Making the Band
Pales Megami (Lady_Ako@hotmail.com)
Disclaimer: Weiss Kreuz and all its characters belong to their respectful owners; they are not mine (damn it). D.N.Angel and all its characters belong to Yukiru Sugisaki; they are not mine either (damn it!). All rights reserved. And I have no money.
R/R, please! ^^
Chapter One
The silence was broken only by the ticking of the clock.
"*All* of you?" Birman finally spluttered. "You're telling that all four of you-- all four!-- are backing out of this?"
"Yes." Aya coughed and wiped his streaming nose with a wad of tissues.
"We're really sorry," said a rather wretched-looking Omi. "Really. But--"
"We just can't do it," Ken finished. Yohji nodded fervently beside him.
Birman was at a complete loss. What was she supposed to do when all four assassins backed out of a mission? A very *important* mission, at that? Kritiker had given her strict instructions to fully carry this one out, with a very meaningful "Or else." implied. She sighed. And it wasn't even like this mission was dangerous or anything. Hell, compared to every mission they'd gotten in the past, *this* one ought to be a breeze. The guys should have been jumping at the chance to accept rather than flatly turn it down...
"Can you at least tell me *why*?"
Aya coughed again. "Health related issues." The red-head let out another hacking cough and a sneeze as if to prove his point.
"OK, so Aya has a cold. The rest of you can sing perfectly fine."
"Sing, sure, but dance?" Ken waved a hand at his cast-encased leg. "Sorry. No can do."
Oh, for the love of... "What's wrong with two people, then?" Birman was starting to feel a little hysterical. "I mean, look at KinKi Kids! And Savage Garden!"
"Savage Garden broke up two years ago," Yohji pointed out.
"I don't care!" Birman positively screamed with rage. "All four of you, and I mean *all four of you*, are going on this mission whether you like it or not! End of story! Or else!"
*~*~
"All four of them backed out?" Manx repeated in a disbelieving tone.
"Yes." I hope that cold Aya has turns out to be the Ebola virus. "We're going to have to report to Kritiker and tell them they'll have to do it themselves--"
"No," Manx interrupted sulkily. Miserably. "Kritiker's up to its ears with the Shizuhara case. And besides, "she added, quirking an eyebrow, "do you really think *Kritiker* can seriously carry out *this* mission?"
Rather disturbing images floated around both women's heads.
"No."
"No."
"OK, then," Birman sighed. She flopped wearily into the swivel chair opposite the red-head. "I guess the only thing left to do is to get replacements."
"Huh. This sounds like that American movie with Keanu Reeves."
"Manx, I'm serious. We can't turn down this mission; it's too important. It's the only way."
Manx screwed up her face, feeling absolutely torn. "OK, all *right*," she snapped. "Replacements. Only one thing-- where are we going to get four guys who can sing and dance *and* are hot to boot?"
*~*~
"Dark, I am *not* going to the karaoke bar with you!"
Daisuke Niwa and his kaitou counterpart glared death-daggers at each other from opposite sides of the room. Dark, in the process of putting on skin-tight leather pants, wobbled dangerously on one foot. What *was* the kid's *problem*? Damn pants... he struggled to get his feet through the proper pant legs. He *made* Krad promise not to kill anyone...
"...me to do always end up a disaster," Daisuke ranted on. "I am *not* going to let you drag me into any more of your schemes. So there."
"*Schemes*?" Dark's face turned a brilliant shade of red. "*Schemes*? This is *not* a *scheme*, Daisuke! It's an *invitation*. A *social opportunity*. So *there*."
"Whatever. I'm still not going."
Damn it! Dark may have made Krad promise not to kill anyone, but there was still the promise that he himself had made. The kaitou had a sudden mental image of a pair of icy blue eyes... gah! Fourteen year olds aren't supposed to be that creepy! Dark supposed that Daisuke was actually right-- this was a scheme, really-- but that was no excuse for not coming. Gritting his teeth, the kaitou tried again.
