A/N: Here we are, with another chapter. I'm done with midterms, so I might update as soon as next Friday, but I don't make any promises. Just know it's a possibility. I might start answering reviews again as soon as winter break starts. Who knows? I really miss answering.

Enjoy!

A SMILE UPON MY FACE

It had taken Oriya by surprise, you can imagine, to find himself being kissed instead of beaten down to a pulp. Sadly, it hadn't been as pleasant a surprise as one would have expected. His first impulse had been to push Muraki away and the desire to do so didn't seem to be fading as time passed. It was simply because the action resulted as aggressive and violent- if not more- as if the white haired boy had indeed been smashing his head to the ground. He tried, he really tried to stop him, but Muraki was stronger than him in normal circumstances; as out of his mind as he was now, Oriya didn't stand a chance.

What kind of mockery was this? Could Muraki truly be so sadistic as to take Oriya's most precious feelings and turn them into a joke? The kiss was hasty, rough, and Muraki didn't seem to mind Oriya's struggling in the slightest. Still, he had to resort to every bit of will power in him not to return it. This was Muraki Kazutaka, after all; the person he'd loved the most for as long as he could remember. Oh, how he wanted to believe that it was love- even mere lust- driving the white haired boy's actions! But he'd spent quite some time deluding himself already; he'd just gotten to a point where he couldn't anymore. He realized, in fact, that knowing his former best friend's record, that was most likely the prelude to a rape.

The quasi-kiss came to an abrupt end but Muraki still didn't let go of him. Just because the torture had stopped though, didn't mean Oriya would stop fighting to break free. The moment he gave up, the moment he accepted whatever crumb he was given as the pathetic lap dog he'd been for so long, he would die inside. That's how much power Muraki had over him.

It was for that reason- his struggling and his inability to look at his friend's face- that it took Oriya some time to take notice of the way Muraki was staring at him. Once he did, though, he found himself frozen in place. Apparently, the white haired boy's situation wasn't much different, because he was still pining him to the floor, still holding Oriya's arms above his head causing a considerable amount of discomfort, while his expression... Oriya doubted he'd ever seen such an expression on his friend's face; or, at least, not directed at him. Muraki looked confused, there was no surprise there; his eyes were studying Oriya's face as if it was the first time he laid eyes on him. His breathing was ragged, irregular, speaking of the absolute lack of control he had over himself at the moment. But overriding it all, and what had left Oriya a little short of breath, was the awe, the utter amazement and admiration on his friend's face.

As if it hadn't been just a moment before that Oriya had been wriggling underneath him to get away, Muraki finally let go of his arms, using his now free hands to push himself up; still over him, but giving him more room to breath- or to escape, whatever seemed more urgent. Oriya didn't move, though. Something inside of him urged him to see where this was going. The white haired boy lifted one hand and brushed Oriya's bangs away from his face tenderly.

"What have you done to me?" he whispered, in a tone as shocked and bewildered as Oriya felt.

"I..." He was at a loss for words, unable to do anything but to stare at his friend's expectant face and wonder what he should say. And then it dawned to him; it didn't matter if Muraki killed him, Hisoka, half the population of Japan; what Oriya wanted, what he'd set his mind to do, was to safeguard even the smallest of portions of Muraki's heart. Whatever happened, if his friend was still capable of feeling anything other than blood-lust, his soul would still have a chance at redemption. Muraki's face at that moment gave him the certainty that it hadn't been all in vain.. The thought made him smile in spite himself. "I've just loved you." His voice revealed the deepest of affections and, while he said it, he placed a hand to the side of his confused friend's face, leaning forward to deposit the sweetest of kisses on the other boy's lips.

This new kiss soon turned deep, slow and filled with emotion- on both sides this time. It was all Oriya had ever wished for, but it was still a bittersweet victory. For his plan it may have been inconsequential, but the lives Muraki had taken- would take- did matter. By no means a kiss could erase the guilt and shame Oriya was sure was to accompany him for the rest of his days. He loved a murderer, there was no way around it.

Yes, he wanted to wash away all of Muraki's pain with that kiss; he wanted to pull him out of that darkness that was consuming him; to show him he was worthy of love, of happiness. Nothing would have made Oriya happier. But if he failed, if after that kiss- or all the kisses that would follow- Muraki still chose to be a monster, to follow Saki's doomed path, then Oriya would stay by his side to take care of him and love him as no one else had. He decided, in that moment, that if Muraki's soul were to be condemned for all eternity, so would be his own.

