Why you should never kick Muraki in the balls
Chapter Three: The moon wasn't red
A story by Kelly
Kelly says: Wan! I finally managed to get this out! I am so sorry for the delay but I've been massively busy this week. We had our department festival and I had to be the emcee for several events. Not to mention taking part in the inter-departmental debate. . .which we won! Yay! And I got the award of best debater! Wahahaha! But here I am once again, slaving away to bring out another chapter!
Summary: It's nearly a year after the Kyoto Arc and Muraki is slowly losing himself to despair. This is a story about love, angst, humour, rage and why you should never kick Muraki in the balls. All will be explained. Soon.
Pairings: Not saying.
Warning: Will contain slash, graphic murders, traumatic recollections and the much-needed angst. Slight OOC. Read at your own risk.
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Quotable Quotes From The Questionable Sanity of Kelly:
"I prefer to think of myself as a purveyor of fine female companionship to the discerning client. 'Pimp' sounds much too crass."
~Oriya Mibu~
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Sometimes I remember, the darkness of my past
Bringing back these memories, I wish I didn't have
Sometimes I think of letting go and never looking back
And never moving forward so there would never be a past
It's easier to run
Replacing this pain with something numb
It's much easier to go
Than face all this pain here all alone
~Linkin Park, "Easier to run"~
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It's been over 6 months.
6 months after that night when Tsuzuki tried to kill himself, aided by a Shikigami no less. And here they are, at the very place that's sheltering the demon that drove Tsuzuki to the brink of suicide.
Hisoka shivered despite the knee-length coat he was wearing. After all this time, he could not get use to Chijou's weather. It was always too cold or too hot. Not like Meifu where the temperature was always just nice. It's such a shock to the system, after spending weeks on end in an everlasting spring to suddenly find yourself in a spring that will die in a few weeks and where the weather is just not that. . .perfect.
Of course, it wasn't just because of the weather he was shivering.
Muraki, or the very nearness of the man, tends to have that effect on you.
Hisoka is very careful to have his emphatic shields high up.
Since Kyoto is under Watari's care, the blond was with them on their unscheduled nighttime visit. So is in fact, Tatsumi. 4 Shinigami just to confront one person. Really, you would think that it was kind of excessive to pull out such an entourage for just one man. But then, Muraki isn't exactly ordinary, is he?
Glancing at the taciturn secretary, Hisoka was glad that he had 'volunteered' (where Tatsumi is concerned, a suggestion is pretty much a demand anyway) to accompany them. He recalled the first and last time the Shadow Master confronted the doctor. Tatsumi had definitely managed to hold his own ground against Muraki, whereas he, and Tsuzuki, tended to go into pieces.
But they were stronger now. Better. The nightmares were getting less. For him as well as Tsuzuki. They could do this, they can face the demon and come out intact.
But then, there is that notion of wishful thinking. . . .
The KoKakuRou was as grand as ever. They had noted the steady stream of visitors in expensive, black cars pulling up front, flanked by bulky bodyguards. Tatsumi's earlier research had told them that the restaurant was famous for its discretion, resulting in high-ranking customers that by virtue of their public position alone would have ensured a nasty death to their career should they ever be caught frequenting the place Oriya Mibu ran.
Figuring that Oriya, the one man who could ensure them an audience with their prey, would be relatively busy, they decided to wait until closing time before announcing their arrival. Watari had checked the hospital where Muraki work, the Tokyo General Hospital, and had confirmed that Dr. Muraki had indeed taken time off from work to visit an 'old friend' in Kyoto.
"Are you alright, Kurosaki-kun?" A soft voice intruded on his reverie.
Hisoka started, suddenly too aware of the deep silence that had fallen upon the four of them as they waited. They had chosen a dark corner of Oriya's private garden and had taken care as well to shield their presence.
