Quote of the Week: "Remember that a kick in the ass is a step forwards" – unknown
Okay, sorry for the slowness in the update-ness... Christmas has got me a tad busy, so next chapter may be a tad slow as well. But I'll try.
Reviewer Replies!
Ryuu no Furui Yami: Actually, no, those three are fine. I just forgot about them for a while. ;; Chuu and Touya are sill working on the house, and Rinku lives in the dorm Suzuki is supervisor at. They will show up soon, unharmed and unscathed.
Pegacorn: Aren't we all? Insane, that is.
Embyrflame: No, I was talking about it was okay to take in Embyr. I do want to read her story, though.
Ciardra: ::huggles Lyonell:: Fuzzy, he is. But Victoria is scary when he's (She? Shim?) angry.
Ebbster: Well, as long as she's not misused.
AzureDragoness: : Ass-kicking will come, and much of it. Your own ass will be sore from all the kicking going on. O o;; ::coughs:: Ho-kay, that sounded a tad awkward... Oh, you were asking when I'd update, and here it is.
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It's funny, almost... I know it's only a dream, but... but it's so real...
His hands closed around the pale, unmarked throat, claws digging into skin. A slight pulse beat from below the smooth skin of his victim.
Yes, his victim... always there, egging him on. Even though the rest of this dream-fantasy was a blue, the slim neck, and his hands around it, was always sharp and clear.
Kill me... kill me... kill me...
So why didn't he? One twist, or just two minutes of applied pressure from his hands and the voice would stop, he would stop.
The world would stop.
Please, kill me...
A change... this was the first time in the near-three weeks of this recurring nightmare that the victim's voice had given any clue to just who they were. Feminine, and choked from the slowly tightening grip he had on her throat; he could feel her breath force itself against the walls of her windpipe.
But why? Why was he strangling the life out of someone? This wasn't something he'd ever do...
And then, the most chilling of all.
Brother..? Why won't you kill me?
Only a dream... right?
If so, why could he never escape? Why did it never change?
Why was the green of his twin's eyes staring up at him?
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"Maaaa..." Mara buried her little white muzzle deep in Hiei's hair, her blue eyes half closed. It was late for the dragonling, almost ten at night, but Hiei doubted he could sleep even though Mara drifted off into dreamland. For starters, there was a rather large book in front of him.
Red eyes holding nothing short of sheer malice, he looked from the textbook to the note and it's neat cursive handwriting beside it.
Hiei, read chapters one through three. It might keep you from getting stuck after classes again.
Don't make me use force just so you can get this assignment done.
The stupid fox hadn't even left a signature. Not that the fire demon had needed one to see who the note was from. Right about now, looking at the glossy cover of the history textbook, he would have rather have taken chances with Kuwabara's retarded alarm clock.
He still had a score to settle with the porcelain bovine.
With a disheartening "Hn" he picked up the book and flipped it open while holding it in one hand. Struggling with Kurama wasn't exactly on the top of his 'To-Do' list, and what was a bit of reading, anyways? Surely just a few...minutes...
He blinked once, then flipped back through the glossed pages. Quite certain his eyesight wasn't failing him, he checked again and felt his eyebrow twitch in agitation. Chapters one through three totaled a grand number of ninety-two pages – in insanely small print. Small wonder the fox had tagged a threat to the end of the note.
Honestly, if anyone thought he would waste his time with this drabble, they ought to have their head checked.
But Kurama was rather fond of stowing away the seeds of carnivorous and poisonous plants...
Tired eyes from reading or infected bite wounds. A lovely pair of choices. The plants didn't have any means of feeling pain, so where was the fun in fighting them off? Unless he, in a burst of common sense, managed to steal the fox's footnotes on the chapters; if he believed correctly, Kurama had read the same insanely large book just two weeks ago.
Yeah... footnotes. Those would work.
Mara shifted a little in her sleep, her tail going lax and nearly uncurling from Hiei's left shoulder, and a clawed wing drooped in his line of vision. The dragonling was getting bigger, and had nearly grown half a foot in length. Although she appeared to be young, all traces of baby fat had left her, and she was slender and serpent-like. Nearly all of her meter-long length was tail and neck, with a small body and delicate head. When her wings were folded, however, she much resembled a winged snake.
Her mother, Cecilia, although lean, had been built more along the lines of Western-style dragons. Perhaps her unusual body shape was from her crossed bloodlines? He would never know, the fire demon supposed.
Now, back to those godforsaken notes...
