Disclaimer: This is Fuzzy Bunny. Fuzzy Bunny decided one fine afternoon that it would be a grand idea to pretend to own the characters of Ranma ½. Fuzzy Bunny laughed and played and frolicked about in a grassy meadow (that was really the gardening section of Wal-Mart), with certain well-known characters of an equally well-known manga. Fuzzy Bunny was soon found by the FBI and brutally shot to death in front of a crowd of ravenous half-Mongolian communists. Since I don't want this happening to me, I'd like to make it clear that I don't own Ranma ½ in any way, shape, or form. Hopefully this will lengthen my life, so that the memory of poor Fuzzy Bunny may live on. . .



Author's Notes: I'll be the first to admit that I've been as lazy as hell lately. It's. . . *squints at calendar* April 12th right now. I'm hoping to finish this chapter before the end of the month, or at least the first week of May. I suppose I'll know when it's done when you're reading this. Huh. That'll be kinda weird, it'll be like "Oooh, I know the future now!!". Or I'm being an idiot, which is probably the case.

ANYHOOT.

Once again, thank you ever so much Nao-chan for your continued support! ^_^ Check out Pandora's official website at: http://www.soliloquies.net/pandora/ We gots fanart, an' fanfics, an' an ABOUT SECTION!! It's spiffy swell, for there you learn 'about' things. Such a clever title for such a clever section. . . *wanders off into strange and nonsensical musings about artist renderings of people*



Rating: Yes Virginia, this is it - the chapter that officially bumps 'Pandora' up from R all the way to a well-deserved NC-17! Whoo hoo! ^_^ I'd also like to take the time to give y'all a little WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS LEMONY FRESHNESS THAT IS REALLY KINDA WEIRD. IF YOU ARE OFFENDED BY THIS, THEN DON'T READ IT! You have been warned; please don't flame me about the gross parts and schtuff, for I will proclaim a 'Dah-hah!' unto you.



*cough* So, yeah. Some prettycoolprettycoolprettycool stuff which is entitled. . .



Pandora



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The room stank of blood that had been ripened and dried with the inevitable passing of time. It clung to the air's scent like the previous occupants of the room had probably clung to the hope of rescue or, after a longer period of time stayed within the metal prison, immediate death. Streaks of blood disturbingly shaped like fingers dragging across the wall were commonplace; one person was desperate enough to try and claw their way out of the steel room, their intentions made clear by fingernails still bonded to the wall with dried, red lifeblood. The single, bare lightbulb swaying in the centre of the prison, creaking under influence of its own age, cast ghostly rays of artificial light on the macabre displays of fatality and desperation for escape.

Despite this, Kodachi Kuno stumbled along, leaning against the slippery wall for a support that really wasn't there. Blood trickled down her skin from cuts all over her body, absorbed by the silken nightgown she wore, staining it red in some spots, others starting to turn brown. She felt weak from blood loss, and her limbs were still shaky from being jarred, dislocated, and relocated once more; not to mention the throbbing pain in her head. Bloodied and trembling hands fumbled around the metallic sides of the enclosure, searching for an as of yet invisible way out; so far, Kodachi had found nothing of the sort. The black haired teenager limped her way over to the door, which seemed to be locked on the outside. Shifting her body weight completely against the door and pushing with all her might, Kodachi quickly concluded that there was no way out of the cell, diminishing her spirit even more.

"D. . . dammit. . ." the girl breathed, righting herself as much as she could without collapsing. She was starting to get dizzy and extremely tired; standing was becoming a trying feat in itself. Her bare feet scratched over the rough mats of the cell with each step she took, filling the room with the unsteady footsteps of Kodachi as she hobbled over to the far end of the prison, using the wall for constant support. Finally reaching the corner of the steel box farthest from the door, the wilting Black Rose allowed herself to collapse against the wall and slide down, leaving a small trail of blood in her wake. In a heap in the dark corner of the prison and her mind, the teenager shuddered, wrapping her arms around her legs in an attempt to get warm - the room was deathly cold, and her blood soaked nightgown wasn't doing much for coverage or protection. She hugged her knees as close to her chest as was possible without causing waves of pain to course through her body; it was hard, but Kodachi managed. She curled into herself as much as she could, attempting to do the same on the mental level. It was so much easier just to dissolve into her thoughts and imaginations; reality was just too hard to face now.

'I am alone and weak and nobody knows where I am,' one part of her brain said, 'I am going to die.'

'No, I refuse to do that!' another, more enthusiastic and romantic side of her mind chimed in, 'I only have to wait for Ranma Darling to rescue me!' This one thought was the proverbial rainbow amidst the torrential downpour of her heart; Ranma Darling would always come through for her, he always knew what to do. Of course he would come.

Wouldn't he?