"Tatsumi-san. . .yes, I'm alright," he replied, softly as well, albeit a bit stiffly. Though he genuinely respected the man, seeing in him a sort of surrogate older brother or a parent even, he had yet to reach a certain level of intimacy with the secretary. None of them were, truth to tell, except perhaps, for Tsuzuki and Watari. But then, Tsuzuki had the honour of being the oldest employee in the JuuOhCHo while Watari. . .well, Watari was Watari. How can you not get friendly with the man? The only person Watari wasn't friendly with was Enma. But then, Enma is a god so you can't really count him.
A sudden flash of hurt streaked through him though, at Tatsumi's well-meant inquiry. He felt hurt that it had been Tatsumi, and not Tsuzuki that had asked that question. After all, his partner should know just how much this visit would be affecting him.
Baka, he chided himself. You're not the only one with a past that has Muraki in it. I'll bet he's not taking this well either. A quick glance to the still, silent figure to his right confirmed that. The amethyst eyes were closed, perhaps in recollection, and his hands were curled into tight fists by his side. No, Tsuzuki had enough on his mind already.
Stealing out a hand from his pocket, he touched Tsuzuki's bare knuckle briefly, sending a little spurt of comfort through the touch.
"Are you okay, Tsuzuki?" he whispered.
It was Tsuzuki's turn to jump, the eyes snapping open and revealing amethyst orbs that were slightly dazed. Seeing all three Shinigami scrutinizing him, Tsuzuki blushed.
"Yeah, I'm fine," he forced a smile. "It's just tiring, waiting like this."
They all knew what a blatant lie that was but none of them called him on it, least of all Hisoka. If he did, then he would merely be calling the kettle black. No. Let Tsuzuki be with his well-meant lie if it means that he could keep his.
The hands of his wristwatch told him that it was after 2 a.m. before Tatsumi finally gave them the all clear.
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"You."
It wasn't exactly the warm welcome they envisioned but at least he wasn't wielding a katana in their face. So the Shinigami took it as a good sign.
To say that Oriya Mibu was pleased to see them would be an understatement of the wrong emotion. His chocolate brown eyes narrowed underneath the soft amber glow of the porch light, sending rippling shimmers of rainbow through his waist-length hair. The hair had been pulled back into a thick braid to keep it out of the way as he worked but instead of detracting, it actually enhanced the image of an old-time warrior, one who is superb with a sword and is not afraid to show it.
His sword-callused hands were tucked in the folds of his kimono as he glared at his unwelcome visitors.
"Well?" he demanded without preamble. "What is it now? Muraki hasn't gone and kidnap any of your employees so I know it can't be about that." His eyes fell on Hisoka who had unconsciously stepped slightly behind Tatsumi, using the secretary as a shield. If anything, Tsuzuki was practically cowering behind all three of them. "Bouya," he acknowledged with a crisp nod. Their duel had been one of a cruel necessity, both trying to protect a loved one and the fact that Hisoka had held his own had accorded him with Oriya's respect.
"We haven't had the chance to properly introduce ourselves the first time we met," Tatsumi interjected smoothly. Years of handling fractious Shinigami had gifted Tatsumi with the enviable aplomb to handle almost any sort of character. "My name is Tatsumi Seiichiro, Secretary of the Shokan Division. This," he gestured to Hisoka, "is Kurosaki Hisoka. The others are Watari Yutaka, the Shinigami in charge of Kyoto and Tsuzuki Asato, Kurosaki-kun's partner."
At the mention of Tsuzuki's name, Oriya's eyes automatically sought out the elusive man who was hiding in the shadows. Noting the rather lackluster enthusiasm, Oriya's mouth quirked into an ironic smile.
"And what, pray tell, can I help you with?" Oriya repeated. Hisoka noted that the casual stance had shifted slightly into wariness upon seeing Tsuzuki and it was not lost upon Tatsumi. The secretary frowned slightly before replying.
"We would like to speak with the sensei. We were informed that he is currently your guest and we have several questions for him concerning his activities the past 3 weeks."