"Why don't you want to come?" he weedled. "I mean, you've sung in front of your entire school, including Creepy Bastard. What's wrong with a karaoke bar?"
"That's different." Daisuke paused. "And Satoshi and Krad are exactly 'what's wrong'."
"I though Satoshi was your friend."
"Yes, but Krad isn't. And besides, I know what'll happen. Krad will be trying to murder us both--"
"I made him promise!"
"--and cuddle Satoshi, and *Satoshi* will be trying to catch you, and *you* will be trying to get into Satoshi *and* Krad's pants." Daisuke glared again, then bent over his algebra homework, scribbling feverishly.
Dark looked appalled. "Get into their pants?" he spat. "Daisuke. Please. If you want to talk like that, do it somewhere else."
"Well, you would."
"I most certainly would *not*."
"Fine. Whatever you say."
"The word is *seduce*, Dai-chan. *Seduce*." Jump into their pants... ha. He slipped his sweater, a deep, rich purple, on over his head. Daisuke was still scrawling algebraic equations; damn that kid. What am I going to tell the Creepy Bastard? Dark sighed.
"Daisuke."
No response.
"Look," he continued nonetheless. "Just--just come. Please? Do it as a favor. For me. I really want you to come."
Silence.
Well, you can't blame me for not trying. Rolling his eyes exasperatedly, Dark wrenched open the bedroom door. He was just about to close it behind him when he heard the squeak of a swivel chair.
"Dark... wait."
Daisuke peered around the doorway, coat in hand.
"OK. Let's go."
*~*~
The stench of beer and closely-pressed bodies was almost unbearable. Birman wrinkled her nose as she scanned the crowded bar. It had been Manx's idea to come here, and while it sounded good at the beginning, it seemed like a big mistake once they were actually in.
"Manx..."
"Hush. Yes, I *am* sure about this." The red-head popped some peanuts into her mouth. "It's the perfect place. There's bound to be some good catches here."
Birman was tempted to retort with a scathing remark, but she kept her mouth shut. She had to admit, a karaoke bar was the perfect place. *A* karaoke bar. As in, any karaoke bar other than the one they were sitting in.
For one thing, it seemed to be more of a teen hangout; an eighteen-and-under club-- that sold beer. Girls and boys alike, ranging from the seemingly innocent ten-year-old to the definitely not so innocent eighteen-year-old, danced and partied away. Birman wondered incredulously how some of these kids managed to hide their outrageous outfits from their parents; kids who showed *that* much skin ought to be arrested. Strobe and neon disco lights flashed on and off, illuminating the bar's occupants in eerie, almost frightening ways. Beer flowed; hips gyrated; more beer flowed. A boy of about fifteen, drunk nearly to the point of puking, stumbled past their table. A girl no older than twelve was sucking on his neck like a leech, dead drunk as well. Birman stared after them in shock; Manx ate some more peanuts.
And then there was the singing, or lack thereof. Despite the fact that it was a karaoke bar, there was very little karaoke going on. Birman had a growing suspicion that the owners were actually running a big teen orgy and disguised it as a karaoke bar to waylay suspicion. The few brave, if somewhat drunk, souls who actually went up to the mic were absolutely *terrible*. No-- they were beyond terrible. They grated Birman's ear's. They made her want to run out into the forest and gruesomely kill cute, fluffy animals. And *enjoy* it. And the worse thing, and the *worse* thing was, OK, there was Manx just sitting there, cool as you please, eating those disgusting salty peanuts...
*~*~
"--to turn it *on*, you moron."
"Oh, shut up."
