Quick Notes:

I like to write in first-person. Here's how you will know whose POV you're reading:

…Part #: Name of Character…

Or, within a chapter:

(Quick POV Character Name: … ) or (((POV Character Name: … )))

Italics mean that either a person is dreaming, or there's an emphasis on the word – oh yeah, and if Daisuke & Dark, or Satoshi & Krad are talking to each other. If they are simply thinking (to themselves), it will just be written, because it's their point of view.

..

… Part 1: Suna Akimoto…

They were at it again. I watched as two winged beings fought against each other, but for what purpose I still didn't know.

They were both the same height, had approximately the same body type, and their faces – if you caught a close enough glimpse – had some of the same features, but they also looked complete opposites. The one who did most of the talking – he had an almost arrogant tone, as if he was sure he was going to win their argument, sooner or later – had blond hair, held up in a ponytail so long it was ethereal, and bound together at the ends with a silver cross. His brilliant white wings contrasted sharply with the inky black wings of his enemy.

The enemy, from his view, I knew to be the famous Phantom Thief. Dark, was his name. It was known everywhere and was at the top of the police force's Most Wanted list. He was very good at his occupation.

Dark's fist connected with the white-wings' face. "Will you just give it up, already!?" he shouted, sounding highly irritated, more than anything.

I hate not knowing who someone is.

The white-wings wiped his own blood from a gash in his lower lip, though that hardly did anything to solve the more prominent problem of his bleeding nose. He chuckled at Dark. "Is that the best you can do, Mousy?"

Mousy? Since when has Dark been called 'Mousy'?

Dark was angry – that much was obvious – but he didn't do anything. He didn't hardly blink, much less attack again.



Then he looked at me. Sure – I felt rather disappointed – I'd been here this whole time and he just notices me now? Really.

"Akimoto!? What the hell are you doing here?"

What the – "How the hell do you know my name!?" He wasn't a damn psychic!

He hesitated for a moment – almost staggered. Wow… smooth. I rolled my eyes.

"Get out of here!" Dark shouted at me.

Well, hello to you, too… "Why? I've been here this whole time."

The blond took a shot at him while he was distracted – knocked him to the ground. I have to admit, it may be wrong, but I laughed. Then he took one good look at me and left; a few of his scattered snowy feathers deciding to stay behind.

I picked them up, one by one, as Dark pulled himself together, fuming at me.

"So, what's his name?"

"What?"

"The white-wings. What's his name?" I repeated.

"How do you know about the White Wings?" Dark asked. It sounded to me like a highly stupid question.

"I don't – other than seeing him around every now and then to fight with you," I explained patiently, twirling one of the feathers between my thumb and index finger.

"You've seen us fight before?" He didn't sound too happy with me. Not only that, he was surprised. That tells a person either one of two things: a) how very noticed I am in society, or b) how observant this Dark character really is.

"Yes, I have," I replied, still captivated in part by the delicate white feathers. I thought I heard a bit of pity in my voice when glancing at the one with blood spatter on it.

There was silence between the two of us for a while.

"I'm surprised your little girlfriend, Risa, didn't show," I commented, collecting the last – the eleventh – feather lying around.

More silence. He simply sat where he was and watched me absently scavenge for them.

"Why are you so calm?"

"Why are you not?" I countered.

"Hey – it's a lot different fighting than just watching." Dark glared at me.

I shrugged. "I rest my case."



Dark stared at me for a while longer before asking another question of me. "Are you keeping those?"

"The feathers? Yes." I looked down at them again, running my fingers over one. This one had blood on it, too. After examining the thick crimson substance on my fingers, I licked it off unthinkingly.

Dark cringed in disgust, and I swallowed. Oops.

"Why?" he asked.

"Why what?"

"Why are you keeping them – and why did you just lick up Krad's blood?" Dark clarified.

Ah! A name! "Krad," I muttered experimentally to myself – just to see what it felt like on my tongue. I looked over at the famed kaito, thinking. "I don't know – habit, I guess," I said in answer to his second question. "As for the feathers… why does Risa keep one of your feathers near to her?"

There was no answer to my counter-question. I hadn't expected one.

"But why take so many?" Dark wondered, noting my one feather statement.

"They are beautiful," I told him. "And I can't stand to leave a thing of beauty lying in the dirt. Could you, Art-thief?" I paused, letting what I had said sink in a bit. "Good night, Dark."

I turned and walked away, then, not waiting for a response or an offer to fly me home before he gets blamed for my absence – not that there would be one anyway, but I figured that last point would probably cross his mind, however briefly.

When I got home, I looked around, trying to locate a place to display my newly acquired possessions. Like the cool, keeps-to-himself genius of Azumano, Satoshi Hiwatari, I lived by myself. I, however, did not live in an apartment. No, my parents, when they died, had left me their pint-sized tea shop and I inhabited the extra floor above it. It had a fitting name, too, according to its size. Chiisai, meaning any one of: little, small, or tiny. It had a limited menu, too, and was never very busy, so I got by with only having to hire a few of my friends as waitresses. My grandmother chose not to live with my family, but she has always been the head of the kitchen – just because it's what she enjoys doing in her nearly infinite free time.

My grandmother wasn't there now, of course. It was too late at night and she would have gone home by now. I sighed. A warm welcome and one of her great hugs that only grandmothers gave would have been nice, coming in out of the chilly night. Not even the fireplace had been left alight.

Krad's feathers looked dead in my arms and suddenly they felt as if they weighed ten pounds – which is considered very abnormal for just less than a dozen feathers. I climbed the stairs and trudged to my bedroom to lay the feathers out on my desk, disregarding the budgeting notes that already took up that space. I would find a better spot for them later. I was too tired to do it right then and I had school to attend in the morning… or I could be absent for a day. No one would miss me, right?

In a half conscious state before finally slipping under, I decided that I would stay and work tomorrow.