A/N: They're not my boys, but I won't tell if you don't. ^_~
This is being posted quite quickly because the prologue was, as
we all know, cruelly brief and cryptic. Typical updates will
take somewhat longer, I'm afraid. But you'll still read it,
right? *bats her eyes and pretends not to have Heero's gun
behind her back* Riiight?
Pairings are a secret! POV is Quatre.
"Sympathy For the Devil"
My name is Quatre. I don't give out my last name, because I don't like it. Actually, I don't like my first name either. "Quatre", to be honest, isn't even my name at all. I like it though, so I tell people that it is.
Something about hearing that name . . . is so soothing.
I am a psychic detective. That means that I believe in spooks and empaths and get no respect from the police or even any other private investigators when I am on a case, supernatural-related or not. Well, from Yuu maybe, but his is a grudging respect only and he doesn't believe in my more mystical theories. He is something like my partner, but he acts more like a freelancer who's just dropped by for assistance on one case.
He's also got commitment issues- meaning that he has to make them. No one-night stands for the Boy Wonder, which seriously cuts down on happy hour at the office. If he were anyone else, I'd just jump him, but though I swear I'll never know how, Yuu somehow manages to keep a fully loaded automatic weapon in his tighter-than-a-chastity-belt leather pants. And I'm talking the kind that needs a license and background check, mind.
I take a drag of my cigarette and mentally tap another nail into the coffin as Yuu glares at me in his one special way and waves the clinging smoke away from his face like a bad memory. Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."
Although, I intend to find MY Lenore.
"You're the most intelligent idiot I know, koibito," he mutters. 'Koibito'- I assume it's Japanese, since he is, but I've never asked what it meant. Not sure I want to know, to be honest.
"Let me have my vices," I protest with a chuckle, and Yuu slips off the desk and kisses my cheek before he leaves- not the mouth though. Never the mouth, because he hates the taste of tobacco with a passion. I smoke so much partially because I know we're likely to fall in together if I'm not careful. If I really wanted him, I'd suck hard candy instead. He likes peppermint the best, but any flavor does it. And no, he didn't tell me that (Yuu never tells anyone a thing about himself); I am just naturally this observant and clever and sexy to boot.
Plus, my astonishing deduction was backed up when, once at Christmas, I choked down a candy cane that the kids upstairs gave me, and the two of us wound up on the desk, messing up all my nice clean paperwork and rather enjoying ourselves. Then, being as brilliantly stupid as I could, I idly asked him if he thought I'd look good with long hair.
He was out of there so fast that my head's still spinning.
Subtle I am not, but I might've been a few lifetimes ago. And a few lifetimes ago, there was a very beautiful person with long hair who was in love with Yuu. No reason to betray your soulmate before you meet them, is there?
I wonder what Yuu's soulmate looks like now.
And I miss mine, now that I think of it again. My darling . . . My "Lenore." When did I see you last? It has been so many lifetimes since I was with you. Did I ever even share a bed with you at all? Sometimes I'm not so sure, though I think I might recall darkly tanned hands ghosting over my own slightly lighter tan- or perhaps it was pale then.
Such beautiful hands . . . did they ever get anywhere? Oh, I hope so. Perhaps someday I'll recall.
Perhaps someday I'll find them again.
Caw, caw. "Nevermore."
. . . Always did hate that poem.
I throw my head back and breathe in deep, and the smoke tickles my throat. I have the strange urge to play my violin. I can't, though. I've owned the thing since I was fifteen, and never learned a note. I keep it purely for aesthetic purposes. It makes me smile, and not enough things do that.
Yuu does, and the violin, and the vague "memory" of my unmet soulmate. But those things can also bring me great sorrow. When I see how brightly Yuu can shine in those rare moments that he is completely happy, I am forever reminded of how bright they say Lucifer was before he fell. I wonder, is he still so bright? Does he light Hell with his glory? Or is he dark now, and burnt and broken and lonely like us?
I hope not. No one deserves this eternal suffering that Yuu and I must withstand. Even if he denies it with his voice, I hear his heart singing with hope every time he meets someone who might be his lost soulmate. I hear his pain each time he loses them as well. I think I knew him once before this life. Or perhaps I knew him many times; I can't be certain.