There was the nasal, earsplitting whining of the microphone. Daisuke winced, looking round the crowd in embarrassment. Nobody had noticed; or if they had, they simply didn't care. The red-headed boy sullenly turned back to Dark wrestling with the microphone stand. He was starting to regret his decision to come along. In fact, he had started regretting it even before they'd stepped through the door. The trip from home to the karaoke bar had not been a pleasant one. Dark nearly got himself run over while attempting to flag down a taxi, which set him a rotten mood that lasted the entire ride to Hiwatari's apartment. He perked up considerably when Satoshi and Krad emerged: Satoshi in a button-down grey shirt-- half unbuttoned-- and tight-fitting jeans; Krad dressed entirely in white leather. Daisuke sat stiffly sandwiched between Satoshi and Krad, while Dark enjoyed the privilege of the front seat. All four were silent the entire time; the tension in the atmosphere threated to snap at any moment. What with Krad sending blood-curdling, poison-filled glares in his direction and Dark continually glancing hungrily at both Satoshi *and* Krad, Daisuke wanted to break down and cry-- before flinging himself out the taxi window, of course.
Somehow, everyone made it out of the taxi alive, well, and sane, much to Daisuke's dismay. If he thought the ride here was bad, actually being here was ten times worse. The other three, however, were completely unfazed by the chaos ensuing around them. In fact, they seemed rather bored by it. ~Why did you agree to come?~ Daisuke lamented for the hundreth time. ~Why? Aren't you supposed to be *smart*?~
"Hey, Dai-chan." A grinning Dark gave him a light bop on the shoulder. "Ready to make everyone feel your breeze (1)?"
"Oh, definitely," he snapped.
"Great. Hold on, gotta get Creepy Bastard and Kradders. Tell the DJ person to start the music. We're gonna make Johnny proud (2)."
*~*~
Birman squinted at the stage. Was that-- yes, there definitely some movement on the stage. Four people, it looked like, one of them losing a battle to the microphone. She nudged Manx.
"Manx... I think someone's going to sing."
"Oh, gods no. Don't they sell ear plugs in here or anything?"
Birman glared at her friend. "Manx, it was *your* idea to come here. We're supposed to be scouting for talent, not eating peanuts and drinking booze."
"Talent? Where? Birman, the last 'singer' practically made my ears bleed." Manx sulkily crammed some peanuts into her mouth. "Come on. We're leaving. I can't take this crap anymore."
"But-- but--"
"No. Come *on*--"
"iI say..."
"Feel your breeze..."
"Any time, any where, in my heart..."/i
The two women immediately stopped bickering. Birman snapped her head in the direction of the stage, hardly daring to believe her ears.
She heard singing. Good singing. *Excellent* singing. It was really, actually, truly *singing*.
i"Feel your breeze..."
"Never stop walking on, whoa~"/i
Birman grabbed Manx's unresisting arm and shoved her way through the sea of bodies, towards the stage, towards the glorious singing. Unfortunately, everyone else in the bar had the same idea in mind. Fights and scuffles broke out as they struggled to get as close to the stage as possible. Finally, with several sharp jabs with her elbow and kicks of her high-heeled feet, Birman managed to break free from the mass and find an empty spot right in front of the singers. She looked up; Manx did the same. Both women's jaws dropped.
About a foot in front of them, on the stage, were four guys crooning and dancing to V6 in perfect harmony and synchrocy. They could sing. They could dance. *And* they were hot to boot.
"Manx..." Birman tightened her grip on her friend's arm, never taking her eyes off the singers.
"Yes."
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking."
"*Yes*."
"Good. You take the back door; I'll take the front. Knock them all unconscious if they try to leave."
=End chapter one=
A/N: (1) Referring to V6's recent single "Feel Your Breeze." It's a cute song; the music video is even cuter ^_^ I have the mp3, if anyone's interested. Just email me.
(2) Referring to Johnny's Junior (I *think* that's the name-- could be Johnny's Entertainment. Or something.), which is the company that produces V6.
Wow. This chapter alone took me three months to write x_x It's long; and it sucks. Sorry. If anyone comes up with a cure for writer's block... :P Anyway. About the fic. This is just a silly fic that was inspired by a comic my sister drew, in which the Backstreet Boys hired the Gundam Boys to become a boy band in order to infiltrate an enemy headquarters. Instead of the Backstreet Boys, I have the Weiss boys, and replaced the G boys with the four bishies of D.N.Angel. Hopefully, the following chapters won't take such a long time to write. Reviews are gladly appreciated, and will help speed up the writing process. ::cough cough:: ^_-
Pales Megami (Lady_Ako@hotmail.com)
Disclaimer: Weiss Kreuz and all its characters belong to their respectful owners; they are not mine (damn it). D.N.Angel and all its characters belong to Yukiru Sugisaki; they are not mine either (damn it!). All rights reserved. And I have no money.
