Summary: "You're weird," the child said. Kuroyuri took in the image of the other blinking at him dumbstruck, unsure whether to be amazed or affronted. Before Toshiro could decide which, the commander stood. "I like it."
Chapter 2
Snow… Merciful snow, beautiful snow, understanding snow.
They fell like endless precipitation that it is. Never-ever-changing. Ever enveloping everything in its wake, to hide, to vanish and engulf everything into a world of white. Of pure, clinical, white.
Snow is many things. Rejecting its beauty is like rejecting the sweetest of vintage wines. For the profundity, its simplistic intricacy, cannot be compared by anything in this world.
And so, it continues. To pour and fall, to fall and pour again; to be adored, and to be welcomed.
Some does not share such impression, however.
Kuroyuri hugged his knees tight to his chest. He felt numb. Sensations of hot and cold had nothing on him. All feelings left him when he lost him. It wasn't completely gone. It was just… just wasn't there, anymore. Leaving only a shell of an abandoned child, of emptiness and that ever dominant solitude. He lifted his head, staring nought ahead at the horizon.
'It's cold without Haruse…'
His mood dampens at the morose thought, the reality he cannot seem to grasp. Without Haruse – his anchor, his shield, his protector; his begleiter, his dearly beloved, his Haruse – everything is dull. A world without Haruse is cold. Cold, grey and dull. A sigh left his lungs as a wisp of his young life slithers away. He should better be off dead than to continue on living like this…
"Kuroyuri-sama."
Kuroyuri with bated breath, a hitch of breath, looks down when he heard his name being called only to have his anticipation blown by the wind.
Oh, how he wishes for Haruse to be here. For Haruse to call his name, for Haruse to worship him with his words alone. To hear his gentle voice and revel in his adoration knowing that the other cares for him. Not… Toshiro. No. Kuroyuri was unenthused to see plain ol' Toshiro. He missed Haruse so. He needed him, so painfully very much. As Haruse needed him so.
But Kuroyuri knew better than to delude himself.
The blond lower was dusted with earthen soil, a tad of flake-patterned snow caught in his already pallid hair. His face has a weary look, drained and exhausted. Despite his bitter state Toshiro held himself quite well. Calm and in control – he was in his element, Kuroyuri absently supplied.
That revelation was supposed to unnerve him, screams suspicions. Instincts basically kicking in to bare teeth and claws. But having been proven wrong every single turn, Kuroyuri learn to look right through each accusation. That does not mean he should like it still. It settled not with him.
He watched Toshiro stood from his squatted position. "We should return to the ship," the lower said as he stepped away from his work, muttering some words under his breath, perhaps a prayer or some foreign language, before returning his attention to Kuroyuri. "It would be best before you catch a cold if we linger-"
"Tell me, Toshiro."
Kuroyuri cut him short. He centred all his attention at the other. Kuroyuri appreciated that Toshiro held his gaze with his although his eyes fought hard not to stray over the carnage they – he – had left.
"Do you feel sorry for them?"
Toshiro inclined his head in response, looking up at Kuroyuri. Waiting for him to elaborate. As if testing him, judging him. The latter did not grant him the satisfaction. Adamantly so. Instead, directly, Kuroyuri spelled it out if not with grinded teeth;
"Do you think we're monsters?"
The blond was visibly in discomfort regarding Kuroyuri's choice of a small talk. There was the wide of the eyes, briefly, and then normalcy. That was it. It did not give him away any besides, uninterestingly so; his expression yields nothing more than staying neutral. But unfortunately, that was inconsequential.
Kuroyuri wanted to see, truly see, Toshiro behind that gutsy yet overly bearably polite, silver-tongued, narcissistic persona of a jerk. Kuroyuri wanted to trust Toshiro just as Haruse did in him. Wherein do their boundary lie, where does it start and where does it end. But to be able to, Kuroyuri knew he could not. For trust is intimate, personal.
Why trust a human, a race he finds little value in their very existence, and even bother to share that bond. The fact that his begleiter had choose to trust this human was beyond him.
Yet there is that multitude of possibilities that he could be… different. He may perhaps be, a novelty in more ways than one. That entirely depends on Toshiro's say in this.
