G'day again insane readers! (Don't give me that look, you're obviously insane if you're reading this.) XD Ready for more silly fun and games? Heh heh anyway thankyou for the reviews and Soulrio – the Crimson Scourge is THE perfect gift to give this Christmas. Every kid will want one, I swear to God. XD
Little disclaimer: I am in no way suggesting that IKEA is hell bent on world domination. Maybe. :Shifty eyes:
--------------------------------------------
CHAPTER 1/ The Doctor is in!
On numerous occasions, Albel had heatedly argued with the Crimson Scourge about the various cons of the dilemma he finally found himself entangled in. Now, as he was driven by the Crimson Scourge at sword-point after the so-called "Dr Feelgood", he KNEW for sure that all hopes of leaving with his dignity intact had flown straight out the window and died in the flowerbed below.
Albel didn't really know what he'd been expecting from the "Doctor's" office. Something that at least radiated a sense of professionalism would've been reassuring. Nice furniture, good décor, maybe an elegant artwork or two... then again, perhaps that was expecting too much out of a bloke who had to rely on budget advertising to a demography who he'd been hoping would take pity on his dubious "doctoring" skills. Not to mention artwork was out of the question unless it involved naked Playboy Bunnies, considering the earful Albel had copped about Cliff's understanding of "Impressionism".
Hence room 69, to put it bluntly… was a bloody wreck. Albel knew that each living space in the Diplo came outfitted with a built-in wardrobe, but it was apparent that the words " open", "wardrobe", "door", "and", "put", "your", "clothes", "inside" didn't form part of Cliff's vocabulary… at least in that order. As Albel's eyes mapped the rest of the room, he silently ticked off more words that probably didn't exist on Planet Cliff. "Clean underwear" topped the list, closely followed by "properly disposed half-eaten corn muffins", "discreetly concealed copies of Big Knockers magazine" and "hidden box sets of Totally Spies". The sinking feeling in Albel's stomach wasn't helped much by Cliff's appearance either. Seriously, how many Doctors still strutted around in their Hotstuff boxers at three in the afternoon?
"Well then…" Cliff began cheerfully, snorting a bit as he idly scratched his stomach, "Take a seat! Sorry 'bout the mess. Whoo, that was one hell of a room party last night. Just woke up. Sorry. Whoops I already said that, heh heh. Want the muffin now or later?"
Albel regarded the proffered muffin which, truth be told, looked rather nibbled around the edges. What really worried him though was that those teeth marks looked far too small to have been made by a Klausian's jawline. The muffin had all neon-lit signs pointing to it as the harbinger of a strain of Neo Black Plague.
"No," Albel said curtly and crossing his arms, marveling at how steady his voice remained. "And I'll stand."
Cliff shrugged, setting the muffin on top of a small mountain of clothing for later retrieval before casually launching himself back onto his unmade bed. Albel looked on distastefully as the Klausian leisurely reclined, appearing as though he had all the time in the world and completely undeterred by the presence of a potentially homicidal maniac less than a few feet away.
"Soooo… love troubles eh? Didn't really expect a guy like you to go for that sort of thing but hey, that's cool. Anyway, you've come to the right place. If you look behind you, you'll see I have a certified PHD in LUV!" Cliff said proudly, his hands crossed behind his head as he grinned at the ceiling.
Albel didn't really feel like burning up calories to turn around, but he decided to humour Cliff for at least a little while before deciding whether to disembowel him. Stuck to the wall with clear tape was a brown sheet of paper, on which was scrawled the same qualifications that had appeared in the newspaper ad. As Albel peered closer though, Cliff half-raised himself off the bed and waved one hand frantically. "YO! No need to go so close, that's a precious piece of paper you know! Hey hey HEY no touching…!"
Too late though, since Albel had already reached out and broken a piece off the corner of the paper. Without hesitation, he popped it in his mouth and started to chew, while his red eyes narrowed accusingly upon the sheepish looking Klausian who had returned to concentrating hard on the ceiling.
"This is made out of beef jerky," Albel announced, his voice flat. "And you used old gravy as ink."
"That's exactly what I like about you Nox. Nothing escapes you! Hear that neighbour? NOTHING ESCAPES HIM!" Cliff yelled jubilantly, banging crazily on the wall next to his bed with both fists. A muffled "Fuck off!" permeated the wall, which Cliff blocked out with a jolly laugh and more rapid-fire words. "But hey, look. Since you're such a sporting guy I'll make things easy for you. No need to say anymore – my amazing powers of luuuurve deduction have already told me the precise identity of your lucky lady!"
