Such Selfish Prayers (And I can't get Enough)
By Faustus
Warnings : Eventual Slash, explicit language, alcohol use, violence, relying heavily upon a few detective tropes at points, and character death.
Tales of the Abyss AU, for all purposes and records. We'll make allusions to places you may be familiar with in the games, but I'll tie them into the modern world and setting. At least three fourths of this fiction will either be told from Jade's side, or Saphir's. This story really settles around them, but others will appear constantly throughout, many having important roles. No game spoilers, obviously.
DISCLAIMER : I hold no right to the characters and locations from game-canon mentioned within this piece. They belong to NAMCO-BANDAI. Have fun with that. I'm borrowing for impure purposes.
Five in the morning, Jade Balfour-Curtis decides, is an unholy hour for anyone to be awake, nevertheless an individual that has been on his feet for going on thirty-six hours. It is also the incorrect hour to be nursing a bourbon while pouring over police reports, but that seems inconsequential at this time.
That bastard has slipped through his fingers again, eluding his grasp like a coy feline who not only caught the mouse (and left it's decapitated body on the floor mat by the bed, just waiting for someone to step in it) but got the cream as well.
"But you did get the cream, didn't you, Dist?" Jade growls at the papers and pushes the cool glass of his beverage against his temple, deep red gaze drifting over the floor plans of the museum. "You got exactly what you came for, and I all-but GAVE it to you."
It isn't the first time that Dist the Reaper - Rose, his mind supplies before he can even stop it - has done this. It isn't the first time the man has danced through security like a well-trained ballroom performer and made a complete mockery of his stationed team. It isn't the first time he hasn't left a single piece of evidence behind at the scene, nor is this the first time he has made contact with Jade as if daring him to give chase, to follow him into the night. . .
This also isn't the first time Jade has found himself at the end of a bourbon wishing he had another bottle somewhere in his house and feeling very disgruntled at the lack thereof.
"I think you're growing lax on me, Jade," his voice taunts, a lower intonation than usual : it is the sort of voice used with a lover in the bedroom, while hands fumble and teeth make contact with skin junctures just beneathe earlobes. "I got inside within record time, I'd say."
Jade doesn't admit that he is right, merely holds his pistol that much steadier with both hands, his gaze set behind lenses.
Dist laughs, his head falling back, eyes closing behind the elaborate Venetian mask that has become a trademark. It blends with the rest of his outfit : all dark and tight, leaving no room to catch. Skin barely catches, so clothing seemingly as tight should not as well, right? Jade assumes that was the thought. . Where the tight bodysuit is relatively plain, the mask is far from it. Silver patterns across it in swooping designs, accenting without distracting.
What is he most noticeable feature, however, is the brilliant rose design on the mask - it is the only hint of true colour : a mere crimson blot upon an otherwise endless void of canvas.
His hair (which is red tonight, Jade makes note. It seems to change every other time he sees him. The way the light catches it is just fake enough for him to recognize that it must be a synthetic wig, though the quality was certainly higher than Halloween Department Store. Perhaps he could search by that?) is tucked behind an ear as his laughter tapers off to an end, finishing in a terse giggle. "Ah, Jade, do put that down, won't you? You know you won't fire."
"I think I have probable cause to do just that, Reaper," he retorts and feels something bubble within him as he notices the tell-tale flinch. He does hate that moniker, though when he has done everything in his power to earn it. . . "Get on your knees."
"Well, if that was all you wanted, you merely needed to just say-"
"Shut up."
Dist is laughing again, and Jade feels bitter about this even as he watches the thief sink to his knees on the hard marble floor. For a moment, he toys with the fantasy of bringing the butt of his pistol across the pristine white face and watches the bruise bloom to the surface. He imagines reaching down and ripping the wig off the man's head : of finding out what colour truly lies beneathe. But the idea he plays with the most in that moment, as he does every night, is planting a firm boot against the slim, effeminate chest to hold the Reaper down as he slowly, meticulously, removes that god forsaken mask from the face to see who it is that has haunted him every night for almost half a year. He wants to shred that mask to pieces as he stands over the man, then open his hands and let the pieces fall across the porcelain face like the snow of his childhood home.
