Dear gods, this is the first time I've been on the net for over two bloody months. Once again, my poor luck with electronics reared up and bit me in the ass even worse than usual. My computer died in a spectacular fashion, though not before I was able to back up everything on CD. Thank the gods. And thank my Dad, for getting rid of that hell-forsaken DSL. Huzzah for cable!

Rikka Chishio: Glomping is allowed if you can catch him. And yes, the wedding's going to be spiffy!

Kitsune Kit: Good, I'm glad you survived. You're one of my most loyal reviewers and you keep my characters on their toes. Also, c'mon, it's Aislin's family we're talking here. They're Irish. You expected them to be mundane and boring?

Magus784: Eh, nevermind, then, I don't play on the comp. It was fun writing that chapter, 'specially since Yoko got the Inu Yasha treatment with his ears. You notice no one ever tugs on his ears? Maybe because Yoko is seven feet of potentially-deadly demon, and Inu Yasha's a little more people friendly? Interesting puzzle, that. To answer your question, the 'horses' are attacking the lambing barn. Not something attacking them.

Silverwing013: No, I'm not telling. Being an evil writer is one of the few joys I have time left for these days. Damned full-time job and school eating whole day… My comp is mostly behaving itself. Giving me the sites I want, but it sometimes doesn't want to shut off for no apparent reason. Just sits there with the 'shutting down' screen for ages. Oh, well. Pulling the plug works just as well, even if it does make the comp-savvy folk out there cringe.

Aisilin Kheldarson: No, no Obsidian for you. —Obsidian sighs in relief— I didn't want to go for the whole 'freak out' take on Yoko revealing his identity, it would have ruined the whole story. But having them take it like it was nothing was no good either. So why not have his folks be sensitives, if not psychics? 'Cause you know moms are a little bit psychic when it comes to their children, the good ones, anyway. Wish granted on the Moors!

EarthHeartIdiot: Yeah, I love Jin. I have a folder for pics devoted 'specially for him on my drive.

Darknesspirals: That's okay, I've been delayed in updating. Thanks for the comment on the brogue, it really is a btch to write.

Seeyu: Welcome back! --glomps-- I missed you!

——————————————————————————————

Aislin made a good guess, because she's never seen this kind of horse before at all on this side of Ningenkai. If it weren't for her demonic vision, she would never have been able to see the herd of ten-strong equines galloping in pitch-black coats around the barn. She suspects the only thing keeping these glowing-eyed beasts off the place is all the Cold Iron contained within.

Michael swears and reaches for the rifle slung on his back beneath his own coat, but an upraised hand stops him. "Hold that for last, cousin," Aislin shouts over the downpour. "And don't be afraid of what you might see."

Leaving him to chew on that cryptic statement, Aislin strides closer, the hem of her cloak fluttering like the trailing edges of wings. A fleeting thought summons energy to her palms, forming two very bright faerie-lamps that hiss under the rain. The herd of phuka mill to a halt, peering at her suspiciously from beneath soaked forelocks with ruby red eyes. An image of Hiei briefly imposes itself over the head stallion, summoning a trace of a smile to her lips. Then she banishes the smile, confronting her faerie kin with fists resting on her hips.

"I should think that's quite enough roughhousing here, you lot," she informs them in no uncertain tone, and is answered by an angry neigh that hardly needs translation. "Because I told you so, that's why. You're scaring my family and likely terrifying the livestock. Shoo."

(("And who are ye tae tell us 'begone', woman?")) shouts the stallion, rearing and pawing at air.

Switching over to Equine, Aislin calmly informs him, (("I am the daughter of Brian Moors and the ice-maiden Frostflower. And you dare interrupt my meeting with my kin? I should shatter you where you stand, you impudent colt."))

(("Ye lie!")) several of the herd whinny, stamping the already-abused grass. (("That tryst bore nae children!"))

(("So you're saying I don't exist?")) A graceful, one-handed sweep settles the hilt of an ice-blade in her palm, glimmering with energy in the darkness. (("How very rude. Come, foolish foals, try my strength and count yourselves fortunate that I don't use the Death-metal."))

