Hello again everyone! AquilaFalcon here with another piping hot idea fresh out the oven. My boyfriend and I were talking about Homestuck and through my attempts to convert him (even though it hasn't worked yet), I thought of writing days in the life of the Varia...Homestuck style. Thus, Variastuck was born! I wrote in second person POV and added a bit of snarki-ness into the story. By no provocation of my own; it just sneaks in there sometimes. I hope you enjoy this since it's more or less me having a bit of fun.
Title: Variastuck
Inspired By: AH and Homestuck.
Summary: I'm going to give you a glimpse into the life of the Varia firsthand. Let's join together as omnipotent beings and observe the Varia and their wild antics. No pairings, just crack and humor.
Rating: M for the Varia's horrid language.
Disclaimer: I do not own KHR! or the Varia. They all collectively belong to Akira Amano.
You approach a castle deep in the murky forests of Italy. It appears to be an ominous castle although there is no moat. There are no alligators or concealed cannons, either. So why do you feel such a sense of trepidation the closer you get to the castle? You're an omnipotent presence much like your guide, so it's highly illogical for you to be feeling anything of the sort. For the sake of all of the other readers who aren't you, though, we should weave a mood of agitation and anxiety. And so we shall.
The air is charged with malicious intent. The primary source stems from the castle inlaid with gray stone. You stop in front of the castle doors and stare at the lion head brass door knockers. Those are some intimidating door knockers. You feel adrenaline snake up your spine. Your skin is cold to the touch. Since you're nothing but a concept in this universe, you can be whatever you want, do whatever you want to do. Your human traits are only verbose exaggerations used for the sole purpose of relating to the reader. I'm awfully sorry for using you this way.
You enter through the castle doors and scale the stairs without as much as a footfall. Nothing compromises to accommodate your ethereal presence, not even the macabre flaming torches that line the halls. You approach a crimson door lined with a refreshing blue, like the color of a puddle of rain water. There are numerous stains on the surface of the door made from liquor of various types. The spicy scent of rum hangs in the air as auburn droplets run their course down the maltreated door. There seemed to be puncture marks in the wood, presumably from blades. This room intrigues you, never mind that it's the only room that you've seen since you've entered the foreboding castle. You decide to enter this room and see who could be residing inside.
After phasing through the door, you see a male standing in the middle of the room with a blade drawn. His longer silver hair runs down his back and sticks to his perspiring forehead. He is donned in nothing but a gray tank top and black pants with matching boots. You examine him longer only to realize that his drawn sword acts as his left arm. He is breathing heavily amidst the dry straw that lays scattered at his feet. A circle of straw dummies were mutilated; some were headless while others' arms had been guillotined off supposedly by the man's blade. His room seemed to be nothing but a large training arena with a bed and vanity cuddled in the far off corners near the small square window. This man must have been an awe-inspiring character of some sort. This man is called Squalo Superbi.
You stare at the male for a moment and infer from the decapitated combat dummies that he enjoys training his body to its limits. He seems adept with swords and things of the like. Judging by the vanity stocked with shampoos and conditioners, he also takes great pride in his flowing silver mane. His gunmetal gray eyes are narrow which brings a stern countenance to his entire face. Nobody better mess with him or they'll regret it.
"Vooooooooooi!" You and I both jump in our skin at Squalo's sudden outburst. You suppose that it's his victory screech. Now that we've had our fun with him for the time being, let's go find someone else to examine.
You leave the room and retrace your steps. You end up in the lobby again and contemplate on where to go. You decide that you're hungry and—even though eating is beyond your list of logical actions—make a journey down the spiraling corridors towards the kitchen. You get lost numerous times since the layout of the castle is something foreign to you. There was a secret compartment inside a secret compartment three times over that led you into a dark basement that was permanently sullied with the stench of putrid flesh, urine, and shit. You left that area immediately by taking a small ground passage that required some sludge traversing. You were outside of the castle again face to face with the lion face brass door knockers. You felt the same cold anxiety snaking back through your veins. Damn you, lion face brass door knockers! You will always impede our process.