My carefully gathered thoughts shatter as the door bangs open, and a young woman with long, dark hair marches in, loud high heels clacking on the floor. My first impression is of fishnets, a smirk, and dull black leather- the second an internal meow as I realize that this is no girl, but a boy. I have no concrete gender preferences, but pretty boys are a definite favorite.
I'd assume he was seventeen (being generous, mind you, which I always am in regards to such lovely things), and judging by his less-than typical attire, lacking certain hormones- or perhaps with a few too many. I've gotten good at telling the difference between men and women with all the primped-up peacocks chasing Yuu into my office, but he's a hard one to spot. After all, it took me a full three seconds to recognize him as male, and anyone who takes more than one is good indeed.
"Hey," the leather-clad boy greets, giving a wave and giggling at me as he tosses his plaited ponytail over one shoulder. "'Sup, dude?"
Ew. I think all my attraction for this person has just gone straight to pot.
I scowl and go to grind out my cigarette in a gesture of annoyance, but the boy stops me by catching my hand with both of his and taking it into his mouth instead, giving me a heavy- lidded look from underneath his bangs and the heavy liner around his eyes. I notice that his tongue also "accidentally" finds its way outside of his mouth just long enough to give my fingers a good teasing.
Perhaps I spoke too soon.
"Sorry, but I really need a smoke, ya know?" he says with a sly grin, taking over possession of my half-gone coffin nail and crawling up on my desk, putting his feet up on the arms of my chair and quite deliberately spreading his miniskirt-clad legs. Definitely spoke too soon, even if he is underage.
"Did you need something?" I inquire politely, idly wondering how this boy would look in my boxers. Or nothing.
"Lots of things," he tells me, his mouth close enough to blow smoke into mine. He smells like peppermint under the tobacco. How amusing. "But mostly, I need to find God."
"Really?" I raise an eyebrow at that. "Shall I assume that you don't mean this literally, Mr. . . . ?"
"Name's Binary," he says with a wide smile. "Binary Pinto, actually, but if ya call me 'Mr. Pinto' I'll shoot myself. Or you; depending on my mood."
"Whatever." I wave him off, internally cringing at my regression into such high school-ish terms. This kid is downright infectious.
"Well . . . " Binary takes another drag and bats his eyelashes at me.
And I would not be surprised if he were addictive, too. Somebody should stick a Surgeon General's Warning on the brat. 'Caution: Do not look directly into pretty peacock's eyes, or dizziness and inappropriate thoughts may ensue.'
"What I need is to find God," he repeats, crossing his legs (to my private disappointment) and ditching my cancer stick in the ashtray (to my less-private disappointment). That was my last one. Damn.
As I look mournfully at my cigarette's remains, the pretty bastard boy pulls another one and silver lighter out of his purse (Lord knows WHY he carries a purse). I'm tempted to kill him, all sexiness aside.
"We're not actually talking the typical version of God here- I don't think too much of him anyway," Binary continues. "I just want to find the God of Death. I have a few questions for him, you see."
" 'The God of Death'?" I repeat, blinking slightly as that annoying sixth sense starts to tingle. This does not sound like a normal case at all. Yuu is definitely going to be pissed. I am twenty-two years old, and have yet to escape Dreamland. He is twenty-one and acts like he's in his late fifties.
"Shinigami, to certain circles," Binary clarifies with a slow grin.
"That's Japanese, isn't it?" I muse aloud, automatically getting to my feet and heading for my library (okay, my rickety bookshelf).
"Yup," he confirms, and I pull out one of my more dog-eared texts. Yuu is Japanese (in blood at least), and he likes reading it. My grasp of the language's pronunciation is not so great, but I can read it rather well for an English-speaking affluent, though I STILL don't know what "koibito" means.
Hm . . . I suppose that I am technically a "former" affluent now, since I ran off and tried to make it on my own. For some reason I was born sick of wealth.