"Ranma Darling. . ." Kodachi whispered into the abyss of darkness enveloping her place in the Underground; she unconsciously drew her knees even tighter against her chest, scrunching up her eyes to dispel the tears quickly gathering, ready to spill over on to her bloodied cheek. Kodachi attempted to fill the void in her mentality and heart with images and contemplations of her beloved and noble martial artist; his soft blue eyes, his silky smooth black hair, and how his pigtail would flow like water in the sea of a breeze that would be lucky enough to touch the perfect skin of such a perfect individual. Surprisingly, it gave her little comfort; her memories and thoughts also reminded her exactly how far away she could be from him, since she couldn't rightly tell where she was at all. There were no windows in her prison, and the only door was locked; for all she knew, she wasn't even in Japan anymore, mind Nerima.

Her depressing train of thought was promptly derailed by the sound of crashing glass outside of the doorway to her cell. Her reverie destroyed, Kodachi's head snapped up to face the general direction of the noise; straining her ears to the best of her abilities despite her pounding headache, the rhythmic gymnast was sure she heard shuffling feet near her cell. Male voices soon followed, and although Kodachi couldn't hear exactly what they were saying, she was experienced enough with her own family to know when somebody sounded drunk. She then heard the jangling of keys; now that they were closer to her prison, she could hear the distinct footsteps of two different people - and one of them had put their key into the lock on the door.

It opened with a 'click', echoing in the sterile metal box of a cell. Light spilled out into Kodachi's holding prison, blinding her for a moment; she raised her hand to shield herself from the light until her eyes adjusted accordingly. Blinking a couple times, the rhythmic gymnast slowly lowered her arm, still squinting her eyes so she could see who was now with her in her confined room.

She could smell them before she saw them properly - alcohol radiated off of them in waves, reaching Kodachi's nose and making her feel utterly sick. Soon, her sight was regained, and she could now observe these two men with more basis than just the stench of Wild Turkey times ten. Her heart pounded within her chest; she knew this couldn't be good.

The first man who was standing closest to Kodachi was wavering oh so slightly, but still managed to maintain his balance somewhat; although his dignity was definitely another story. He had unruly and unkempt black hair that looked as if it had seen better days; his green, military-style camouflage jacket hung loosely on his slightly muscular frame, with a black shirt underneath. He had matching camouflage-style pants and black lace-up boots that was covered in a sticky liquid. Kodachi presumed it was the contents of whatever had shattered outside of her cell.

The other man, who was leaning against the wall behind the black-haired one, was taking a generous gulp of a whisky bottle, allowing his chin-length brown hair to hang in his eyes of the same colour. His outfit was akin to his friend's; his black shirt clung to his muscular frame, with his army jacket tied securely around his waist. His camouflage pants comfortably hugged his legs, spreading some of the cloth on his bare feet. He had the blissful and far-away look that most drunken people wore after one too many brewskies.

"Well, well, well, whadda we got here?" the black haired guy asked in a mocking tone, eyeing Kodachi closely, "looks like that psycho bitch got a new play toy." The other man near the door of the prison agreed with a loud laugh.

"No shit, Akira!" he said between insane laughs, also taking time to have another hearty swig of booze, his eyes now resting on Kodachi's body, "but she's got good taste, at least." The teenaged girl felt herself shudder under his gaze; she hated the way his eyes were lingering on her bare legs, craning his neck to try to see what was just above her thighs. Kodachi did her best to cover herself with her flimsy nightdress, without much success; the brown haired man simply laughed at her attempt to conceal herself and drank once more.

The black haired man, Akira, smirked and sauntered up to where Kodachi was huddled, slamming his hands palm-open onto the wall directly above her, giving Kodachi a greater sense of entrapment. Akira let his head droop down, staring down the crevice of the girl's nightgown, smiling wickedly all the while.

"She's got great tits, eh Satoshi?" he called back to his friend, who was stumbling forward, managing to keep his balance, surprisingly. Kodachi wanted nothing more than to rightly break every single bone in both their bodies, and under normal circumstances she could easily do so. Her eyes narrowed, staring directly up at the man with his arms on the wall; her mouth was set firmly in a disgusted and angry scowl, her face flushing a deep red.

"H-how dare you speak t-to me like that, y-you perverts!" Kodachi managed to say; while she couldn't shout like she wanted to, her tone was dangerously angry. However, her intended effect was lost on the drunken man above her.

"Ooh, feisty are we?" Akira said, mockingly. He slid his hands down the length of the wall until he was in a crouching position directly in front of Kodachi's face, and frighteningly close. With a sadistic grin plastered on his face, the black haired man powerfully slapped Kodachi's left cheek hard, leaving a deep red hand imprint where he had hit her. She couldn't fight back the cry that issued from her lips as her head impacted on the side of the wall from the force of the slap. With her eyes scrunched close, Kodachi refused to turn her head to look at Akira.

