Hey guys! Look who got off her but and wrote another chapter! Long over-due I know. On the plus side I've picked up Volumes 1&2 of 'Weiss Side B' and downloaded translations for the majority of it. So far I can't say much for the plot, but the art style is amazing. Although, I am still perplexed as to why Ken makes in entrance in volume 2 wearing platform-steel toed boots and fuzzy collared jacket. Aya even seems slightly confused by it.
A/N: The prologues have been revised for spelling and grammar. Wow, I've gotten quite a favorable response to this ^____^ makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
Oh so many to thank….
Shadowcat0070 : yup generation 3… learn something new everyday huh? Glad you liked the last chapter!
Chrysoprase : Yeah, I'm sticking to the old character designs…its just how I always imagine the guys. Plus, Omi's hair in Gluhen is the weirdest color… it's kinda green, kinda gray, kinda…mossy 0_o … Ocording to character profiles I've read I think it's black. Sorry to confuse you. I'm happy you like my story!!
Riisha : Gluhen is two years after DP?? I thought Gluhen picked up right after the DP… shows what I know. Watashi wa baka.. thanks for the info and thanks for reading!
Kearoru : I was lucky enough to have a friend who is a big Weiss fan and she just had printed transcripts of the dramatic albums just laying around… so I don't know what web site she got em from… I know 'Aya no Weib' had some of the image albums translated along with the 'Assassin and a White Shaman' manga and some other stuffs. Here's the sites URL:
Happy hunting!
s1ncer1ty : I made your night?? W00t! * blushes * thanks for all the praise!
Sakusha : Sorry to sneak changes in there on ya… If I change anything I'll mention it in the author's note of the most recent chapter. Thanks for reading I'm glad you're enjoying it!!
Kasra : You rock… that's like all I can say… You f-ing rock
Involuntary-Black-sheep: I WROTE MORE! See? ^_^
A Spell: reading DP is an experience, best of luck to you with that. I hope you continue to find this story intriguing... I will do my best to make it so!
Bugnuks And Crossbows: look update...do I get strawberries and whipped cream now? Can I put the whipped cream on Ken? Can I make Omi lick it off? (With an R rating I doubt it *pouts *)
More A/N: Oh yeah, as I mentioned to one reviewer, Omi/Mamoru's hair for the sake of this story is Blond. Technically, I believe it's black, but I'm concerned that if I'm going and forth between past and present time with all the flashbacks, I'm going to confuse the hell out of the readers.
And now… the story…
Disclaimer: I do not claim any rights to "Weiss Kreuz Gluhen" or any of the characters there in. The plot (if you can call it that) is entirely my design.
Warnings: Expect angst, mild violence, the use of colorful language, sexual content (yaoi/limeish), lovers quarrels, and Omi acting like a Takatori for a while (can't be helped). Possibly some OOCness depending on who you perceive Ken's dementia and Omi's Takatori-ness developing.
( ~!~!~!~!~!~ - Signals change in scene)
(*~*~*~*~*~* - Signals beginning/end of flash back)
( Flash Backs and thoughts in italics)
"Absolution" ~ Chapter 1 ~ 'Visiting Phantoms'
Unnaturally white light pierced through Ken's retinas like thousands of tiny needles as he was led bound in shackles down the main hall. The resonating sound of shaking steel bars coupled with booming voices shouting catcalls melded into static background noise as he stumbled along, guided by two well armed guards. The binding cuffs and his own dazed mind hindered his movements. Every bone in his body screamed for him to return to his idark cell. He wanted nothing more than to be left alone, to live out the rest of his days undisturbed by an outside world that didn't need him anymore.
Curiosity kept his feet shuffling along the path. He needed to see for himself if his suspicions were correct. Perhaps what awaited him was worse than any scenario his mind could devise. Ken's brain boggled as he attempted to imagine exactly how the next fifteen minutes of his life would play out.
A sharp jab delivered to his right side by the taller of the two guards snapped him back to the present task. The dark haired youth stood before a steel door with a small glass window looking out into the visitors' center. The more portly guard fumbled in his pocket for the key. Ken's heart raced. He couldn't remember ever being this nervous. Not that he really had reason to be, many inmates received visitors. Why should he be any different?
The door swung open and he was nudged forward. The push made him flinch but was not enough to force his feet to move forward. His dark eyes remained transfixed by the floor. The lump in his throat doubled in size instantly and he struggled to repress the urge to vomit. The taller guard gestured toward the open doorway and waited for Ken to move, but the young inmate's feet remained fixed firmly to the floor
"What's this one's problem?" the thin towering man scowled, addressing his co-worker.
