When Katsu woke up, it was to the sound of laughter. He raised a groggy head from where it was buried in his pillow, trying to wonder where he was (since this obviously wasn't his home) and who the hell was out there laughing with such mirth. Especially seeing as how he, personally, felt like he had just run the emotional gauntlet.
Then he remembered.
And he really, really wished he hadn't.
Oh fuck.
Memories pounded into him like thrown rocks, and Katsu sat bolt upright, hugging his knees to his chest so he wouldn't break his ribs. God … why? Why was the loss of one miserable, hated house doing this to him? He pressed his forehead to his knees, taking deep, shuddering breaths and trying with all his strength not to throw up.
Which was much, much harder than it sounded.
Katsu stood up slowly, not really trusting his legs to hold him – but they couldn't do a worse job atanding up than they did sitting down, right?
Right.
Wait, did he say right?
He meant wrong.
Very, very wrong.
He clutched at the doorframe for awhile, breathing heavily, and tried to regain his composure. When he had reached the point where it felt like he could walk into that scary lady doctor's clinic without breaking a sweat (unless it happened to be a very hot day), Katsu straightened up and walked out of the room.
Ten years as a bitter, brooding, morose young hermit/artist followed by less than a year of being a bitter, brooding, morose young journalist who had to go out and collect all the stories himself probably isn't the best way to spend the majority of your life, but it does teach you some things. Namely, how to gag that little depressed, crying voice in your head, hog-tie it, and lock it in a darkened cellar where no one can hear the screams. Again, probably not among the most healthy skill to have, but very useful.
And they were still laughing.
There was something fundamentally wrong, Katsu felt, with people who laughed a lot. Past a certain point, the joke wasn't funny. Those who dragged it on long after the joke had been brutally murdered, mourned, buried, and invitations had been passed out to the joke's wife's remarriage, were really, really annoying. It had felt like it took him an hour to get this far since waking up. It had probably only been around ten minutes, but still … what could possibly be so funny?
Katsu navigated the hallways with only a little difficultly, and, by following the laughter, ended up in the dinning room, where everyone was eating breakfast. At the sight of him, the muffled (be seemed unable to completely stifle) their laughter, and pointedly looked anywhere but at him. And it was very nearly everyone, too; Himura sat between Kaoru and Misao-chan, who was next to Shinomiri and after him Sano, who bracketed the Myoujin child in between himself and Kaoru. Katsu took in this, as well as Sano's expression, which was a cross between shamed, mischievous, and smug, and sighed.
"Sano," he asked as he walked over to his friend and settled himself between Sano and Shinomiri. "Have you been telling stories about me again?" The former had the decency to look somewhat abashed, but not enough to look in any way repentant, and the latter (the only one who hadn't been laughing) gave him a friendly greeting nod.
"Only a few," Sano teased. "Like … oh … that time you agreed to paint a geisha's portrait, and she stalked you for weeks."
Katsu groaned, and punched Sano lightly in the arm. "Dolt. Why do you have to tell that one to everyone who knows who I am?"
Sano smirked. "Maybe it's because it's such a good story …"
"Or maybe it's because it didn't end the way you wanted it to." Katsu snorted. "I told you she wouldn't sleep with you." He leaned forward, until he was looking straight at Misao-chan (who seemed to be having the hardest time controlling her laughter). "Trust me, I can tell you right now that half the things Sano's just said to you are exaggerations, and the other half are sake-dreams – he's terrible at holding his drink."
"Hey!" Katsu smirked as Sano started up in mock-rage, only to be interrupted by Misao-chan's small, oddly quivering voice.
"Um … Tsukioka-san? Why don't you tell us what really happened, then?" She shot a sharp glance at Sano to see his reaction, and wasn't disappointed.
"Oh man …" Sano slumped back down onto the floor. "Don't believe him, weasel-girl – he lies like a snake."
"Better than drinking like a woman."
"I do NOT drink like a WOMAN!"
"Suuuure you don't, Sano. Now, what actually happened was this …"
**********************
Erk! Late (by less than an hour)! Please don't kill me! Getting sooo close to the scene I can almost taste it … next one or the one after that, definitely. Yay!
(I didn't see this 'till after I already got #29 up, sorry!)
Lychee2: Thanks! And I know what you mean … though it's more running into walls with me rather than doors …
Nicky: No, it didn't. ^_^ Everyone needs a little sugar in their diet to survive, after all. And Katsu's just a big fwuffy kitty … it's even in his name! KAT-suhiro. See? (can I justify my opinions or what?) And by the end of this fic, Aoshi will smile a real, actual smile, and he'll make a couple more snicker/chuckles, and Katsu will be laughing his ass off.
Trust me. *rubs hands in Scheming Evil Villian Position No. 17(tm)* hee-hee-hee-hee-heeeeee …