"Why do you say such?"
The commander warsfeil cocked an eyebrow at that. Almost resembling incredulity. Almost.
"Because we are, aren't we?"
Toshiro had the front row seat to witness everything. From their nature to the hate and to the inky darkness held within. It was obvious who they are, apparent what they are. For how long must he be blind and force himself to hold back. Surely not because of their standing.
"Can animals fight their instincts, sir?" caught Kuroyuri off guard. He blinked.
Toshiro continued.
"Do we call these feral creature monsters when they kill to ensure survival?" he questions. "What about us, as a person? Can we fight our innate nature? Can we fight our urges? I think not," Toshiro took the other's indicated silence to answer. "Regardless how strongly we resist or how fervently we try to deny it."
Small lips thinned into a deep frown. Kuroyuri was not a fan to long, cryptic answers. It is lengthy as it is banal – mundane speeches that he would rather tune out than hear – and tests one's patience. Kuroyuri has no patience for such boring story. But Toshiro answered with justifications. He would make an exception, only because he wants the blond's honest opinion.
Kuroyuri listens on.
"A man does what he must – in spite of personal consequences, in spite of obstacles and dangers and pressures. An enemy is an enemy that, no matter how one would look upon it, must be disposed of. It is not a cruelty that one often views. It is a necessary evil."
Toshiro's voice was a drawl and bland, the words escaping him as though have been said time and time again. Empty and indifferent and void of emotions; and yet more than what is actually confer. Ardour, in a way.
"And this war," Toshiro declaimed, "where blind obedience, unthinking stupidity, brutish callousness, wanton destruction, and irresponsible murder comes about. What makes it a difference if hundreds, if not, thousands, fall? Graves have already been dug, fates are sealed. The moment one enters a battlefield is where one lays its rest. By far, it is a mercy."
There was an intake of breath, a suck of cold air. He knows. He knows what it's like. He sees.
He understands.
Fallen snow began to lessen. The wind though was no help to warm the decreasing temperature. Inch by creeping inch new layers builds and deepens without anyone to notice it, filling in the gaps and submerging the uneven ground to a raised height. By the time they left it would revert back to the way it was before. Unassuming and undisturbed. Untouched and unadulterated.
"I do not believe it erroneous by law," Toshiro continued. "As soldiers, we follow our commandment. As you follow yours, sir, and I follow mine. 'Monster', on the other hand, while I digress to its characterization," and his tone implies it true, "is a word people use for something they cannot understand."
Kuroyuri gazed down at Toshiro oddly. He made a face bordering dubious. The latter simply offers a wry smile in return.
"People look upon an individual their actions, their intentions, and then make judgments supposedly based on the good and the bad of black and white, acceptable social norms, where it is, in fact, we, that should mattered in opinions."
Toshiro gestured at himself, at his whole body, with one hand. "I do not understand my very self," he professes. "Am I a monster? Must I understand so I would not become one? No."
He said it straight, firm and candid. Kuroyuri would have believe it if it were not for his stubbornness. Not yet.
"To understand one self, one must empathize with his or her surroundings and the people associated with it. …At least, that is what I believe."
Gradual snow builds up. It covered the dead bodies of fallen enemy soldiers, made it into a hill of a sort. It disguised the makeshift burials which remains unnamed and unmarked. It was supposed to be a tragedy. It is a tragedy. Yet the prospect was not as ominous as it was before. It is– This is… comical.
Kuroyuri preens. Despite himself, Kuroyuri giggled. A soft one that resounds through the clement whiteout. It was merry, out of place and uncanny, considering the heavy air that reeks of death and rotting flesh. Yet the pinket grins, open and gleeful, down at Toshiro.
"You're weird," the child said. He took in the image of the other blinking at him dumbstruck, unsure whether to be amazed or affronted. Before Kuroyuri could let Toshiro decide which, the commander stood. "I like it."
And then, without warning, Kuroyuri jumped a leap of faith.
A rather frantic Toshiro went alarmed in alert. He hesitated back and forth, left and right. Solving calculations and making estimations as rapid as he could. Before the imminent fall. He falters backward at the trust dive when Kuroyuri landed right into his arms. It was a near close call.