Oriya seemed to give their request serious consideration, cocking his head to the side and gazing at them through half-lidded eyes. Hisoka tried to get a feel on Oriya's emotions but like Tatsumi, it was tightly leashed. He could barely detect any play of emotion despite the rather visible annoyance he had shown on their arrival. It was to be expected. He is after all, a gifted swordsman.
He stood there, contemplating them for maybe a couple of minutes before he finally gave a sharp nod.
"Very well. But on several conditions," he rapped out.
Tatsumi lifted an eyebrow. "Them being?"
"You are not to touch or speak to any of my girls. One of them has psychic abilities and I do not want the presence of Shinigamis in this house to disturb her or the others. And," his eyes narrowed dangerously, "there will be no fighting or any sort of violence in the KoKakuRou. From either of you. Muraki is also under the same condition. He may forget at times," his eyes once again fell on Tsuzuki before continuing, "but he does adhere to it. So I expect it from all of you."
Watari snorted delicately. "Not to sound rude but what exactly will stop Muraki from resorting to violence if he feels like it?"
Oriya's smile was more of a baring of teeth than any sort of friendly gesture. "Because I'll be with you with my blade. Make any wrong move and you'll get to feel how sharp I've kept it. Same goes for Muraki. Agreed?"
It was a foregone conclusion. Tatsumi answered for them, his voice crisp and sharp.
"Agreed."
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They were led to the second floor, the part which overlooked another side of the private gardens. The one they came in through was via a back way while this part of the garden actually stretched out into a small grove of trees. It afforded quiet and peace amidst the old Imperial city.
Stopping outside a closed shoji, Oriya indicated for them to wait before the threshold. He rapped sharply on the wooden frame twice before sliding the screen open and even then it was only partway, the view inside blocked by him.
"Kazu?" Oriya's voice was neutral, neither indicating his pleasure or lack of it.
"Yes?" came a faint reply from within.
"You have visitors."
A moment's silence. "You don't really think I wasn't aware of that, did you?"
Oriya lifted his broad shoulders in a bare shrug. "You want to see them or not?" he demanded irritably. "If you do, I already made them promise that there will be no violence. Same goes for you," he added with a warning note.
Muraki must have given some sort of reply because a moment later, Oriya stepped aside, gesturing them to go on with a stony face. His sheathed katana, which he had picked up on the way upstairs, rested in plain sight on his shoulder, a clear warning.
Single-file, the Shinigami trooped in, Tatsumi leading the way with Tsuzuki practically cringing while bringing up the rear. The room inside was indeed spacious, befitting the status of a close friend of the owner. A quick look assured Tatsumi that it was at least fifteen tatami with a portion closed off with a fusama. And in the room, waiting for them calmly, was their quarry.
Despite his unflappable calm, despite his ability to handle any situation with aplomb, the sight of the silver-haired man was like a slap to his face how he himself had personally failed to protect his colleagues. Tatsumi felt the corner of his lips lifting slightly in the baring of fangs, both literally and metaphorically as the shadows in the corners swirled in sudden agitation.
"Do you really want to test my blade that badly?" A sharp voice intruded.
Tatsumi's control on his emotions were awesome to behold. Even before the reminder died away, the shadows settled back in their natural shapes. His face once again a calm mask, Tatsumi acknowledged the sensei with a sharp nod, one that indicated all hate and no respect.
Muraki was sitting before a low table, the screens to his right opened to let in the night breezes. The table was large enough to accommodate the three of them opposite Muraki with Oriya taking up station at the head of the table with his back against the screens and Watari at the foot. Sitting in the middle, Tatsumi was flanked by Hisoka on his left and Tsuzuki on his right. Tsuzuki was still shivering slightly.
There was an uncomfortable silence that stretched for a few minutes, broken by a serving girl that carried in a tray of cups and a pot of hot tea with her. She settled the tray deferentially on the table with a quick glance first at Muraki, then Oriya, and finally, the restaurant's late-night visitors.
Tatsumi was surprised to note that the look directed to Muraki was not of fear but one of curiosity.