Michael is standing there completely floored as his long-lost cousin stands there with a magical weapon in her hands, conversing in whinnies and neighs with the phuka trying to break into the lambing barn. And her attitude of challenge compared to the equine disbelief is clear. It's his own fae blood, however diluted and faded, that allows him to see the dark bodies gathering in a tight bunch before the wool clad woman.

Then the world tips upside down even farther when a tall man in the garb of a Highland warrior steps out of nothing, limned in rich green light the color of moss. There's no mistaking the shaggy brown hair braided into a thick club down his back, nor the neatly-trimmed beard. Least of all, the aqua blue eyes shining with their own inner fire and the delicately pointed ears half-hidden under the thick hair.

/"Are you all daft?"/ Brian of the Moors demands in Gaelic of the pooka, striding up to the herd as though the water pouring down isn't even there. /"Ya know bloody well you're noo supposed tae attack me family, ya blasted nags!"/

The breathy, dismayed nicker that the stallion makes is all too easy to translate, even for Michael. (("Crap."))

/"Get yer black asses back tae th' sithen, ya sorry lot, afore Ah choose tae put 'em there! Move!"/

With understandable alacrity, the whole herd of rampaging pooka flee back through a portal glimmering a pale pearl in the half-light, while the tall warrior turns back to face down the slender woman blinking up at him with utter shock. /"And what're ye starin' at, lassie?"/

In response, the petite Aislin pulls her hood back and lets the rain soak into her hair, her own green eyes alight with amazement. And then she answers in perfect, accentless Gaelic. /"I'm looking at someone I never thought I'd get to meet on this side of Death's River. It's…something of a shock."/

Puzzlement creasing the rugged face, Brian of the Moors steps closer, eyes still glowing with that strange radiance. When the elfin features come into focus for him in the hissing lights, wonder replaces the confusion. /"Blessed gods, will ya looka this? 'Tis me love, starin' from anaether's eyes."/ His broad hand tilts her chin up while he drops to one knee, gently turning her face this way and that. /"What's yer name, lassie?"/

/"I'm Aislin Moors, and I'm absolutely delighted to get to meet you, father."/

"Excuse me, but Ah'm feelin' a wee bit left out, here," Michael puts in weakly, feeling the storm begin to fade above them. The other two look over at him in bemusement, as though they'd forgotten he was there. "Someone be sae kind as tae tell me what's goin' on?"

"If Father would be so kind as to tell me why he's still quite alive?" Aislin counters, arching her eyebrows at the grinning man beside her.

/"Mayhaps we should gae intae th' barn,"/ Brian suggests merrily, jerking a soaked head at the building behind them. /"Scare the rest o' th' family while Ah'm a' it?"/

"I think I've discovered where my own sense of humor came from," Aislin comments in a rather dry voice as she and Brian steer their numb relation towards the barn. "But I would like an answer to my question, Father."

/"Ach, lass, ye go' most o' yer mixed blood frae me, aye? Ah'm more fae than human, sae why should Ah die frae ol' age?"/

"Father, you're a sneaky bastard, you do know that?"

Comfortable amusement. /"Noo' accordin' tae me own maither, I'll thank ye tae remember."/

"I suppose she's alive as well?" Aislin sighs over the creak of the door set into the large gate opening. Behind them, her faerie-lights wink out of existence, her ice-blade forgotten to melt away in the grass. Her inquiry sparks a growth of that merry smile into a broad grin.

/"Nae, nae, long intae dust, Ah'm afraid. Ol' wolf died in a battle she chose tae lose outta pure boredom."/

"I'm beginning to realize where I inherited most of my habits," mutters the ice-fox, practically unheard through the numerous shrieks of fear or startlement voiced by over twenty people as children are snatched into protective arms. "Oh, for the love of all that's holy, you pack of superstitious Celts! There is no one dead among us and no one with the intent to harm, so kindly lower your blasted volume!"

