WARNING A FEW SPOILERS HERE AND THERE

Alrighty folks so I've been reading A Tale of Two Cities for English and my teacher has pounded into me the fact that you have to have themes and motifs for any story. So if you're like me and you're reading fanfiction when you should be reading your assigned pages for English, then this can actually HELP you study(insert shameless self promotion here).

Also I was pretty disappointed with the lack of Kazuviina fics, but I know I can't write for shiz, so I'm sorry for any issues and stuff.

I mean you gotta be one of those anti Royai or something to not ship these two at some point. I mean no offence geez, ship whatever you want.

Okay my high school brethren, we're playing a game called find the themes and motifs. It should be pretty obvious.

Or if you're a "normal"(nobody who uses this website is normal) person who couldn't care less, the I hope you enjoy this…

Thing.

It isn't fluff, but it's not deathly angst either. I prefer to think of it as the emotional turmoil of a normal human in life, but I might be unique in that or something which is gr8.

It follows the storyline, so yeuh.

Also in fic this they can't sense the others emotions, which would make these thing blatantly obvious. Is that even canon?

Or if you're like me and you just skipped the introduction, congratulations, you escaped the ranting of a "uNiQUe aNd OpPrEssEd IndIViduAl"(dramatic irony5)

Enjoy


Kazuma was always a man of business.

Which is precisely why he is currently headed down to Bishamon's office with a large menacing stack of papers.

When he knocks on the door, she calls out, "Come in."

He does not take a deep calming breath when he walks in, his heart rate certainly does not rise, and he does not think about this in any way other than strict business.

After all, he is a man of business.

He walks in, sets the papers down, and begins berating her for the lack of attention he shows to her other shinki.


It's another exhausting day in the city, when the sun has gone down and the dark things, the ayakashi, rise from the darkness.

He watches as she saves another soul from the gripping darkness. She has always been too kind, and that has already led her to destruction and loss beyond comprehension.

He, of all people, should know that well.

She does not need this shinki, yes she still saves her despite the unimaginable pain she is going through.

He has known her well for a long time, well enough to notice the slight grimaces and pain even when she is relaxing in her home. He knows Viina is suffering, but he can't do anything about it but stand by and watch.

There are times he wish that he could just-

No.

He braces himself mentally.

He is a man of business.

A deep breath.

He straightens his shoulders and composes himself.

Business.


It's sundown and the sky has gone red, red with bloodlust and wasted dreams and death and too many things that are drowned out in the daylight to be noticeable until the sun sets.

Bishamon's fiery hatred of Yato has gotten the better of her again, and he swallows the confessions within his soul and closes his mind.

The chase is on, and he sees their savior running through the alleys with a young shinki, trying to futilely avoid capture.

He is a man of business.

He calmly states the timing of the shots for vital regions and strategic positions, and is surprised and pleased to see that Yatogami is holding up well.

The fire in his Viina is starting to destroy now, it's hungry, starting to consume her and wanting more.

"You will never kill another shinki!"

Al of a sudden her shinki are injured, and this snaps her back to the safe world of reality, away from the beckoning flames.

The day ends in a draw, and nothing is really accomplished.

The fire only burns brighter.


They're home and he sees the water quenching the flames, or that's what they should be doing.

The fire doesn't die; her hatred burns deep, and it brings the water to a misty boil, trying to wash away the thirsty embers.

He is concerned, he really is, and she asks for news on the vents, and one question jumps out and suddenly he is looking for anything to direct the interrogation another direction.

"We're all alone now."

Yes, he knows that and he is fidgeting inside and losing composure from the tangled web of secrets he is hiding.

Should he tell...

"If you leave your hair wet like this, you'll catch a cold."

That catches him by surprise, because in the midst of stumbling for something to escape with, he has found a phrase he actually means.

Of course, that stops the interrogation, and they soon go hunting for the glowing shadows in the dark.


He locked in a dark place, far removed from the light. The girl, Hiyori, has almost given up, and he already had, long ago, but then the door is opened, air is let in, and the light beckons harshly.


It's a beautiful sunny day, but the world is blinding him. The contrast is too much. One minute in the dark, the other thrown into the light. He doesn't like it much here. The sun is high in the sky, too high, he thinks, and it mocks them for dying as he watches on.

He rushes past friends and family, but the faces are gone, and all that is left are the red flowers blooming slowly across the ground.

Viina is losing her family once again, and there is nothing he can do in this dark world where the sun still shines.

He finally spots her, and she is a wasted, soulless shell of herself, driven mad by the bright flames of revenge. The hatred engulfs her, and all he sees is red red red as her sanity is driven to a breaking point.

The fire is bright, an inferno, really.

The blade starts, like a jar pushed too far, and he watches with his eyes-

No, he does something, he is sure of that, but it all blurs together, as he pushes this way and that. Finally after what seems like eternity, and he time looses hold, and he swoops in, trying to protect his Viina from the flames.

The inferno seems to die down as soon as he arrives, confusion twisting across her face.

No.

It's the blood.

Oh, how he hates the color. Bright and dark, crimson seeps through, staining false promises into her skin.

A world of red, but it serves its purpose, and soon Viina is shocked out of it, and the firestorm dies to a smoldering ashes.

Kazuma hates seeing her like this.

He embraces her, trying to convey how much he cares about her, trying to be her guiding light in the storm.

He drops and confesses everything, how he was an ultimate failure and laying out the events in order as he describes what drove him to annihilate his whole clan.

The rain falls now, killing the flames and washing away the ashes from the parched soul.

And all of a sudden, he wishes they could be something more, but this is not the time to be thinking of that, it is never time, and he pushes that from his mind, because dear gods, he has gotten desperate.

He does what is expected of a man of business, is what he tells himself.


One day he arrives home, but something isn't right, he tells himself.

He knocks on his mistress's door, but she doesn't respond, and he pushes the door open just to make sure she's there.

He isn't disappointed, and he sees a mask sitting to the left side of the room, watching the room.

Oh, the mask doesn't break, no. It's been tempered far too much for far too long for simple stress fractures like that.

It's more like carbonizing wood – a strange analogy, but quite fitting, he thinks. The original shape is maintained, down to the grain, but it turns black and crumbles under the touch.

All of a sudden, its smoldering and steaming and hissing and the hollow words ring throughout the room, because Ebisu is dead, but he died wanting to live, and that is the truest tragedy of all.

"It's okay", he thinks, he almost says, but the words die in his throat as he watches, helpless, because it's not okay, so he rubs her shoulder awkwardly as he stands there, muttering words of comfort.

He's never been good at this kind of thing. He shouldn't be expected to.

The room is silent for a while, the air quiet with diffused smoke, and she quietly dismisses him.

After all, he always was a man of business.

A/N

That was fun.