Purple Squall 2/2
By Nix Winter
Disclaimers: I don't own any of the fandoms I'm writing in. I do own the story
Notes. this is likely to become a huge crossover. fandoms I know are going to be in it. Final Fantasy 8, Gundam Wing, Gravitation, Weiss Kruez, Tokala. I guess I'm trying to experiment with the form of a story. Needless to say, it's very AU
Purple Squall
Tokyo also survived the rise of the ocean. They weren't on good terms with the elves. No one could really explain exactly why the water didn't rise around Japan. No one would believe the reason, even if the new king of Tokyo came right out and explained it. On the top floor of Nittle Grasper Records, Seguchi Touma was happy without anyone knowing why the water, why the whole period of hostilities had just passed Japan right over. It wasn't because the elves couldn't live without their playstations either.
The world was a very odd place, he thought, watching out his window, watching all the lives and lights of night time Tokyo flicker by. So beautiful, and so completely his. He flexed his fingers behind his back, so reveling in the evening and in what he had planned for the rest of it, that he didn't even mind if his horns showed a little. This was his kingdom, after all. It was funny how people would date elves, watch talk shows that interviewed dragons, and not bother to believe in Hell. People were fools, but Touma did so love them, love owning them.
His intercom beeped and he turned to answer, one neatly manicured finger touching the button. "Yes."
"Shindou-san is here," his secretary said.
"Send him in." Touma's heart beat faster. He'd been waiting for this for ten years, since Eiri had turned from him in the graveyard. Touma turned back to the window, gave a moment to his reflection. Modesty was not one of Hell's cherished virtues. Blond hair curved and clung to his cheeks, blue eyes, clear as a spring sky, Touma didn't look forty-three. He hardly looked twenty. Petite, graceful, with the fingers of a keyboardist, he was easily the most beautiful creature in Tokyo, in all of Japan, if that had been what he'd wanted. It wasn't. He was happy just being above average, the keyboardist of the best selling band in Japan. The only thing that Touma had ever wanted and not been able to have was the very thing that Shuichi had. The love of one Usugi Eiri.
"Touma-san," Shuichi asked respectfully, shutting the door quietly behind him. They were as good as family. After that horrid tour to California and the crisis with that nasty vampire ghost, Eiri and Shuichi had been as good as married. It was then that Touma realized the depth and purity of Eiri's love for this pink haired fool, realized what the cost to Eiri would be if Touma forced the writer to love him. But time does carry on. Touma wouldn't pay that price to have Eiri's love for himself, but he'd pay it to save Eiri's life. Shuichi was perennially innocent, the endless virgin of the heart, so pure and adorable, and all of that showed in his voice, "Today wasn't a good day to come. Eiri's not feeling well."
That was an understatement. Eiri had lung cancer. There were treatments, of course. Chemotherapy, organ replacement, these were drawn out, painful, and worst, chancy. There were other treatments, magic treatment, but Touma's family did not resort to Elvish magic. Without turning, still watching his reflection in his window, watching the dark sparks in his own eyes. "Would you give anything to heal Eiri?"
Shuichi stopped half way between the desk and the door. He was taller than when he'd first met Touma, more muscular, but there were little lines next to Shuichi's eyes, the faintest silver sometimes showing if he didn't get the pink in fast enough. The silver had been coming in since his trip to California. It was only sexy when Eiri was running his fingers through it, telling him he was the most beautiful man.
Shuichi knew there was something unnatural about Touma, had known since he started to get those silver hairs. What had started in the ruins of Immortality.com's building, had never really left Shuichi. He felt the pull every now and then, and felt a vague nagging guilt over it, that there was something he should be doing, but he didn't know what it was.
Being the lead singer for Bad Luck, the second best band in Japan, in all of Asia, was usually big enough for Shuichi. He wasn't as good looking as he was when he was younger. His voice wasn't as strong, but he and Eiri had dinner with Hiro and Aiyaka every other Wednesday and he got to babysit from time to time. He liked his life, liked sitting with Eiri as he wrote. He didn't know what he'd do if Eiri died. Life was supposed to be longer. "What did you have in mind?"
Touma smiled, the kind of smile that Shuichi had learned to fear decades ago. "There is a price for everything and everything can be had for a price."