His stocky companion held the door and shrugged, eyeing Ken with a hint of concern.
"Kid, what's wrong with ya now? Ya got family waiting out there. Come on now. Don't wanna keep 'em waiting now, do ya?"
'Family…' Ken slowly raised his head. No, anyone who waited for him couldn't be family. The only group he had ever belonged to disappeared a long time ago. Hidaka Ken had been born an orphan and God seemed to have made sure that he was to die one as well.
Tentatively, he pushed one foot forward.
"Could you move a little faster there? We ain't got all day and neither does your guest."
Ken bit his tongue. He wanted to scream for the guard to go to hell. He didn't have family. He didn't want family. He wanted to get back in his damn cell where he belonged and sit with his memories of the only people who had had any significance in his life. He wanted to run out into the yard and kick around a soccer ball, forgetting all the pain. But the fates were telling him that he must do this. There was a reason he needed to meet someone out there today.
"We haven't got all day 1257, move."
The brunette turned and shot the obnoxious man his best sarcastic grin. Tempted as he was to knee the man in the balls and run like hell, the cuffs restricted his movements.
"Well now, no point in delaying you gentlemen any longer. I wouldn't want to keep you from doing your jobs, now would I?"
'Might as well get this over with.'
Inhaling sharply, he willed his feet to carry him through the doorframe and into a long hall. The guards continued at his sides, both eyeing him warily. Ken had developed a reputation of being the prison's resident troublemaker; his idea of roughhousing extended to include breaking other prisoners' limbs. No guard enjoyed accompanying him; however, at least two always had their eye on him. But Ken had gotten used to it. Somehow, that dark, miserable, smelly jail had become his home.
The hall was lined with tall steel doors, similar to the ones leading to the prisoners' cells, except for the windows on each door, and requisite guard stationed outside. Ken turned his head as he walked and peered into each room, most devoid of anything beyond a simple long metal table and pair of folding chairs. A few had men crying in their wives' laps; in others, lawyers advised prisoners on appeals.
Gazing upon the all too typical scenarios, Ken asked himself for the first time, 'Why am I here? I'm not like these guys. I came here looking for a way to fill the void and I found it, didn't I?"
But his musings were cut short. The taller guard grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back.
"Where do you think you're going? We're here."
"Already?" He blinked, startled. "Well now that was a short walk, hardly the exercise I need to keep up my figure."
The larger man rolled his eyes. "Cut the crap 1257."
" You know, you could make an effort to be more personable."
Both uniformed men looked at each other and shrugged. No one had the patience to deal with Hidaka Ken's mouth. They stayed quiet and waited for him to shut up. The more portly guard pointed to the closed door to their right, turning Ken's attention to the person waiting inside.
Immediately, brown eyes locked onto a pair of blue through the dirty glass.
The dark haired man's heart skipped as electricity rolled down his spine.
Blue eyes. Ashen blond hair.
Omi…
His mouth opened to form the name but he stopped short.
No, not Omi. Omi didn't wear a black Gucci suit or carry a Prada bag. He never sat quietly with his hands folded; no Omi fidgeted and wore khaki shorts with bright colored shirts that showed off his mid-drift.
That man wasn't Tsukiyono Omi.
That man was Takatori Mamoru.
Ken's brain began to download and run a list of the scenarios that would bring that man to visit with him, the majority of which involved some catastrophic fate befalling one of their former teammates. A more optimistic possibility was the re-formation of the old Weiss - if anyone could call that optimistic. Less than an hour ago the 25-year-old convict's life had been very simple; eat, try to sleep, think. What was the world coming to when a man couldn't just sit in his two-by-four cell and eat his damn cold oatmeal in the mornings? Why did his world have to collapse in on itself before breakfast?
The heavy door creaked on its hinges and hit the cinderblock wall with an echoing bang. The guards pushed him forward yet again and Ken was forcibly shuffled into the room, all the while taking great care not to even glance in the young Takatori's direction. Two rod-iron chairs sat on either side of a long, wooden table, one already taken, and the other awaiting its new occupant.
Another eardrum shattering bang and the click of the lock made the brown-eyed-man cringe as if in pain. He was now bound and shackled, locked in close quarters with a Takatori; quite possibly every member of Weiss' worst nightmare. He tried to slow his breathing and remain clam, after all it was Mamoru and Mamoru was still Persia; but Ken couldn't help but wonder if the boy still carried a case of poison darts in his pocket. After all, old habits did die-hard.
