There are a bunch of drunks outside my window right now singing that song about painting the colors of the wind from Pocahontas. They've been there for the past half hour. I really wish my headphones hadn't broken.
The actually song for this chapter is Ode to Simplicity by Secret Garden.
It happened in a blinding moment or clarity. Wrenched from dreams harsh reality crashed in, bringing with it the agony and tragedy of life. If it weren't for the binding on his mouth Misaki would have filled the air around him with his screams.
The penetration was deep and swift. His back arched and pain ruled his every breath. In desperation he pulled at his wrists but the grip was too tight and body over him too heavy.
It was in him, he could feel it, with every nerve, suddenly acutely sensitive, the betrayal of his own body only adding to the hurt as the pounding increases, faster and faster, harder and harder. He was tearing, insides splitting, never to be whole again.
The body in him, on him, over him, was sweating, droplets landing on him, and he was sweating too, a cold sweat, perfect for matching the shaking and the pain.
He wonders why he had to wake. Why the dreams had to end now. And he wonders about the other one. His other half. The second part to his soul trapped in a different cage of flesh, residing somewhere unknown, far away.
He knows it will end. Hours will pass, but the man, brother of my lover, can't go forever. Unlike him, he is not a machine, able to repeat the same motion for days on end, never faltering, never tiring. Though that is what it feels like.
More screams, killed before birth, never reaching the cold air of the room he had been brought to. He wonders where he is. Clouded forest eyes take in the metal ceiling and walls. They are in the corner of the room, the only light that seeps under the cracks of a great door, like the entrance to the hanger of an aeroplane. Shadows loom around him, 'watching me.' His eyes squeezed shut, but still he can feel their stares. 'Accusing, condemning, blaming' him for the sin he had committed.
The screams are gone, in their place choking sobs. 'It's not my fault,' he want to tell them. But he knows it is a lie. 'Your body is enjoying it,' they tell him, and all he can do is sob. Hot searing tears, proof of a life he does not want.
'I am no longer who I was. I am different now.'
'I am no longer his.'
'I want to die.'
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This was definitely a wrong turn. This was so very definitely a wrong turn there were simply no other words by which to describe it. He wasn't sure how long he could keep this up, his breath ragged and tearing at his throat, his legs feeling like little more than water reeds, ready to give out at the slightest hint of too much. A brain starved of oxygen kept him running though. He needed to escape. He needed to get away.
Not alone though. Never alone.
The pounding of the many feet behind him on the hollow metal floor was getting louder and with nothing more than sheer will power he sped his pace. The sound of the engine was receding. He must be near the outer shell of the ship.
He turned another corner and another. There was a door ahead and using what felt like the last of his strength he turned the wheel in the center, releasing the pressure. The pressure in the hallway must have been drastically higher than what was beyond the door because the hatch blew open and he was immediately assaulted by heavy bullets of freezing rain. The shock elicited a gasp from his instantly soaked chest and for a few seconds he was frozen. A shout behind him instantly cured his condition though and he plunged into the wall of ice water.
The jumper suit stuck to his skin uncomfortable and for a moment he was feeling the sudden loss of body fat he had experience over the past few week in the form of an almost debilitating shiver that quaked his body and shook his mind.
He gritted his teeth and continued onward, his grip on the hammer's now slippery handle tightening. He could no longer hear the sounds of his pursuers over the storm but he knew they were close behind.
Dark violet eyes took in the world around him. He was on some kind of suspended metal walkway, thick steel cables running along it, securing it tightly to the side of a…
…dear lord, he was on a dirigible.
Squinting through the torrent of water he could make out a ladder, little more than a series of handles, going up the side of the airship, just a little ahead. He looked up, the exhaustion in his body almost making him tip backwards over the edge of the railing, into the great abyss below, but he grasped onto the metal with white knuckles and assessed his options.
There was no way he would make it up the side before his pursuers spotted him. It was simply impossible. Biting winds whipped his saturated hair against his face as he looked down. Beyond the causeway the ladder continued its descent. He would go that way.
Heaving his too heavy body over the rail was a gamble, especially carrying the oversized hammer, but he pulled through and eventually was clinging tightly to the ladder rungs, and just in time. Though he could not make out their owners, through the grid of the platform above he was able to distinguish at least a dozen pairs of boots rush by. Never was he more thankful for his grey hair, for this, along with the beige jumper suit allowed his to blend into the chrome colored surface of the dirigible.