R/R, please! ^^
Chapter One
The silence was broken only by the ticking of the clock.
"*All* of you?" Birman finally spluttered. "You're telling that all four of you-- all four!-- are backing out of this?"
"Yes." Aya coughed and wiped his streaming nose with a wad of tissues.
"We're really sorry," said a rather wretched-looking Omi. "Really. But--"
"We just can't do it," Ken finished. Yohji nodded fervently beside him.
Birman was at a complete loss. What was she supposed to do when all four assassins backed out of a mission? A very *important* mission, at that? Kritiker had given her strict instructions to fully carry this one out, with a very meaningful "Or else." implied. She sighed. And it wasn't even like this mission was dangerous or anything. Hell, compared to every mission they'd gotten in the past, *this* one ought to be a breeze. The guys should have been jumping at the chance to accept rather than flatly turn it down...
"Can you at least tell me *why*?"
Aya coughed again. "Health related issues." The red-head let out another hacking cough and a sneeze as if to prove his point.
"OK, so Aya has a cold. The rest of you can sing perfectly fine."
"Sing, sure, but dance?" Ken waved a hand at his cast-encased leg. "Sorry. No can do."
Oh, for the love of... "What's wrong with two people, then?" Birman was starting to feel a little hysterical. "I mean, look at KinKi Kids! And Savage Garden!"
"Savage Garden broke up two years ago," Yohji pointed out.
"I don't care!" Birman positively screamed with rage. "All four of you, and I mean *all four of you*, are going on this mission whether you like it or not! End of story! Or else!"
*~*~
"All four of them backed out?" Manx repeated in a disbelieving tone.
"Yes." I hope that cold Aya has turns out to be the Ebola virus. "We're going to have to report to Kritiker and tell them they'll have to do it themselves--"
"No," Manx interrupted sulkily. Miserably. "Kritiker's up to its ears with the Shizuhara case. And besides, "she added, quirking an eyebrow, "do you really think *Kritiker* can seriously carry out *this* mission?"
Rather disturbing images floated around both women's heads.
"No."
"No."
"OK, then," Birman sighed. She flopped wearily into the swivel chair opposite the red-head. "I guess the only thing left to do is to get replacements."
"Huh. This sounds like that American movie with Keanu Reeves."
"Manx, I'm serious. We can't turn down this mission; it's too important. It's the only way."
Manx screwed up her face, feeling absolutely torn. "OK, all *right*," she snapped. "Replacements. Only one thing-- where are we going to get four guys who can sing and dance *and* are hot to boot?"
*~*~
"Dark, I am *not* going to the karaoke bar with you!"
Daisuke Niwa and his kaitou counterpart glared death-daggers at each other from opposite sides of the room. Dark, in the process of putting on skin-tight leather pants, wobbled dangerously on one foot. What *was* the kid's *problem*? Damn pants... he struggled to get his feet through the proper pant legs. He *made* Krad promise not to kill anyone...
"...me to do always end up a disaster," Daisuke ranted on. "I am *not* going to let you drag me into any more of your schemes. So there."
"*Schemes*?" Dark's face turned a brilliant shade of red. "*Schemes*? This is *not* a *scheme*, Daisuke! It's an *invitation*. A *social opportunity*. So *there*."
"Whatever. I'm still not going."
Damn it! Dark may have made Krad promise not to kill anyone, but there was still the promise that he himself had made. The kaitou had a sudden mental image of a pair of icy blue eyes... gah! Fourteen year olds aren't supposed to be that creepy! Dark supposed that Daisuke was actually right-- this was a scheme, really-- but that was no excuse for not coming. Gritting his teeth, the kaitou tried again.
"Why don't you want to come?" he weedled. "I mean, you've sung in front of your entire school, including Creepy Bastard. What's wrong with a karaoke bar?"