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He knew that this couldn't possibly be the same Hanabi he had seen weeks ago. Although the hair color and face was the same, Jin couldn't find the slightest trace of the cold young man he had overheard talking to Shikyo. It was as if they were two different people entirely. A split personality? No, it couldn't be... there would at least be some semblance between the two sides, something that tied them together.
The windmaster had puzzled over this for quite some time, now. From that day of his conversation with Kyuro, there was barely a place that Holly and Hanabi went that Jin didn't tag along to, or send one of the roosting sparrows to follow them. And every time, he had gotten the same impression: a bit shy, but gentle and a fairly nice guy. There was no chill to his voice, his eyes, although a strange golden and orange color, were warm (if timid), and he didn't carry himself with such airs as the other "Hanabi" he had first seen.
So why was it that Kyuro and Koryu were so on-edge around him?
Holly stretched her arms behind her head, and uncrossed her legs. Stumbling up from the floor, she cautiously tiptoed around the numerous books and such strewn about the area, and picked up her water glass on her way out of the room the witch shared with Lark. Poking her head back in the doorway, she said, "I'm gonna go refill my water glass. I'll be back in a minute." And the sound of her footsteps were heard going down the stairs.
Jin leaned back, propping his head against the side of Lark's bed, and watched as Hanabi looked back down from the doorway. Funny... the windmaster had never been stuck in the same room as the white-haired boy before, at least not alone. It would be interesting to see what would happen...
No, wait, what was that he had seen? It had been nothing more than a mere glimpse, but in those eyes, a brilliant orange at the exact moment they had met Jin's, there had been a feeling of utter loathing. The same winter-chill that had crept into his bones on the very first day of the second year plagued him yet again, and now his interest was peaked.
So Hanabi was living a double life, eh? A charmer when he was around Holly, but a loose cannon whenever the witch was out of earshot or sight. But the change was so total, so complete, that the youkai wondered how anyone could pull it off. Usually there was something that gave them away, some little wrench in their plans.
When he looked over at Hanabi again, the orange had given way to the soft gold. The youth turned to Jin, blinking in surprise.
"Uh, what's wrong?"
"Nah, nothing." Hanabi shrugged, and went back to copying the Latin verbs from his textbook, but Jin knew he had seen that scathing look. And the tie... that one little orange stripe in the boy's left eye. The rest of his gaze was soft, but that sliver of spitfire orange seemed like it was a piece of shrapnel. It wasn't natural, and Jin was sure that Hanabi hadn't been born with it.
Jin turned back to his book, one elven ear partially swiveled at the boy, and focused his sky-blue eyes on the print on the page. A sea of black and white, his eyes were tired and strained already – he had been reading the pages for this particular assignment for nearly forty-five minutes. Not only that, but it was eerily quiet in the house. Lark was over at a drama club practice, Kurama and Lyra were acting as tutors somewhere out on campus, and even Yusuke, Kuwabara, Bones, and Kyuro were vacant from the house.
Peace and quiet... shattered by a sudden involuntary shiver. Something was staring at him, as if trying to bore holes through the demon. The hair on the back of his neck bristled, but Jin tried his best to look unaffected.
Hanabi. Again.
He was sure that if he turned around now, Hanabi's eyes would be fiery coals, determined to tear Jin apart with a sheer glare of hatred. What had he done to deserve this?
"Hey, you guys want something to eat?" The voice floated up the stairs, and Jin felt the glare fade away, replaced by innocent gold. And it clicked, and even though he answered that yes, he was indeed hungry, much like a robot would, the demon recognized the source of such malice.
Jealousy... over Holly. Had Hanabi targeted Jin as a possible rival, now that the windmaster started hanging around more often? Well, there was no doubt.
When Holly brought the bowls of vegetable soup up, he took it silently, and downed only a few spoonfuls before packing his book up and going downstairs. As much as he hated to think it, as long as he was around, that other side of Hanabi was teeming just below the surface, able to burst free at any moment. Perhaps he would take a short flight tonight, maybe find someone to mull things over with. Touya... yeah, his old buddy. Surely the ice master would have some idea or means by which to handle things until a firmer grip was gotten on Hanabi.
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"Justin? Ah, Justin, are you okay?" Clarice sighed at the sight of the sleeping boy, and gently prodded him in the side with her finger. Unlike last year, the human boy had been applying himself quite diligently to his schoolwork. She secretly suspected that the imminent pain of Chrysanthemum's claws had been the reason – that and the fact Justin seemed to work doubly hard in order to impress the neko demon. Even Suzuki hadn't been able to set him off on one of his gloomy moods, yet, so there might be hope yet for him...