The hair stood up on the back of Shuichi's neck and he found himself panting, so quietly though, as if he didn't want Touma to know. Deep within him, something was waking, uncurling itself like a cat made of instinct and frost. "Touma, what's going on?"
Touma turned, the very elegant platinum horns tingling under his hat. "The time has come for me to ask a favor of you, Shindou-san."
"A favor," Shuichi asked, eyes narrowing, trying to fight off the feeling that he'd sold his soul somewhere and just didn't remember signing. "This is going to help Eiri?"
"Oh, yes, very much so," Touma, for just a moment, as he sat down in his chair, was the Touma Shuichi knew first, just a musician turned business man. Talking about Eiri had that effect on the president of Nittle Grasper Record, Shuichi thought. "If you succeed, Eiri will be safe forever. He'll never get sick again. Nothing will ever hurt him. He'll be writing his stories and smoking cigarettes forever."
"Forever?" Shuichi said, wondering how many paces to the door. They'd known for weeks now, Eiri and he. He'd cried. So had Eiri. Eiri was dying. He'd stopped the chemo and he was gaining some strength back. Shuichi had his hopes, but he knew. Tears weren't welcome and they stung as he tried to not let them form. His eyes twitched and his gut rolled around like three day old coffee. "No one lives forever. No one lives forever Touma and I wouldn't make Eiri suffer for how long he has left."
"Is that so," Touma hissed.
Beyond his window, lights in Tokyo winked out, giving Shuichi the feeling that only he and Touma existed. "The chemo, it was making him sick, Touma. He was throwing up all the time and he couldn't write. He's getting stronger now. I just want him to be happy, Touma. You can understand that, yeah?"
"It will be hard to be happy if he's dead, idiot." Touma snarled and Shuichi was quite sure that there was smoke, two little swirling tendrils of it, rising up from Touma's hat. "You have debts to pay, Shindou, debts to me, debts to my master."
"Debts?" Shuichi squeaked. Grown men did not squeak, but neither were Touma's eyes supposed to be a solid black. "Touma, what have you done?"
That brought a laugh, elegant and very Nittle Grasper. "The last person who saw my true face nearly had a heart attack. Shindou, you surprise me."
Angry now, Shuichi crossed to Touma's desk. Hands on his side of it, he leaned forward and looked right into those mirror black demon eyes. "What have you done?"
"I sold my soul, decades ago, before you were even born, Shu-chan." Touma purred, taking his hat off which gave a puff of acrid smoke to the room. He fanned the dark cloud away from his pretty blond hair, then set the hat on his desk. "Ryuichi cut a deal with one god or another, long before I meet him, though, I'll tell you, if I could have got my hands on his grandfather, our lives would all be different. Ryuichi was my best friend, and he makes devine music. I had to be good enough to play with him."
"Noriko?"
"No, she's just good. With three divinely gifted musicians in a group, we probably would have killed ourselves."
"You sold your soul so you could play music?" Shuichi looked shocked, genuinely shocked.
"Oh don't tell me you wouldn't have done the same! I can just see you as a manager of a department store somewhere, thirty pounds heavier and singing karaoke on the weekends. Yeah, and married to some woman you knocked up. You would have sold your soul too, but that wasn't why. It was what happened in New York, that's what really cinched the deal. How in hell do you think I covered up the murders Eiri committed?"
Shuichi sat down, both hands on his face, as if he could hold his head from spinning around with all the thoughts. "I just thought you were good at that kind of thing."
"Well, I am good at that kind of thing. Very good, in fact. You should ask me about the rising water some time."
"Rising water? Oh Seguchi-san! I don't want to know! What do you need a favor from me for?" A dozen not so lovely images were slideshowing through Shuichi's mind. What would it take to not only cure Eiri, but make him nearly immortal? For one sparklingly ugly moment he saw himself tied to a stone altar. "You don't do human sacrifice, do you?"
"I thought you didn't want to know. Besides, we should get down to business."
Shuichi's mouth was too dry to swallow. "Business. Okay, how do we cure Eiri?"
"Do you remember when you went to California?"
"When I was in a coma? I had awful dreams."
A tiny flame sparked into life at the top of one of Touma's horns. "Those weren't dreams."
"But I was a vampire! I bit Eiri!"
"Yes, you did. And because he loved you so completely the curse on the guardian of blood was broken. Then I, with a very small assistance from an associate or two, urged your vampiric nature into slumber. Don't faint. Breath. You're hyperventilating."