/"Inherited her temper, ye did."/

So the next few hours are spent in explanations, mostly on the part of Brian with some remaining for Aislin to take care of. It turns out, after the tryst with the ice-maiden Frostflower, the Celtic man had decided that life Above-Hill had gotten too boring, so he'd dumped his castle and his other inheritances on his brother Sean, and had gone whistling off Under-hill to go whack some manners into both Sidhe Courts.

Which is where he'd been for the last thousand years or so, he confides to his amused daughter, because the Fair Folk had gotten too set in their ways and it had taken quite a bit of whacking to get them to budge the slightest bit in their behaviors. The man hardly looks as though he's over a millennia old; he looks as though he's in his late forties, beard and mane showing only the fewest strands of pewter silver amongst the mahogany, with his body still muscled as only a practicing swordsman can be.

Since his activities after his disappearance could basically be boiled down to, 'hit things a lot, yelled a lot, cussed a lot and had a hell of a lot of fun doing it', it was then Aislin's turn to tell what had brought her over two oceans and a continent or two to the backwaters of the Emerald Isle.

Hers was quite simple. "My beloved realized that since my father had been at the least quarter human, I should likely have an entire pack of unknown relations somewhere around, er, 'Above-Hill'. As to why I should come out here with little warning to meet clan I hadn't thought to look up in the last few centuries, I very well couldn't have a wedding without you, can I?"

/"Ye aren't gettin' wed wit'out me permission, lass,"/ Brian tells her flat-out, to be answered with a wry smile and the faintest showing of fangs.

"Father, you haven't been in my life since before I was born. The odds of me bothering to let you naysay who I choose as life-mate now are worth less than an iron nail to a fae."

The rest of the clan wisely choose to retreat to the edges of the barn's interior with the livestock, knowing quite well that their famous clan temper has just been sparked in father and daughter. Indeed, for Brian bristles like a disturbed boar before letting his opinion on that statement be known at considerable volume with expressive language.

Aislin returns the sentiment at equal volume, her hair beginning to fluff up in temper despite the fact that it's still rather wet. The only thing keeping her from slipping her human shape is the baby's sensitivity to her changes. Else she'd see how her father likes getting snarled at by a fox bigger than a mastiff.

The argument ends abruptly a few minutes later by a tall, silvery body landing in the straw with a muffled thud, golden eyes darting around angrily for the source of his beloved's distress. Brian stares while Aislin shifts her temper over to the unfortunate Kurama, informing him in no uncertain terms that he should mind his own damn business and go home.

"But—!"

Her contralto overrides the half-formed protest, and Brian begins chuckling at the crushed expression his would-be son-in-law wears as the silver fox scrunches into himself and manages to brave the tirade, despite the fact that the Celtic man can't understand a single word she's saying. Old he might be, but Japanese is a language still quite beyond him.

"And if I want your help, I will by Inari ask for it!" she finishes in a shout, glaring at her chastised mate.

/"Inherited her temper in spades, ye did. Whoo, Ah ha'ent seen such a dressin' down since yer own fair maither caugh' me tryin' tae pick a fight wi' a fella she said was a stone daemon."/

/"You stay out of this, father."/

/"Ah maight, 'less this be th' fella ye're plannin' on weddin'."/

/"He is, and if you dare try to pound him into the ground I'm going to laugh when he hands his ass to you."/

"Dearheart, that sounds suspiciously like you've just suggested he fights me. You did just suggest that, didn't you?" Kurama groans in English and sinks into the high-piled hay, shifting back into his human form. "Well, you can forget it. I don't know about you, but I don't feel like trying to hit a Celtic warrior from a thousand years ago who's spent his time probably whacking on strong magic-wielders."

/"Afraid yeh'll get yer ass put in th' daert?"/

"If that supposed to be something to spark my temper as an insult to my strength, I'll tell you now that won't work. My beloved is stronger than I, as is one of my other companions. I know my abilities well, and you can't do much to change that knowledge. Besides, I want to go at least one month without having to fight someone. I'd rather make new roses."