There might have been some selfishness in his sacrifice- he would certainly gain something if Muraki didn't push him away, if he let him be what he meant to be- but it was also true that his main reason for doing such a choice resided mostly on Muraki's wellbeing; Oriya was doing it for him. And he was confident he would succeed, if it took him a hundred lifetimes.

What an appropriate place, he thought, to make such vows. Vows he would live up to respect until his last breath. He thought, idly as he bit Muraki's lower lip gently, that his friend-cum-lover would probably not be too happy if he were to find out that he'd practically married them in his mind. But maybe it wasn't such a great place to be consummating those promises, he figured, as Muraki started unbuttoning his shirt. He thought about stopping him; with them being in a church and all. Never mind it wasn't his god to whom it paid tribute, it was still a sacred place. The problem was, he couldn't think of what they were doing as anything but sacred.

Muraki's lips went to his neck and his hands began rhythmically caressing recently bared skin. No; there was no way he was stopping now. Of course, he hadn't considered the fact that they weren't precisely 'alone'. The first time he heard Hisoka whimpering faintly, he shrugged it off as being a product of his paranoid imagination. The second time, just when Muraki had started undoing his belt and he'd finished with the last of his friend's shirt buttons- the whimper was decisively louder, but he still simply regarded it as being a result of the boy's battered state. The third, though, not even Muraki was able to ignore. It had gone from a whimper to a wail; Hisoka was either having a very screwed up nightmare or was very much awake and Oriya really didn't care for an audience. He pushed Muraki away a little self-consciously. Not that it was very hard- the task, that is; Muraki pretty much bolted on his own.

Before either of them had time to say a word, to even cover themselves, Hisoka screamed again and the church's doors opened wide, violently, letting in a very cold, very humid, and very strong wind that sent shivers down Oriya's spine that had nothing to do with the temperature. He knew it was supposed to be late- probably around 2:00 a.m.- but the engulfing darkness outside still took him by surprise. It sure as hell didn't look natural. For his part, Muraki seemed to find it fascinating. Oriya watched- frustrated, resigned, but nevertheless determined- as his friend's face sobered up and soon turned into the emotionless mask he'd been so fond of wearing as of late.

Without even looking at him, the white haired boy stood and turned to look at Hisoka, He didn't even bother to fix his clothes, even though the boy's green eyes were wide open in a mixture of horror and pain. A self-satisfied smile played at Muraki's lips; he picked an unresistant Hisoka from the ground and began making his way towards the exit.Before crossing the threshold though, he stopped and, without turning to look at him, he spoke.

"Aren't you coming, Ori-chan?" His voice was back to cold and detached. "You wouldn't want to miss the show, would you?"

Oriya wanted to break down and cry, but didn't. He had to get used to it, had to get a grip. He just looked down, got up and followed him.

"Truth or dare?"

It had been his idea; it had seemed appropriate, away to get some answers and have a little fun in the process. But Watari hadn't counted with the fact that, to get anywhere with that game, the one asking needed as much courage as the one answering and, at least in personal matters, both of them were chicken shit.

"Truth?" Tatsumi answered hesitantly.

Another thing that stopped Watari from asking what he really wanted to know was the miserable state Tatsumi was in. He couldn't blame him; or maybe he could, talk about choosing the wrong time to break up with someone. But the blond mostly felt sympathy for him. After all, any anger he could have felt had melted away the moment he'd thought the blue eyed boy was hurt. Once he realized his friend was safe and all in one piece, he'd been too happy to care about going back to being mad.

Now Tatsumi seemed to be waiting for the hammer to fall. It was evident the blue eyed boy knew Watari had reasons to be angry; he'd just failed to notice it wasn't the case... anymore. It had taken the blond fifteen minutes and a healthy doze of lame jokes to get Tatsumi to look at him in the face!

"Uhm... OK!" Watari beamed, "Have you ever spent money on something completely useless? Presents don't count. It has to have been something you bought for yourself."

Tatsumi let out the breath he'd been holding and sighed in relief. He still blushed a little before answering, though.

"Yes, I have." He nodded with determination. When Watari realized he wasn't going to elaborate, he nudged him with one elbow. "What? I don't have to tell you what it was, do I?" The fear in his eyes was enough to convince Watari that he did need to know what it had been.