His way was slow. Keeping a hold of the hammer with one hand while searching blindly with his feet for the next rung and then the next was nerve wracking, his heart pounding in his chest and his brain racing. But the risk awakened his adrenaline which had been running low and it kept him awake so he was thankful. And thus he continued.
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Haruhiko looked down at the damaged automaton beneath him. It was a doll, nothing more than a shattered toy. For a while he had been feeling that rush he experienced every time he managed to take something from his little brother. But the rush had ended and like with every other object he had taken the toy was broken now.
He released the spindly wrists and straightened, doing back up the buttons on his trousers and adjusting his waist coat. Sharp eyes picked up the blood stains on the charcoal gray material, quickly hiding them with his coat. His cuffs too had small specks of scarlet, now darkening into a tawny red. He frowned slightly before turning away. He was going to have to change after all. How troublesome.
His gaze for a minute was caught by the flat stare of the automaton, the thing's eyes glassy and dull, like two green marbles. His frown hardened and again he turned away, this time turning his back on the machine.
Swift strides brought him to the door to the pteroplaner(1) hanger he had taken refuge in, but just as he reached for the wheel to release the pressure seal, a shrill siren assaulted his ear and with a great clanging a steel shutter fell over the door. He paused. The alarm signaling the disappearance of the automaton had stopped a while ago and that had only been a yellow alert, but now they were on red, absolute lock down.
He pivoted sharply as a sudden breeze brought a splattering of rain into contact with the naked skin on the back of his neck. If he had been anyone else the shock of the hanger door opening, letting in the tempest outside, would have shone on his face, but no, he watched the process with disinterested eyes.
Though the door to the passage was inaccessible, the side doors, those that connected to other hangers and the quarters of the Heart's soldiers, were still operable, and in sync they opened, a full crew streaming into the room towards the pteroplaner.
Panic welled in Haruhiko's gut, but it was too late. One of the soldiers stopped and turned. He must have seen them out of the side of his shaded visor.
"Oi! What's this?" Alerted, the rest of the crew turned. Though their eyes were hidden by helmets Haruhiko could feel their gaze raking over him and the petite boy only a few paces to his left. They advanced. The five crew members circled the two. Haruhiko pulled himself up to his full height, looking down his nose at the men. Some of them seemed to falter but the one who was obviously the chief pilot straightened his back.
"What are you doing here? This is an authorized personnel only zone."
"I am Haruhiko Usami. You'll find I have complete access to all parts of the castle."
"Then who is this?" The leader gestured to the automaton and one of them approached.
"'Ey Captain! It's that traitor. The one the higher ups are throwing a tizzy over!" The captain turned to look at Misaki before turning back to Haruhiko.
"What is the meaning of this?!"
Whatever Haruhiko's answer may be, none had a chance to hear it for at that instant the captain was sent forward with a strong push to the back, his heavy set body knocking into the older Usami brother. The tangle of limbs lasted for a second before they were upright, but during that time a shout had risen up from the remaining soldiers, almost covering up the sound of metal sliding from its sheath, as they all turned to face the automaton. Only, they realized, he was not alone.
There was a man standing behind him, filthy and starved but staring them down with an authoritative gaze and shoulders squared in an all too familiar way.
His brother.
One hand clutching the machine boy to his chest while the other held tightly the glinting edge of the captain's sword to Misaki's neck.
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It was a wonder he had seen it at all, the way the rain was lashing against his face and running in rivets into his eyes. He wasn't sure where it had come from, but suddenly the side of the airship seemed to separate and slide into the outer core, leaving behind a great opening. Perhaps it was his tired brain, but it took a minute for Akihiko to realize the door to a hanger had just opened. He peaked around the edge, seeing if he could perhaps sneak in before the crew arrived.
He froze.
His heart stopped as his eyes zeroed in on the frail shape lying against the wall. A hundred words ran through his mind but only one stood out.
Misaki.