"Father is unwisely about to say that roses are hardly a fitting past-time for a man." Brian snaps his mouth shut, laughter twinkling in his eyes behind the paternal pride that's making him try to pick a fight.

"He's never cultivated the things, then. Stubborn as any Irishman, I'll tell you right now." The children have gotten curious by now about the strangers in their midst, and squirm free from parents' arms to wander over. Several of the youngest toddle over to Kurama and plop down beside him; bunches of violets are produced from seeds hidden in his hair's pocket space and are presented to the wide-eyed youngsters. They dash back over to their parents, bouquets held high while tiny voices chatter excitedly.

Aislin sits down beside her prone beloved, a smile replacing the frown she'd been wearing for the past several minutes. "Koi, where did you collect violets at this time of year? I thought they were all still leafing out."

"Genkai's garden," purrs the red fox, producing a lotus blossom for her in the same manner, though a warm, secretive smile accompanies the gift. Aislin laughs and takes it, bending over with a chaste kiss in return. "In return for promising I'd leave her alone about her strawberries."

"Magic flowers," says one of the older children, a sable-haired girl of approximately seven years from her position several feet away. Both foxes laugh and shake their heads.

"No magic, just a bit of spirit energy trained to obey," Kurama tells her, while Brian fumes quietly in the background. He might be Aislin's father, but he saw the affectionate exchange just a moment ago. It speaks volumes for their relationship and whether he defeated the red-head in battle or not, the wedding would still happen.

She's as stubborn as her maither, that's fer sure.

Meanwhile, Aislin is handing a white envelope scented with pine to Michael, the flap stuck down with green wax. "This is the clan-wide invitation to our wedding. When the location is confirmed it'll appear on the card, and that is an actual bit of magic. The reason we haven't chosen a place yet it that it's proving rather hard to find somewhere that can hold the number of guests that are expected to come."

"Rough guess sae far, cousin?"

"Oh, somewhere near seven hundred people, including our clan. There's Kurama's own clan coming, his mother's side only, unfortunately, since by poor luck and dangerous enemies his father's side has been virtually destroyed—" Kurama is too busy playing with the youngsters to overhear this part of the conversation, or he's choosing not to listen "—and a very large number of our friends, including a bunch that would have our hides if they weren't invited." The dark-haired woman turns on her father with a grim smile. "As for you, you're coming if I have to truss you up like a boar and drag you there myself."

/"A whole herd o' phuka couldna keep me away."/

"Good. 'Cause the phuka would be in serious trouble if they tried." Kurama checks his watch and sighs, sending children scattering in laughter when he stands. Depositing a kiss on his fiancée's cheek, the fox begins to bid farewell to his soon-to-be inlaws.

"I'm still running on Japanese time, everyone, and it's getting quite early in Tokyo. If I want to be in shape for school, I'm afraid I must be going. Aisuhana, I'll see you later this afternoon, will I not?"

"I'd better come with you," groans Aislin, giving everyone a polite nod. "I have paperwork to catch up on, and it's no fun controlling a portal when the baby is objecting to the sensation." And with another polite farewell, the two vanish in a rush of air. Brian blinks, opens his mouth to say something, changes his mind, and grudgingly subsides.

/"Far too like her maither fer comfort, that lass. Far, far too alike."/

——

Genkai sits on her heels on her back porch, watching her newest pupil practice katas. Muscles roll under tanned skin wrapped in a loose, light violet gi, send hands and feet flickering on quicksilver paths in the air. A faint feeling of pride makes the old psychic's mouth turn upward into a soft smirk. Unlike her protégé and heir, this student learns what she wants him to learn before he asks why or how. And then he relearns it all, using his cherished knowledge.

She's never met someone quite so thirsty for the stuff. He'd taken apart practically everything electronic or mechanical in her temple, and had then painstakingly put it all back together again. Correctly. It had been that warm, delighted smile he'd turned to her along with her alarm clock in his hands, making a persistent but more pleasant thrumming sound instead of the harsh shriek it used to use, that enlightened Genkai as to why the Winter's Rose loved this one so much.