But for the Reaper, he does not imagine snow : he imagines hot-white ash instead, a symbolic gesture of the annihilation and end of an era. The metaphorical "up in smoke".
Tonight does not see fruition of that.
As he moves closer, there is a split moment that he lowers his pistol to point at the ground instead of at his enemies face. It is all the time that Dist needs. The thief suddenly rises up and they are eye to eye with one another. At this proximity, Jade is allowed a brief moment to see that even those have been hidden from him. He sees the faintest outline of a contact lens and now understands that the blue eyes he sees tonight are not the true colour of the Reaper. He sees this just a moment too late, as by the time he has made the notation on the lens his world is going black. Something is hurting - his head? - and his body is beginning to crumple.
He is left with enough time to see the face smile at him, painted lips quirking up at the tip ends, and to hear a little, "We'll see each other again soon, Jade."
Jade doesn't mean to crack his glass as he puts it mouth-down, albeit hard. Reverie costs time, and time isn't something he feels like he has bountiful amounts of.
(Reverie also causes increased headaches, and with the amount of alcohol he has already consumed, Jade assures himself that he doesn't want anything more to affect what will be very painful in the next few hours. . .)
The floor map of the museum showcases to Jade all entrances and exists that Dist could have used to either enter, or exit, from the facility. None of them, however, had been disturbed, leading him to believe an aerial entrance had been used. Upon closer inspection, however, it was found that neither the glass dome above the artifact had been cut, nor had the ventilation (a silly, terrible notion concocted by too many action films : the reality was, the body weight of the average male could not be properly supported by the narrow, spindly structure of the shaft. He is always quick to point this out) been disturbed.
He is at a loss for how Dist had entered and exited, and it angers him almost as much as it must have angered the curator to lose such a valuable diamond.
"You have expensive taste, Dist," Jade finds himself mumbling as he pushes the floor plan aside to reveal a print out on the diamond that had been taken. "Very expensive."
Very expensive is the understatement of the evening. The diamond is a relic salvaged from the wreckage of a sunken civilization current Archeologists have codenamed "Hod." Once appraised, it was revealed to be worth, quite possibly, more than the island the wreckage formerly sat upon. He doesn't know why such an item was kept, nor is he that curious to find out right now. He would leave the ruin explorations to Gailardia - He was less interested, right now, in the history of this diamond and significantly more interested in where the hell did it go?
"And what did you want with it?" he asks no one, expects no answer, and opens his notebook perched precariously upon the edge of his desk.
Inside he has a culminated list of the valuables that have disappeared due to Dist. He has tried, numerous times, to find a pattern in the items, though if one exists he has yet to see it. An original tome from a thousand years past. This diamond. A large, heavy rose quartz cut into the shape of it's namesake. Paintings ranging between three hundred years old to as old as six hundred (all he has managed to deduce from that is that Dist happens to be very selective in his artwork, only likes originals, despises Impressionism and may have a daVinci fetish). Numerous statuettes, busts and pieces of acclaimed pottery. . .and jewelry.
"You have stolen more jewelry than anything else. ." he is talking to himself again as he pencils in the diamond to the list, jotting down the location, date of steal, value, and with grit teeth writes "N/A" beneathe his column for evidence found.
The page following this one makes him feel like a stalker every time he uses it.
Categorized by date and item stolen, Jade has compiled every detail he can in regards to Dist himself. He makes note, in these pages, of the colour of the wigs, the length, their style. He guesses at their density and fibrosity, remarks on how the shine catches. He places in marks about what colour lipstick or gloss Dist has worn that night, and what scent of perfume he can catch long after the thief has disappeared. He hopes, at some point, these notes may lead to a pattern. . Anything that can be used to trace this man.
"You have to give me something eventually, Dist," the pencil finishes writing that evenings notes, and Jade allows himself the pleasure of scribbling in about the contact discovery - it either meant this man knew to conceal even that, or by day he required glasses and used this as a double meaning. It also meant crime scenes would now be scoured for possible lost-contacts, and that his team would despise him even more. "You have to give me something, or else our game could end. You wouldn't want that, would you?"