Now, back to the topic du jour. My Japanese vocabulary is somewhat basic, I'm afraid, and whenever I speak so much as a word of the thing, Yuu accuses me of bastardizing his "homeland's" dialect (the man was born in fucking NEW JERSEY, for God's sake) nines times out of ten. Not my problem, mind you. Well, yes it is, actually. Really, I speak more languages than most people have even heard of; yet that idiot still can't forgive me for using the incorrect form of "I" ONCE- and this was after being chased by no less than three different assassins, getting shot twice, and nearly drowning on top of it all, all in less than two hours time.
God, but I hate my job some days.
Eh, screw it- I'm gonna seduce the damned pretty boy and work out some stress. I quickly read the definition of "Shinigami" (in a nutshell: god of death; takes souls to the afterlife, big whoop), then return it to something within a shelf or four of its correct place and give the boy my best sultry pout.
"So, how will you be paying?" I ask innocently. "Cash, check, or . . . " I run my fingers down his torso and stop, hooking my thumbs in his skirt's waistband. "Kissing?" Not one of my better lines, but whatever works. And he's still a kid, slut look aside- my good lines would probably scorch his ears off.
Curiously, the boy actually seems surprised. After the way he's been slinking around like a prostitute for the past ten minutes, you'd think he'd be more receptive to my advances, but he suddenly looks almost nervous.
"Um, cash, I think," Binary says weakly, suddenly shutting his legs and slipping off the desk. "That okay?"
"This is easier," I murmur, stepping around the desk and using the four inches of height I have on him to their full advantage. "Don't you think?"
"No!" he yells, and suddenly seems honestly afraid of me even as anger flashes in his eyes. "You can't touch me! Not ever!"
I stop in surprise and wonder something. "Binary," I begin slowly. "Exactly what DO you want to ask Shinigami?"
"I . . . I have to know why it left me alone," he says, slightly hoarsely, as he lowers his eyes. "I need to know why it took my family away and left me alone with . . . with . . ."
I don't need to know more- I don't WANT to, really.
"I'm sorry," I say, stepping back respectfully. "I didn't mean to intrude."
"I . . . I apologize too," he replies quickly, looking away and tucking a loose lock of hair behind his ear. "I shouldn't have gotten so pissed at ya." He glances up and gives me a guilty look. "If you want, I'll kiss you anyway."
"I have no problems with that," I say in my best "you-are-SO- gonna-get-laid-tonight" voice, leaning over towards him again. Then, to my incredibly unfortunate misfortune, Yuu of the piercing blue eyes slinks back into the office.
"Oi, Quat-chan, have you seen my keys?" he asks curiously, then blinks in surprise at the sight of me propositioning the pretty young thing by the desk. "Oh- sorry, koibito; I didn't know you were expecting anyone."
"Ohhh," Binary whispers in awe, his eyes widening with appreciation and glazing over. I sigh and roll my own. And yet ANOTHER perfectly good paramour has been lost to the great Yuu- sama's gorgeous eyes and sinfully tight pants. I really have to stop seducing people in the office, or I'll never get laid again.
"Binary, this is Yuu," I introduce. "Yuu, Binary Pinto. New client; wants to find Shinigami."
"As in the God of Death?" Yuu raises an eyebrow at me. "You do attract the odd ones, koi."
"Don't mind him; I just keep the guy around 'cause he's a sexy bastard. You know, like office furniture," I inform Binary bluntly. He ignores me in favor of drooling over said sexy bastard. Oh for crying out loud . . . This is my office; therefore, logically speaking, only I should score here. Damn Yuu and his liquid sex appeal.
Well, no, I actually quite like his liquid sex appeal- I just like it better when it's only focused in MY direction.
At least Yuu doesn't seem overly interested in our pretty new peacock, so I still have a vague chance to score. He was never one for really blatant people, much less those who believe in the arcane, and Binary is nothing but these things.
"Hello, sir," Binary says softly, fluttering false lashes over wide, innocent eyes. Yuu, being Yuu, doesn't fall for it for a moment.
"Hn," he answers distractedly, already stepping past him to reach for the previously mentioned keys, which are, curiously enough, hanging out of MY jacket pocket.
Oh, wait- this is his jacket.
Well, that explains a bit. Like why I actually had enough money for coffee AND cigarettes today. Note to self: you owe Yuu five bucks, and Binary owes YOU at least that much in kisses . . .
Binary pouts a bit but still finds time to give Yuu's ass an appreciative glance. Well, more like a detailed inspection and cataloguing.