"Don't tell me how I can an' can't talk, bitch," Akira uttered, forcing Kodachi to face him with his right hand, his fingers painfully squeezing her cheeks. Lifting her hand to strike the man back, Kodachi tried to swing her fist to Akira's face to hit him; however, in her weakened state, Kodachi hadn't the speed or force to do any damage. Satoshi, the brown haired man, caught her wrist in his iron grip before it could get anywhere close to his friend's face. His clutch was hard, and beginning to bruise her wrist; try as she might, she couldn't get herself free from his grasp. Though drunk, he was still extremely strong.

"Me an' Satoshi ain't gotten a day off in a long time, us workin' our asses off down here," he began, securing Kodachi's other hand in his left fist, trailing the fingers of his free hand down her cheek and neck, "an' hell, we haven't had much fun in a while." His coarse fingers dragged along her skin, creating goose bumps in its wake, making her blood run cold. He roughly fondled Kodachi's breast, smiling lecherously.

Gasping and in an attack that was pure instinct, Kodachi's left leg shot up, kicking Akira squarely in the jaw, forcing him to let go of her hand and her chest. He stumbled back for a few seconds, more surprised than hurt - surprise which quickly turned into anger.

"You stupid slut!" he yelled, rubbing his mouth where he had been hit. Quickly stalking over, he yanked Kodachi roughly up onto her feet, then threw her into the adjacent metal wall. She crashed with a sickening cracking sound and a sharp cry of pain, slumping to the ground, without the power to get back up again. Her body screamed in both torment and fear as both Akira and Satoshi leered at her.

"Bet she's tight," Satoshi slurred, downing the last of his drink and carelessly throwing the glass into a forgotten corner of the cell, the shattering of the glass resounding through the prison, "wanna find out?" Akira answered his friend's question with a low, throaty laugh, cracking his knuckles together, turning his attention to the girl, lying broken on the floor.

Kodachi's eyes widened in terror as they slowly approached her, their eyes never leaving her lithe form. Doing her best to scramble away but failing nonetheless, the rhythmic gymnast figured that, perhaps, she could get a few good kicks to their temples and knock them unconscious if she was lucky. Then again, luck hadn't been on her side for the past day or so, and both of them were powerful guys.

Without warning, Satoshi darted behind Kodachi, grabbing her hands and, with a piece of rope he had brought along with him for this "special occasion", bound them above her head securely. Akira did much the same with her ankles, leaving Kodachi even more defenseless and open than she already was. The teenaged girl pulled ruthlessly at the ropes, desperately trying to break free, even though she knew it was no good; despite the fact they were drunk as hell, they were still fast. Not as fast as Kodachi when at full health, but fast enough to take advantage of the situation.

And her.

She felt the hot breath on her neck as Satoshi leaned over her, kneeling between her tied arms so she wouldn't be able to try and hit him in the face again, his hands snaking towards her bust at a pace just torturous enough so she could feel his scratchy skin every inch of the way. The stench of alcohol passed from Satoshi's breath to Kodachi's nose, making her disgusted and scared simultaneously.

With frightening ease, Satoshi broke the silk straps holding the top portion of her nightgown up; he slid the material down, exposing Kodachi's well formed breasts, making her gasp in shock at the sudden sensation of cold air on her sensitive skin. The chilled feeling was quickly replaced by the warm and sticky hands of the man behind her; he grabbed her chest tightly and painfully, squeezing them between his rough fingers. Strangled cries were all Kodachi could manage as she tried, desperately, to stop Satoshi by repeatedly hitting his back. Of course, he hardly felt it; she was so weak and tired as it was, and with the positioning of her tied hands, it wouldn't have made much of a difference anyway. Satoshi soon silenced her whimpers and sobs by covering her lips with his; she tasted the bittersweet liquor on his tongue as he forced it inside her mouth, still roughly kneading her breasts with his large hands.

Meanwhile, Akira had taken much the same position as Satoshi had, but between Kodachi's legs, which were kicking thin air in desperation. His hands crawled up her legs, rubbing them, savoring their satiny feel under his dirt-encrusted fingertips. The man slowly pushed up the skirt part of her ripped nightgown, groping every inch of her skin along the way. While her bound legs protested with kicks that managed to do nothing but waste her energy, Akira continued to force the silk material up her legs, finally up to her thighs. Staring back at him was the most private part of the girl bound on the floor, tiny wisps of black hair protruding from her mound. He licked his lips in anticipation, feeling the minute and uncontrollable trembling of Kodachi under his hands; her breath was also shaky and scared, catching in her throat at times.

"No, please!" she pleaded, tears beginning to form in the corners of her eyes. She couldn't believe this was happening; she was saving herself for her darling Ranma, and now he was going to take that away from her. Ranma Darling was supposed to be the one she was going to share her first experience with - she couldn't have her dream so brutally ripped away from her, it was unthinkable! Impossible!

Yet it was happening.

