A/N: re-writing Cat & Mouse, because it's shit compared to what i can write now, and really fuckin' OOC, and all sorts of un-realistic to boot, but mostly because Quinn gets really stupid ideas at midnight when he should be doing homework. may or may not go anywhere from here, we'll see. i've decided this time around, i'm gonna write each chapter from both characters' PoVs, so that's what's goin' on with random line-breaks. yep yep. enjoy, review, hate, i guess? critique/betaing always welcome~
There were several things Tyki Mikk hated. Despised, in fact. Loathed with every ounce of his being, it could be argued. And presently, he was being forced to endure three of them at once.
The first: Cold. Having grown up in sunny Portugal, the climate in Northern Europe, where his business had taken him as of late, was Hell. In London, where he'd been stranded doing various odd jobs for the Earl for the past month, winters were bitter. On this particular evening, a harrowing wind gnawed through his thin coat, and his nice leather shoes were caked and crusted with ice. His own breath obscured his view of the world, and that made him edgy, and just a tad nervous. A shudder ran through his body and he turned his frozen face to the skyline. Sunset. Not even a nice one, just a grimy red blur on the horizon, which tied into the second thing working to bring his simmering irritation to a full boil:
Lateness. Hours ago, he'd been faced the opposite direction on that same rooftop, watching an equally dull sunrise with disinterest. He was supposed to be waiting for the culmination of this useless mission to arrive: a higher level akuma carefully planted the Black Order's Field Division to carry information, whom Tyki was supposed to escort back to the Ark, as if the damn thing couldn't find its way on its own. Well, perhaps this was the case, as the useless demon had taken a full fourteen hours to show its face. The minute hand on the Noah's pocket watch slid another notch around its plain face. Fifteen hours now. He'd given up being visibly angry after the first forty minutes and settled into a jaded stupor, perched on the edge of a bakery rooftop in the less-than-savory end of town like some out of place gargoyle.
God, he was bored. This was more annoying than the other items on the list of things he hated about his situation combined. If he'd had the foresight to at least bring a book, he might have managed just fine, despite the fact reading gave him a headache. The lack of anything to do but stand, sit and pace in circles drove Tyki up the fucking walls. He clenched his fists, trying to regain feeling in his fingertips.
He hated the stiff white kid gloves confining his movements that creaked in the cold, and the formalwear he was forced to wear on Black Side business. He hated the akuma. He hated how the sunset had faded into a sickly navy blur. He hated the city smog. He was in a hateful mood, and he was so far beyond happiness that it felt good. He folded his arms and just about relished his foul mood. This was more what Noahs were supposed to feel, right?
A noise below on the abandoned street caught his attention and he perked up. It came from a merry bell jingling as the door of the bakery below him opened and someone walked out. Eager for a change of pace, the Noah hopped off the roof, landing silently in the snow slumped half-heartedly against the weathered building and observing them. It was obvious they weren't an akuma, and his mood sank once again, but something about them still kept him intrigued enough to follow them from shadow to shadow as they made their way down the street.
They were carrying a stack of books and scrolls that teetered over their –or his, rather, as their frame was obviously masculine- head, occasionally shifting it from arm to arm as if carrying such a load was standard procedure for him. His hair, kept in check with a strangely patterned headband, was a shade of red that looked almost scarlet in the dying light. Scarf, boots, gloves, coat, all standard winter gear, though there was something strangely familiar about that coat…
Tyki stepped out of the darkness in front of the stranger, who stopped abruptly, a single scroll rolling from the top of his stack as he shifted it to the side to see who had accosted him. The one of his eyes that wasn't covered by a plain eye patch was a brilliant green, alert, wary, but oddly friendly, and there it was, the anomaly in his coat: the Rose Cross seal that was all too familiar to the Noah family. Tyki's golden eyes widened in surprise for a brief moment before his featured returned to their usual pokerface. What was an Exorcist doing out on a night like tonight? A slow grin spread across Tyki's face. The idiot still hadn't recognized him. Apparently it was just dark enough that his complexion didn't show.