Fury gripped his chest and ignited in his gut, roaring into a bonfire. His hands trembled with outrage as he climbed silently into the hanger. There were other shapes in the room, but they seemed not to notice him as he crept forward, sneaking through shadow, nearer and nearer towards his prey. All rationality fled him as primordial instinct flooded to fill the gap it had left behind. With the grace of a panther he made his way forward.
And he leapt.
With a strength he didn't know he had, he managed to knock away the strongest one, the little human thought he had left telling him to grab a weapon, the hammer forgotten near the door.
And then Misaki was in his arms, and he wanted to shout his triumph to the heavens. But now was not a time for victory, now was a time for wit. The soldiers would not risk harm to their precious sniper, and it was for this reason he pressed the blade to his beloved's throat.
He didn't like the feel of Misaki against him. It was wrong. Misaki wasn't meant to be this light, this frail. The body that was pressed to him felt like it could snap if he were to just apply the slightest amount of pressure. And the smell. Subtly he brought his nose closer to Misaki's hair. The smell was wrong. He smelt like chemicals, nothing organic to it.
Kiss it better. The phrase sprang to the forefront of Akihiko's mind and it seemed so silly, but with every fiber of his body he wanted to follow through. This helpless being in his arms was not Misaki. Misaki was strong, unbreakable. He wanted to grab on and kiss the Misaki of now until the old one resurfaced. Because it hurt to see his beloved reduced to nothing but the ashes of the pillar he had represented.
And it hurt to hold a knife to the pale throat, so thin it looked like it could snap like a stick of chalk. His hand trembled, though he tried to steady it through clenching beyond exhausted muscles, and his heart was gripped with fear. He wanted to fling the knife away. He did not want this. This was dangerous, not for him, but for his Misaki. He did not hear what his brother must have said but his head did snap up, and his eyes left Misaki, at the first step his brother took towards the two.
"Akihiko! What is the meaning of this!? You look like a savage." For indeed he did. Something wild and crazed shone from the unearthly violet eyes. His stance was not quite human either, almost bending over the small automaton, as though he could block any threat with his body before it could reach the boy. And the way his lips had curled back, baring his incisors at the soldiers and him. Haruhiko watched all this with an analytical gaze, taking it in, processing.
And Akihiko watched him back. Deep in the man's throat a growl surfaced.
"Leave us." Haruhiko took another step closer, the captain not far behind. Akihiko pressed the blade tighter against his lover's flesh. "Now!"
"Akihiko, remember who you are."
"Do you want me to kill him?!" His voice was raspy but full with an unwavering determination. One could see the hesitation that flickered behind each pair of watching eyes. Though they did not care for the brunet, they cared for what he would bring to their organization. Akihiko smiled and his brother could not help but think of a god of chaos, manifested before them in a form not quite human. The Hindu idea of avatars suddenly seemed not so implausible anymore. He shook away the silly thought.
"Put Takahashi down Akihiko and we can sort this out like civilized human beings. You are an Usami, act like one." The silver haired man only smiled wider.
"Tell me brother dear; is it the work of civilized human beings that have done this?" With a jerk of his head, his unforgiving gaze never leaving his sibling, he gestured to Misaki. "As an Usami, is it my duty carry on where you have left off?"
"Look here Akihiko, I do not know your reason for being on this ship, but any business having to do with that thing is not yours to meddle with. Set it down and go back to whatever rat hole you crawled out of."
"Thing! Is that what Misaki is to you? A thing?" He took a step back, pulling Misaki with him. "If you don't want me here, then I have no objection. It was not my plan to come in the first place. Since you are so fond of seeing Misaki as property, then consider him mine, and that I will be taking him back." The words were poison. He took another step.
"Look here Akihiko. Your toy has been broken. Whatever life you thought it had has been dealt with. It is no more use to you so return it. It is not that hard." Akihiko spat at him and the soldiers drew closer, readying their guns. A signal from their captain had them lowering the weapons though. It would not do to have the automaton incapacitated by fire arms. Akihiko continued his blind retreat backwards. The rain against his back was harder and he knew he was almost to the edge.
Just then the body in his arms moved. Akihiko's arms tightened as he looked down, but Misaki was not looking at him. Instead the brunet had turned and buried his face into its customary place at the joining of his lover's neck and shoulder. A warm breath traveled over the bare skin there, sending a shiver shooting down the author's spine. God, he had missed that sensation. There was no time to revel in it though, for with a great swoosh Misaki's magnificent wings unfurled themselves to their fullest extent, covering Akihiko and blocking the soldiers view. The sudden displacement of mass sent Akihiko stumbling back a few steps, and then it was too late.