"Take a break, Haru," she rasps, breaking out of her reverie at the sound of his breathing beginning to unravel. "Get a drink. Cool down. Hyperventilating doesn't teach lessons."

"Hai, sensei," pants the amethyst-eyed teen, though he finishes the last couple moves in his current pattern before stopping. And then with an anticipatory smile, walks over to the well with the bucket sitting on the edge and overturns the contents of the bucket on his head. "Chhaa, that's cold!" But the exclamation is a delighted one while the water drips down his face and soaks his gi a rich purple.

And because he is actually a kitsune and a youko, he walks over to the nearest plants and shakes the extra water off onto them, quenching their thirst while drying off. Acknowledging that his teacher means his break to last for more than a minute or two, he folds long legs beneath him on the porch and returns to the online conversation he'd been carrying on for most of the afternoon.

His contact is Kohaku's friend Luke, a mixed-blood from California, and the reincarnation of Yoko and Aislin's partner in crime and soul-brother, Kuronue. They've been talking music and electronics, mostly—especially things the disguised fox can do to upgrade his beloved, and by now very battered laptop.

What the fox is completely clueless about is his watcher hidden in the trees beyond the wall; distant enough to not be sensed unless you were looking, but still providing a good view of Obsidian's training. Suzume sits on a branch with a star-struck expression, admiring the way the sunlight shatters in the water in his hair, bringing out deep blue and iridescent highlights not usually visible.

"Pretty little sparrow, sitting in a tree," singsongs a male voice below her, laughter audible even from her perch, "P-A-N-T-I-N-G. First comes lust, then comes love, then comes—ack!"

"Shut up, Takara!" she hisses down, threatening to hit him in the head with another pinecone while her face turns bright red. "I don't want him to know I've been watching him train! It's embarrassing enough that you've come to pester me!"

"Violent she-wolf," the injured male mutters, rubbing long fingers under his messy grey-brindle mane. "Why don't you just go train with him already? Then you get to touch him, even."

"I'm not putting him in danger, Takara. He's already been taken by the Shadows once. If he has any kind of youkai interaction beyond the school-mentoring his teachers are giving him and what he gets with Genkai, no mind or scent tricks in the world will save him, and he'll be back in that little cell with no one to talk to."

"God of the Hunt, listen to you, sister. You're head over heels for that scrawny…okay, not-so scrawny renard, and I mean badly. Does he even return the feeling?"

"Um…" Suzume's ears droop. "I have no idea. I haven't really talked to him about it."

A wicked smile blooms on her middle brother's face. "Well, I know he's interested, anyway, what with the way he keeps staring at you when you're not looking."

If anything, Suzume's face gets even redder. "D…does he really?"

"Oh, damn it, girl, grow some spine! Shift into human, pretend you're another one of Genkai's martial arts students and go train with the fool. Save us your lovesick sighs and fond gazes."

"So speaks someone who's never been in love," retorts the youngest of Inazuma's children, but she jumps down from her tree anyway, wolf ears replacing themselves with a pair of mortally round ones in the correct place, her tail whisking itself out of sight into the place where all such appendages vanish off to when not in use. She stops about five feet away from the trunk, bashfully smiling at her brother. "Um…Takara? Can you give me a push?"

"Lovesick puppy," groans her grey-haired brother, putting a hand on her shoulder and propelling her forward, walking along behind. But his mortally round ears twitch with all the amusement he's got locked behind his 'annoyed' expression.

Obsidian looks up from his laptop when the pair enter the compound by the back gate, fingers freezing over the keyboard. Genkai smirks when he visibly gulps. "Ah…uh…Suzume-san! What are you doing here?"

"Hey, Haru," Takara answers for his sister. "The little sparrow's late for her lesson; Genkai-san suggested the other day that you two start sparring with each other to sharpen both of your skills. Right, Genkai-san?"