"Of course you have! Where's the fun if you don't?" He pouted.

"OK, ok..." Tatsumi paused, took a deep breath to prepare himself and winced as he began. "It was a... a... astuffedanimal," he rushed out.

"A what?!"

"A stuffed animal, OK?" he snapped a little.

"For yourself?" Watari blinked in disbelief.

"Yes, for myself." Tatsumi crossed his arms across his chest with a grouchy expression. "Now you..." But Watari cut him off, snorting.

"What was it? A bunny? A bear? Was it cute?"

Tatsumi glared.

"Don't push it. Truth or dare?"

Still chuckling and with a wicked grin decorating his face, he answered.

"Truth, of course."

Tatsumi thought about it for a moment, then smiled evilly.

"Have you ever been kissed?"

Ah, now the game was starting to go where he'd wanted it to go. Too bad it was him who had to answer first, though. Watari looked down, blushing furiously. Tatsumi had to know the answer, why was he asking?

"Er... I... No." To himself, he finished, 'And I never will be if the earth swallows me now; oh, the dilemma!'

"I see..." Tatsumi said reflectively, "We're going to have to do something about that, won't we?" His tone was dead serious and Watari's eyes widened as he considered the implications.

"What,... uh,... you..."

Without a moment's notice, the blue eyed boy leaned down and gave him the quickest of pecks on the lips. It had been almost unnoticeable, but Watari felt it, alright!

"There, problem solved. Now do me." Tatsumi had the sweetest of smiles on his face. Watari had to struggle really hard to ignore all the double entendre of his words and to pretend his every dream hadn't just come true. In fact, he had to fight just not to pass out right there and then, so light-headed he was.

For the sake of his sanity, he had to decide it had been out of friendship and not a real kiss. That, at least, was what he would have done at any other time- not that Tatsumi kissing him out of the blue was such a frequent occurrence. He realized then that he had the perfect weapon within reach to corner Tatsumi and know once and for all what the other boy felt for him. Face red as a tomato, he spoke.

"Truth or dare?"

"Truth." There must have been something in his tone or face, because now Tatsumi did look scared; he'd brought it upon himself though. Watari would show no mercy.

"Have you loved anyone besides Tsuzuki?" His own voice came as nothing but a whisper. He couldn't believe he'd finally asked that! It was no surprise the way Tatsumi's face paled three or four shades.

"I..." the boy breathed. Watari was starting to reaaaally like this game. Eventually, Tatsumi nodded, and the blond's heart skipped a beat. "Yes, I... I love..." The blue eyed boy swallowed hard.

Watari couldn't bare he expectation. Tatsumi hadn't said 'I used to love...', he'd said 'I love'. Notice the present tense? That meant he loves someone at that moment, someone other than Tsuzuki, which meant it could very well be him the object of the object of his affection's affection. OK, that made no sense. Go figure, that before Tatsumi had a chance to finish that auspicious sentence, Kenji- of whom both of them had long since forgotten- woke up trashing and screaming.

"He's coming!" The delirious boy cried, a step short of hyperventilating, "He knows I'm here! Don't let him get me!!"

Tatsumi, mouth still open from the words he never got to say, turned to stare at the boy in shock. Watari felt like joining in with the screaming and crying incoherently.

"We,... uhm..." Tatsumi stammered, avoiding his eyes, "We should check on him." He stood from his seat on the desk and started his way up to the exam table.

In a burst of rebelliousness- fate had one twisted sense of humour- Watari reached out and seized Tatsumi's arm tightly, stopping him. He understood the gravity of the situation, he wasn't at all stupid, but he was sick and tired of being submitted to the whims of whoever was up there, controlling their destinies and having a laugh at his expense. Tatsumi did stop, but he didn't turn to look at him.

"So?" Watari tried to sound casual, "Who is it?"

"'Tari,..." the blue eyed boy sounded sad, defeated, "I really don't think this is the time to..."

Taking a deep, deep breath, Watari interrupted again. 'Here goes nothing,' he thought, shaking from head to toe.

"Is it me?"

Those words had come out so soft that, with Kenji's whining and the raging storm outside, the blond feared Tatsumi hadn't heard them. When he got no reply from the blue eyed boy, he assumed as much and let go of his arm. Watari closed his eyes, sighing. There was no way in hell he would repeat the question and he doubted he would ever get a chance as great as the once he'd just missed. Something told him there was no way Tatsumi would agree to a round of 'truth or dare', ever again.