"Good evening," He tipped his hat, exposing the row of crosses branded across his forehead, eyes glittering in the light of a nearby streetlamp conveniently being lit at that moment, "Exorcist."
Hesitation and confusion in that green eye vanished like a flash of lightning, the imprint still burned into Tyki's retinas. One of the exorcist's hands was at his belt in an instant, withdrawing a small hammer, presumably his Innocence, that with a single word from him extended a good ten feet, so that Tyki had to stumble back to avoid its first swing. In the flurry of sudden action, the stack of papers the exorcist had been carrying fell, some settling in the snow, still other loose sheets scattering on the cold wind. If there was one thing Tyki could commend the Black Order on, it was their units' reaction times.
He avoided another swing of the hammer, which was still growing in size, though the exorcist didn't seem fazed by its weight. His body hummed with adrenaline and he laughed, his senses finally coming to life at this little bit of action. As the weapon made another pass at him, it trailed fire, singing the air and turning the snow firmly affixed to the street to puddles in an instant.
Oh, hell no. Dodging a few blows was all good fun, but if this killjoy was gonna start bringing out the big guns soon, he wasn't worth a good fight. Still taking advantage of the last seconds of surprise still evident on the exorcist's face, he darted forward and plunged his hand into his chest, quickly finding the pulmonary artery and squeezing firmly. Without and blood flow to the brain, it was only a matter of seconds before the exorcist's weapon slid from his fingers and he slumped against the Noah in a dead faint.
Tyki stood for a moment, his hand withdrawn enough to keep him alive, the other's warm body slumped against his. This was an odd predicament. He could either release the exorcist and return to his post to wait for what would probably be hours of useless chatter from the akuma about how fun humans were, kill the barely breathing teen slowly slipping into a crumpled heap in the snow right now, destroy his Innocence, and be commended by the Earl and sent straight back to more boring bullshit errands immediately, or he could keep him alive, return to the Ark, and most likely get a reprimand and a few months to relax as 'punishment'. The last of these sounded like the best option, so with a conniving chuckle, Tyki summoned the Ark's gate to his present location and kicked the unconscious body through the portal, feeling rather pleased with himself as he did so.
Lavi was, in a word, tired. Insomnia wasn't new to him, but the strain being put on his body by his latest assignment was evident on his face for the first time in a while. He found his composure cracking occasionally, his face slipping into the moody scowls of his past selves when he least suspected it. Bookman warned him about involvement. He warned and nagged and smacked and prodded and didn't do shit to help his weary apprentice.
Lavi suspected it was the people that tired him out. He'd had to get close to them in the past, but it was never this many people, or people this relatable to. They seemed to just get him, and it unnerved him. He was constantly on edge, and that tired him out. Made him slow and weak.
He needed a break, that much was certain. And what could be more of a perfect mini vacation than trudging miles into town with a stack of ancient, obsolete but still interesting Order archives to a remote confectionary where he could read and think and sip bitter coffee all day in peace? He'd left in the night so no one would question him or ask to come with, and had spent till sunset curled in the window seat, happily skimming the archaic parchments and saturating his brain in new, useless knowledge. He must have driven the barista mad managing to get about four pots of coffee free when she promised him early than morning with a smile, "Free refills all day!"
He'd finished the last of the stack with a contented sigh just as she was making her way over to him, lips pursed, to kindly ask him to get out already so she could close shop. He happily obliged, already feeling better by leaps and bounds, somewhat of a spring even returning to his step as he made his way out, that was, until he met the Noah.
After those carnivorous amber eyes had fixed upon his own, it had all been a rush of survival instincts kicking in. Fight or Flight. Battle tactics. Psychological warfare. Nature versus nurture? Whatever. His brain tended to rapid-fire information at him when it was least convenient, running through the databases in his mind for the perfect solution at lightning speed.
It still hadn't been fast enough. The second he saw the Noah dart forwards, he'd known it was over. He didn't even have time to deck that motherfucking prettyboy asshole in the face before he felt himself slipping, a sickening weight ripping through his chest cavity. The edges of his vision blurred, and the last of his thoughts were of how much of a pity it was such beautiful manuscripts were being scattered to the winds before he lost consciousness.