He knows he sure as hell wishes it would.
It is afternoon before Jade wakes, and it isn't to the pleasant alarm that he has set for himself. Part of him laments this - Why even by an alarm dock for your iPod if you never even get to use it for the intended purpose? The other portion of his being is too busy inwardly screaming and burying itself deep beneathe pillows and blankets again, groaning about how everything is so goddamn loud make it shut up my head is going to split apart.
Finding his brandy stash to break into at six may not have been the best idea, retrospectively.
Also, retrospectively, he would have preferred the musical notes of Schubert's "Rosamunde" to gently lull him into waking, not-
"JAAAAAADE! Hey, bro, would you get UP already?"
Peony.
He muffles his snarl by rolling and shoving his face into his pillow while briefly considering smothering himself.
Peony Umpala Malkuth XII - one of his best, and closest, friends. This isn't something Jade ever admits to his face, however. He rather leaves their relationship unspoken and vague, leaving more room for them both to make error. They met as young children : Peony, the wealthy son of a booming business empire titan, and Jade the no-named orphan. Peony's family had taken a liking to Jade's hometown of Keterburg and saw it as the ideal "get away from it all."
Somehow, "family vacation" had later translated into "dump the child off, hope for the best, and go to the sunnier (and more populated) isle two hours south."
During this time, maids and nanny's that were not receiving high enough pay to deal with the young lad let their guard down, Peony disappeared outside and. . . Well, Jade groans as he feels his body being lifted from the bed and takes a moment to blow his blonde hair from his eyes. The rest is, how do we put it, history?
"You smell terrible, Jade," Peony remarks, and Jade distinctly feels the pressure behind his eyes growing as he is turned to face a too-bright, too-cheerful, too-sunny face. "Were you drinking again?"
"Oh, no, far from it. You see, on my way home this morning, I merely fell into a vat of the most unpleasant alcoholic beverages. Seeing as how the only way out was through the bottom, I had no choice but to drink it all in order to free myself."
He is concerned to see the look crossing Peony's face, as if, for a moment, he was considering the validity of the blatant lie, ". . that would explain the smell at least, and why you look like shit. Ew. Truth is, you drunk yourself into a total stupor, managed to stumble to your bed to die, I just woke you up, and you now have a terrible headache, right?"
Peony will pay for raising his voice as he emphasized that point about the headache, and he promises this to his friend by baring his teeth slightly.
The point appears to be taken, as Peony laughs weakly. "Ah. R-Right. Okay. Look, why don't you go take a shower? I'll lay your clothes out, then take you to lunch. You'll waste away to nothing if you keep surviving on booze and nothing else."
"But its doing wonders for my figure, Peony. You know, according to most physicians, the masculine body starts to go downhill in our age and-"
"Cut the crap right now, would ya? Go clean so I won't be embarrassed at the sight of you."
Here, Jade is left alone by his friend, obviously expected to follow through with the commands. For a moment, he weighs out his options before blearily rising to his feet and stumbling towards his attached bathroom. There would be no living with Peony if he didn't at least humour him from time to time. . .
The cafe that Peony chooses is the exact one that Jade suspects, and part of him feels ill with the notion that he has spent enough time in the young heir's presence to be able to predict his mid-afternoon cravings. It isn't that he is contrary to their venue choice - It is the complete opposite, truly. He is rather fond of this particular cafe's outdoor veranda, and their brand of herbal Rose Hemp tea is divine. Not that he has developed a fondness, or curious addiction, to a tea with "rose" in its name, of course not. - it is merely that he feels their relationship is sometimes rather akin to that of a married couple, and that very notion makes his stomach rebel against it's own natural acids and pitfall from his abdominal cavity.
It's a grotesque image, but there it was.
He crosses his legs at the knee and leans back in the wicker chair, cradling the teacup saucer in one hand, the other daintily wrapped around the handle : pinky extended. Eyes half-lid as he blows at the steaming liquid, making a point to stare the brew down as opposed to looking across at his companion.