But then, the most amazing, wonderfully scary thing happened. Eyes still closed, Watari felt something posing on his lips; something soft and warm and moist that tasted decisively better than anything he'd tasted so far. It only lasted a second, but he could still feel a warm breath close to his mouth. He was too scared to open his eyes, yes; but for the first time in his life, he didn't let fear get the better of him. and oh, wonder of wonders, that it was Tatsumi's face he saw, just inches away from his own. The blue eyed boy stared at him, entranced, for a moment before nodding and turning his attention back to Kenji.

"It was a yellow squirrel," was all he said.

Just as it had happened a few days before, Hisoka had almost been chocked to death by something not quite from this world. Again, and much to his discomfort, he'd been rescued and carried away from that danger as a damsel in distress. His masculinity had certainly taken a hit but, at the moment, that was the least of his concerns. This time, his savior had been Muraki, and Hisoka knew that he wasn't precisely leading him to his safety.He was a little too weak to struggle to break free from that mockingly loving embrace, so all he could resort to was to glare as nastily as he could manage.

It was true that, as uncomfortable and cold as the rain was when it hit his face, it did ease the sting of his wounds, but Hisoka couldn't figure out why Muraki would choose to leave the shelter of the chapel at a time like that one. It was obvious he had no respect for the place- especially after the little scene he and Oriya had pulled a while before. Whatever it was he wanted to do to him, he could have done it there. Right?

Then again, he had to consider that Oriya was there. For all he knew, the aforementioned scene had been Muraki's doing entirely- even if Oriya didn't look too upset about it. Hisoka was almost certain that it had been Oriya the one to patch him up and prevent him from being raped while he was unconscious. That show of compassion baffled him somewhat, not because he doubted Oriya's character, but because the dark haired boy was walking beside Muraki as an ally, as if he condoned his behaviour.

Hisoka stopped glaring at Muraki for a moment to look at the dark haired boy. What exactly had happened while he was out of it? He could have sworn those two had at least reached second base, which made no sense at all. They weren't even a couple before. Who would choose a time like that one to start a relationship?! And yet, every one in a while, one of the two would turn to look at the other as if they'd been together forever, as if he wasn't even present. Hisoka wanted to throw up; here he was, sore all over and on his merry way to God knows what horrible destiny and his captor and his best friend were giving each other longing looks. The world was a sick, sick place.

In any case, Hisoka wouldn't have been surprised if it had been Oriya's idea to move to a more appropriate location, but something told him there was a reason a lot darker and dangerous to his own self than mere correctness.

Hisoka grunted loudly, as Muraki and Oriya's eyes met once again.

"Put me down, will ya'?" he barked, "If you're going to kill me, fine; but don't torture me with this lovey-dovey shit."

Muraki raised an eyebrow at him.

"Do you think you can walk on your own?" He sounded truly sympathetic, which made Hisoka want to punch him in the face.

"Like you care," he snarled; Muraki smirked.

"Have it your way, but you're still coming with me. Don't even try to think about running away. I'd hate having to kill you while you attempt to escape. It would be such a mess." Just those words and the way they were delivered were enough to remind Hisoka that he was dealing with a cold blooded murderer and not just an annoying prick.

It was something surprisingly easy to forget, though. Maybe it was that his empathy was a little bit numbed still- for which he was grateful, considering the physical contact; maybe it was that, the little he could feel from the white haired boy didn't feel all that bad, really- at least, not in comparison to what had almost killed him twice already. Or maybe it was the way Muraki looked at Oriya, and the way Oriya looked back. It wasn't just the utter devotion the white haired boy's eyes showed for his friend; Hisoka was sure Muraki knew how to deceive the eye. But he could feel, albeit faintly, something decisively different in his murderer-to-be's soul. For one, the previous chaos was long gone. Whatever battle Muraki had been fighting with himself, must have ended while he was unconscious, though he really had no idea- or maybe he just feared to think about- what side had won. On the other hand, there was the faintest of feelings of love in him for the dark haired boy. It was confusing and erratic, but nonetheless pure; and it was growing. Fast.

That someone as cold hearted as to kill another human being in such a brutal way was capable of a love so deep, threw Hisoka completely off balance. There was also the fact that Oriya, who couldn't hide his shame for that very reason, loved Muraki back; so fervently and completely that Hisoka couldn't help but to envy the white haired boy a little. Or was it Oriya he envied?