"No? Go figure!"
"You are an extremely rare commodity. You've slept only with Eiri, remained pure of heart, completely loyal. You're a good friend, honest, and genuine. You're an innocent vampire. You're an ideal demon slayer."
"Oh no! Seguchi-san! I'm just an old pop star, a singer? I cook badly, I play video games too loud and I've been dying my hair pink for fifteen years! Look, see my roots? They're silver! I'm just an old man! I don't know how to slay demons."
It was impossible to see red flowing over such deeply black eyes as Touma's, but Shuichi thought he saw just that. Liquid fire, the fire of hell flowing in Touma's veins. "That will only assist you. The demon in question is growing powerful and does not respect the rules of his kin. He is eating demons. Soon he will be the most powerful creature in any of the worlds. You are going to go slay him before that happens, and in return, the council of Hell will erase Eiri's name from the Book of Death. He will become immortal."
"You don't know Eiri at all," Shuichi said through the fingers over his mouth.
"He wouldn't be alone, Shuichi. He'll have you. Vampires are immortal as well."
"I'm not a vampire!"
"Yes," Touma said, smiling, his eyes going normal once more as he snapped his fingers. "You are."
That instinct that had coiled in his gut earlier now uncurled. No longer ice, it was a ravenous fire. Tooth ache set in shortly after and he groaned, leaning forward to spit bile on Touma's immaculate floor.
"Was that necessary? Here, look at this photo," Touma shoved a photo across the table and Shuichi took it, obeying out of shock and fear. "That is Seifer Almasy. He is your link to the demon. Find him. You find our target. Do the job and be home in a couple days. I'll keep Eiri company while you're gone. Oh, and your flight leaves in an hour. Enjoy Seattle."
"You're a fucking bastard!"
"No, dear one," Touma purred, pure malice, as he petted Shuichi's hair, stripping away a wide steak of color, "I'm a prince of Hell, and I happen to like you right now."
"Fucking bastard! Keep your hands off Eiri! He's sick!"
"Then you'd better hurry, before he forgets you were born."
The photo crumbled in Shuichi's fist. "Fucking bastard!"
Touma was gone though.
By Nix Winter
Disclaimers: I don't own any of the fandoms I'm writing in. I do own the story
Notes. this is likely to become a huge crossover. fandoms I know are going to be in it. Final Fantasy 8, Gundam Wing, Gravitation, Weiss Kruez, Tokala. I guess I'm trying to experiment with the form of a story. Needless to say, it's very AU
Purple Squall
Tokyo also survived the rise of the ocean. They weren't on good terms with the elves. No one could really explain exactly why the water didn't rise around Japan. No one would believe the reason, even if the new king of Tokyo came right out and explained it. On the top floor of Nittle Grasper Records, Seguchi Touma was happy without anyone knowing why the water, why the whole period of hostilities had just passed Japan right over. It wasn't because the elves couldn't live without their playstations either.
The world was a very odd place, he thought, watching out his window, watching all the lives and lights of night time Tokyo flicker by. So beautiful, and so completely his. He flexed his fingers behind his back, so reveling in the evening and in what he had planned for the rest of it, that he didn't even mind if his horns showed a little. This was his kingdom, after all. It was funny how people would date elves, watch talk shows that interviewed dragons, and not bother to believe in Hell. People were fools, but Touma did so love them, love owning them.
His intercom beeped and he turned to answer, one neatly manicured finger touching the button. "Yes."
"Shindou-san is here," his secretary said.
"Send him in." Touma's heart beat faster. He'd been waiting for this for ten years, since Eiri had turned from him in the graveyard. Touma turned back to the window, gave a moment to his reflection. Modesty was not one of Hell's cherished virtues. Blond hair curved and clung to his cheeks, blue eyes, clear as a spring sky, Touma didn't look forty-three. He hardly looked twenty. Petite, graceful, with the fingers of a keyboardist, he was easily the most beautiful creature in Tokyo, in all of Japan, if that had been what he'd wanted. It wasn't. He was happy just being above average, the keyboardist of the best selling band in Japan. The only thing that Touma had ever wanted and not been able to have was the very thing that Shuichi had. The love of one Usugi Eiri.