Cliff didn't know why Albel's expression immediately darkened, especially since it sounded like a totally reasonable proposal. Then again, the light fixture in his room had needed replacing for some time now…. yes yes, that must be it. Without further ado…
"Aw HMMMMM…." Cliff chanted in monotone, flinging his hands around for dramatic effect. Albel allowed himself a moment to close his eyes in disbelief. "It… is… MIRAGE!"
Albel's face now sported an expression he had patented as "Disgruntled, salted cod".
"Of course that was just a test run, heh heh. Okay, gearing up now for the real thing!" Cliff laughed nervously, waving his hands again. "Aw HMMMMM…. aw HMMMMM…. aw HMM-… oh my God, it's MARIA!"
Albel's expression morphed seamlessly into "Angry whale shark".
"Great Doctors out there always use processes of elimination, and I am a great doctor," Cliff preened, recovering quickly. "Well that settles it. It's gotta be NEL, right?"
Cliff felt himself almost get scalded by the sheer force of Albel's "Snapper Turtle" glare, and was forced to check if his eyebrows had been singed.
"Wow, but those are all the hot ladies on the Diplo! Unless you count PEPPITA but she's not legal." Cliff hesitated a fraction too long. "It's NOT Peppita, right?"
The Crimson Scourge magically levitated into Albel's open palm.
"Just kidding just kidding," Cliff said with a forced laugh, holding his hands out protectively. "Well, that's strange. If it's not a hot lady then it must be a hot man! Which means it should be me…" Cliff eyed the way the Crimson Scourge shifted in Albel's grasp and thought better of it, "… but you didn't drool at the sight of these luscious abs, so that's your loss, heh. Er… Adray's out, since no one likes Adray. Except for his mother. And that's only because she's senile. And Roger ain't even human. So that leaves… that leaves…"
Albel's scowl lifted a little and his hold on the Crimson Scourge relaxed slightly, allowing himself a tiny fragment of hope that things were moving back on course.
"I just realised!" Cliff exclaimed, suddenly sitting up straight as a plank and with eyes bulging.
"What?" Albel pressed him, trying not to sound too eager.
"I'M THIRSTY AND I NEED A DRINK! Want one?" Cliff whooped.
The stars were smiling on Cliff when they decided that he would be born a Klausian, almost as though they'd predicted he needed something to balance out the disastrous blabber box which was his mouth – a mouth which just didn't know the right things to say when confronted by a swordsman with a temper equal to that of an incubating male Ostrich.
As it was, only a Klausian could've possessed the lightning quick reflexes to roll off a bed just before a very angry katana came smashing down upon the piece of furniture, and Cliff prudently decided to liberally exercise that rare privilege. The bed uttered a metallic shriek as Albel drove the Crimson Scourge straight through the structure. The razor sharp weapon easily carved through the mattress in an explosion of foam and fluff, and cleanly sliced through the coils at the very bottom. The entire bed sagged as Albel yanked the blade out, deflating into a sad and sorry mess on the floor before crumbling into multiple bolts and shapes. A funnel imprinted with "Product of IKEA" discreetly rolled away from the carnage and was snatched up by one of the company's quality control workers disguised as a pot plant, who gleefully ran off to continue advocating the universal domination of Swedish furniture.
Sword still in hand, Albel whirled upon Cliff who was making himself as inconspicuous as possible behind a mound of dirty laundry. It wasn't the sight of Cliff wearing a lop-sided grin which got Albel's blood boiling to new volcanic heights, though it certainly didn't help things… no, it was the sheer, utter cluelessness which STILL pervaded the Klausian's face!
"Are you naturally stupid? Or were you dropped on your head as a baby?" Albel hissed, his entire body set at sharp, rigid angles as he rounded on Cliff. The Crimson Scourge flashed with silver fire, though the blade was now pointing in the direction of the floor. Not a bad sign, though Cliff would've felt better if the sword was left out of the picture entirely. Albel's expression was deathly calm as he lowered himself to eye level with the Klausian, his face clearly indicating that he expected no further nonsense and craptacular guesswork. When Albel spoke again, his voice was low but his words smacked of underlying threat.
"Tell me now, "Doctor" maggot. Who is my heart's desire?"
Cliff blinked back with his big blue eyes, looking as naïve as a child who had just been caught napping.
That did it.
"It's FAYT! FAYT LEINGOD! F-A-Y-T L-E-…" Albel faltered in his tantrum as he realised he didn't even know how to spell that blasted last name. Then he shook himself out of it, feeling the pent up rage bursting to the surface which almost exploded out of his eyes in the form of sparks. "A-A-ANYWAY YOU HEAR THAT YOU STUPID LUMP OF C-GRADE BEEF? IT'S FAYT! I LOVE FAYT! GET IT?"