For a second they hovered there, half way on the thin metal strip that marked the edge of the hangar, and half way in the air, nothing between them but formless clouds and falling raindrops.
And then they were falling. Akihiko's stomach rose into his throat as they toppled back, sending them plummeting head first into an empty expanse of undefined gray. The roar of wind in his ears and the bite of it against his skin was overwhelming and for a brief while all he could process. The cold terror incapacitated his other senses, until finally spindly arms tightened around him and with a snap the mechanical wings caught the currents. Over the rush of air he could hear the creak of gears and the straining of metal.
Strangely it was only then that he began to panic. For, like the rush of a January river, realization came over him. Those wings, no matter how genius their craftsmanship, no matter how skilled their crafter, were only meant for one.
"Let me go!" Arms loosened as he released the body in their grip. Misaki only held him tighter.
"No." The word was nothing but a breath in his ear, but it came over him like the words from the lips of an angel on the day of rapture.
"Let me go Misaki!"
"No."
"Misaki, you're going to die! Let me go!"
"No." He almost missed it, already being soaked in his entirety, but this was different. The water soaking into his collar was hot and filled with emotion.
"Misaki, please! Let me go!"
"No." And the word was repeated, over and over, until it filled Akihiko's ears and sunk into his heart like a stone.
"Misaki!"
"NO!"
And they fell.
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"We are on the rock, Wendy," he said, "but it is growing smaller. Soon the water will be over it."
She did not understand even now.
"We must go," she said, almost brightly.
"Yes," he answered faintly.
"Shall we swim or fly, Peter?"
He had to tell her.
"Do you think you could swim or fly as far as the island, Wendy, without my help?"
She had to admit she was too tired.
He moaned.
"What is it?" she asked, anxious about him at once.
"I can't help you, Wendy. Hook wounded me. I can neither fly nor swim."
"Do you mean we shall both be downed?"
"Look how the water is raising."
They put their hands over their eyes to shut out the sight.
1) pteroplaner-A flying machine I made up on the spur of the moment. I suck at naming things but I love the Online Etymology Dictionary, in case you haven't already caught on. Anyways, pteron is Greek for "wing" and planer is French, "to soar." Planer is used in the word aeroplane, which is from 1873 and is still used in some places today, though Microsoft Word keeps telling me I've spell it wrong. But everyone knows Word is stupid and can't even recognize words like mandorla or Iwan.
Still have drunks outside, though we've now moved onto Lady and the Tramp.
On a different note, I've noticed I haven't really had any fun fact about Victorians recently, so I thought, since I so very much love dirty words, let's look at some dirty words we use now a days and discover their meanings in the 19th century.
Masturbate: This means to self-harm. For example people who cut their wrists are masturbating. Which is not actually a very good example 'cause…well, it's not very funny. Actually I don't think self-harm could ever be funny, but that might just be me. Moving on.
Ejaculate: To shout loudly. When Arthur Conan Doyle writes that Watson ejaculated in response to Sherlock's words, it does not in fact mean smexy yaoi time. Sorry. XP
Erect: To be straight. As in, to stand straight. As in "He was erect."
Aroused: To be awake, alert. I said this the other day and everyone laughed at me. And ppl wonder why I don't talk to them.
Areola: Yes it's the area around the nipple. It also means a circle around something that is a different color than the thing. As in the moon has a large areola. (something I also got laughed at for saying) Or, find the area of the areola around the circle. It can also mean between things.
Bugger: To be sexually perverse. I think I've said this before, but I get this feeling sometimes that no one actually reads the bold text anyways. This includes, pedophilia, homosexuality, necrophilia, bestiality, S&M…etc.
To be hot: This I haven't confirmed yet, but I think this was usually short for hot house, as in where the Victorians would keep exotic plants. It meant you were exotic, or abnormal.
Also something fun, the word kudos, which we use to mean congratulations, is from the Greek kydos, which literally means to 'be heard of'. It only came into popular use though during the last decade of the 18th century as slang used among university students. It is the original teenage slang.