A STUDY IN BLACK AND WHITE

Disclaimer: Unless otherwise noted, all characters mentioned in the following piece of fiction remain the property of SquareSoft. The author's views do not necessarily represent the opinions held by SquareSoft and its employees.


Author's Note: My second piece of fiction dealing with the Chrono Cross world. I must say that I was extraordinarily pleased that my first attempt was met with good reviews and I can only hope that the reception for my latest work will draw the same positive feedback that I enjoyed with my first entry. Enjoy and, as usual, a review is always appreciated. On with the show then!


A Brief Synopsis: Do you recall that memorable scene where Serge and Lynx switch bodies/souls? Well, here is my take on what happened during those brief moments when Lynx decided that he'd rather be human than an overgrown house cat. The title is, of course, a play on the age old Good versus Evil bit and the like.

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The feline eyes narrowed to a slit and a clawed hand began to scratch at the armrest of the parlor chair with reckless abandon. The flowing black robes of the creature became marred with small specks of brown as wooden shavings cascaded down the sinuous fabric and onto the carpeted floor. A young boy (who, by appearances, did not look older than seventeen) sat across from the mad-thing as it continued to ravage the furniture with its razor sharp implements. A small circular table of mahogany stood between the chairs, upon which rested a most curious arrangement of two sets of cups and saucers and a samovar. The scratching swiftly ceased as abruptly as it had begun and only the sporadic popping of the wood in the fireplace punctured the stillness of the otherwise hushed chamber. The boy shifted in his seat with evident discomfort as the cat-like beast at the opposite end stared at him. After what seemed like an eternity spent in quietude, it spoke:

"Would you rather start or shall I?" It purred. The words flowed like honey and yet at the same time each syllable seemingly dripped with malevolence. The boy said nothing and after few seconds, the feline being shrugged its shoulders and reached out toward the circular table. It seized the samovar by the handle and tipped it into one of the cups. A stream of hot liquid effused from the spout and a wisp of steam rose from the porcelain vessel. It replaced the teapot and once again slinked back into the cushioned recesses of the chair. Another moment of silence passed between the two but then the boy parted his lips:

"Where am I, Lynx?" he enquired. "Where am I and more importantly, why am I here?" His blue eyes knowingly searched the visage of the dark figure in front of him for answers. The face of the cat-man named Lynx, however, betrayed no such information. The beast motioned toward the samovar on the table.

"Tea is best served hot, Serge" he remarked. "Have a cup and perhaps we can get down to business." Lynx rubbed his hands together and picked up his drink. As he sipped the liquid, the boy, Serge, eyed his companion inquisitively. The sight of a cat drinking tea from a cup and saucer almost amused him to some degree. However, sharing a room with someone who had the ability to rip him to shreds on a whim didn't much appeal to his sense of humor. He cautiously poured himself a serving and reclined into his seat. The cat-man lowered his cup and rested it on his lap.

"Now then," Lynx began, "I'd imagine, of course, that you'd like to know where you are." He smiled and revealed two rows of pointed teeth. Serge cringed, but the dimmed lighting hid his reaction from his companion. Or perhaps Lynx caught it and was secretly reveling in the fact that the wretched boy who had, until now, eluded his grasp was finally showing fear.

"Where am I?" Serge repeated. He grasped the teacup tightly with one hand and the saucer with the other in order to still the fit of shaking that had seized control of his limbs. He looked over at the feline being who was ever so gingerly tapping a claw on the patterned porcelain while staring intently at his human quarry. Lynx took another sip and replied:

"We're in your mind, Serge." His silky smooth voice drifted across the space between them, a gentle, yet unambiguously savage vocal link.

The boy looked at him in astonishment. "My mind?" he gasped.

"Actually, my dear boy, we're caught between your mind…" Lynx paused briefly to swallow another mouthful. "…and my mind."

"But how?" Serge released his grip on the saucer and the cup tipped, causing the tea to spill while the two porcelain objects fell to the floor with a dull thud. Rivulets of the now tepid liquid ran down Serge's legs and Lynx clicked his tongue in disapproval.

"Steady hands prevent nasty spills," the cat-man declared. "Now look at you. You're a mess; a dirty, filthy little urchin." He grinned at the soiled youth in front of him and glanced at the two white shapes which lay on the carpet. "A perfectly good waste of tea, if you ask me." He returned his gaze to Serge and continued, "But let us get to the point, shall we? I despise having to skirt the issue. We're going off on a little adventure, Serge, though I'm not sure if you'll be coming along voluntarily."

"I'm not going anywhere, Lynx," the youth replied, "I don't know what you've done or why I'm here, but there is no way I'm going to cooperate. Release me from your mind tricks this instant!"