Although Kodachi couldn't see him, she heard the unmistakable 'zip' as his pants dropped to the ground. His breathing was ragged and heavy with lust; Akira could feel the heat from Kodachi's pelvis, and he couldn't wait any longer. Without warning, he forcefully parted Kodachi's legs as she continued to scream and cry, begging him to stop.

"No, please Kami no. . . help me, please, help me Ranm-AAAAAH!" she cried out as he thrust into her, tearing through her hymen mercilessly, sending a whole new wave of pain throughout Kodachi's body. She felt the breath being sucked out of her as the feeling of being impaled registered in her brain; Kodachi wanted nothing more than to cry out in pain and frustration, however Satoshi had once more began to force his tongue into her mouth. Tears were freely pouring down both cheeks, now unable to be stopped by her sheer willpower alone; she could feel the bruises begin to form under Satoshi's hands from his rough groping of her tender breasts, and unwittingly tasting the liquor on his tongue.

Akira began to slowly move in and out of Kodachi, forcing himself deeper and deeper into her with each thrust, drawing a muffled cry from Kodachi's lips each time. The man was sure that Kodachi wouldn't have been a virgin - how many chaste 16-year-olds were there nowadays? - but feeling her, so tight around him, and newly broken, sure made things a hell of a lot more fun. He could see the trickles of blood streaming out of her, creating a small, red puddle on the ground; some of it was coating his member, which continued forcing itself into the scared girl. His grunts were animalistic, lust fueling each breath and sound that he made, yet drowned out by Kodachi's silent cries which were speaking volumes for themselves. The once proud girl's fingers curled and uncurled weakly behind Satoshi's back, bound and powerless to do anything - fingers that could have easily snapped both of their necks, fingers that *should* be snapping both of their necks right now. It was worse torture for her to be so helpless in such a horrendous situation than the actual pain of having her virginity ripped from her. Kodachi closed her eyes, in hopes that maybe, just maybe, if she couldn't see it, it would go away, and that she would be safe at home with Sasuke and Tatchi and this was all a dream and it never happened and that oh Kami-sama why did it hurt so much?

It was then that Kodachi felt the tiny, warm droplets on her face. Her mind, blurred with pain and humiliation as it was, didn't seem able to register exactly what was sliding down her cheek. She did notice, however, that Satoshi's mouth, which had just been heatedly pressing itself into hers, was suddenly very slack and weak. Tentatively, the bound girl opened her eyes. . .

. . . to see blood red ones staring back at her. Kodachi found herself too paralyzed with fear to scream as the woman standing above her brought Satoshi's corpse into view. His eyes were glassy and open, his shirt and jacket stained with dark red blood; protruding from where his heart presumably once sat was a shiny, metal sickle, dripping in the man's life force. The ninja woman allowed her arm to drop, and the drunken man's body to slide off the blade with a sick, slurping sound, hitting the ground with a dull thud. She calmly walked forward, towards Akira, who had by now seen the grisly remainders of his partner.

Stoically she strolled over to the man huddling in the corner, who was trying to find a way out of this situation. The woman narrowed her eyes at him, and brought her other arm up in front of her face. It was then that Kodachi witnessed something that she would never forget as long as she lived.

It was like a small tremor that wove its way up Kurai's forearm, snaking through her veins, muscle and skin. Slowly, with a sucking, ripping sound, the skin on her arm began to part, blood flowing freely from it, dripping onto the ground below. Muscle was plainly visible, as was something else that was trying to escape from inside her human tissue; it glinted, reflecting the light that the minuscule bulb in the centre of the room radiated. With the sound akin to butchering meat, a lengthy, metal sickle slid out of her arm, the base of it remaining attached to her sinew, skin wrapping around it protectively. The blood flow from her arm stopped just as suddenly as it had started.

Akira stared, horrified at the woman before him. Within the blink of an eye, Kurai brought her second scythe down on the man, slicing his throat clear open, a splash of blood spotting the woman's ashen, yet impassive face. Her other arm, the one that had impaled Satoshi, quickly embedded itself into Akira's stomach, drawing a horizontal line across his abdomen in a slow, torturous manner, watching as his insides spilled out over her blade. His face, set forever in an expression of horrified fear, gazed ahead, the stench of death beginning to overtake him.

She tried to will herself to not allow what was currently making its way up her throat and into her mouth to be vomited all over the cell; however, her body felt weak, and she was still experiencing shock from what had just happened. Turning herself to the corner, Kodachi regurgitated whatever she had left in her upset stomach, dry heaving for the most part, spitting up blood. Breathing shakily and closing her eyes tightly, Kodachi silently prayed to whatever was up there to make it all stop, to make it all go away. The only thing grounding her steadily to her dismal reality was the feeling of the ropes digging into her soft skin, her wrists and ankles glowing a soft, pink colour. It couldn't have been real - it just couldn't have; Kodachi knew this, even as she stared, sickened, at the mass of intestines and organs displayed on the matted ground, the entrails which were now extrails.