Cliff nodded vigorously with a big toothy grin, but Albel seemed to have sprained his brain stem or something since he was on the verge of frothing at the mouth. The irate swordsman leapt back, pummeling the wall of the room with the butt of the Crimson Scourge. "HEAR THAT, INVISIBLE MAGGOT? I LOVE FAYT!" Another muffled "Fuck off!" greeted this proclamation, but by that time Albel had already made it to the dented door and swept it open, sticking his deranged head into the hallway. "WHOOPTEE DOO DIPLO! I LOVE FAYT!"
An innocent window cleaner with a curly moustache jumped in surprise and curiously peered at Albel's panting face. Albel, suddenly snapping out of his berserk mode, glared back with heat equivalent to that of a thousand suns shining from behind his eyeballs. "Beat it!" he roared. The cleaner squeaked and fled in a cloud of brushes and Eezy-Squeezy solution.
"Yo Albel, chill!" Cliff intoned somewhere behind the hyperventilating swordsman, reaching out with one hand to clamp down on Albel's shoulder. He steered the red-faced man back into the room, shutting the door firmly but not before letting the Crimson Scourge hop back inside after it had fallen from Albel's grasp.
"Damn it…" Albel groaned, feeling the last dregs of his spent fury seep from his overly tight muscles. The old despair was already settling back into his stomach, negating any remaining resistance he may have put up against Cliff's invasion of his personal body space. Hence he let himself be led by the shoulder like a child, and Cliff thoughtfully swept aside a pile of leather pants which occupied the only chair in the room before plonking Albel onto it.
The Crimson Scourge hopped over to the chair, its metal finish winking merrily in the artificial light. >>Faint of heart ne'er won over fair maiden… er… I mean fair lad. Feeling the pressure already, oh Wicked One?>>
"I thought he could help me," Albel muttered under his breath, his eyes hooded.
>>Tsk.>> The Crimson Scourge sounded sympathetic for once, taking in the uncharacteristically miserable face of Albel Nox and sensing the emotional turmoil swirling inside his abdomen. The Crimson Scourge hadn't been in Albel's possession for very long, so the sword was still mostly relying on Albel's memories to discern everything there was to know about this "Fayt" fellow. One thing was for sure – those memories were constantly wreathed in yellow light and warmth. They were the only gentle aspects of Albel's mental makeup actually, sitting apart from the oily black trauma and sickly green self-loathing which also vied for space in Albel's head. The Crimson Scourge approved, grateful that there was at least one soul out there among the hordes who could have such a healing effect on his troubled young master. The problem of course was getting the affection to run in a two-way direction, otherwise what would be the point?
>>Cheer up. At least hear the big oaf out. He hasn't even told you what he's got in mind, and you'll be no worse off if what he says doesn't meet your approval.>> There was logic in that train of thought and Albel felt himself gravitate towards it. Reason was something he hadn't heard for a long while. >> Don't forget either – you're my Chosen. I'll do the best I can to help you win this "Fayt's" heart…though of course I reserve the right to "discipline" you whenever it's called for.>>
Albel couldn't help but smirk a little at that, already starting to look a little like his old self. "Thanks…"
>>But hush now, the oaf doth speak.>> The Crimson Scourge twitched in the direction of Cliff, who had previously been rummaging in a filing cabinet but was now returning with a dossier in hand. Albel eyed it warily, but when Cliff flipped it open Albel's eyes widened in surprise. "How did you get that?"
Admittedly, it wasn't the most flattering photo of Fayt Leingod. It was apparent that the person armed with the camera at the time had chosen a bad time to snap the blue-haired boy, who appeared to be engaged in an intense debate with someone and so was totally oblivious to the presence of the viewfinder. As a result, Fayt's arms were bent like scrawny chicken wings, his eyes were only half open which gave him the appearance of the living dead and his lips were lopsided, as though one half of his mouth had been numbed by a dentist's needle. Fayt looked absolutely beautiful to Albel no matter what pose he adopted, but Albel couldn't help suspecting that Cliff had been holding onto the photo for possible blackmail purposes.
"Elementary Ms. Watson," Cliff replied with a wink, "I've got files on everyone! Part of my job as head of Diplo crew, ain't that handy? But back to business…" He tapped the photo with one large finger. "Here's the target, as you er… so loudly confirmed. What do you want me to help you do?"