"Touma-san," Shuichi asked respectfully, shutting the door quietly behind him. They were as good as family. After that horrid tour to California and the crisis with that nasty vampire ghost, Eiri and Shuichi had been as good as married. It was then that Touma realized the depth and purity of Eiri's love for this pink haired fool, realized what the cost to Eiri would be if Touma forced the writer to love him. But time does carry on. Touma wouldn't pay that price to have Eiri's love for himself, but he'd pay it to save Eiri's life. Shuichi was perennially innocent, the endless virgin of the heart, so pure and adorable, and all of that showed in his voice, "Today wasn't a good day to come. Eiri's not feeling well."
That was an understatement. Eiri had lung cancer. There were treatments, of course. Chemotherapy, organ replacement, these were drawn out, painful, and worst, chancy. There were other treatments, magic treatment, but Touma's family did not resort to Elvish magic. Without turning, still watching his reflection in his window, watching the dark sparks in his own eyes. "Would you give anything to heal Eiri?"
Shuichi stopped half way between the desk and the door. He was taller than when he'd first met Touma, more muscular, but there were little lines next to Shuichi's eyes, the faintest silver sometimes showing if he didn't get the pink in fast enough. The silver had been coming in since his trip to California. It was only sexy when Eiri was running his fingers through it, telling him he was the most beautiful man.
Shuichi knew there was something unnatural about Touma, had known since he started to get those silver hairs. What had started in the ruins of Immortality.com's building, had never really left Shuichi. He felt the pull every now and then, and felt a vague nagging guilt over it, that there was something he should be doing, but he didn't know what it was.
Being the lead singer for Bad Luck, the second best band in Japan, in all of Asia, was usually big enough for Shuichi. He wasn't as good looking as he was when he was younger. His voice wasn't as strong, but he and Eiri had dinner with Hiro and Aiyaka every other Wednesday and he got to babysit from time to time. He liked his life, liked sitting with Eiri as he wrote. He didn't know what he'd do if Eiri died. Life was supposed to be longer. "What did you have in mind?"
Touma smiled, the kind of smile that Shuichi had learned to fear decades ago. "There is a price for everything and everything can be had for a price."
The hair stood up on the back of Shuichi's neck and he found himself panting, so quietly though, as if he didn't want Touma to know. Deep within him, something was waking, uncurling itself like a cat made of instinct and frost. "Touma, what's going on?"
Touma turned, the very elegant platinum horns tingling under his hat. "The time has come for me to ask a favor of you, Shindou-san."
"A favor," Shuichi asked, eyes narrowing, trying to fight off the feeling that he'd sold his soul somewhere and just didn't remember signing. "This is going to help Eiri?"
"Oh, yes, very much so," Touma, for just a moment, as he sat down in his chair, was the Touma Shuichi knew first, just a musician turned business man. Talking about Eiri had that effect on the president of Nittle Grasper Record, Shuichi thought. "If you succeed, Eiri will be safe forever. He'll never get sick again. Nothing will ever hurt him. He'll be writing his stories and smoking cigarettes forever."
"Forever?" Shuichi said, wondering how many paces to the door. They'd known for weeks now, Eiri and he. He'd cried. So had Eiri. Eiri was dying. He'd stopped the chemo and he was gaining some strength back. Shuichi had his hopes, but he knew. Tears weren't welcome and they stung as he tried to not let them form. His eyes twitched and his gut rolled around like three day old coffee. "No one lives forever. No one lives forever Touma and I wouldn't make Eiri suffer for how long he has left."
"Is that so," Touma hissed.
Beyond his window, lights in Tokyo winked out, giving Shuichi the feeling that only he and Touma existed. "The chemo, it was making him sick, Touma. He was throwing up all the time and he couldn't write. He's getting stronger now. I just want him to be happy, Touma. You can understand that, yeah?"
"It will be hard to be happy if he's dead, idiot." Touma snarled and Shuichi was quite sure that there was smoke, two little swirling tendrils of it, rising up from Touma's hat. "You have debts to pay, Shindou, debts to me, debts to my master."
"Debts?" Shuichi squeaked. Grown men did not squeak, but neither were Touma's eyes supposed to be a solid black. "Touma, what have you done?"
That brought a laugh, elegant and very Nittle Grasper. "The last person who saw my true face nearly had a heart attack. Shindou, you surprise me."
Angry now, Shuichi crossed to Touma's desk. Hands on his side of it, he leaned forward and looked right into those mirror black demon eyes. "What have you done?"