Kurai Bara turned around, looking down at the pitiful young girl, bound on the floor. Her view of the brutally slaughtered man obscured, the Black Rose found her eyes locked with the deep red orbs of the woman before her. She had eyes like lava; all consuming, two raging seas that brought only death and brimstone, clamoring for their next hapless victim. So captivated with the ninja woman's stare was Kodachi that she didn't even notice the remaining insides of Akira, sticky with fresh blood, slowly sliding off Kurai's metal sickle as she came closer to the girl on the floor. Ever so much closer. Suddenly, the black haired murderer's face was at level gaze with Kodachi's frightened and captivated expression. Kurai smiled wickedly, her fangs protruding over her crimson painted lips.

"Poor Pretty," she breathed, her face coming closer to Kodachi's, "look what they did to you." Kodachi tried her best to move back as far as possible, realizing with a sinking feeling that she was right against a cold, metallic wall. She pressed herself against it as much as possible. It didn't help. Kurai reached out with her blood covered hand, wiping away a steadily growing tear from Kodachi's eye, leaving streaks of red on the teenager's pale skin. Kodachi inhaled sharply at the ninja woman's cold-as-death touch.

"Let me make you all better, Pretty." There was time for Kodachi's eyes to widen before it began.

Screams; horrible, soul-shattering screams that could drive any mind to insanity, echoed down the stark, cold and empty hallways of the Underground. Their despairing and hopeless tones bounced off the metal walls, reaching the ears of no one, yet calling out to anybody willing to listen, and save her.



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The cool grass under his bare feet felt startlingly nice, the blades poking out through his toes, massaging his skin with their cool, wet texture. Throughout the field of green, he observed large trees protruding from the ground, providing shade from the sun and a home for the various animals scattered around the Nerima vicinity. Children's playground equipment, long since abandoned by the kids for promises of video games and cartoons, sat in its brightly coloured glory; the swings were hardly bothered by the passing zephyr that blew through the park. All in all, it was a lovely and welcomed oasis amidst the desert that was housing projects, shops, traffic, and people.

Except, of course, for him. He sat on the bench, his right hand resting protectively on a small yet expensive looking instrument case, along with a larger, black gym bag. His left hand, devoid of any such luggage, was swung over the back of the wooden bench. Propped up beside him was, in contrast, a simple bokken, the once shiny lacquer on the hardwood worn off by time and constant use. The sun's light was slowly but surely diminishing; it was starting to hide its presence behind the distant skyline, decorating the sky with stunning pinks and blues, running together in the mural of the heavens stretched wide above his head. The boy continued to watch this spectacle before him, working away at the internal musings that plagued his mind, darkening the shade of grey that it was already.

Tatewaki Kuno, aged 17, rising kendo star of Furinkan High, wished to whatever the hell was out there that everything would go back to normal. Although his definition of the term 'normal' was probably quite unlike most people's in the world, it was so much better than what it was right now. First, he found out he had this new, developing, potentially *lethal* power. Obviously this was causing him to feel sick all the time lately, and why he suddenly had these strange auras. Secondly, he met a woman with the same power as him who tried to help him by beating him senselessly. The last thing was definitely the worst though.

His sister was kidnaped by someone - or more than one someone - who left not only a gruesome mess in her bedroom, but a cryptic note written in, presumably, his sister's own blood. This frightened Kuno more deeply than anything he'd ever been afraid of before; he'd always been there to protect his little sister, even if they fought constantly. It was different when it was just him and his Kodachi; they would tease and get aggressive with each other, but they weren't looking to hurt one another terribly. Now she could be dead, and the last thing he had ever said to her was of most unkind origin.

What good was he to her if he couldn't protect her when she needed it the most? His eyes hardening, Kuno glared angrily at the wooden sword to his left. It represented everything he had prided himself to have - strength, ferocity, and courage. It infuriated him so much that the bokken, sitting there, taunting him, reminding him that it was all worth nothing if he couldn't come through when those he loved needed him. Grabbing the wooden sword in his strong grip, Kuno, with surprising ease, snapped the bokken in two, throwing the halves away from him in the sea of grass, which swallowed them up. It registered somewhere in the back of his mind that the wooden sword, now laying in two pieces on the wet ground, was the bokken his father had given him, many years ago.

Sighing and leaning back into the bench, Kuno managed to wrench his gaze from the remnants of his weapon in the grass to the fast darkening sky above him. Stars began to twinkle in and out of existence with each passing moment, yet the boy couldn't rightly concentrate on them alone. There was simply so much going through his head right now; he wanted, more than anything, to release all this stress and this worry that had built up inside. Usually this would involve an intense kendo workout, venting all his frustrations through what was essentially a large stick; however, it just didn't seem right this time, not to mention his wooden sword was broken. Physical burnout helped him to forget for a short time, but his troubles would come back to haunt him after a good night's rest. Something different was needed.