Lynx sighed. "That reply was anticipated." He raised the cup and finished the remainder of the tea in two successive gulps. He tossed the cup and saucer into the fireplace and leaned forward in the chair. "As you'd like it. Therefore I shall steal your body from you." He sank back into the plush upholstery. "I do hope you won't mind."

Serge looked at him in wide-eyed terror. "No!" he cried.

"Oh, don't worry my boy," Lynx sneered, "I can't very well leave you lacking in terms of a physical form. Definitely not." He chuckled. "The Dragon Tear won't allow that I'm afraid. As much as I'd like to see you vanish into thin air, the Tear can only switch souls. It cannot erase them. Truly unfortunate, I know. But, after much deliberation, I've decided, out of extreme generosity, to give you my body." The grin on Lynx's visage grew wider. "You are weak of mind, Serge. You don't have it in you to resist me. Succumb and I promise that once I'm in command of your form I'll make sure your friends will kill you swiftly."

"Monster!" Serge cried as he attempted to lunge at Lynx, ready to wrap his hands around the cat-man's throat. As soon as he had left the armchair, however, Lynx waved his hand and Serge felt a tremendous force push him back onto the cushioned seat.

"Foolish child!" the demi-human spat, fangs bared, his face twisted with rage, "Do you honestly believe you can harm me?" The fierce countenance of the beast reverted back to a smiling rictus just as quickly as it had contorted into a hideous mask of revulsion. "I think not. You needn't worry, dear Serge. I'll take good care of your friends." The grin remained plastered on the creature's face; sharp, white teeth reflecting the amber glow of the fireplace.

The boy sat in stunned silence while the horrid cat-man continued to wordlessly smile at him. "You can't do this." Serge stuttered at long last, "The Dragon Tear won't comply with your wishes."

"You don't think so?" Lynx replied. "Then why do you suppose we're sitting here? Having tea? Chatting it up? Hmmm? We're already half-way there! Rather short process, you know. While it may seem as though we've been here exchanging pleasantries for the past fifteen minutes, in reality only four seconds has elapsed since you lay your eyes on the Tear."

"You're a liar!"

"Truth be told, dear Serge, if I were indeed a liar I'd be telling everyone that you enjoy the company of the fairer sex and that your interests in them are far beyond Platonic in nature." The feline demi-human chortled while the youth listened in horror. "Oh, I'm so very clever, aren't I? Eh, Serge? Frightfully clever to have known THAT little secret of yours! Hmmm?" Lynx stopped laughing. "As we get closer and closer to switching souls, our minds will cross. Thoughts are revealed, hidden fantasies bared, and dark secrets wrenched out from the deepest recesses of your mind to be cruelly exposed to all."

"No! Stop!" Serge pleaded. Tears began to flow and soon the awful figure of the feline being was nothing but a blur. Yet the insidious voice continued to speak.

"I see your thoughts as clearly as though they are my own. I know your fantasies, dear boy. I know what you want. I know what torments you."

"STOP!" The youth clapped his hands over his ears, streaks of tears racing down his cheeks. The single voice exploded into a multitude of whispers and rants. Fearful images began to filter into Serge's mind: a burning orphanage, crying children, a bespectacled young woman struggling to free herself from the grip of the demi-human monster. The voices began to escalate into a crescendo of murmurs, cries, and tirades, each competing with one another for dominance.

"I know, Serge. I know all about you. I can remember how you felt when you first met that blonde knight, Glenn. Do you recall, Serge? Do you recall what went through your mind when you first set your eyes on that face? Do you?"

"PLEASE! STOP! NO MORE!"

"I'm sure you do. I know everything, dear boy. I know how you'd stare when you're both bathing and every time you'd have to turn away to hide your…growing…interest in him. I know all about that. I know how you fantasize about running your hands through his hair; of the things you want to do to him and of things you want have done to you. You're a naughty boy, Serge. What would your mother think? What would Kid think? What…would…Leena…think?"

A blinding flash of light erupted in the previously ill-lit room and the voices in Serge's mind died down until only mere whispers remained. Then…silence.

He slowly opened his eyes and got up onto his knees. A terrible pain wracked his head and he was quite disoriented. He could see the faint figures of three individuals standing on the far side of the room. Two young men and a young woman with weapons drawn, obviously prepared to do battle. At once he knew that reason would be a rather poor substitute for a good weapon. He rubbed his aching temples and picked up the scythe that lay at his feet.

"Say yer prayers, Lynx!" the blond girl cried, "Not that it'll do ya any good!"

Reluctantly, he raised the weapon to shoulder level, and stood ready to fight.