"Chika-san," Oriya drew her attention away from his rather eclectic guests. "Have the others turned in for the night yet?"
Chika gave him a bright smile. "Hai, Oriya-sama. We've nearly finished cleaning up the dining room as well. Would you like for me to wait outside in case you need anything?"
"That won't be necessary. Go to bed. Tell the others to do so as well."
It must have been some sort of oblique warning for the girl, Chika, threw Oriya a startled look before nodding obediently and withdrawing gracefully from the room.
Throughout the entire exchange, even before they sat themselves down, Muraki had yet to look at them. Instead, his attention seemed to be drawn outside where a fat, full moon was visible, gleaming golden and shedding its liquid light over the tops of the trees. Taking a good look at the sensei, Tatsumi was discomfited to notice that he wasn't in his customary white suit. Despite the fact that it was nearly three in the morning and no one in their right mind would be in a suit when relaxing, he had somehow attributed that white suit to the sensei. It was his 'do-evil' costume. So it did not sit well with Tatsumi having the sensei wearing a dark-blue sweater over a shirt.
At least the trousers were still white.
"We came here to ask you a few questions," Tatsumi said abruptly. Hisoka, Tsuzuki and Watari jumped at the suddenness of it while Oriya kept his wary vigil. The katana lay lengthwise in his lap.
Muraki finally drew his eyes away from the scenery to face him. He wasn't wearing his glasses, another missing piece of his evil costume, Tatsumi was nearly annoyed to notice. He didn't like people not conforming to his earlier perceptions of them. Without the glasses and the suit, Muraki looked nearly normal. 'Nearly', being the operative word here. He doubted the man would ever look normal with that kind of pale coloring, especially with his scarred eye, barely visible through the long fringe of hair.
Muraki blinked sleepily at him.
That threw Tatsumi into a kilter. He expected a sarcastic rejoinder, some innuendos, maybe even a blatant once-over of Tsuzuki but he did nothing of the sort. His lack of expected reaction were also noticed by Hisoka and Tsuzuki, the latter finally forgetting to tremble in his surprise. Muraki didn't even look at him.
"Couldn't you just call me then?" Muraki asked, his tone almost. . .bored. Indifferent even. "I'm sure it would have saved you a lot of trouble, not to mention you need not have bothered Oriya-san."
Oriya took in the comment in his stride, his eyes still wary but they could see the little grimace that pulled his mouth.
Tatsumi felt the feral snarl twisting his mouth again. "If I knew that was an option, I would not have bothered. Well?"
"Well what?" Muraki countered, still blinking sleepily. He had taken up his cup and sipped his tea carefully.
"Are you going to answer our questions or not?"
"Depends. If you ever get around to asking them, I probably would."
That was more like Muraki, a certain part of Tatsumi noted with satisfaction but Oriya looked annoyed rather and frowned.
"Could you just cooperate. Kazu?" he snapped. "I would really like it if this meeting would not end in bloodshed. Where's your manners? You'd think your mother didn't-" he stopped suddenly, his face pale.
Muraki's reaction to this was interesting to say the least. Showing the most emotion he had this night, his cheeks flushed even as his lips compressed into a thin line and he brought down his cup with a forceful jerk, nearly slamming the porcelain against the wooden surface of the table.
"My mother taught me a lot of things, Oriya-san. Tell me, what exactly were you referring to?" His voice was calm even as the flush died out and the paleness returned to his face. But Tatsumi couldn't help but wonder.
Oriya didn't reply, instead, his face blanched even further as though he had been struck a blow. Deciding that this little byplay was interesting but not that important, Tatsumi filed it away in his mind for later analysis and instead, brought the 'conversation' back to the previous topic.
"In the past three weeks, there have been over 6 murders in Tokyo. All of them bear your magical signature. Did you kill them?"
Muraki didn't even bother to deny it. His answer was a simple, "Yes. So?"