Kuno opened up his instrument case.



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She wasn't what you would call the 'athletic' type; no, her younger sister more or less fit that description. Though her playing field of choice usually consisted of freshly sharpened wit and material things, a jog now and then couldn't be too bad for her health. While brainpower was valued, a killer body could certainly get one into higher and loftier positions; from there, control and blackmail could be easily exercised. This was what Nabiki Tendo wished to gain in the near future; however for now, she just wanted to clear her head. A place of quiet and solitude the Tendo homestead was not.

Her heartbeats and breath fell into a continuous rhythm, bringing back a sense of balance and control to the middle Tendo daughter as she made her way down the sidewalk. It was chilly out, so she had taken her jacket with her; for this, Nabiki was glad. She had never much liked the cold. Nabiki watched her breath come out in puffs of water vapor in front of her, listening to the cyclic slaps of rubber against cement as she pressed on towards an invisible goal.

The night was still as death; if Nabiki were of lower intelligence, she could've assumed that she was the last person alive on earth. Everything was hushed and quieted, even the illumination given off by the streetlights towering above her. This was probably why she could hear it so well, even from so far away.

It began as a slow, deep, note resounding through the area of Nerima that the girl was jogging through. It reverberated off the parked cars, the windows, the shop fronts, and the roads, telling a musical story of woe and pain. The euphony of stringed voices crept through the night, cloaked by a twilight haze of placidity, making its way to the ears of Nabiki Tendo. Although faint, the sound was unmistakably that of a violin. Curious, Nabiki slowed her run to a walk, closing her eyes, allowing the harmonious music to guide her through the streets.

To the brown haired teenager, it sounded almost like the pleading cry of a lost child. The notes, taking on a life of their own, began to speak of loneliness, of complete isolation from life itself. The song begged to have someone find it, to tell it that everything was alright. Perhaps it was the untapped maternal instinct in Nabiki that made her think that way, but she simply had to find the source of the lonesome ballad. Her eyes still closed, she allowed the musical voice of the instrument to guide her feet. It sounded almost as if it was calling out to her. . .

The logical side of her brain told her that this was extremely stupid, that music couldn't talk, and that all this nonsense would get her nowhere. For reasons that were unexplainable to her, she didn't care. She knew she should care about those things, and that she didn't know what she was getting herself into, and yet still she didn't desire to stop, turn around and go home. It mystified and scared her, somewhat.

She opened her eyes. Before Nabiki knew it, her feet had taken her to what she recognized as the park near the local elementary school. Like the rest of the town, it looked abandoned; except for the silhouetted figure sitting on the bench, playing his sad melody, his face hidden in the shadows cast by the moonlight. From her angle, Nabiki could only see his back anyway. Cautiously and as quietly as she could, the Tendo girl stepped forward, crunching dead leaves and flattening wet grass under her shoes as she did so. She didn't want to interrupt such a haunting theme, yet she had to know who the musician was.

As if to answer her mental question, the man playing the violin stopped abruptly, mid-note. Disappointed that the song had ended, yet elated that she could finally discover who had such a capacity to make the violin truly sing, Nabiki found her breath catching in her throat. For the life of her, Nabiki couldn't figure out why she was suddenly so afraid to speak; she wasn't a shy person, yet now, the words died on her lips.

The man turned around, smokey grey eyes meeting chocolate brown ones.

"Kuno?" Nabiki breathed, staring in utter shock at the person sitting on the bench, looking at her. She found it extremely hard to believe that the Blue Blunder, of all people, was playing such an exquisitely deep and perfect melody on the violin that he was holding in his hands. The song was so beautiful and desperately melancholy - how could the swordsman be capable of such as a thing? She continued to stare at Kuno, still too surprised to say much. His eyes, locked with hers, would not let her out of her daze of silence; they were so sad and lonely, yet so handsome. . .

Nabiki shook her head once, to clear her thoughts. The Tendo girl decided that she had not thought what she had, indeed, just thought, thus her footing on the situation was regained. Trying to look as nonchalantly as possible and succeeding for the most part, Nabiki crossed her arms over her chest, wearing the mask of cool apathy on her face once more. Although she was now looking away, Nabiki could still feel Kuno's eyes on her, studying her. She felt unnerved.

"What are you doing out here, Kuno-baby?" Nabiki inquired, her voice no longer the breathy, surprised tone she had used before, but had solidified back into her normal style of speech. Out of the corner of her eye, the brunette watched what Kuno would do to respond, but being careful not to make eye contact.

"The same question could be asked of you," he replied, albeit melancholically. Saying this, he allowed his gaze to fall from her face to the faded and decayed wood that made up the bench he was currently residing on. There was a moment of silence.