Like a purring cat, Kuroyuri clung to the warm body beneath him. The warsfeil did not seem to care for the implications he brought other than pleased at the fact that Toshiro caught him. He caught him. The teen already had him at expunging enemies.
The snow covered ground was mercilessly cold as it is sharply piercing. Though the wintry condition of Antwort was pleasant and tolerable, Toshiro thinks, as he lays his back on the snow, the cold that breaches his body heat sent slight shivers. What little warmth he had was escaping him. His situation did not let up either.
It was awkward, and inappropriate, and Toshiro felt uncomfortable with Kuroyuri-sama's weight atop of him. Poor Toshiro further struggled with his predicament when he belatedly realized he was being hugged. And the older male froze.
How to push a needy child, desperate was so wrong in the right sense of the word, without meaning to offend?
Kuroyuri felt Toshiro tensed under him. He guessed the other was stunned speechless by his, he admitted, strange behaviour. Only when Toshiro heaves a sigh did he knew the other finally relaxed. If not a bit slightly. Kuroyuri did not want to scare him further. He fails to see this through on good terms. Grabbing a handful of his uniform Kuroyuri tugged Toshiro forward, straddling him.
"Don't you even dare say a word about this."
Blossoming heat spread across Kuroyuri's face. From anger or embarrassment, Kuroyuri didn't know which. The other seemed to be oblivious to the fact however. Whether he should be grateful or disappointed was unclear. Kuroyuri certainly was annoyed when Toshiro scoffs, grunting "I would do nothing of the sort" at his otherwise petty threat. Though he tilted his head sideways, Toshiro sounded positively offended.
As the world kept spinning and the clouds drift along with it, they stayed as they were. A natural silence happened with neither party saying anything nor expecting in return.
Kuroyuri let go then. He stayed with knees settling on each side of Toshiro's thighs, unmoving. He looked down on him with hands resting on his heaving abdomen. Kuroyuri contemplates an apology, clutches and unclenches the woolly fabric unconsciously during the process, should the other deserve it well.
"…You are cold."
Toshiro's voice broke through the silence. It would be an accusation if it were not for the concern laced in the lower's voice.
"As I said before," Toshiro continued, attempting to get up, "you will fall sick if we do not return to Ribidzile at once."
He pushed the child off but ended up failing. Kuroyuri was none to make it easier at all, it seems. He surrenders to the soft snow on his back when the child did not let up one bit. The commander was trying. Oh and how Kuroyuri triumphed. A satisfied smile was revealed playing along indulgent lips.
"I would rather avoid such untoward situation before it is to become true."
Kuroyuri made an effort to consider before finally deciding to dismount Toshiro. "Well…" he said, all while a cheeky grin stretch across his puerile face, "I am cold." The grin widens at the thought of an interesting notion, conspiring.
Hands clasped behind his back, Toshiro busying himself with the snow on his form, the commander said his name. Toshiro looked up.
"I want to ride you, Toshiro!" Kuroyuri innocently announces.
The famed church of Barsburg Empire in District Seven is known as a place of peace and protection, a sanctuary in layman's term. Not a place of violence.
It was straight and plain simple. Respect the agreement, ye shalt not be punished nor shalt ye be unpardoned. Choose not to … Well. Let's just say if you do not want to give or receive scandal, follow whatever custom of the church you attend.
They should have played by their rules.
One by one enemy spies fell, lured away for the best interest of the church's holy image towards the public. Tarnishing it would be beyond repair. It was a bad mistake in their assessment, more than ever, to choose on attacking the church just when the yearly important Bishops Apprentice Examination is busily under way. They will not bow down to their aggressor.
Remember now, they forced their hands. And act the church will act in defending their rights.
A dull thump onto the grassy surface was heard as the last of pretending church members were neutralized. The illusion of a garden soon fades to reveal a brick, bleak surrounding of an underground area. No light had probably ever shined its brilliance before in this secret network.
Blood, whether freshly spilled or dried, splattered onto the floor like messy paint. The smell was still as heady. Labrador could taste it in the air.