"That's different." Daisuke paused. "And Satoshi and Krad are exactly 'what's wrong'."
"I though Satoshi was your friend."
"Yes, but Krad isn't. And besides, I know what'll happen. Krad will be trying to murder us both--"
"I made him promise!"
"--and cuddle Satoshi, and *Satoshi* will be trying to catch you, and *you* will be trying to get into Satoshi *and* Krad's pants." Daisuke glared again, then bent over his algebra homework, scribbling feverishly.
Dark looked appalled. "Get into their pants?" he spat. "Daisuke. Please. If you want to talk like that, do it somewhere else."
"Well, you would."
"I most certainly would *not*."
"Fine. Whatever you say."
"The word is *seduce*, Dai-chan. *Seduce*." Jump into their pants... ha. He slipped his sweater, a deep, rich purple, on over his head. Daisuke was still scrawling algebraic equations; damn that kid. What am I going to tell the Creepy Bastard? Dark sighed.
"Daisuke."
No response.
"Look," he continued nonetheless. "Just--just come. Please? Do it as a favor. For me. I really want you to come."
Silence.
Well, you can't blame me for not trying. Rolling his eyes exasperatedly, Dark wrenched open the bedroom door. He was just about to close it behind him when he heard the squeak of a swivel chair.
"Dark... wait."
Daisuke peered around the doorway, coat in hand.
"OK. Let's go."
*~*~
The stench of beer and closely-pressed bodies was almost unbearable. Birman wrinkled her nose as she scanned the crowded bar. It had been Manx's idea to come here, and while it sounded good at the beginning, it seemed like a big mistake once they were actually in.
"Manx..."
"Hush. Yes, I *am* sure about this." The red-head popped some peanuts into her mouth. "It's the perfect place. There's bound to be some good catches here."
Birman was tempted to retort with a scathing remark, but she kept her mouth shut. She had to admit, a karaoke bar was the perfect place. *A* karaoke bar. As in, any karaoke bar other than the one they were sitting in.
For one thing, it seemed to be more of a teen hangout; an eighteen-and-under club-- that sold beer. Girls and boys alike, ranging from the seemingly innocent ten-year-old to the definitely not so innocent eighteen-year-old, danced and partied away. Birman wondered incredulously how some of these kids managed to hide their outrageous outfits from their parents; kids who showed *that* much skin ought to be arrested. Strobe and neon disco lights flashed on and off, illuminating the bar's occupants in eerie, almost frightening ways. Beer flowed; hips gyrated; more beer flowed. A boy of about fifteen, drunk nearly to the point of puking, stumbled past their table. A girl no older than twelve was sucking on his neck like a leech, dead drunk as well. Birman stared after them in shock; Manx ate some more peanuts.
And then there was the singing, or lack thereof. Despite the fact that it was a karaoke bar, there was very little karaoke going on. Birman had a growing suspicion that the owners were actually running a big teen orgy and disguised it as a karaoke bar to waylay suspicion. The few brave, if somewhat drunk, souls who actually went up to the mic were absolutely *terrible*. No-- they were beyond terrible. They grated Birman's ear's. They made her want to run out into the forest and gruesomely kill cute, fluffy animals. And *enjoy* it. And the worse thing, and the *worse* thing was, OK, there was Manx just sitting there, cool as you please, eating those disgusting salty peanuts...
*~*~
"--to turn it *on*, you moron."
"Oh, shut up."
There was the nasal, earsplitting whining of the microphone. Daisuke winced, looking round the crowd in embarrassment. Nobody had noticed; or if they had, they simply didn't care. The red-headed boy sullenly turned back to Dark wrestling with the microphone stand. He was starting to regret his decision to come along. In fact, he had started regretting it even before they'd stepped through the door. The trip from home to the karaoke bar had not been a pleasant one. Dark nearly got himself run over while attempting to flag down a taxi, which set him a rotten mood that lasted the entire ride to Hiwatari's apartment. He perked up considerably when Satoshi and Krad emerged: Satoshi in a button-down grey shirt-- half unbuttoned-- and tight-fitting jeans; Krad dressed entirely in white leather. Daisuke sat stiffly sandwiched between Satoshi and Krad, while Dark enjoyed the privilege of the front seat. All four were silent the entire time; the tension in the atmosphere threated to snap at any moment. What with Krad sending blood-curdling, poison-filled glares in his direction and Dark continually glancing hungrily at both Satoshi *and* Krad, Daisuke wanted to break down and cry-- before flinging himself out the taxi window, of course.