"I suppose that it would too much to hope for that you came here out of concern for me," Kuno sighed, beginning to put his instrument away. Nabiki crossed her arms over her chest, looking more than a bit annoyed.

"I had no idea you were out here in the first place," she began, walking out from behind the bench, stopping directly in front of Kuno, "and even if I did, I doubt I would come here just for you. After all, it *is* just you." Kuno paused for a moment, his violin hovering over his opened instrument case; from what the Tendo girl could see, no emotions passed over his features. With a quiet sigh, Kuno returned to putting his violin away.

"'Tis good to know that you are the same as always, Nabiki Tendo," he muttered, still not looking up, his voice apathetic. Nabiki cocked an eyebrow, looking at him strangely.

"What do you mean by that?" she inquired, staring the boy before her down, somewhat confused. The brown haired by gave a rather disgruntled 'hmph'.

"You figure it out, if you are so intelligent," he growled, crossing his arms, his eyes hardening and narrowing to cold slits. Nabiki felt about ready to smack him for that; how could he be so insensitive to her? She didn't even do anything.

Then again, the episode with Kuno in the hospital still left her a bit shaky, however she had some time to think it over. Kuno was always the temperamental type, and it didn't take much to anger him sometimes. He had gotten angry at her before; however, it was different in the school hospital room. Never had she seen Kuno so utterly seething with unadulterated rage at her for a slight that Nabiki couldn't even remember doing. His eyes had changed for those split seconds, Nabiki was sure of that, from his grey eyes to fiery orange. She knew she wasn't seeing things. However, if Kuno was going to be childish. . .

"Fine then, I'll leave. I have more important places to be anyway," Nabiki huffed, turning on her heel, her arms still folded against her chest; dirt and bits of gravel crunched under her running shoe as she did so, creating the only bit of noise other than their breathing in the oppressive silence of the night. She managed to take a few steps forward.

"Nabiki, wait," Kuno relented, evicting his breath harshly, allowing his back to slouch and relax somewhat. Turning around, Nabiki saw that the boy was still refusing to look at her; his gaze was set squarely on the ground. Upon further inspection, she saw what looked to be a broken wooden sword, swallowed up by both the grass on the ground and the velvety night.

"I am sorry. I did not mean to insult you," he said quietly, his voice surprisingly soft, "I have just had a rough day." Standing there, once again at a loss for words and feeling out of place, Nabiki gazed at the young man on the bench; though she knew of his wealth, he had the look of someone whose poverty had overwhelmed them. His hair was disheveled; he was still wearing his school uniform which looked to have seen better days, and that deep gash under his eye still trickled with blood. His posture spoke not of a refined family, nor of riches, but of a world-weary wanderer, with nothing to his name but the clothes on his back and whatever dreams he managed to hold on to.

With another great sigh, Tatewaki allowed his back to slouch against the rough boards of the bench, feeling the splintering wood sinking into his white shirt and, ultimately, his skin. Strained muscles rippled under his clothes as he shifted his position, consenting to the thought of physical reaction after a moment of mental deliberation. Yet still, Nabiki stood there. She wasn't quite sure why.

"Oh," she whispered intelligently. Her usually adept and cunningly flexible mind seemed unable to wrap itself around the current situation, for one reason or another. For once in her life, she didn't know what to do.

"Come, sit if it will make you more comfortable. Kami knows it did not help me, but it may suit one such as you, Nabiki Tendo," Kuno said, his baritone voice gliding on the passing zephyr of the night to Nabiki's ears, ensnaring her mind, snapping it back to conscious awareness of things other than her own internal musings. Blinking once, Nabiki decided to take the boy's advice and sit down beside him on the slightly unpleasant park bench.

Silence hung over both their heads for a moment that seemed to last a lifetime. Watching him with her peripheral vision, Nabiki could see that Kuno was in no mood for starting a conversation; while a part of her just wanted to get up, walk away, and forget about that babbling idiot, another, more demanding part, had the curiosity of a kitten. A personal philosophy of Nabiki's was that the more you know, the more they're under your thumb.

"So," Nabiki began, wringing her hands in her lap, feeling every inch the idiot. 'Why is it so hard to talk to him suddenly?' she mentally questioned, chancing a side glance at Tatewaki who, in turn, was side glancing at her. As if on cue and timed by a brilliant New York Broadway director, they quickly turned their heads away at the exact same moment their eyes met.

'You're acting like a stupid preteen. Come on, you're better than that!' Nabiki's inner voice chided, 'besides, it's just Kuno.' Mentally sighing, Nabiki turned to face Tatewaki once more, with the full intent of showing him who was in charge of this certain exchange, and that nobody, especially not some dumb rich kid, was going to one-up her. She realized she was being overly cruel. This had not stopped her before.

"Listen-!" she began, however, that was as far as she got. Whirling her head around with her pronounced statement in the intent of intimidating the boy and gaining the upper hand, her mouth and vocal chords ceased functioning when her eyes met those of the so labeled rich idiot.