The Shinigami blinked rather stupidly at the candid admission. They had expected some sort of word war, a play of innuendos and suggestion, maybe a bargain or two for information. They had not expected the outright "Yes. So?"
"So. . ." Tatsumi spluttered, at loss for words. "Your use of magic had brought this case to our attention and. . .and. ."
"And you found your killer," Muraki concluded. "That means, case solved as it no longer falls under your jurisdiction. It's up to the human realm to solve it then. Not to mention the fact that all the souls have moved on."
"How did you know that? That the souls have moved on?" Hisoka spoke up suddenly. His voice was strangely subdued and he was careful to not look directly at Muraki. But his hands were clenched around his cup as though desperately seeking the warmth provided.
"Do you really need to ask, Kurosaki-san?"
Hisoka jerked his face up to meet Muraki's in shock. In all of their meetings, Muraki had always referred to him as 'boy', 'you' or 'that annoying brat'. He had never called him by name before even though he was unfailingly polite whenever he dealt with Tsuzuki. Come to think of it, he still haven't glanced once at his partner.
The other Shinigami were gaping like landed fish, even Tatsumi. It was clear that they were baffled as he was concerning this new side of the sensei. It occurred to him then that this could just be another game. That he was playing with them, playing with their minds. It is his specialty after all. Taking a huge risk, Hisoka extended his empathy towards Muraki, careful to slam his shields back up in an instant's notice.
He found a vast sea of. . . .apathy? Mixed just slightly, very slightly indeed, with a little spark of interest. He was really as indifferent as he was acting?
This new emotion from a man who usually made him feel like retching was surprising to say the least. He stared at Muraki, bewilderment and confusion plain in his expressive green eyes and was totally unprepared when the sensei reached over the table and touched his hand.
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Muraki watched, in a distant corner of his mind, with some amusement as the Shinigami tried to take in this apparently new side of him and fitting it in to what they knew of him before. He supposed he should be making some threats by now, maybe sexually harass Tsuzuki even but he didn't feel like it. Truth to tell, he could barely even look at the amethyst-eyed man.
Everything. . .gone. . . .what else is there for me to live for?
The boy, Hisoka, had appeared taken aback when he used the boy's name. Granted, he had never accorded the youth much respect. It was hard to when the boy, Hisoka, had acted his age whenever they met. Always quick to anger, always quick to lash out. The impetuosity of youth indeed. He hated that. But since tonight, the boy was actually behaving himself, sitting quietly, albeit a bit pale, and was not dancing around shouting out the injustices and wrongs done to him, then he, Muraki, would give him some respect.
With some interest, he noted the slight glazing to the forest green eyes that indicated whenever his empathy was used. He knew without a doubt that Hisoka was attempting to read him. He wondered how he would react? Would he show the usual fear, hatred and disgust? Would he scramble back in shock or start crying?
Instead, Hisoka looked up at him, his expression evidently startled. And that was it. Pleased, for the boy really had matured, Muraki reached out to place his fingertips lightly against the cuff of the long-sleeved shirt Hisoka was wearing.
And was immediately stopped by a shadow-knife that pressed against his wrist, nearly breaking the skin. At the same instant, Oriya had whipped out his blade, the light reflecting steadily from the point which rested in the hollow of the uptight secretary's neck.
They stayed like that, the four of them like a frozen tableau. It was after a moment of confusion before the blond and Tsuzuki finally took out their ofudas, their target unsure.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Oriya asked through clenched teeth. The question was directed at both Muraki and Tatsumi.
Muraki shrugged, still keeping the light touch against the woven fabric, the hand beneath it still. "I gave you my word that I would not do violence in your place." He didn't dare move his hand away. The shadow-knife was frighteningly steady, applying faint pressure on his skin.
"And you?" Oriya insisted.
Tatsumi snarled wordlessly, not releasing his grip on the obsidian knife. "Do you really think you can trust his word? He's a cold-blooded murderer!"
Oriya flicked his eyes towards Muraki, the look in them questioning. "Kazu?"