"It's unfortunate, isn't it? For them to be the insiders."
His gaze was fixed on the floor. Watching silently his flowers laps the glistening streams of red liquid spotless. A faint memory crept at him. It has been too long. Far too long.
Labrador heard footsteps. The steps were purposeful, intent. Harmless. He did not turn; he did not look over his shoulder. He knows who it was, smelled him before he heard him. The person was armed, as ready as to strike quick, though poses no real threat to attack.
"They were good people," Labrador said. He could feel the other relaxed at his voice.
"I know," was answered gently, firmly. "But rules are rules. Mercy would only lead to fatal mistakes that should have been easily prevented from happening."
Labrador removed his gaze to set it upon his friend. He smiled in greeting. Castor was never one to be lenient after all.
The russet haired bishop played with his pliant threads before retracting their deadly claws back inside his hand. He glanced over the damage, assessing their current situation. Castor shared a look with him, considering. "Will this take a while?" he eventually said.
Long vines wrapped itself around lifeless limbs and bodies. All tempting and rewarding. They waited for the gardener's approval, to allow their contemplation to become true and devour the fleshy nutrients. All together eliminating the evidence a bloody nasty scene had ever taken place.
Labrador petted his large Venus fly trap at his side. "Not really." The vines dragged the human remains closer to it as the carnivorous plant licked its eager lips. Labrador was aware of his fellow clergyman's discomfort. There was not much of a choice for another alternative. Besides, they were too excited.
"Let's meet up with Frau and Teito-kun," Labrador proposes.
They did not stay long to watch nature carry out its twisted course.
Regrouping with Teito and Frau had not taken long, the two arriving moments later after them. Lance shortly after. There was not much time to lose. Teito have to escape before the military got a whiff of him. The brunet was clearly aware of that too.
"There are a thousand turns here," Labrador explained an awed Teito. "If you make even one wrong turn, you won't be able to get out. So be careful. Today, I will create a guide for you."
Labrador raised his gloved hand and gestured it forward. Flower petals surged as though they were breathed by a storm. They formed a seamless conduit.
"Follow their path until you reach the end of the tunnel. Do not be tempted to stray," he warned. "You'll know when you get there."
Labrador wished master and apprentice luck when Teito suddenly said, "Wait, Labrador-san. There's something I've been meaning to ask."
Labrador schooled a look of confusion upon his face. He had a grasp on what Teito intended to say, but the boy was not ready to hear it. It is not his place to divulge the truth, much less the others. He has to hear it from the young Kind himself. Yet, the bishop found himself encouraging the brunet either way.
Unsure on how to broach the topic Teito started with a hesitant voice. "Before you- Toshiro- He…" Struggling with his words Teito forced himself to stop knowing full well he was not making sense. Gnawing his bottom lip, Teito wills himself to look up at the older man.
The others too focused their attention upon the petite bishop. Clearly there was something he knew that they did not. They would understand, Labrador knew, but he chose not to share. This is personal.
"Just spill it already. Brat."
Castor smacked the quipping tall blond back to his place in Teito's stead, to which the latter will forever be thankful.
Labrador nods for Teito to continue.
"When you said, it's from him. When I got this… this trinket." The brooch. "What do you- I mean. How do you… How do you know about Toshiro?"
Labrador watched the brunet for a moment. To lie is to sin, and to commit a sin will surely unpleased the Chief of Heaven. "I don't," he settled on saying then. Telling half the truth is not outrightly a lie per se. Labrador could tell his answer caused the brunet's mind to whirl on questions that he should not be asked. "But there is one thing for certain."
That seemed to stop whatever protest that came about to mind.
"From the time you came to the church, Teito-kun, there has been a deep darkness within your heart. In your eyes there is someone that holds in hand a two-edged sword – to bring about the divine protection, or to bring about destruction."
In truth, what Labrador did was actually deliberate. By introducing the utmost importance he diverts away Teito's needless concern regarding his friend.
"If you do not face the darkness," Labrador prophesized, "you will let yourself fall into ruin and become the latter."
