(A Psychoswordlady Production)
NOTE: I don't own the Musashiden franchise. That being said I do own this fic, and possibly the pair name of ShiRoth. (If you're the one who got to it before me, tell me so I can revoke all claims to it. I'm no thief.) I'll have to do some searching to see if I'm the first to write a ShiRoth fic, but I sure hope this is one of the better ones. Of course, I suck, so I'll never be the best at any kind of fic. (/emo) And some things in the story are assumed; the whole pair came from an assumption and not something actually outlined in the game, and isn't that how 75 percent plus of the pairs in games and cartoons get started anyway? Anyway, I hope you like it, it's the first Musashiden story I have enough of to post.
Chapter 1
Shiraz hated humans.
He always had. They did nothing more than gorge themselves on money and abuse all who weren't like them. The only other things they ever did were eating, sleeping, and destroying things. Their only use was as food-- quite the delicacy, in fact.
He especially hated women.
They had high, screechy voices, wore revealing clothing and put strange pigments on their faces, and worst of all, bore children and spread humanity further. They were a pain to capture, and of little culinary value as well; little meat to speak of and too much fat. Even the occasional tough one left a bitter taste. Shiraz only feasted upon men. They were easier to catch, and went well with tomato sauce and cheese; making the perfect carnivore spaghetti. It was a recipe Shiraz himself had concocted. He was quite proud of it.
And there he lay, behind a barrel, in expectation of an unfortunate lunk's appearance within range. His tail flicked idly in wait; its crude armor hammered from buckets clanked slightly with the movement. He silenced it quickly at the sound of distant footsteps, and drew back behind the barrel a bit more. The arch of his back hid smoothly behind the convex wooden object.
The steps drew closer.
Thump.
His hind feet dug into the dirt path.
Thump.
His lips drew up into a snarl, revealing sharp fanglike teeth.
Thump.
His tail went rigid, ready to balance.
Thump.
The tip of a cane came into view.
Thump.
With the final footstep, his legs immediately snapped straight and propelled him into flight. His clawed fingers spread and stiffened for the kill, and soon he felt them embed into something solidly. His arched back went limp and he collapsed on top of his prey, and in a flash whipped his left hand out of the earth and smashed the side of it into the man's throat. The other pinned the prey's shoulder firmly against the road. His legs straddled the victim's, effectively trapping him.
He inspected his catch. Blond hair, a dark gray coat, gold epaulets, and creased black pants-- signs of wealth. The one thing that puzzled him was the man's eyes. They had remained shut throughout the whole ordeal. His mouth bore a calm expression, one that could possibly be deemed a smile. "What an insolent expression of fearlessness," he thought. "How dare he. The arrogance! I shall have to kill him slowly."
The man's smile widened, and he spoke, amid a laugh: "My, you're affectionate."
"Give me one reason I shouldn't carve you up like a turkey and eat you raw right here and now," Shiraz growled.
"I honestly can't think of any," he returned serenely. "Do what you will."
"You're a brave man," Shiraz said at length. "Courage adds flavor to the meat. Quite a rare treat, I must say." He licked one long claw hungrily, and his eyes glinted.
"Yes, I suppose. If you plan on devouring me, however, I'd advise it's not worth it."
"I haven't eaten in nearly a month. What could possibly force me to delay a meal now?"
"President Gandrake," the man said. "I'll have you know he happens to be my boss. Neither you nor I for that matter could stand a chance against him were he to lose his second-in-command."
Gandrake. The name rung a bell. Shiraz remembered hearing it in discussions of influential people. Apparently there was an up-and-coming corporation by the same name, growing quickly due to its invention of the nebulite engine. Maybe this odd, shut-eyed man had some use after all--maybe his "boss" Gandrake could do something to teach those silly humans a lesson.
"Gandrake, huh. Interesting." Shiraz stood up, releasing his captive from his prison of arms and legs.
The blond picked up his cane and twirled it about playfully. "You know, I did overhear him mentioning a need for a director of intelligence. Would you possibly be willing to take on the position?"
A plot formulated in the catlike man's head. "I would have to meet this Gandrake in person first."
"That can certainly be arranged," the man said, motioning for Shiraz to follow. "Come with me. I'll show you how to teleport."
The man took Shiraz's hand and placed it on the cane. Shiraz's brows wrinkled at the strange gesture. Had he not noticed the deathly pale palms, the bony fingers, and most importantly, the long, sharp, clawlike nails tipping them? Or, for that matter, the feline tail sprouting from a hole in the back side of his shorts? Had he not found him repulsive, as so many others before had?
"Do you have a good hold on it?" he asked, interrupting Shiraz's musings. "All right. Don't move, now, and the spell will begin to take effect."
Shiraz blinked, and as soon as his eyes reopened he found himself in a large room with metal walls.
"See?" the man asked. "Simple, really. Come along. I'll introduce you to the boss."
Shiraz's heavy shoe soles clanged against the steel floor. He felt awkward all of a sudden. Compared to the average-sized blond walking beside him, he was awfully tall and lanky, and his feet were long and huge. He was, in fact, a full head taller than his new comrade. As he tried to deduce a comparison of their feet, an odd noise distracted him. An incessant... tapping. His neighbor was humming cheerfully and tapping his cane around on the floor.
"Please, stop that racket."
"Hm? Well, I couldn't exactly know where I was going were I to stop." Before Shiraz could open his mouth in question, the man continued happily, "It's nice to know that there are people who don't know I'm blind at first meeting."
So that was why the man's eyes were closed the whole time. That was why he wasn't scared. Shiraz's sinister, feline appearance was known to repel humans of all sizes and ages. Perhaps this blind man wasn't as brave as he had thought. Even a blind man would be appalled at his looks.
They stopped at a door with a huge red insignia on it. "As soon as he says hello, you should bow properly. That seems to be an important custom where he's from. And you should certainly append '-sama' to his name when you address him." He pressed his hand flat against the center of the symbol, and a red light scanned across his palm. "Apparently, he's from some faraway land, and such practices are common there. Just stay calm, and you'll make it through."
The door let out a huge blast of steam with the retraction of its two halves into the frame. A floating triangular platform awaited its passengers. The two stepped onto it and the blond one pressed a small button in its center with his cane. It glided forward slowly and came to a gentle stop in the center of a huge, apparently bottomless tower. An imposing man in foreign clothes sat upon a floating throne.
Shiraz felt sharp blue eyes staring at him icily. He began to feel an odd sensation he vaguely remembered as fear. Relief came soon as the boss's eyes flicked to the man beside him. A deep, commanding voice boomed through the tower.
"Well well, Rothschild, what have you brought me now?"