. . . preferably to be collected before he runs off after your partner.
* tbc . . . *
. : review or die! : .
Pairings are a secret! POV is Quatre.
"Sympathy For the Devil"
My name is Quatre. I don't give out my last name, because I don't like it. Actually, I don't like my first name either. "Quatre", to be honest, isn't even my name at all. I like it though, so I tell people that it is.
Something about hearing that name . . . is so soothing.
I am a psychic detective. That means that I believe in spooks and empaths and get no respect from the police or even any other private investigators when I am on a case, supernatural-related or not. Well, from Yuu maybe, but his is a grudging respect only and he doesn't believe in my more mystical theories. He is something like my partner, but he acts more like a freelancer who's just dropped by for assistance on one case.
He's also got commitment issues- meaning that he has to make them. No one-night stands for the Boy Wonder, which seriously cuts down on happy hour at the office. If he were anyone else, I'd just jump him, but though I swear I'll never know how, Yuu somehow manages to keep a fully loaded automatic weapon in his tighter-than-a-chastity-belt leather pants. And I'm talking the kind that needs a license and background check, mind.
I take a drag of my cigarette and mentally tap another nail into the coffin as Yuu glares at me in his one special way and waves the clinging smoke away from his face like a bad memory. Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."
Although, I intend to find MY Lenore.
"You're the most intelligent idiot I know, koibito," he mutters. 'Koibito'- I assume it's Japanese, since he is, but I've never asked what it meant. Not sure I want to know, to be honest.
"Let me have my vices," I protest with a chuckle, and Yuu slips off the desk and kisses my cheek before he leaves- not the mouth though. Never the mouth, because he hates the taste of tobacco with a passion. I smoke so much partially because I know we're likely to fall in together if I'm not careful. If I really wanted him, I'd suck hard candy instead. He likes peppermint the best, but any flavor does it. And no, he didn't tell me that (Yuu never tells anyone a thing about himself); I am just naturally this observant and clever and sexy to boot.
Plus, my astonishing deduction was backed up when, once at Christmas, I choked down a candy cane that the kids upstairs gave me, and the two of us wound up on the desk, messing up all my nice clean paperwork and rather enjoying ourselves. Then, being as brilliantly stupid as I could, I idly asked him if he thought I'd look good with long hair.
He was out of there so fast that my head's still spinning.
Subtle I am not, but I might've been a few lifetimes ago. And a few lifetimes ago, there was a very beautiful person with long hair who was in love with Yuu. No reason to betray your soulmate before you meet them, is there?
I wonder what Yuu's soulmate looks like now.
And I miss mine, now that I think of it again. My darling . . . My "Lenore." When did I see you last? It has been so many lifetimes since I was with you. Did I ever even share a bed with you at all? Sometimes I'm not so sure, though I think I might recall darkly tanned hands ghosting over my own slightly lighter tan- or perhaps it was pale then.
Such beautiful hands . . . did they ever get anywhere? Oh, I hope so. Perhaps someday I'll recall.
Perhaps someday I'll find them again.
Caw, caw. "Nevermore."
. . . Always did hate that poem.
I throw my head back and breathe in deep, and the smoke tickles my throat. I have the strange urge to play my violin. I can't, though. I've owned the thing since I was fifteen, and never learned a note. I keep it purely for aesthetic purposes. It makes me smile, and not enough things do that.
Yuu does, and the violin, and the vague "memory" of my unmet soulmate. But those things can also bring me great sorrow. When I see how brightly Yuu can shine in those rare moments that he is completely happy, I am forever reminded of how bright they say Lucifer was before he fell. I wonder, is he still so bright? Does he light Hell with his glory? Or is he dark now, and burnt and broken and lonely like us?
I hope not. No one deserves this eternal suffering that Yuu and I must withstand. Even if he denies it with his voice, I hear his heart singing with hope every time he meets someone who might be his lost soulmate. I hear his pain each time he loses them as well. I think I knew him once before this life. Or perhaps I knew him many times; I can't be certain.