Ever so lightly, the fairy grabbed a good chunk of Justin's short brown hair, and lifted his head off the table; the spiral binding of his notebook was imprinted down the left side of his face, and Clarice suppressed a giggle. When she heard him mumble a rather colorful expletive under his breath, though, she let his head fall with a not-so-tender thunk onto the table, and backed up a bit. She would leave the awakening of Justin to another; someone else could invoke his anger.
Deciding it would be better to let sleeping dogs lie, Clarice went downstairs to set the table for dinner.
It was dark, and the entire world seemed to be empty. No one. Nobody. And not even so much as a tiny glimmer of light in the black. He felt something claw at the hem of his shirt and whipped around, feeling the talons dislodge, one by one. Another swipe in the dark and his feet were kicked out from under him.
With the feeling that it would be better to keep moving than wait around for, well, whatever it was, to come back, Justin got to his feet. It was slightly cold, but the overall temperature seemed to be fairly random in what it was. Stand in one spot, you were shivering; move a meter to the left, and it seemed your skin was roasting. The sensation of pins and needles in his left leg as he was walking, though, was constant, and it seemed to throb at his knee with every step.
Nearly twenty minutes of non-stop walking, now, he guessed. The pins and needles in his leg hadn't ceased; but then again, it hadn't gotten any worse, either, so he couldn't complain. At points, he had seemed to fade in and out of this inky black reality, and time was warped for him, yet he knew he hadn't stopped and rested since he began. Because he knew that whatever had nearly attack him before wasn't a figment of his imagination and was slinking along behind him. It never made a noise, whatever it was, but its presence made him think twice about every step he took. There was no light, so what if he tripped? Well, it would be on him in a second, tearing him to pieces. Or perhaps his death would be more painful and slow, with the crunching and grinding of bones while he was still alive to feel it.
Well, now was the landmark upon which he promised himself to never watch anymore slasher movies...
But in all seriousness, Justin knew that he had to keep going. No time for rest, no time for directions, no time to even figure out how to get some light in this godforsaken place.
And then, in the middle of the air, right in front of him, was a pinpoint of white. The only star in a sea of universe. It drew him like a moth to flame, and as soon as he was in front of it, it seemed to give no real light. Only a speck of bleach white...
No, wait. It wasn't a light source; it was a hole in the sky. But, as he went to touch it, it dropped into his palm, like a small white marble. What in the world was going on?
But the white orb seemed to answer that itself, and Justin found himself shielding his eyes from the scorching light that seemed to burn the very insides of his eyelids. The orb was dropped, forgotten, as he tried to save his eyes by blocking with both hands. But someone else, a set of hands and fumbling fingers, pulled them away from his face, and he felt the smooth toughness of nylon. A sudden dab of cold on his wrist, and a slim need was plunged in, painless but giving him a crawling sensation to feel the metal sticking into his bloodstream.
The white fuzzed, blurred, became a cyclone of white and ivory and different colored blobs of skin tone. He could feel more needles, sticking out from his other wrist and the crook of his elbow. There was bustle... more people seemed to fade in and out of the picture like some sick dream.
Wait, this was a dream, right? He was sure he had seen this before, though...
And then the wail of a woman, crying and trying to explain something all at the same time came from the corner out of his line of sight. The edges of his vision cleared, and he could hear plastic curtains rustling as people with teal masks and wearing white smocks rushed in and out, always a changing vortex of nurses and doctors...
Oh, God, not again... going through this once was enough. Especially when he had been so small then. There was a painted Cat in the Hat on the opposite wall, and he recognized the room as the children's ward. But he was nearly sixteen or so now... he shouldn't be in this section, and he should be able to move more than this. The machines shouldn't seem so big, and the uncomfortable hospital bed not so expansive.
No... Not again. He wouldn't do this again. He would struggle all he needed to. Forget his crying aunt in the corner, forget the pain in his leg that was quickly numbing. Yes, painkillers. That was what was being pumped into him. Painkillers and plasma through the IV, and someone was yelling for a unit of AB positive blood...
As much as he fought against the nylon cords on his wrist and legs, he couldn't break free. And he knew he never would... they had, in a burst of inspiration, even belted one over his forehead so he couldn't move his head at all. The more he strained his neck, trying to get a better look, the deeper it pressed in, smothering his bangs in his eyes and leaving red marks across his skin.
"Nurse, give him a dose of anesthesia. His BPM is going through the roof; he needs to calm down."
A mask was placed over his mouth and nose, and the air coming from it smelled strange. It didn't take long for him to wear out. His head seemed so heavy, and his eyelids drooped involuntarily. He couldn't jerk himself awake like he usually did.