Albel felt his pale cheeks flushing again as he suddenly grew aware of his vulnerable position. The gall of it… Albel the Wicked admitting he needed help! His automatic reaction was to defend his pride by telling Cliff to shove it, buuuut… after all, he hadn't been doing too well acting on his own devices. The past week had been proof enough of that, with Fayt getting no closer to knowing of Albel's underlying affections, unless Albel's decision to start calling Fayt a "fool" as opposed to the less aesthetic "maggot" counted for anything. That was hardly much to write home about. Worse still, Albel knew he'd never live down the lecturing the Crimson Scourge would give him if he backed out now. That was definitely the worst prospect.
Two options hovered on teetering scales in Albel's head - live out the single life with only a bitchy magic sword as company, or snag the embodiment of Destruction for a yaoi-tastic happy ending. Bitchy sword or Fayt? Bitchy sword… or Fayt?
Gee, I wonder.
Swallowing hard, Albel eventually forced out a response. "I… I want Fayt to know how I feel," he mumbled quickly, his cheeks flaming. The Crimson Scourge seemed delighted at the confession though, since it did a little twirl right there on the spot. Even Cliff couldn't hide a twinkle in his eye as he snapped the dossier shut.
"Sure, that should be easy enough!" Cliff said confidently, punching the air enthusiastically. Albel raised his lowered chin, looking at the exuberant Klausian incredulously. He made it sound so simple that Albel couldn't help but feel the first stirrings of paranoia. "Really?"
"Whaaaat! You don't trust my totally cool matchmaking skills? I'll have you know I've never let down any of my charges!" Cliff said obstinately, wagging one finger in front of Albel's nose. ("Mainly because you're my first client…" he added under his breath, but nobody had to know that.) "Leave it to me – with the CLIFF FITTIR FOUR-STEP GUIDE TO LURVE, you'll get your man in no time!"
Albel wanted to feel convinced. Honest. But years spent on the battlefield had honed his sixth sense to near perfection, and he'd grown accustomed to listening to it. Alarm bells were ringing in his head at that very moment even as Cliff's grin refused to waver, but it was far too late to chicken out now. With an audible sigh of defeat, Albel rolled his crimson eyes skyward and palmed his face. "Fine. What do I have to do then?" he asked, sounding pained.
"Four steps, just like I mentioned," Cliff said importantly, waving four digits to drive his point home. "But from here on in this'll be a low key affair. No more meetings like this, okay? I'll leave you all the instructions you'll need under your door, starting from tomorrow. And take the photo as a complementary prezzie!" Cliff handed it over before gesturing towards the door and Albel stood up thankfully, incredibly relieved that the torture was now at an end. The Crimson Scourge shook itself awake and hopped after him like a faithful puppy.
"Gee, you should really get a leash for that thing. Haw haw haw!" Cliff chortled indiscreetly as he took in the strange sight. The Klausian was obviously not only slow on the uptake, but subconsciously suicidal as well. Albel rolled his eyes again as he slid the door open and stepped into the cool corridor, counting the seconds down under his breath. Right on cue, Cliff's voice erupted behind him in the form of an outraged bellow. "HEY! Ow! Ow! OW! YO! Call off your pet sword, Nox! NOOOOX!"
"Don't hurt him too much. He still has a job to do, remember?" Albel reminded the Crimson Scourge in a bored voice, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for the sword to finish exacting vengeance.
>>This ape heals fast. Just let me make him bleed a bit.>>
Several crashes and thumps drowned out anything else Albel planned to say and he managed a small wince of sympathy – getting a hilt-beating was so not fun, but then again, being compared to a pet when you were the oldest and most revered artifact in the better part of the continent of Gaitt was hardly flattering either…
Blotting out the noise and unmanly screeches of protest, Albel opened his closed fist and stared wistfully at the glossy photo which was nestled inside his palm. Years of self-imposed isolation had passed by as fleetingly as the seasons, each year barely distinct from the last only to be eventually swallowed by the demands of war… it had taken a literal falling star to break the monotony. Albel smiled to himself as he remembered the force of the space ship's impact which had set the stoic walls of the castle trembling on their foundations, and the cries of the townspeople that had reached his ears even from where he'd been stationed on a lofty parapet. He'd scoffed at the mention of heavenly missionaries and later sneered at the rumours of fallen Gods. But now, flying through the stars, overrun with a maelstrom of foreign emotions and besotted with visions of blue hair and green eyes, suddenly he wasn't too sure about his stance on faith… higher powers… on fate.
"This… had better work," Albel muttered in near prayer, his slender fingers closing protectively around the photo. Maybe a good night's rest would chase away the rest of his lingering doubts…
--------------------------------------------
Okay… that was weird, even for me. Oo :Snorts: XD
Next chapter: "Sweet dreams are made of these" – a brief interlude is called for as the nutcase author takes you into Albel's head the only way any rabid AlbelxFayt fan knows how… :3