"I sold my soul, decades ago, before you were even born, Shu-chan." Touma purred, taking his hat off which gave a puff of acrid smoke to the room. He fanned the dark cloud away from his pretty blond hair, then set the hat on his desk. "Ryuichi cut a deal with one god or another, long before I meet him, though, I'll tell you, if I could have got my hands on his grandfather, our lives would all be different. Ryuichi was my best friend, and he makes devine music. I had to be good enough to play with him."
"Noriko?"
"No, she's just good. With three divinely gifted musicians in a group, we probably would have killed ourselves."
"You sold your soul so you could play music?" Shuichi looked shocked, genuinely shocked.
"Oh don't tell me you wouldn't have done the same! I can just see you as a manager of a department store somewhere, thirty pounds heavier and singing karaoke on the weekends. Yeah, and married to some woman you knocked up. You would have sold your soul too, but that wasn't why. It was what happened in New York, that's what really cinched the deal. How in hell do you think I covered up the murders Eiri committed?"
Shuichi sat down, both hands on his face, as if he could hold his head from spinning around with all the thoughts. "I just thought you were good at that kind of thing."
"Well, I am good at that kind of thing. Very good, in fact. You should ask me about the rising water some time."
"Rising water? Oh Seguchi-san! I don't want to know! What do you need a favor from me for?" A dozen not so lovely images were slideshowing through Shuichi's mind. What would it take to not only cure Eiri, but make him nearly immortal? For one sparklingly ugly moment he saw himself tied to a stone altar. "You don't do human sacrifice, do you?"
"I thought you didn't want to know. Besides, we should get down to business."
Shuichi's mouth was too dry to swallow. "Business. Okay, how do we cure Eiri?"
"Do you remember when you went to California?"
"When I was in a coma? I had awful dreams."
A tiny flame sparked into life at the top of one of Touma's horns. "Those weren't dreams."
"But I was a vampire! I bit Eiri!"
"Yes, you did. And because he loved you so completely the curse on the guardian of blood was broken. Then I, with a very small assistance from an associate or two, urged your vampiric nature into slumber. Don't faint. Breath. You're hyperventilating."
"No? Go figure!"
"You are an extremely rare commodity. You've slept only with Eiri, remained pure of heart, completely loyal. You're a good friend, honest, and genuine. You're an innocent vampire. You're an ideal demon slayer."
"Oh no! Seguchi-san! I'm just an old pop star, a singer? I cook badly, I play video games too loud and I've been dying my hair pink for fifteen years! Look, see my roots? They're silver! I'm just an old man! I don't know how to slay demons."
It was impossible to see red flowing over such deeply black eyes as Touma's, but Shuichi thought he saw just that. Liquid fire, the fire of hell flowing in Touma's veins. "That will only assist you. The demon in question is growing powerful and does not respect the rules of his kin. He is eating demons. Soon he will be the most powerful creature in any of the worlds. You are going to go slay him before that happens, and in return, the council of Hell will erase Eiri's name from the Book of Death. He will become immortal."
"You don't know Eiri at all," Shuichi said through the fingers over his mouth.
"He wouldn't be alone, Shuichi. He'll have you. Vampires are immortal as well."
"I'm not a vampire!"
"Yes," Touma said, smiling, his eyes going normal once more as he snapped his fingers. "You are."
That instinct that had coiled in his gut earlier now uncurled. No longer ice, it was a ravenous fire. Tooth ache set in shortly after and he groaned, leaning forward to spit bile on Touma's immaculate floor.
"Was that necessary? Here, look at this photo," Touma shoved a photo across the table and Shuichi took it, obeying out of shock and fear. "That is Seifer Almasy. He is your link to the demon. Find him. You find our target. Do the job and be home in a couple days. I'll keep Eiri company while you're gone. Oh, and your flight leaves in an hour. Enjoy Seattle."
"You're a fucking bastard!"
"No, dear one," Touma purred, pure malice, as he petted Shuichi's hair, stripping away a wide steak of color, "I'm a prince of Hell, and I happen to like you right now."
"Fucking bastard! Keep your hands off Eiri! He's sick!"
"Then you'd better hurry, before he forgets you were born."
The photo crumbled in Shuichi's fist. "Fucking bastard!"
Touma was gone though.