His premonitions have always been accurate in every aspect, in every sense of the word. But for the first time ever, Labrador is unsure what lies ahead in wait for those two souls when their paths converge.
"In this short time haven't you often crossed the Bridge of Tribulation? You have already decided to go on ahead, haven't you?"
Teito looked down for a brief second mulling over the other's words before facing forward. His eyes were filled with familiar determination that refuses to die out.
"I'm going to follow in the Father's steps," Teito decided solemnly, "and go to the 'Land of Seele.'"
Labrador heaved an inward sigh at that, though unsettled despite knowing this forthcoming.
"Thank you for looking after me until now." Teito bows his head in respect.
Bishop Lance approached Teito, the bowing brunet standing upright then. The ringlet fringed man leans down at the blinking boy and smiled. He handed Teito his Clergy Pass that reminded the boy of Father's.
"A farewell gift, Teito Klein," Lance explained. He gave him the proof, proof that marked him as a bishop's apprentice. As Frau's apprentice.
Before Teito could express his sincere gratitude, sounds of heavy footsteps was heard. It was heading towards their direction.
"It looks like pursuers are coming," informs Castor. The string manipulator drew out his weaponized-strings as Lance and Labrador drew theirs. "Now go, please go on ahead. We will take care of them."
With that the hawkzile revved on to life. Frau stepped on the gas and sped through the secret passage of a thousand turns with Teito holding onto him tight from behind. Flowery petals and greenery life vines guide their way ensures the three bishops as they watched them disappear with the wind.
In only five hours time, the Barsburg Imperial Army gained total control of all of Antwort. Ayanami was met with the entire force standing in salute at his arrival. Flags of Barsburg wafted by the wind stood erect with pride. Amongst them he did not see his wannabe begleiter awaits his return. Why is he not that surprised?
The chief continued to pass rows upon rows of soldiers, ignoring faces he cared not to recognize nor acknowledge in favour of returning to the warm vicinity that of which Ribidzile grants. Anywhere that would shield him from the frosty wind and ice flakes battering his already cold body.
However, as the fates would not have had it, such indulgence would have to wait.
"Aaaya-tan~" a (unbearably) familiar voice calls out to him. "Souvenirs!"
Oh. What joy.
The silver haired man considered the other's professed 'souvenirs'. Acquainted with Hyuuga's mischievous streak – almost on a daily basis – Ayanami choose the intelligent of options. He decides against it. His subordinate is sure to bring about problematic, ineffable nuisances: Nuisances that he will not allow or concern himself with.
Ayanami continued on his gait. None the faster, none the slower. Unlabored breath and heavy crunch of snow under similar boots he could pick up by hearing alone. The feeling of another following behind him was supposed to raise warning flags. But Ayanami learned to disregard it.
He had come to trust this man, had come to trust those that choose to follow him faithfully. Through thick and thin. No matter his decisions, no matter his choices. Until the damnest end of their damn time. Allowing himself to appear protected by his subordinates, similar to knights and followers pledging their devotion and lives to protect their king and leader, was the least he could do.
Hyuuga easily caught up to him. "Look, look Aya~" he draws for attention. "These combat slaves are strong! It took a minute to catch them."
Between humouring his subordinate and dealing with his persistent pester, Ayanami rather went for the former. He looked over his shoulder once. Battle-sklaves. It was rare to see siblings, much less twins, young and very much alive, surviving in this world of day nowadays. They had potential. A pity he had no use for slaves.
Drawing out his sword, albeit receiving a look of alarm from Hyuuga, Ayanami cuts down the cuffs. "Your king is dead," he said bluntly to the freed twins, weapon sheathed. "Go wherever you like." He faced forward then without much afterthought and marched.
"Ehh?!" came the protesting whine. "What a waste! After the trouble of removing the collar… They have to be as strong as Teito Klein," Hyuuga tried to reason. "I don't think it would be a loss to take them with-"
"You're strong! Rumours of the Black Hawks have reached even this country!"
Ayanami halted to a stop at the interruption of a new voice. Not because of the foreignism of said words, but the lucid familiarity of it. Ayanami remembered not the last he heard the words spoken by anyone's tongue. Although the accent lean towards the northern part of the dialect than what he was used to, both hear and spoke, it was irrefutably of Raggs origin. Of Raggs language.