Somehow, everyone made it out of the taxi alive, well, and sane, much to Daisuke's dismay. If he thought the ride here was bad, actually being here was ten times worse. The other three, however, were completely unfazed by the chaos ensuing around them. In fact, they seemed rather bored by it. ~Why did you agree to come?~ Daisuke lamented for the hundreth time. ~Why? Aren't you supposed to be *smart*?~
"Hey, Dai-chan." A grinning Dark gave him a light bop on the shoulder. "Ready to make everyone feel your breeze (1)?"
"Oh, definitely," he snapped.
"Great. Hold on, gotta get Creepy Bastard and Kradders. Tell the DJ person to start the music. We're gonna make Johnny proud (2)."
*~*~
Birman squinted at the stage. Was that-- yes, there definitely some movement on the stage. Four people, it looked like, one of them losing a battle to the microphone. She nudged Manx.
"Manx... I think someone's going to sing."
"Oh, gods no. Don't they sell ear plugs in here or anything?"
Birman glared at her friend. "Manx, it was *your* idea to come here. We're supposed to be scouting for talent, not eating peanuts and drinking booze."
"Talent? Where? Birman, the last 'singer' practically made my ears bleed." Manx sulkily crammed some peanuts into her mouth. "Come on. We're leaving. I can't take this crap anymore."
"But-- but--"
"No. Come *on*--"
"iI say..."
"Feel your breeze..."
"Any time, any where, in my heart..."/i
The two women immediately stopped bickering. Birman snapped her head in the direction of the stage, hardly daring to believe her ears.
She heard singing. Good singing. *Excellent* singing. It was really, actually, truly *singing*.
i"Feel your breeze..."
"Never stop walking on, whoa~"/i
Birman grabbed Manx's unresisting arm and shoved her way through the sea of bodies, towards the stage, towards the glorious singing. Unfortunately, everyone else in the bar had the same idea in mind. Fights and scuffles broke out as they struggled to get as close to the stage as possible. Finally, with several sharp jabs with her elbow and kicks of her high-heeled feet, Birman managed to break free from the mass and find an empty spot right in front of the singers. She looked up; Manx did the same. Both women's jaws dropped.
About a foot in front of them, on the stage, were four guys crooning and dancing to V6 in perfect harmony and synchrocy. They could sing. They could dance. *And* they were hot to boot.
"Manx..." Birman tightened her grip on her friend's arm, never taking her eyes off the singers.
"Yes."
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking."
"*Yes*."
"Good. You take the back door; I'll take the front. Knock them all unconscious if they try to leave."
=End chapter one=
A/N: (1) Referring to V6's recent single "Feel Your Breeze." It's a cute song; the music video is even cuter ^_^ I have the mp3, if anyone's interested. Just email me.
(2) Referring to Johnny's Junior (I *think* that's the name-- could be Johnny's Entertainment. Or something.), which is the company that produces V6.
Wow. This chapter alone took me three months to write x_x It's long; and it sucks. Sorry. If anyone comes up with a cure for writer's block... :P Anyway. About the fic. This is just a silly fic that was inspired by a comic my sister drew, in which the Backstreet Boys hired the Gundam Boys to become a boy band in order to infiltrate an enemy headquarters. Instead of the Backstreet Boys, I have the Weiss boys, and replaced the G boys with the four bishies of D.N.Angel. Hopefully, the following chapters won't take such a long time to write. Reviews are gladly appreciated, and will help speed up the writing process. ::cough cough:: ^_-