Muraki shrugged again. "I said I promised didn't I? I swear it on my life." He said the words casually despite the fact that he had just uttered the words of a binding oath. The air now was charged almost alive with magic, projected by the Shinigami. In such a situation, words tend to take a life of their own and any promises or oath would literally be kept.
"Kurosaki-kun?" Tatsumi asked tersely.
After a long, drawn out silence, Hisoka nodded. Once. A faint smile graced his lips at the acquiescence. He must have surprised the boy more than he had thought to have him agree so readily.
The shadow-knife and the katana were drawn back respectively though each kept a tight hold on their weapons. The two others have yet to pocket their ofudas.
The boy kept his sleeves well-buttoned but Muraki wasn't bothered about that. Hisoka was small for his age and the shirt he wore was a bit too large for him, hanging off his thin frame. Despite the cuff being buttoned, he could slide the sleeve back a few inches, revealing the pale skin underneath.
And the marks of his curse.
He tilted his head to the side inquiringly. It had surprised him, the first time they met after Hisoka became a Shinigami, that his curse would still stay with the boy even after death but it pleased him anyway. The boy was his. It was his right. The marks were still vivid, the bright scarlet a sharp and beautiful contrast against pale, creamy skin. The lines of the spell were sharp and jagged yet flowed with an unearthly grace up both arms and around the torso.
He should know. He had delighted in painting it himself.
Muraki pursed his thin lips thoughtfully, careful to not touch the skin directly but kept his fingers on the sleeve. Hisoka seemed to notice that and if anything, looked even more surprised. He remembered the pleasure he had felt that night. The intoxicating rush from draining a new victim to the feel of the small body trapped writhing underneath him. He remembered also, the way the boy screamed for his mother, his father, anyone. But no one came.
"Do you still hate me?" It was an abysmally stupid question but Muraki felt like asking it anyway. He kept his eyes trained on the visible curse marks. He did not need to look into the wide green eyes to see the hate there. The body was simply trembling with it.
"I loathe you with every fiber in my body."
"Do you want to kill me still?"
Hisoka hissed, his earlier surprise and confusion brushed aside momentarily as the reason why he was here at all were brought back up. "I want to do more than kill you. I want to destroy you!"
Muraki tore his eyes away from the hypnotic lines to stare deep into the boy's eyes. A wistful smile crossed his face. "That must be nice."
The collective jaw-dropping would have had him laughing if he had felt like it. Since he didn't, Muraki drew back suddenly, ignoring the way Tatsumi had tensed in preparation for an attack, and got to his feet. Striding to the balcony and sitting on it, turning his back to them, he said over his shoulder, "Nice of you to come. Now please go. I need some rest."
He kept his eyes on the moon, the indifferent moon, as his guests slowly filed out.
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Hisoka and the others slowly stood up, each not quite believing that they were actually going to walk away from an encounter with Muraki unscathed. Oriya had sheathed his blade, walking impatiently to the door and tapping his foot when the Shinigami were slow to leave. Muraki stayed still on the narrow balcony, looking up to the moon with an almost pensive look. The moon played spotlight on him, adding silver on to silver.
Hisoka had reached the door, the last to leave, when Muraki suddenly spoke up, still not facing them.
"It wasn't red."
Hisoka threw a startled glance back over his shoulder. "What?" he asked without thought.
Muraki turned slightly on his perch till Hisoka could see his normal eye. That eye was shadowed in darkness but there was a questioning air about him, as though Muraki had a puzzling thought and was wondering if Hisoka could clear it.
"The night I killed the girl in Tokyo. The last victim. The moon wasn't red."
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to be continued
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Kelly says again: Well? Waddaya think? Questions and queries? Feel free to ask. And no flames will be entertained. Do you like the quotes I made? *giggle* I have a nice one from Hakushaku-sama but it's not time yet. My favourite of all the quotes I've made is Muraki's. Anyway, review, reply, re-praise.