Yes... let the drugs do the work. Just sit back, ignore the needles, and drift off. It would be all right...
And his neck was so tired; he didn't even want to bother moving his head in the least. It seemed as if someone had rested a great weight on it. Almost like they had balanced a stack of textbooks on top...
"Hey! Hey, man, calm down!" Lyonell sidestepped out of range of the human's furious half-awake backhand, picking up his paws as the small pile of heavy books fell to the floor with a thud. The cat nervously stayed out of arms-length of Justin, and something that could easily be genuine concern was on his face. "Justin, dude, you alright? You never wake up swingin' like that..."
Right, a dream... no hospital, no restraints. Just an annoying human-sized kitty.
"I'm okay." His reply was a mumble, really. But at the moment, comprehendible speech seemed far beyond his limits. Lyonell cocked an ear, and moved a little closer. "Care to repeat that?"
"I'm okay. Don't hover like some mother hen!" Justin made a shooing motion with his hand, and stood up. Good... after that nightmare, he wasn't sure if he could walk; he was surprised already that the action of standing hadn't turned his legs into limp noodles. With bleary eyes, he stared at the leather-bound books scattered haphazardly on the floor.
"And what were you doing with those?" He asked, picking one up and dusting off the cover. A-BR of "The Encyclopedia Britannica", read the binding, and Justin could just sense the stupid answer he was about to get.
"Er..." Lyonell chose to stare at the ceiling rather than Justin's face, and quietly started shuffling out of view. "Nothing much, really. Just checking to see how you were doing." Just kept his glare on the cat demon twin, and Lyonell started to shuffle faster. "Nothing you should concern yourself with, actually! And, uh, gee, whaddaya know? Dinner!"
And with that, Lyonell had disappeared from the room, and was taking the stairs two at a time. Justin merely looked at the books on the floor, sighed, and started to pick them up. Staring at them, he would have liked to have just kicked them out of the middle of the floor and gone after Lyonell; but Chrysanthemum had turned his shared bedroom into a study room of sorts, and she would have killed him if it wasn't spotless.
"Why can't vacation just come already..?" he muttered, picking up his assignment book as if it would burst into flames at any moment. If he had a lighter, it would have.
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Blood pounding through his temples, rushing through his veins. The adrenaline rush that came from breaking into high-security locales always took forever to get out of his system.
As he pulled the tube-shaped carrying case off his back, he pressed a few buttons on the keyboard of his communicator, and the amber filament flashed brilliantly. The thief swore softly, checking to make sure Jin hadn't noticed – but the windmaster wasn't there. Rogerik raised an eyebrow at the absence of his roommate, but shrugged it off. Less trouble for him, and an easier transaction of the goods to his employer.
After all, anyone awake would surely notice the glowing two-foot-in-diameter portal floating in midair and never let him hear the end of it. An otherworldly wind of sorts kicked up and Rogerik gave up keeping his bangs out of his eyes – the wind wasn't a single breeze, but a number of crosswinds.
"Simply dramatic..." The thief grumbled, remembering that the last few times he had done this, the light from the portal hadn't been nearly so bright, and no wind whatsoever. But, then again, the man he worked for was a sucker for the dramatic, and the thief supposed he could deal with it for now.
If only the idiot would just grow out of it soon...
Tossing the case in midair and catching it in his hand, Rogerik stared at the portal. The first few times, he had been unnerved by just throwing valuable paintings into a void in the time/space continuum, but after proof that they had been received with no damage, the initial shock had worn off. Giving the case one last look, he hurled it into the portal and grabbed hold of his communicator, shutting down the portal. The glowing circle flickered, shrank in size, and the wind died down. Within a few seconds the room was entirely dark.
He was almost tempted to get a new job or find something else to study. But this was what he was best at, for better or worse. After all, if you could undo any lock, why not put it to good use and get money for your efforts?
Oh, yes, he had mentioned it had been a bugger to slip into Meucca's art museum, snatch the painting, place a fake, and make off with the undamaged original, hadn't he? And then, once his employer had apparently deemed it safe for the paintings to be free in the world again, he was supposed to break right back into the museum, take the fake, and return the original.
For all the trouble this job was worth, Rogerik hoped he would get paid double for this.
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Again, sorry about the lateness. But, uh, the plot should pick up a bit soon.
And next time!
-What is going on inside Hanabi's head? Well, for starters, there are many voices... o o
-Yusuke, Kuwabara, and Lark get suspicious! (And you know that when they team up, there's going to be trouble.)
-Pictures of Justin start getting on the Internet, thanks to a certain cat. But will Justin laugh with everyone else, or strangle poor Lyonell-kun?