His eyes looked so sad again. Those grey fountains of never-ending depth were devoid of the passion that he always carried with him; so easy to get lost in those eyes, even now, when they seemed so alone and. . . were they brimming with tears?

She felt the gentle pounding of her heart increase steadily, looking at Tatewaki silently as he tightly shut his eyes, turning away once more. It was obvious that, while he hoped to be shielded from her view, he was wiping furiously at his eyes.

"F-forgive me, Nabiki Tendo," he whispered, not daring to allow his voice to get any louder for fear of breaking down in an instant. For the life of him, Kuno couldn't understand why he was suddenly feeling so upset around Nabiki, of all people - for one thing, it was incredibly dangerous to let his emotions get out of control, especially around someone who couldn't adequately defend themselves. However, for the most part, it was personal pride; if he couldn't best her with intellect, he knew he could always best her physically. Sure, it was of little comfort, but at least he had something; now, he felt so fragile and pitiful. . . there was no way he could look at her now.

"Kuno? Are you alright?" she asked, knowing full well what a stupid question it was. Earlier in the day, he had been acting so strangely in the school's sick room, and now he was out all alone in the park at night, obviously on the verge of some sort of breakdown. Weighing the thoughts in her head and trying to regain the logic that had vanished the moment she had made contact with the bench, Nabiki's first explanation was that dementia ran in Kuno's family and now he was really beginning to feel it.

She mentally slapped herself for that one. Keeping her mouth shut and once again relegating herself only to the role of the watchful eye, Nabiki saw the kendoist quickly wipe away at his eyes, his back to hers once more. With a deep yet shaky sigh, Kuno's head fell into the grasp of his hands, elbows resting on his knees, back slouched. A breeze chilled them both to the bone. Shivering, Nabiki pulled her coat closer to herself.

"It's getting really cold out," she said quietly, trying her best to keep a conversation up for sanity's sake, "you should get going home." She frowned when she heard Kuno utter a mirthless laugh.

"Home," he sighed, "is a place that I do not wish to return to." Still resting one cheek on his left hand, Tatewaki ran his other fingers through a mess of mahogany hair, leveling his gaze with that of the moon, residing comfortably in the night sky. For the umpteenth and equally infuriating time, Nabiki was puzzled.

"Why not?" she inquired as softly as she could, although her usual hint of demand managed to worm its way back into her routine vocalization. Kuno turned his head only far enough to lock eyes with the shivering girl beside him.

"It is a long story," he assured Nabiki, his face looking much too tired for a boy of his age. Nabiki, of course, was not satisfied with this answer, but decided to leave it alone. For the time being.

"So you just planned to spend the night in the park?" she asked, incredulous. As she stared at him, Kuno turned his face back to meet that of the man on the moon.

"The park, a motel, anywhere that is not my house would do," he began, craning his head over to the gym back that sat beside him. He opened it quickly, rifling through its contents, looking none too pleased the entire time.

"Huh. Seems that this bench would be my best bet, seeing that I did not bring my wallet with me," he muttered, his tone melancholy and unsettled.

Now, on Nabiki's part in this exchange, she did something that she had not done since she was six years old. For whatever reason, for whatever unconscious motive, she didn't really know, however, she managed to do it. She spoke without thinking.

"You could stay at my house!" the girl blurted out, once again beating the hell out of her brain inwardly for looking like she was beginning to care about him. Because she certainly didn't. Of course she didn't.

Kuno was intrigued, scared, and shocked, all at the same time. Was Nabiki Tendo. . . offering to help him, honest to goodness help *him* out of sheer generosity? A small shred of happiness registered in the boy's mind at the thought of somebody caring enough to help him.

"For a price, of course," Nabiki coughed out, adding the last sentence quickly. As fast as his happiness had been established, it was squashed with Nabiki's concluding words. He knew it was too good to be true; however, in his idiotically trusting fashion, he pushed those thoughts aside. Oh well. At least he wouldn't have to sleep like a homeless person tonight.

. . . like a person without a home or a family. . .

"Right, of course," he breathed, locking eyes with the brown haired girl, "for a price." Nabiki saw what had flashed in those stunning, event horizons of grey eyes.

It was the pain of rejection. Of loneliness. Of loss.

In her life, she had never seen eyes that had mirrored her own when her mother died.



~*~*~*~*

*bangs head on brick wall* Damn exams!! v_v Sorry that this took so frickin' long! It's June!! I thought this was gonna be done by the *beginning* of May! *sighs* I even cut the chapter in half so that I could upload it. For this I apologize, gomen nasai times infinity plus one.

I hope you manage to enjoy this small bit. I'm starting on Ch. 9 as soon as exams are finished. Bah. Science. Who needs it? Welp, R/R still. Brightens me day, me boyo.

~Chibikat