The dark haired of the two siblings was rather animated. Cheeky voice boldly speaking out loud in an excited manner towards their capturer. He was courageous as well, unlike his twin. The light haired was timid and careful. He was visibly distressed at the other's outburst, desperately trying to stop his brother from voicing his thoughts known. Their audience were the Black Hawks, the ones who won their country in record time.
Still, unyieldingly, the louder one carries on full force.
"Using ordinary zaiphon while fighting warsfeil-" The brother to one lit aflame with admiration. "The warsfeil absorbed everything with unstoppable power! Let me meet your king! I want that power too!"
"I see, I see. You must be hungry, huh?"
Hyuuga smiles helplessly, patting what appears to be the older as the brothers engaged in their mother tongue. It was clear Hyuuga had not understood a word they were saying.
"If," Ayanami said in smooth Raggs, "you want to meet the king, come by your own means."
And then he was off. Only to be stopped by a single question, innocent and naïve and yet harming in the worst way possible:
"Are you the king?"
A mental memory flashed into his mind – of a distinct scene transpiring in that fleeting, blinking seconds painting his subconscious. It reopened an old wound and evokes the precious, the most personal, of recollections. It was clear and vivid and-
Ayanami had to remind himself it was all in the past. He is in the present now. Focus on the present; Plan for the future. Yet, he longed to return to that exact moment. To this peaceful setting before everything collide and become the way things that had come to be.
If only he could reverse time. If only…
There was a man with hair black as ebony. A pair of dark eyes, warm and brilliant, that could soothe the aching of hearts, if he tried, though that was reserved for only one person he made sure, stared down in concentration. Thinly framed glasses sat on a pointy nose, which made the male appear older and mature, threatened to slip but thankfully stayed in its place. Distracted, aware of being watched (a welcomed distraction, actually), the man looked up and stares back. And he smiled.
That dark haired bespectacled man was Yukikaze. Forever his first and last begleiter.
They were alone in his office. Just the two of them. He loved it when it was just the two of them. Sorting paperwork, immersing their selves in the pleasant silence that reign in between. It was almost domestic. But then, he had to interrupt. Had had to ask; had had to know.
It ruined their cadence, of course, for Yukikaze stopped at once. Because Ayanami decided to ask his begleiter – whether Yukikaze regretted having him, whether it was a mistake to have him as his superior. Part of him was pleased, relieved even, at the other's reaction. Even though the simple question itself was mean and despicable and uncalled for.
Immediate fear and panic rushed onto his features as if warring against each other. A worrisome frown ultimately won and claimed its prize upon the dark haired man's bright and handsome face. Then he blinked. He must have noticed his concern, the deep sadness tinged behind his words and hidden ache behind his equally impassive eyes, for he laughed. Yukikaze laughed at his ridiculous notion.
"Whatever has been running through your head? You, sir, think too much." Yukikaze had teased after calming halfway down. "I would gladly follow Ayanami-sama anywhere, even to the ends of the earth!" he averred; "Because I follow the king. My King. And that king…"
Time seemed to stop at that moment. Filled with anticipation, filled with dread. It was flattering altogether that the other declared his assertion, his unbreakable vow – and Ayanami truly believed such extravagance – to him that sealed the deal. He did not for a second doubt the other's genuineness, but he had other reasons for concern.
Yet, for all that agitation, every troubling thought seemed to wash away when Yukikaze stared at Ayanami. Gazed deep into his superior with great intensity.
There was no need for physical contact. No more close propinquity, no more acts or touch of reassurance. Eyes was enough, utterly and intimately so.
Yukikaze tenderly smiled at him. Admiration and respect was apparent, his reverent adoration for his Ayanami-sama true and real and sincere. Softly and gently, yet with steady purpose, he said his piece.
"My only King is you, Ayanami-sama."
'Oh, snow.'
For a moment, the Chief of Staff seemed to have frozen in place. Perhaps he had not understood the question. Perhaps he had not heard it at all. Or perhaps he had not understood the language than the gibberish had been said. It was proven to be untrue when the man resumed his march, as if the pause he intended was deliberate.