Remaining poised and offering a diplomatic smile, Mamoru gestured toward the empty chair. "Sit please."
His voice sounding so foreign, so cold, it stung Ken's ears. Still feeling insecure, but nevertheless filled with a strong desire to make sense of the situation, the prisoner complied. Head bowed with dark chocolate bangs covering his uncertain expression he took his place opposite Mamoru, the chains attached to the cuffs at his hands and feet rustling as they settled against the metal chair. Still avoiding eye contact, Ken focused on the initials and dates etched into the wooden table. A long awkward silence hung over the two as the brunette felt deep blue eyes examine him from head to toe.
The soft click of a lock and crackling of crumpled paper brought Ken's attention from the jaggedly incised writing to the figure across from him. He lifted his head enough to see the young Takatori fumbling through his briefcase, removing a handful of manila folders. Placing them on the table, the stuffed suit straightened his posture and proceeded to formally address his companion. "Hidaka-san, I trust you have been well."
'Oh absolutely peachy.' Ken scoffed inwardly. 'Nothing makes my day more exciting then waking up to the same four steel walls. Yanno, we just don't have enough quality time like this together. Nothing makes my morning more delightful then being kicked around by a bunch of sweaty guards only to be chained up and led to a tiny locked room with your smiling face to greet me. We simply must do this more often.'
Mamoru sighed, easily detecting Ken's annoyance. "Let's get down to business, shall we?"
With a light push, three manila folders glided over to the jailbird's side of the table, spilling out several documents and photographs of unfamiliar faces. Ken didn't even flinch. "I've secured this room so that no one will be able to listen to or record our conversation."
'Oh how considerate of you. Unfortunately I really hadn't planned for this situation so I really have nothing to say.'
The chair squeaked as the blonde rocked back and continued to speak.
"What you see before you are the newly selected members of Weiss. All three are highly talented young men from a variety of economic and cultural backgrounds. Currently, they are going through a virtual reality training program I specially designed."
'Well its good to know all those years of computer programming and hacking can still be put to good use.'
"After that little show you and Abyssinian put on all those years ago, I thought it wise that they take time to learn how to hunt together as a team [1]."
'Yeah well... Aya punched me first.'
"However as team, there is something they still lack…"
Although he remained unmoving, everything began to come together in Ken's mind and his brown eyes began to widen his expression still hidden from Mamoru's sight.
'Three members of Weiss…. But every generation of Weiss has always had at least four…. Lord please let him say they lack commitment or training in hand to hand combat or something. Anything but what I think he's thinking.'
"We are short on time so I'll be blunt. These three boys are very good at what they do, but they are still boys. The oldest is only nineteen. All of them have experienced severe trauma at some point in their lives. They are in need of a cornerstone to hold the group together. Someone with experience…"
' Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Please…'
"Siberian…."
'No…'
"I need you…"
'Please don't ask…'
"To once again…"
'Can't you see? I can't do it anymore…'
"Be part of Weiss. I need you to lead these boys."
It was if the very air they breathed had turned to ice as the last sentence was uttered. The fluorescent light above flickered; the rumble of a horde of prisoners being ushered off to breakfast nearby faded slowly. It was as if someone had turned down the volume in Ken's head. All the white noise of everyday life faded and the sound of his own breathing became suddenly deafening. Inhaling deeply, feeling as if he was about to choke on his own spit, brown eyes filling with fire finally made their way to make eye contact with Mamoru for the first time in a year.
Those blue eyes were as cold and lifeless as Ken remembered, but everything else about his appearance (sans suit, briefcase, and …were those cigars in his pocket?) screamed Omi. His tongue was caught itself in a knot; coherent thoughts ran through his brain screaming 'No! No! No!' but the simple two letter word refused to emerge from his lips. This man had taken away from him what he cared for most in the world, yet the simple physical resemblance between the two still tripped him up. To see that figure sitting there made his stomach ache; yet to look in those eyes chilled him. Omi was a wonderful, adoring, gentle being, and Mamoru Takatori was the cancer that killed him.
Contradicting thought and emotions waged a battle in Ken's brain. Sorting through the conflict, Ken looked Persia right in the eye and spat out the only the first few words that came to mind. "Go home."
Rocking forward in his chair, the young Takatori stretched out his arms and neatly folded his ands on the table. "I want you to seriously consider this opportunity. I am prepared to offer you a considerable increase in salary plus-"
"Plus what? Medical benefits??" Ken interrupted eyes ablaze and zeroed in on their target. "This isn't a salary man's job! There is no plus to this! You're asking me to lead a bunch of kids on a killing spree across Japan and get paid for it! Well I say get the hell out of my house and go home to your freaking Grandpa. Heh, speaking of which, does he even know where his precious little heir ran off to today?"