My carefully gathered thoughts shatter as the door bangs open, and a young woman with long, dark hair marches in, loud high heels clacking on the floor. My first impression is of fishnets, a smirk, and dull black leather- the second an internal meow as I realize that this is no girl, but a boy. I have no concrete gender preferences, but pretty boys are a definite favorite.
I'd assume he was seventeen (being generous, mind you, which I always am in regards to such lovely things), and judging by his less-than typical attire, lacking certain hormones- or perhaps with a few too many. I've gotten good at telling the difference between men and women with all the primped-up peacocks chasing Yuu into my office, but he's a hard one to spot. After all, it took me a full three seconds to recognize him as male, and anyone who takes more than one is good indeed.
"Hey," the leather-clad boy greets, giving a wave and giggling at me as he tosses his plaited ponytail over one shoulder. "'Sup, dude?"
Ew. I think all my attraction for this person has just gone straight to pot.
I scowl and go to grind out my cigarette in a gesture of annoyance, but the boy stops me by catching my hand with both of his and taking it into his mouth instead, giving me a heavy- lidded look from underneath his bangs and the heavy liner around his eyes. I notice that his tongue also "accidentally" finds its way outside of his mouth just long enough to give my fingers a good teasing.
Perhaps I spoke too soon.
"Sorry, but I really need a smoke, ya know?" he says with a sly grin, taking over possession of my half-gone coffin nail and crawling up on my desk, putting his feet up on the arms of my chair and quite deliberately spreading his miniskirt-clad legs. Definitely spoke too soon, even if he is underage.
"Did you need something?" I inquire politely, idly wondering how this boy would look in my boxers. Or nothing.
"Lots of things," he tells me, his mouth close enough to blow smoke into mine. He smells like peppermint under the tobacco. How amusing. "But mostly, I need to find God."
"Really?" I raise an eyebrow at that. "Shall I assume that you don't mean this literally, Mr. . . . ?"
"Name's Binary," he says with a wide smile. "Binary Pinto, actually, but if ya call me 'Mr. Pinto' I'll shoot myself. Or you; depending on my mood."
"Whatever." I wave him off, internally cringing at my regression into such high school-ish terms. This kid is downright infectious.
"Well . . . " Binary takes another drag and bats his eyelashes at me.
And I would not be surprised if he were addictive, too. Somebody should stick a Surgeon General's Warning on the brat. 'Caution: Do not look directly into pretty peacock's eyes, or dizziness and inappropriate thoughts may ensue.'
"What I need is to find God," he repeats, crossing his legs (to my private disappointment) and ditching my cancer stick in the ashtray (to my less-private disappointment). That was my last one. Damn.
As I look mournfully at my cigarette's remains, the pretty bastard boy pulls another one and silver lighter out of his purse (Lord knows WHY he carries a purse). I'm tempted to kill him, all sexiness aside.
"We're not actually talking the typical version of God here- I don't think too much of him anyway," Binary continues. "I just want to find the God of Death. I have a few questions for him, you see."
" 'The God of Death'?" I repeat, blinking slightly as that annoying sixth sense starts to tingle. This does not sound like a normal case at all. Yuu is definitely going to be pissed. I am twenty-two years old, and have yet to escape Dreamland. He is twenty-one and acts like he's in his late fifties.
"Shinigami, to certain circles," Binary clarifies with a slow grin.
"That's Japanese, isn't it?" I muse aloud, automatically getting to my feet and heading for my library (okay, my rickety bookshelf).
"Yup," he confirms, and I pull out one of my more dog-eared texts. Yuu is Japanese (in blood at least), and he likes reading it. My grasp of the language's pronunciation is not so great, but I can read it rather well for an English-speaking affluent, though I STILL don't know what "koibito" means.
Hm . . . I suppose that I am technically a "former" affluent now, since I ran off and tried to make it on my own. For some reason I was born sick of wealth.
Now, back to the topic du jour. My Japanese vocabulary is somewhat basic, I'm afraid, and whenever I speak so much as a word of the thing, Yuu accuses me of bastardizing his "homeland's" dialect (the man was born in fucking NEW JERSEY, for God's sake) nines times out of ten. Not my problem, mind you. Well, yes it is, actually. Really, I speak more languages than most people have even heard of; yet that idiot still can't forgive me for using the incorrect form of "I" ONCE- and this was after being chased by no less than three different assassins, getting shot twice, and nearly drowning on top of it all, all in less than two hours time.