"I am not a King," Ayanami replied in fluency and walked away.
Hyuuga tilted his head ever so slightly sneaking side glances at him. Just enough to let Ayanami know, albeit his inability to understand the spoken language, that he knew. Understood what, who, was occupying his mind which had easily robbed his staunch attention and made him… distracted.
Still, Ayanami did not turn to correct him nor would he deny it. In a way, it was probably true.
After he had come all this way, he would not stop. Just as the snow that continues to fall over them and piles up in amount. Just as the lingering memories amassing into one heap bundle of haunting regrets, what-ifs, and pain. He will move forward and advance.
'You are not certain to be in this world. You make me recall my birthplace.'
Toshiro could have sworn he heard his joints went snap, popping in places that shouldn't pop. He could not, tried as he might, muffle a groan from escaping as his sinews stretched into blissful oblivion. Why did he even agree on doing it in the first place? He was too old for giving piggyback rides damnit.
Arching his back one last time, Toshiro turned in time to see Konatsu. The begleiter brought a serving tray of mugs and cups with him. "…Are you okay?" was asked in concern as it was set by the table.
Toshiro did not answer right away. He searched signs for Kuroyuri in the area only to find that the child warsfeil had disappeared. He probably ran off to pay Haruse a visit again.
"I am fine," Toshiro replied then, smoothing down his uniform.
Konatsu nodded. "Do you want a serving too?" the older blond asked once he finished pouring steaming brown liquid – cocoa from the smell of it – into one of the randomly-picked drinkware. The ship must have run out of matching sets.
Toshiro held out a hand. "Thank for preparing much needed drinks, but I will have to pass. If you do not mind." He paused. "Perhaps I should bring Kuroyuri-sama a mug. He would appreciate something warm over the cold."
"I… don't think that's a good idea at the moment."
Toshiro raised an eyebrow at that. "Care to explain?" He prodded quietly, coaxing the answer from the other with gesture alone. Konatsu relents.
"Kuroyuri-sama has been through a lot. This is his first mission without Haruse-san," he reveals. "We should leave the commander alone for a while."
Toshiro cannot seem to find the right words. A weak "Oh" came out instead. It was personal for Kuroyuri-sama, he knew, but the commander's well-being is his main concern. "Best to leave him be then," Toshiro decided, parroting. Hot cocoa would have to wait.
"Anyway," Konatsu started. "Would you like anything else? I don't have much experience on this." The blond scratches his cheek, slightly embarrassed. "Katsuragi-san's usually the one who prepares this sort for things. I'm only good at deskwork."
Toshiro gave a quizzical look. He took a seat nonetheless, sitting across from Konatsu. "You should not limit yourself to one thing, Konatsu-kun. Trials and errors are common. Thus, we learn." He reaches out for a cup among mugs. A shame there is no tea. "I had quite a few of my own. If anything, I would like to think that a bit too much is better than a bit too little."
"That's… That makes sense, actually." Konatsu let out a small chuckle and shares a smile. "You don't have to say it like that. I'm sure you'll change your mind the moment you tried a taste. But thanks."
Toshiro studied him as the other drank. Despite his demeanour, Konatsu appeared to be distracted. His posterior stiff.
The begleiter was the first Hawk to return when Toshiro and Kuroyuri boarded Ribidzile. He was alone at that time. Sat on a chair and staring into space; no Shuri on sight. Toshiro dares not interrupt – he seemed occupied in a world of his own. The other eventually came back to his senses at the sight of him none too happily carrying an elated Kuroyuri.
"I used to ride my brother when I was small. Almost... persistently."
Toshiro bit his tongue and inwardly cringed at his divulging. Had no idea why he was blurting this to the other, but the words flow surprisingly light. An unspoken mellowness even.
Konatsu slowly sat. "Sounds like you're close with family," the begleiter humoured him.
Toshiro gave a non-committal smile at the remark. "I suppose it does," he said wryly.
They said no more, Konatsu not one to be wholly inconsiderate to read the situation. The silence went on. Not an awkward one, more of a pleasant thing.