The blonde shook his head and stood, leaning forward and taking the files from the table. "If you're asking if my Grandfather authorized this meeting, the answer is 'no'. I am Persia. I and only I control Weiss. I came here of my own free will because I think you are the only one who can do this job, Siberian."
Pulling back, he gathered the files into his briefcase and clicked the smooth brass locks, shutting it. Dignified as a banker, his back went rigid and he proceeded to straighten the hem of his finely tailored suit.
"Perhaps you just need more time to think it over," he quipped, smirking at a still infuriated Ken. Wasting no more time, Mamoru spun on his heal and began to walk to the door; each footstep separating serving to calm the brunette's agitated breathing a little more.
Something still did not sit right with Ken about the premise of their encounter. Persia came to ask if he would be the new leader of Weiss. Aya was the one with all the leadership qualities. The redhead had always been the one with the over-protective instincts toward children: first Aya-chan, then Omi, and most recently, Sena. While Ken considered himself an excellent soccer coach, he was not the type to lead three young boys into the charge of battle. That was Aya's job.
Something really was not right about all this….
"Wait," he called flatly just before Persia's fingers graced the doorknob. The man in the charcoal black suit paused and slowly lowered his hand. "Where's Aya? Why didn't you take this little business proposal to him?"
Silence hung in the room, as the young heir remained completely still and silent.
"God damn it, answer me! We both know Aya should be the one doing this. Why didn't you go to him?"
Turning to face Ken once more, he inhaled sharply. "No one has any idea about Abyssinian's whereabouts. According to our intelligence, you were the last person to see him, at the airport in Kyoto, about a year ago."
Scoffing, the dark haired man reclined in his seat as much as the chains would allow. "So basically I'm second choice here? If you could locate Aya he'd be getting your grand proposal instead of me?"
"Hidaka, you need this." Mamoru's tone became slightly more uneven as he spoke and he began gesturing with his hands in an exaggerated fashion. " Don't you think our organization has been keeping tabs on your progress the past year? I've got a whole filing cabinet dedicated to the ruckus you've created in the past four months alone. You became incarcerated of your own free will for the purpose of rehabilitating yourself. Well, you've gotten far too comfortable in these surroundings and quite frankly, you've fallen back into old habits."
"I haven't killed anyone."
"That's not what I was implying. You've been responsible for starting the majority of the riots that have occurred here in the past six weeks alone. You spend more time in solitary confinement than any other inmate does. The warden has threatened to send you to a maximum-security facility just to keep you in line. Every time you act out they cut back on your yard time. Disrespect for authority, lashing out at others, and hiding away in a closet. Those are the old habits I'm concerned about. You need to get out of here."
"What the hell do you know about what I need? I certainly don't need to be your hunting dog!"
"Damn it, Ken-kun!"
Instantly the room was once again quiet, a silence that hung like the static on a television set in their ears. Tension increased the decibel level with every fraction of a second. Mamoru knew exactly what he'd said wrong before the sentence even passed his lips. He could see the inferno blazing behind Ken's eyes and froze like a deer in the headlights.
Ken's head snapped back like he'd been spit in the face the second he heard the name 'Ken-kun' escape from the Takatori's lips.
That had been the nickname that Omi and only Omi called him. To hear that name come from the mouth of a man he considered to be nothing more than another Takatori bastard feeding a political carrier on the spilt blood of others….
Whatever little sanity Ken had left had just packed its bags and moved out.
"What did you just call me?" he growled, his throat now dry and voice cracking. Poised on the edge of the chair, he glared daggers.
The blonde began backing toward the door, a few slow steps at first, then spinning to bolt. Ken had already anticipated the move and had leapt from his chair, dislocated his right wrist to allow him to free one hand from the shackles, and charged toward him.
With all of the force of his body weight, the ex-soccer star plowed Mamoru against the wall and twisted his body to grab the blonde's throat with his free hand [2]. The two stood with only inches between their forms. Both panting for breath - Mamoru from fear, Ken out of anger, and for a split second, neither moved. The brunette noted that the blue-eyed boy had gained about an inch on him and lost a considerable amount of weight since they'd last met. Obvious features he'd missed while sitting at the table.
Persia turned his head toward the small window on the door to see if by chance the guard was passing by. This caused Ken to tighten his grip on the young man's throat and Mamoru choked, gasping for air.