Muraki, against all odds, did put him down. Hisoka stumbled a little on his feet and it was Oriya who rushed to his side to support him. Hisoka glared at him and shook the boy off.

"Freaks," he grumbled, dusting his clothes as if he could shake the embarrassment away in doing so. "You two are both insane."

Oriya threw a pleading look Muraki's way.

"Kazutaka... maybe..."

With a cold smile, Muraki shook his head no, interrupting.

"I'm not letting him go, Ori-chan, so stop asking."

Hisoka saw the deflated look in Oriya's eyes as he nodded.

"Can I ask where you're taking me and why?" Hisoka didn't like the slightly helpless quality his tone acquired.

"You'll find out soon enough." Muraki answered with mirth, as if there was a surprise party waiting for them at the end of the road.

The green eyed boy then glanced at Oriya in hope for some answers, but the other boy just shrugged and looked down guiltily. He threw his arms in the air, exasperated.

"Are you tacking a freaking course on how to be a bad guy?!" he snapped, his voice just a little bit high pitched. "What am I, your thesis?!? You think you're soooo cool, don't you?! With your mysteries and shit!?"

Hisoka was scared; who wouldn't be? And it was taking the better of him. But when Muraki, too quickly for him to see it coming, grabbed him by the waist and pulled him toward his body, when he looked directly into those deep silver eyes, he remembered what it was like to be truly afraid.

"If I tell you," Muraki whispered sulkily into his ear. "Or him," he pointed at Oriya, who looked as frightened and expectant as he felt. "Then my plans would be ruined. I want something, you see? And you're the only way I have of getting it. But if I tell you, the game would change, and I'd have to bring your precious Tsuzuki into this to fix it. You'd be sentencing him to the same fate that awaits you. You wouldn't want that, would you?" It wasn't a rhetorical question; Muraki expected a reply, Hisoka could tell as much. There was a big chance that Muraki was just lying to get some sort of truth out of him with the answer. Had Muraki somehow found out about his growing feelings for the violet eyed boy? Hisoka knew how obsessed Muraki was with him; was that it? What this was all about? Good old fashioned jealousy?

He opted for answering the truth; he figured Muraki already knew it anyway, and he hoped he wouldn't be hurting Tsuzuki with it.

"No. I don't want you to hurt him. Do whatever you want with me, but please leave him alone. Please." Yes, his tone had sounded pathetically pleading but; what's the use for dignity when you're as good as dead and have just one chance to protect the one you love?

Muraki let go of him, smirking.

"That's what I thought. Too bad you'd still hurt him by dying, ne?"

What a weird concept, that he could use his demonic heritage to help the good guys. It could mean that he wasn't necessarily evil by nature. It could mean that he still had his free will, regardless of his origin. It was a scary concept- if one considered the responsibility that came with it- but one that Tsuzuki could certainly get used to. And as twisted and menacing as the world looked through his eyes now, Hijiri had said it was only because the demon had the spiritual plane all stirred up. That meant he'd been afraid of a memory all those years; that the world wasn't such a dangerous place all the time.

He still couldn't help considering that, if it hadn't been for him, the demon wouldn't have killed those kids or endangered his friend's lives. But at least he could do something about it, right?

It was also a little strange- well, everything was, to be honest- that he'd trusted the shinigami so readily. One had to admit the title wasn't exactly flattering. They were 'gods of death'; he should have been afraid of them, or, at least, mistrusted them and their motives a little. Yet he knew, somewhere inside of him, that they were as good as they came. Especially Hijiri, from whom he got a sense of absolute safety and friendship. The world had turned, in a matter of a few hours, into a bizarre parallel universe of spirits and demons, of death and danger, but Tsuzuki had never felt more 'in' place; more at home. Not that he wasn't praying with everything in him for that horrid night to end.

It wasn't showing any signs of ending any time soon, though- nor their search. It seemed he'd been looking for one of his friends or the other- or all of them at a time- for ages now. And he wasn't sure if it was a fact or an optical illusion caused from all the hours he'd spent walking around, but he was starting to suspect they were going round in circles.

"Didn't we pass that wall-chart at least three times already?" he asked in a quiet tone, trying to sound half joking, in case they hadn't and he ended up looking stupid. It wasn't like the halls differed from each other all that much. Hijiri frowned and nodded.