Toshiro lifted the fragile teacup to his lips. He inhaled. The distinctive mild aroma of cocoa, bitter and sweet to an extent, flooded his nostrils. Toshiro wonders whether Konatsu had added traditional milk into the mix.
"Allow me to apologize."
A furrowed eyebrow was raised at the sudden statement. "…Apologize?" Konatsu repeated, setting his mug down. "What for?"
Toshiro took a sip then, taking his time. "For Shuri-kun," he eventually reveals.
The idea of cocoa was to drink rivulets of hot thick chocolate on a wintry, cold day. This, well… it had less to do with chocolate – a powdered kind, cheap. Ribidzile must be low on budget. And sugar. There was too much of it. Could have added a dash of cinnamon to ease it into something pleasant.
It was a… curious experience.
"He may be a pompous, self know-it-all and thinks himself as this superior kind–" Toshiro raises a hand, setting the cup upon its saucer. "Mind you, I am not saying this in his regard. But all things considered, he is not ready to face our reality."
Yes he is the golden boy, the Oak who could do no wrong. And yes, he is the proud fellow that cried himself to sleep. Unbelievably so.
Konatsu had to carry the blond all the way to Ribidzile and patch his wound. That was partly Konatsu's fault, the begleiter himself professed, for punching the day lights out of the Oak. Shuri had mocked the dead, and Toshiro found himself applauding for the begleiter's decisive reprisal.
"He must have been frightened, for I was too. Though there is no excuse in the world for him to be deadweight."
Though there is truth in his words, Toshiro is not one to resort to violence. Unless provoked, of course. He would much preferably use zaiphon than some other form of crude weapon. He would avoid conflict and withdraw, choose a gentle method. But then enemy soldiers had had to gang up on him.
The cadet fought back when they attacked. Enemies rushed at him reckless – either they were inexperience or too riled up in panic to care – closer and closer, too close for comfort. It limited his openings for range attacks. Toshiro had no choice but to slice through fleshes and limbs in his defense. Temporal incapacitation was the idea. He never intended to kill, merely impeded their movements. Made sure the wounds were not as fatal and avoid the permanent, major nerves.
Mercy could get himself killed, he knew. The very act of killing itself is difficult to grasp as well. Yet, taking someone's life seemed easy. Watching Kuroyuri's although vicious demonstrations did a number on him.
There was no means to fight against warsfeil except through executions by the church. And Antwort, made vulnerable after years of successive resistance against other power and little to trifling attempts at threats, thought no further for such scenarios to occur then and in the near future. But now… Now is too late for regrets. Even if one per se could use power to match that of warsfeil, one would still be consumed by his or her own darkness and die.
It was basically a suicide mission.
With a flick of the hand, soldiers liberated purple-black streams of wars through openings of eye sockets, mouths and noses and ears. Bodies dropped to the ground drained without life. There were weak movements, twitches for a second, and then nothing.
Silence. Complete and utter silence.
Only the feel of pure, raw adrenaline coursing through pulsing veins; in blood vessels that pumps the beating of the heart. Only the sounds of heavy panting that rings in deaf ears made brief that seemed to last for a lifetime; as oxygen leaves and mingles with abundant impurities that is dead air.
It was surreal. He could have been one with those people whom have lain, slain, in the snow. He could have been killed had it been not for his affiliation with the warsfeil. The only anchor that broke the spell. The spell that he cannot breathe, but he is alive indeed and well. Breathing and standing.
A little voice whispered it was not right, whispered that he should be ashamed. Ashamed at the inappropriate feeling he intentionally revelled in. He should stop, surrender if needed be: He could stop this. But it fainted. Fainted and faded. The fact that this is a mission prevented his undone. Either it was him or they. And Toshiro, he will not go out of his way if it meant it would jeopardize the mission.
Konatsu sets down his mug after a few swallow. "I don't like that Oak, I'll tell you that much," he admitted. "It's bad enough that we have one idiot in this ship; I don't plan on putting up with another. If you know what I mean."
Toshiro smiles, slowly, amused, against the rim of his cup. Oh he had no idea.
"Of course."