"Look at me!" he demanded, gritting his teeth. "Don't you ever ever call me that again. Do you understand?!"
"I'll do… ugh… what I damn well… please."
"Fuck you!" Ken spat and dropped Mamoru to the floor.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he shot back with a provocative smile.
"What's the matter? Bored with Grandpa Takatori's toys already?"
"Wouldn't you like to know."
"Oh don't give me this bullshit!" Hovering over Mamoru, who was balled up on the floor against the wall still trying to catch his breath, Ken couldn't help but think how pathetic the man had become. It was sad really, the heir to the great Takatori family piled on the floor gasping like he was having an asthma attack and terrified of one of his own former employees.
"Move!" he cried, struggling to get up, but Ken held the younger man down with only his right hand, tugging on his shaggy blonde locks.
"I will move, but only after you promise me that I will never have to see your sorry face again."
Refusing to look at Ken, he closed his eyes wincing in pain. " I own you."
"Wrong answer." And his fingers coiled more tightly around the silken strands causing tears to form at the corners of tightly shut blue eyes.
"What the hell do you want from me Siberian!?"
The blonde's pained voice resounded off the walls and stung in Ken's ears.
What did he want, indeed? That was the simplest question he'd ever been asked.
Releasing his death grip on the now taller boy's hair, he reached down and pulled one of the cigars and a lighter from the suit's breast pocket. He slowly wandered back to his chair, sat down, bit the end of the cigar and lit it. Taking a few puffs he smirked at Mamoru, holding the cigar in his free hand. He was rather disgusted by the taste, being a rather athletic person he did not smoke, but this was about appearance.
From across the room, two gray-blue eyes looked on, dumbfounded.
"What do I want from you… let me think. Well firstly, Weiss generation four is dead. Siberian is dead. I don't want you or Kritiker watching over me, keeping files on me, or coming in here expecting favors. Secondly, I want you out of here and I want you to promise not to come back."
Mamoru pulled himself from the floor with a heavy sigh and collected his belongings. "You drive a hard bargain, Hidaka-san, but if this is your final decision, then I give you my word as a Takatori that you will be able to remain here undisturbed by our organization."
Ken leaned back in his seat. "A Takatori's word means nothing to me."
Mamoru dropped his shoulders and spoke quietly in defeat "I have nothing else to give. What is it you want?"
Snuffing the cigar on his left hand before dropping it to the floor, Ken turned away, hanging his head. "You come in here telling me what I need and then ask me what I want. Well let me clue you in on what I both need and want. The same thing I've needed and wanted for the past four years [3]." Ken's voice trailed off for a moment, and when he spoke again, he seemed even more quiet and distant. " I want Omi… I want my best friend back."
"That, I'm afraid, is not something I can give. The dead should be left to rest in peace."
With that, Mamoru Takatori walked out the door, and out of Ken Hidaka's life.
~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~
At a steady but quick pace, the young blonde heir pushed through the glass doors leading to the parking lot, failing even to return the security guard's kind nod. Thunder clapped, the summer heat radiating from the black top. Tiny drops of water sprinkled onto the pavement, creating puffs of steam around his feet.
Throwing away all pretense of composure, he darted for the black town car. Not willing to wait for his chauffeur, he grabbed the handle of the car door and threw his body on to the cool leather like he had been diving away from an explosion. Immediately, he opened the lock on his briefcase and dumped its contents onto the seat. While he shifted through the clutter, the driver lowered the tinted glass divider between the rear passenger seats and the driver's.
"Are you alright, sir?" the elderly man inquired, looking in the rear view mirror to see his young master fumbling with the lid of a pill bottle.
"Sir?"
"Drive," Mamoru commanded, still attempting to open the lid, his hands shaking violently.
"Sir, are you sure I shouldn't ring the house? Maybe get the doctor to-"
"I SAID DRIVE!"
"Yes Takatori-sama"
With that, the glass divider rose again and the car sped off towards the gate.
TBC……
[1] I've reading translations of the "Assassin and a White Shaman manga. The first time Ken and Aya meet, they wind up beating each other up. Then, when Aya comes by the shop the next day, Ken trashes the shop kicking Aya's butt, then leaves Omi to clean up the mess. The whole thing lands Aya in Yoji's bed so it's all ok by me ^_^
I'm drawing on a mesh of everything at his point.
[2] I have no idea whatsoever if it is medically possible to dislocate your wrist to slip out of handcuffs… I've seen it in movies so meh.
[3] Gluhen begins 3 years after DP ends. So I'm estimating four.