After another try at the convoluted hallways, you finally arrive in the kitchen. There you spy two people of interest; a floating infant garbed in a black robe and hat and a blonde boy whose hair completely covered his optical units. The blonde and the baby are each clutching the sides of a box of sugary cereal. Neither is going to let go; not at this crucial point. You examine the box to see what compels the two to fight over the box this way. It was Marshmallow Marching Lumps cereal, the breakfast cereal that should be banned in this universe two times over for how much sugar it contains. Combined with its lack of nutritional value and it was the perfect thing for a rebellious seven-year-old to eat in protest of his parents' lame rules. Parents are lame. So are rules. That's why we're bending the rules. Bending all the rules. Bending the rules like they're bendy straws.
You stare at the blonde male and shrug. Who is that kid? He looks intriguing with the crown on his head. His name is Belphegor. He's technically the youngest member of the Varia, considering that the baby isn't really a baby. Of course we know this because we know everything. By the way he's balancing a peculiarly curved knife on his finger, you can surmise that he likes knives and cutting things. He has a penchant for grinning as seen by the Cheshire morbidly saccharine grin that now adorns his face. He likes stripes. When we go up to his room later, you'll see that his royal suite has purple and black striped walls and that his gold framed bed has a purple and black comforter set. Oh, yes, he's royalty. Legitimately. He came from a kingdom far, far away and joined the Varia after he killed everyone in his castle, including his—
You turn to the baby. His/her name is Mammon. It used to be something else before that incident happened. We don't know the baby's gender because of his/her concealing manner of dress. For all intensive purposes, let us refer to Mammon as a he until we change our minds. It's not like gender would make a difference anyway. Mammon's crabby attitude would still exist and his illusions would continue to pester everyone. With his frog Fantasma, they scour the base and plague whoever crosses them with the stuff of nightmares. It's also a known fact that Mammon prefers sugary cereal and strawberry milk. He loves money more than anything and if Bel used that greed against the small babe, he would have the contents of the cereal box in no time.
The two tug incessantly at the sides of the box without let-up. The poor three-dimensional geometric box will tear any moment and send millions of multi-colored marshmallows soaring across the kitchen. You want to make a motion to stop the boys, but you remember that you are nothing but an ethereal concept like air or the entropic process. You helplessly watch as the cereal box tears down the middle and marshmallows spill onto the black marble counters and floor tiles. Some marshmallows even magically managed to make their way into the bowls of the boys.
"Shishishi, stupid Mammon. Now we both don't have cereal." Belphegor berated.
"That cereal cost three dollars and fifteen cents. I want you to give me my money back." Mammon countered. Belphegor's grin dropped immediately before it returned in full force.
"Shishishi. The prince shouldn't have to pay you for cereal that he used his own credit card to get."
"That was after I snuck into Boss' office and got that platinum card for you!"
"Shishishishishi, fucking little liar; I got my card all on my own!"
"That's a lie and you know it!"
"Mammon, press yourself against the wall."
"For what?"
"Target practice, you silly baby."
You leave the kitchen because you don't want to see the bloodshed. You still have four more people to meet. Well, three people and a robot. Gola Mosca has his own room, but due to him being a robot, it's devoid of personality. How do I know? We're both omnipotent in context, remember? Let's just avoid his room until later. Gola Mosca can't even talk.
For now, you go back up the stairs and reach a bright red door with gold lining. There are no defects on this door; in fact, it looks brand new compared to its worn surroundings. You enter the room and see a confusing and scarring sight. A man with brown hair with a side part of green locks is dancing with a feathery red boa laced delicately around his neck. He isn't wearing a shirt, so you have a full view of his abs which are spectacular, by the way. You get it? S-pec-tacular? Because…pecs? Your glare is telling me to shut up so I will.