Peony looks up from his afternoon croissant and scoffs, "Jade, you've hardly touched your lunch. I didn't drag your ass out here for you to sip tea and ignore me."
"Funny, that's exactly what I came to do," he remarks back, allowing his eyes to fall completely shut as he presses the ceramic of the rim against his lips, tilting just slightly to drink.
He will never get over the flavour, or the image of the thief it conjures. The steam of the tea wisps around his face and plays along his cheeks like a lovers caress - too reminiscent of the perfume he always smells at the crime scenes and, for a moment, he feels compelled to smash the small teacup.
He avoids this with a too-loud clatter of saucer and cup upon table, and leans forward to lift his knife and fork again deciding the berry-laced salad to be the lesser of the evils.
There is a petulant noise. "You know, I was hoping we could actually have decent, normal conversation today? Y'know, with words that aren't biting and sarcastic? Jade, you're too tense lately. I'm starting to get really concerned about you and this case."
"I believe I have quite the right to be tense, biting, and sarcastic all I like, especially in regards to the case," he spears a strawberry on his fork in a single, fluid movement and adds a little of the greenery as he raises his gaze to Peony. "It is my face on every newspaper in the city, is it not? It is my name that is smeared all across this case, and it is my head on the block, Peony, if I don't solve this. Six months. Six months I have been doing this. I'm rightfully on edge."
Peony, it seems, cannot deny this.
For the best, Jade's mind supplies, and he nips at his food in thought, taking a moment to glance around the veranda.
They are, to his relief, mostly alone this afternoon. Mostly alone means time to think. It also means fewer reporters to appear and harass him, and fewer citizens to accuse him. It has become a ritual to be stopped at least three times per day and questioned by the average man.
"When are you going to apprehend him?"
"Well, have you tried this idea?"
"Do you even know what you're doing?"
"He's out there, devising his NEXT plan, and all you can do is sit here and drink?!"
"If you did your job better, none of this would be happening!"
"Maybe they should call in the bigger guns : No doubt the FBI would do better than your shit job."
Completely normal and ritual.
"Did you ever consider giving it a break? I mean, maybe the equipment at your office isn't good enough. I'm certain the FBI-"
"Don't," his tone is biting, a snarl hidden behind teeth falling together with a perfect "clink" sound. "You know my feelings on that subject."
The truth was, he could have been in the FBI himself. He knows this as well as any other. His academy scores had been off the charts at the time of the examinations. His shots were deadly, his mind shrewd and intuitive, and no man rose above another in his book. He had been at the top of his game. . .
But he had a vice. A vice that, he later discovered, had been highly frowned upon for graduates of the academy.
It was that same vice that left his liquor cabinets dry night after night.
Peony heaves another sigh. "Alright, okay. Just know that we're worried about you, alright? You really seem to spend your every waking moment working on this case. I mean. I'm willing to bet that, inside your coat, you drug that notebook along 'just in case' something came to mind during lunch, didn't you?"
Married couple : Peony knew him too well.
Jade hides the truth behind a forkful of roughage and peers over-top his glasses. "Changing the subject. How is courting my sister coming along, Peony?"
He takes far too much satisfaction in the tell-tale bristle that overcomes his best friend. It is a low and underhanded move to pull, but it brings him a bubbling of delight to see the one so formerly criticizing him (if albeit gently) now receiving his own.
"She calls you every once in a while," his tanned compatriot huffs and rips another croissant into indistinguishable pieces. "Hasn't she said anything?"
"No."
The faintest of downward tugs appears on Peony's lips, and Jade already knows before he has to begin. "She. . . Well. Your sister is stubborn. She continues to refuse my calls, sends my gifts back, and tells me 'I'm not ready to date yet, Peony.'"
Jade resists the urge to remark about how nice Peony's falsetto voice has gotten from the numerous attempts to imitate said sister in question and splits a blueberry in two with his slightly-dulled knife.
Peony has been trying for years to woo and court Jade's sister, Nephry. When they were younger she refused the advances, usually quipping at him that she wasn't interested in seeing anyone "like that." She had tried to convince herself that she only had eyes for books, like her elder brother, though Jade knew the full extent of the truth behind her dismissal of the heir's attempts : It was that very reason.