God, but I hate my job some days.
Eh, screw it- I'm gonna seduce the damned pretty boy and work out some stress. I quickly read the definition of "Shinigami" (in a nutshell: god of death; takes souls to the afterlife, big whoop), then return it to something within a shelf or four of its correct place and give the boy my best sultry pout.
"So, how will you be paying?" I ask innocently. "Cash, check, or . . . " I run my fingers down his torso and stop, hooking my thumbs in his skirt's waistband. "Kissing?" Not one of my better lines, but whatever works. And he's still a kid, slut look aside- my good lines would probably scorch his ears off.
Curiously, the boy actually seems surprised. After the way he's been slinking around like a prostitute for the past ten minutes, you'd think he'd be more receptive to my advances, but he suddenly looks almost nervous.
"Um, cash, I think," Binary says weakly, suddenly shutting his legs and slipping off the desk. "That okay?"
"This is easier," I murmur, stepping around the desk and using the four inches of height I have on him to their full advantage. "Don't you think?"
"No!" he yells, and suddenly seems honestly afraid of me even as anger flashes in his eyes. "You can't touch me! Not ever!"
I stop in surprise and wonder something. "Binary," I begin slowly. "Exactly what DO you want to ask Shinigami?"
"I . . . I have to know why it left me alone," he says, slightly hoarsely, as he lowers his eyes. "I need to know why it took my family away and left me alone with . . . with . . ."
I don't need to know more- I don't WANT to, really.
"I'm sorry," I say, stepping back respectfully. "I didn't mean to intrude."
"I . . . I apologize too," he replies quickly, looking away and tucking a loose lock of hair behind his ear. "I shouldn't have gotten so pissed at ya." He glances up and gives me a guilty look. "If you want, I'll kiss you anyway."
"I have no problems with that," I say in my best "you-are-SO- gonna-get-laid-tonight" voice, leaning over towards him again. Then, to my incredibly unfortunate misfortune, Yuu of the piercing blue eyes slinks back into the office.
"Oi, Quat-chan, have you seen my keys?" he asks curiously, then blinks in surprise at the sight of me propositioning the pretty young thing by the desk. "Oh- sorry, koibito; I didn't know you were expecting anyone."
"Ohhh," Binary whispers in awe, his eyes widening with appreciation and glazing over. I sigh and roll my own. And yet ANOTHER perfectly good paramour has been lost to the great Yuu- sama's gorgeous eyes and sinfully tight pants. I really have to stop seducing people in the office, or I'll never get laid again.
"Binary, this is Yuu," I introduce. "Yuu, Binary Pinto. New client; wants to find Shinigami."
"As in the God of Death?" Yuu raises an eyebrow at me. "You do attract the odd ones, koi."
"Don't mind him; I just keep the guy around 'cause he's a sexy bastard. You know, like office furniture," I inform Binary bluntly. He ignores me in favor of drooling over said sexy bastard. Oh for crying out loud . . . This is my office; therefore, logically speaking, only I should score here. Damn Yuu and his liquid sex appeal.
Well, no, I actually quite like his liquid sex appeal- I just like it better when it's only focused in MY direction.
At least Yuu doesn't seem overly interested in our pretty new peacock, so I still have a vague chance to score. He was never one for really blatant people, much less those who believe in the arcane, and Binary is nothing but these things.
"Hello, sir," Binary says softly, fluttering false lashes over wide, innocent eyes. Yuu, being Yuu, doesn't fall for it for a moment.
"Hn," he answers distractedly, already stepping past him to reach for the previously mentioned keys, which are, curiously enough, hanging out of MY jacket pocket.
Oh, wait- this is his jacket.
Well, that explains a bit. Like why I actually had enough money for coffee AND cigarettes today. Note to self: you owe Yuu five bucks, and Binary owes YOU at least that much in kisses . . .
Binary pouts a bit but still finds time to give Yuu's ass an appreciative glance. Well, more like a detailed inspection and cataloguing.
. . . preferably to be collected before he runs off after your partner.
* tbc . . . *
. : review or die! : .