This man is known as Lussuria. He is flamboyantly gay. Flamboyantly. There is nothing that can be said to refute his homosexuality. That would explain a lot of what you're seeing. Plastered on the wall nearest his bed are pictures of cold bodies in the early stages of rigor mortis. The television in his room is blasting quick packed house music and projecting an image of five scantily-clad glistening men in thongs gyrating to the energy-packed beats. Lussuria is the oldest in this castle and the oldest in the Varia.
A quizzical look crosses your face. Varia? These freaks of nature have a name? Yes, they do. They're an assassination organization that works under the Vongola Family. Even though they call themselves the independent assassination squad, they know they'd do whatever Iemitsu asked of them. Their leader is Xanxus, and you've wandered into his room without permission while I was preoccupied with explaining things. You didn't even ask. I was going to—geez, just go ahead and stand on his desk, why don't you? He can't see you. You don't even exist. No, you shut up and let me explain who the fuck you're staring at.
Xanxus is currently sitting at his desk, his legs kicked atop of his solid rosewood desk. A fireplace with a strong burning fire casts a shadow on the man's stern countenance. His red eyes seem to look through everything, everyone, and every omnipotent being that could be occupying his space at the time. There are two bookcases filled to the top shelf with…well, books. Books and skulls. They look like raccoon skulls. You hastily turn away and look deeper into the dark room. A short hallway presumably leads to a bathroom and a master bedroom. You decide not to go into the master bedroom. You instead stare at the maroon sofa that's pressed against the opposite wall and wish that you were sitting on it. Then you sit on it. The sofa cushion doesn't register your ass print.
"Voooooi! Stupid fucking boss!" Would you look at that? It's Squalo!
"What do you want, scum?" Xanxus replies to the male with a scowl on his face. You come to realize that he has a few scars brought on by an incident prior.
"I went into the kitchen and there were fucking marshmallows all over the place!"
"What the fuck's that have to do with me?"
"...I—!"
"You come to me for every little fucking thing. Go clean that shit up and bring me my tequila."
"I'm not the fucking maid in this goddamn castle and Lussuria is still dancing in his room!"
"Trash! That's not my damn problem!"
"Boss! Boss!"
Oh for fuck's sake. You turn to see a tall male taking up the width and height of the doorway with his bulk. His facial hair and the hair that sits spiked atop his head give him an electrocuted appearance. His piercings pick up the warm light emitted by the fire and twinkle in response. There seems to be two rows of three parasols strapped to his broad back. Who is this guy? His name is Leviathan, the Varia's self-proclaimed lightning rod. His only purpose in life is to serve Xanxus, a man that could give less than two shits about him. He would willingly jump in front of a train if the man told him to. Beyond that, he has a habit of being reduced to being the butt monkey of the Varia. His mission completion speeds are the best amongst the squad, however, and his mercilessness is renowned. It's said that he's clumsy, but whatever! That's just Mammon, and anyone who doesn't pay him back on time is either clumsy or incompetent. It can't be helped.
You stare on as Xanxus regards the behemoth man with a glare. It was then that you notice that the guy is wearing a raccoon's tail in his hair. You stifle your laugh even though you have no reason to; they won't be able to hear you. You and your silly human conventions. "What do you want, scum?"
"I think that Bel is trying to drown Mammon again!"
"Voooooi! First they fuck up the kitchen and now the bathroom?" Squalo's sword sliced through the air as he flails with no regard to how close he is to Xanxus' hair.
"There's water running into the hallway from Bel's room and I can hear Mammon choking!" Levi keeps rambling on about the aquatic homicide being performed right on base while Xanxus become more irate.
"Get me my fucking tequila, trash! Either one of you; I don't care! Just get me my liquor!"
"Yes, sir!" Levi's figure leaves the doorway, leaving only Xanxus and Squalo. You decide that you've had enough of Squalo's yelling and Xanxus' attitude and make your way to Belphegor's room.
When you scale up another flight of stairs and arrive at Bel's room, you do in fact see water flooding the hallway. Does it really take that much water to drown an infant with extreme mental prowess? Well, I suppose that since the baby is flying, it would take a bit of extra elbow grease to hold him under…
What are you waiting for? There's blatant child abuse going on in there!