"I was thinking about the same thing. If I didn't know better I'd say that..." he paused, looking pensive, but Aome took this as an opportunity and finished the sentence out for him.

"The demon knows very well where we are. He's stalling us," she deadpanned.

Both men turned to look at her.

"Yes," Hijiri began cautiously, "That's what I was going to say. But that would only be possible if he'd..."

"He's built some sort of kekkai around us," she interrupted again. "To throw us off the scent and have us going round like idiots on a merry-go-round."

Hijiri huffed, while Tsuzuki observed the scene with utmost interest.

"And you know this because...?" Hijiri said somewhat tiredly.

Tsuzuki's eyes focused on the girl, expecting her to reveal some kind of hidden an amazing power that had let her sense a force field or a spell when the two who should have been able to see it had missed it. The girl just sighed and rolled her eyes.

"I know this, because the last time we passed through here, I noticed the wall-chart and got me suspicious; so I tore the bottom left corner to make sure?" She really sounded annoyed.

Hijiri blinked, Tsuzuki blinked, and they both turned to look at the quite noticeable tear on the poster.

"Oh," they said in unison.

"Unless the three of us had a pretty fucked up sense of orientation, which I don't- thank you very much- the only possibility would be that it's a trick from that lame ass demon." She crossed her arms over her chest in triumph and gave a short nod, obviously proud of herself.

"But... wait,..." Tsuzuki raised his hands in frustration. "Why would he do that? Isn't it me he wants? Didn't you say he wanted to hurt me? Why would he have me within his reach and do nothing?" Somehow he knew the answer; he could only pray to be very, very wrong.

Aome shrugged then. Apparently, her deductive powers didn't go that far. Hijiri seemed to be thinking about it and Tsuzuki didn't like the worry he saw creeping to his new friend's face.

"Tsuzuki," the man began gravely; Tsuzuki was already shaking his head no. "We have to consider that he might have one of your friends already. We talked about this. He knows that if he faces the two of us to get to you... He cannot kill you while you're with us, so he needs to find another way to hurt you," he finished sadly.

"No," Tsuzuki laughed nervously. "I'm sure you're wrong. I know we said we needed to find the guys but... No, he wants me! He wouldn't!"

Hijiri didn't answer, he just took an ofuda from his pocket. The piece of paper floated in the air and, tainting the world a pleasant shade of green, a burst of energy exploded from it, shattering the invisible walls that had been imprisoning them, along with Tsuzuki's hopes that the demon had left his friends alone.

"Now," Hijiri smiled reassuringly. "We kick ass, as promised. I don't like being played with."

Tsuzuki looked down and followed, now able to see- and sense- the illusion crumbling around him, as well as the focus of the energy that had created it. He was ashamed; ashamed because one of his friends might be in pain because of him. Ashamed, because not even 24 hours had passed since Tatsumi had dumped him, and his first thought had gone to Hisoka.

The demon, and the boy he was using as a host, felt the kekkai being destroyed. 'Well,' he thought, shrugging, 'I couldn't have held them forever. It doesn't matter anymore.'

Both he and the boy smiled. The boy, because the girl that now lay on the floor, unconscious and badly hurt, had revealed the location of the one he'd been looking for. If there was something he hated, those were the little minxes that dared call themselves boys, who corrupted perfectly normal people like him and lured them into performing those sinful acts. If Kenji had bewitched him into his bed, into a world of perdition, then he would take the little whore with him to hell.

For his part, the demon could finally sense Muraki approaching. He'd suspected the white haired boy had retreated to the chapel, where he could not sense him. So, the boy had needed time to make up his mind; no harm in that. But the demon hadn't had the time for indecision and, apparently, his little show had had the desired effect. The boy was coming back to the school, that was all that mattered. That, and the fact that the demon could feel Muraki had fulfilled his assignment. He was bringing Tsuzuki's friend and Achilles' heel, Hisoka, with him. Everything was working out perfectly again.

Tsuzuku

Thanks a million to: BakayaroManiac, azdriel, LYK, Schatten Wolfendorf, Mel-chan, Keruri, dodger-chan, Kitty, xXLil Yu JahXx and Craized Artist. All of your reviews were special and unique; a big group 'thanks' is highly inappropriate, but all I can manage at the moment. Hugs all.

Ja Ne!