took them and wandered off in the direction of the restrooms. After an encounter with an old homeless man who struck her as the pedophile type and a teenage boy who told her he liked to start fires, she managed to get back to the table, thoroughly nettled. Everything was ready, and she sat down with a sigh of relief. Picking up her chopsticks, she took a bit more than she was used to and shoveled it in. She was met with a painful, bitter, burning sensation, and immediately spat it out, disregarding for the moment the fact that it looked disgusting. Coughing, spluttering, she reached for her soda, and managed to choke out, "What was that?"
"That," she heard, "was my investigation." She looked up and was met with a frightening sight: Syaoran was glaring down at her, holding up a salt packet-- an empty salt packet. Oh, no...
"Something is wrong-- you can't stand salt. And it can't be just the taste; you bit the inside of your cheek-- there's blood on the corner of your mouth," he explained impatiently at Tomoyo's quizzical look. "That's no sore, either. Salt is causing you pain. Why?" Tomoyo fingered her lip dazedly; if he knew this, what else could he deduce? She glanced helplessly at Sakura. No use; she was staring back, just as surprised. Absently, Tomoyo wiped the blood away and stuck her finger in her mouth-- and started when she found she liked the taste. Frightened, she yanked it out and wiped it on a nearby napkin, then sprang to her feet and ran for her bike, hastily yanking the chains off. Swinging her leg over, she pedaled like mad, barely slowing when Sakura called her, and then quickly speeding up again. They can't know, not when I don't know myself...
She opened the door slowly and silently. Checking her watch as she shut it, she sighed; it was only one o'clock. Her mother wasn't expecting her back until one-thirty. Maybe she's gone... She removed her shoes and tiptoed quietly upstairs.
"Tomoyo-chan? Is that you?"
No such luck. Sighing, she resigned herself to fifteen minutes of questioning.
"Yes, Mom, it's me."
"I thought you were going biking with Nadesico's little girl. What happened?"
Think fast, think fast... "Sakura-chan didn't show up. I didn't really want to go biking with just Syaoran, so I left."
"She didn't show up?" Oh, great... she's taking it personally... "Why not?"
Losing her patience, she cried out in exasperation. "I don't know! Maybe her brother wouldn't take her, or she had chores to do, or maybe she forgot. For all I know, she could have been eaten by Mozart's harpsichord!" Sonomi decided to shut up then, and Tomoyo proceeded upstairs in silence, feeling somehow worse than when she'd come in the door.