He was the son of a CEO. A business tycoon. A man with more wealth and money than he could ever spend, and Peony had been raised amidst that. Nephry had known, even at a young age, that a marriage to such a boy would have landed her in a single place : the trophy wife.
(This was not to state that Peony would treat her as such - Both Jade and Nephry knew that for a fact. But what the public saw, and what the private life was, were two separate games, and Nephry saw neither as an appealing sport.)
Refusing such a position, despite her own yearnings for the young man, Nephry had sealed the metaphorical coffin on that with the marriage to her late husband. He had been a simple man, growing to be the inheritor of one of the smaller hotels in their wintry homeland. He had been kind enough, and certainly loving, and Nephry had found him to be a good substitute.
It helped that he was intelligent enough to simply listen to Nephry's suggestions, allow her a career of her own, and do as told when she decided to put her foot down.
With his passing, however, and her inheritance of the now-prosperous and significantly larger hotel (due, mostly in part, to Nephry's own visionary abilities), she had been "freed up" in Peony's eyes, which meant a desire to pick up where they had left off. It helped that he had a coddling instinct a mile wide and wished nothing more than to see to ensuring her future comfort and survival.
Nephry, of course, would have none of that.
"Did you ever think that she may still be grieving?" Jade questions as he rolls one of the blueberry halves against a raspberry and finds himself pleased at the aestheticism behind it.
"Well, of course I have," Peony argues with a gesture of his hand and lifts his glass of soda to his lips. "I just. . . I ain't got a lot of time, you know? Dad's getting a little anxious, waiting on me to go ahead and snag a girl. He wants to make sure the company stays with the family, and my Uncle's aren't looking too prosperous in the event I fail, if you know what I mean."
Jade does.
"I understand your feelings for my sister," Jade lies - He doesn't completely understand why Peony persists on, even after so many rejections. There too, within him, lies a certain protective quality towards his sister. It's the very same quality that once dropped an entire roof of snow atop Peony when they were younger, simply due to his companion tugging on his sister's braid. "But it may be time to branch out. As they say, 'There are many fish in the ocean.' and all that."
"Then why haven't you found one?"
He chokes on a mouthful of salad and hides it behind a biscuit cough. "I haven't tried."
"That much is for certain," Peony's eyes crinkle just slightly at the edges with the mirth in his voice and, for a moment, Jade realizes that the two of them may yet have begun to show their age, in their small, subtle ways. "When's your shift tonight?"
"The evening shift, as usual," he quips at him, crossing his silverware in his salad dish to signify that he was finished - Some habits, such as that, did die very hard. "I have to be ready-"
"For when he strikes, yeah, we know this by now," Peony grumps slightly, imitating the gesture with the silverware.
A hard look. "If you knew the answer, why did you ask?"
"Maybe I hoped it would change? So, you'll go in around five, and you'll leave tonight at. . .?"
"I usually come home between three and four," he supplies for his companion.
Jade notices that Peony's mouth begins to open, as if to speak out against his hours (Probably to criticize the length of the shift, or the late hour, he allows himself to quip, if only to himself.), and he gives the blonde an odd expression when his mouth quickly shuts again. Very un-Peony behaviour. . . He certainly wasn't backing off from the subject, he could see that plainly in the cerulean blue eyes, so why had he-?
"May I take these plates away for you two gentlemen?"
Oh.
The voice, Jade takes quick note, has pleasant tones and intonations throughout it, though it does rest slightly higher on the decibel level than the average male. It's soft, perhaps a bit wispy, like the welcome breeze of early autumn. He finds an odd lull in just that sentence alone, and he lets his gaze trail the white blouse-covered arm, drifting towards the face.
The new arrival wears the standard uniform of the severs in this particular cafe : long-sleeved white blouse, black trousers, black vest and strikingly long black server apron. This one has gone the extra mile, Jade sees, by adding a black tie to the ensemble. He looks professional, put-together. . .and not like their prior server at all. A replacement? Had the one from before (Frederick, his mind supplies.) finished his shift and left? Possibly.