Before you can enter, Lussuria punches the door in and storms Bel's room. You didn't expect Bel to take such an interest in wood paneling. It was beautiful. His bed and wall did in fact share the same purple and black striped décor. Was my call good or what? You follow Lussuria into the bathroom where a good deal of yelling occurs before Bel is launched out of the bathroom. He sails through the air and his head hits his solid gold bed frame. With the sound of fragile human skull meeting tempered metal ringing through the room, Bel's tiara falls off and lands on the soaked wood with a clatter. His body follows shortly after. Lussuria comes out of the bathroom with a waterlogged Mammon underneath his arm. His face looks pale. No time to waste. Mammon might already be…might already be…oh no! Lussuria runs out of the room, leaving Bel face-down in the few inches of water that was produced from Mammon's attempted drowning. You contemplated flipping him over. Not like you could anyway. You leave the room and go down to the lobby where all of the Varia sans Gola Mosca—freaking useless hunk of scrap metal—and an incapacitated Bel are gathered. Mammon's still body is in the midst of his more burly counterparts.
"Oh, what do we do?" That was Lussuria! "He might already be dead!"
"Voooooi! When Bel wakes up, I'm going to kill that little shit!" Squalo voiced his ire.
"So, he's already dead?" Leave it to Levi to be so insensitive. Everyone gives Levi a glare that says, 'geez, leave it to you to be so insensitive.'
"We might have to give him CPR!" Lussuria exclaims while poking the tiny infant's stomach.
"Fuck this; call me when it's over." Xanxus turns away while downing a shot of tequila.
"But boss! Maybe you can save him!"
"Fuck that, scum! Do it yourself; I'm not kissing a fucking baby!"
"Don't be so selfish, idiot boss!"
"What did you say, trash?"
"I'm not doing it." Levi suddenly states while the other two men argue and the flamboyant man laments. They all turn to Mr. Insensitive and raise their eyebrows.
"That's not fucking fair! We have to do one-two-three not it!" Squalo interjects irately.
"What are you, shitting in diapers?"
"It's customary!"
"The more we argue the more Mammon dies!"
You watch as the four men stand around Mammon's body and prepare to play the game. That's all it is. A game. "One-two-three not it" is a grade school game. Each man starts at the same time; "one…two…three…not it!" The four men all yelled out the ending at the same time…seemingly. Squalo was too loud and too late by a few seconds that would have been insignificant in any other situation. Because it was "one-two-three not it," though, those few seconds meant that Squalo was to give…
The kiss of life.
"Vooooooooi! Two out of three!"
"Just do it, scum, so I can get another shot!"
"…c…can't I use a turkey baster or something?"
"NO!" The other three men yell in unison to put Squalo in his place. The man with the silver hair gets on his knees and scowls down at the prostrate baby. It was Mammon's fault for being held underneath by that stupid prince anyway. Ah, the wonder of Squalo's reasoning.
You cringe when Squalo's lips engulf Mammon's. The "kiss of life" only lasted for a moment before Mammon sits up and smacks Squalo stark across the face. Fantasma sits on the infant's head, coming from out of nowhere. Honestly, that frog scared you. Squalo holds his cheek, clearly humiliated. Then Bel's scratchy chortle trickled into the lobby from the top of the staircase.
"What the fuck; I just saved your life!"
"You could have just used a goddamn turkey baster or something! You're getting charged for that prolonged physical contact by the way!"
You've had enough of the Varia for today. As Bel's 'shishishi' breaks into a full-blown guffaw, you exit the lobby and traverse the long hallway to the front doors. You would come and visit again, just not too soon. You cast one more glance at the lion head brass door knockers and raise your fist in misguided derision towards them.
Damn you, lion head brass door knockers.
Damn you to hell.
I don't think I did a very good job for my first try. Perhaps I'll get better as I continue on. I hope you guys continue to support me.
And yes, I think that Squalo would always lose "One-Two-Three not it" because he's more focused on being loud.
xAF