Before hitting the face, his eyes pause upon the nametag.
Saphir? He feels his lips tug slightly. Like Sapphire? Ah, seems I'm not the only one named for a-
And there his mind stops. His eyes widen in recognition as the gaze jumps abruptly from nametag to face, and dread settles deep in his stomach.
"Jade! Wait for me! I can't run as fast as you!"
He wants to tell the boy behind him that his quicker pace is the point. He doesn't want their snot-nosed companion catching up. He doesn't even glance back as he redoubles his effort, ignoring the protest in his leg muscles : There is nothing easy about running through snow, especially when it comes up to his knees in places, but if he could just lose his tag-along. . .
"Jade, please! P-Please wait!"
He's crying again, and he inwardly groans at the prospect. If he keeps on like this, he was bound to tattle on him back at the orphanage. . . The head nun didn't exactly spare their knuckles during punishments, and his had already been slapped thrice that day.
Jade sighs and comes to a stop, looking back at his companion. Short-cropped, pale hair (Almost like snow. . Where did you come from? The forests themselves? He allows this thought, then silences his thoughts.), tear-brimmed amethyst-purple eyes and pale skin with a hint of a flush from his crying. .
"Will you stop crying and be quiet if I let you come?"
The other boy comes to a stop not too far away from him, bending at the waist to place hands upon exposed knees. Jade notices how red the skin is and, for a moment, dwells on this. His yellow shorts could not possibly provide much warmth against the cold snow, unlike his thicker pants. The cold must be biting, but the child doesn't show how uncomfortable it must be. For a moment, the quietest hint of admiration bubbles in his stomach, but he quickly shuts it down.
The boy pants again, once or twice to fully catch his breath, and straightens with a sway. "I-I promise! I'll be good and quiet, Jade! Just let me come with you!"
He studies the adoration blossoming across the other boy's face and heaves a great sigh as he turns on his heel.
"Alright, Saphir. Alright."
"Saphir! Is that our little von Neiss?!"
Peony is reacting faster than Jade, forgetting their location to shove himself, and chair, back so he may leap to his feet. The chair clatters loudly as it strikes the ground, and Jade inwardly issues a little wince on instinct. He watches, quietly, as Peony throws his arms about the other man in an eager embrace - One that, he notes, is received first with a flinch, then reluctant acceptance.
It appears small instincts have not yet changed for Saphir von Neiss either.
Saphir certainly has grown since Jade has last seen him : He no longer stands at the height of a child, but easily stands as tall as Jade, judging by where the table falls at his waist. He is still slim, he studies, but there is a hidden flex beneathe the blouse. Had he, in their time apart, actually managed to tone his body instead of remaining nothing more than a twig with skin? Jade is impressed at the notion. He's grown into his features more now as well - His eyes no longer appear too large for his head, nor does his nose. His lips have softened, turned into a supple shape : not unlike the lips of a woman. His chin is rounded, not pointed, and his high cheek line has finally blended with his gentle jaw.
Jade continues his inspection and finds, to his amusement, that Saphir has allowed his hair to grow out longer. It is still the same colour (And more than likely the same soft texture, he supposes), though it now rests around the base of his chin, just long enough that with certain tilts of the head it skims along his shoulders. His eyes are hidden behind a set of circular glasses, and Jade cannot help but wonder if his eyes have grown poor overtime due to age, or his own negligence.
His perchance or reading in poor lighting from their youth may have carried into adulthood, which would explain for the rapid deterioration. . .
"I suppose you're not a mechanical science engineer, as you had hoped to be," he states before he can stop himself.
Saphir ducks out of the hug with Peony to turn his full attention to Jade and, for a moment, hurt seems to flash across the gaze. ". . .obviously not. I see you're not in the FBI either, Jade."
Touché, Saphir.
Notes : So closes the first chapter of what I sense will be a beast of a writing, a few years in the making.
. . .is anyone even still in this fandom? I wonder.
Anyway, yes, I recognize not a lot of characters have appeared quite yet – They will in time. The next chapter will be in Saphir's view, and you'll meet some familiar faces on his side of the game as well. Let's get this monster going and see where it takes us.