"Really?" The black fox can't hide the hopeful lift to his voice or spirits, and his human teacher rolls her eyes at the small deception. However, she too is tired of the mincing these two are doing, so she lets it slide.

"Yes, dimwit. Now what are you standing there for, girl? Go get changed into proper gear—those leathers you're wearing are certainly unfit for training."

"Ah, h-hai, sensei!" And Takara steers his sister towards the dojo's locker rooms. Aislin passes her on the way there and gives both wolves a friendly nod on her way to the yard, where Obsidian is stretching out again in preparation of resuming his training.

"Genkai-san, I hate to interrupt your excellent teaching, but I need you to watch over my winsome kit for a few extra hours," the koorime whispers into the old woman's ear. "I'm going to France to discuss a few things with a certain set of monks and it may take a while."

"Take your time," Genkai replies in her own rough murmur. "Takara's decided to play match-maker, so the dimwit probably won't even notice the longer lesson."

Aislin's throaty chuckle reaches the black fox's ears, but the rest of the conversation is out of hearing. "About time. Maybe they'll stop walking on eggshells around each other. I'll come back for him when I'm finished."

"Suit yourself."

——

Anthony Barac is tending to a moss-encrusted tombstone carved into the shape of an angel when the sonorous voice of the Abbot, even deeper than usual with high good humor, interrupts his wandering train of non-thought. The young man puts down his cleaning tools and dusts off his hands, walking around and into the tiny cathedral.

And stops dead in his tracks when he is greeted with the sight of the angelic demon who had saved their church—only, instead of snowy white, her hair is a dark stormcloud grey with two pastel pink streaks. The Abbot has one unadorned, callused hand resting on the woman's shoulder, beaming with cheer.

"Anthony, you'll never guess!" Abbot Bartholomew tells him, gesturing him closer. "You remember Ms. Moors, correct?"

"Who could forget?" the young monk replies honestly. He'd almost swear a smile of pure, understanding mischief crosses the woman's face for a split second before his attention is pulled back to his superior.

"She's chosen our church for her wedding!"

"After seeing this place for the first time," explains their guest in a serene tone, "I couldn't bear having it anywhere else. There is the problem of seating, but I thought…maybe…an outdoor ceremony?"

"How many people are you planning on seating?" inquires Anthony, curious about the project despite his misgivings for the self-declared demon.

"If the group I think might show up does, somewhere close to a thousand people." Anthony blinks, and resorts to a very unpious whistle. Even the Abbot is a little taken aback at the size of the planned crowd. Aislin goes on to describe the people who had been invited. "There's the company my fiancée and I built, that's about three hundred right there. I have about twenty family members coming for certain, not counting children, my fiancée's clan numbers somewhere near one hundred and fifty. Our close friends only number about twenty or so, and there's another set of clans coming—only representatives, thank goodness!—so that's another hundred."

"Close to six hundred so far," Anthony ventures, agog that a wedding that size might actually take place here.

"Finally, there's a whole bunch of assorted friends and people that I simply am unable to not invite," sighs Aislin. "That brings the total up to over nine hundred people. You see my dilemma."

The Abbot nods solemnly while Anthony thinks, hand rubbing at his chin in a habit left over from the days when he'd tried growing a beard. Aislin waits patiently for whatever it is the younger man is considering to be done with, and her patience is rewarded.

"I think, if Monsieur Gordeau allowed us use of the field fronting our church, the task is feasible. It would not be the most elegant of occasions, but it would be possible to accommodate that many people at once."

"And have the main church be the backdrop for the vows," Aislin adds, eyes beginning to sparkle at the thought. "Flowers everywhere in tasteful displays, to complement the stained glass. I like it. I like it very much."

"When were you planning to have the wedding, Ms. Moors?" Abbot Bartholomew asks, holding his breath against the worry that she might pick a day already booked. His humble church is becoming quite popular for such occasions as weddings these days, though he isn't certain as to the exact reason why.

He needn't have worried. Aislin knows better than to try and pick any day of June, since a popular superstition among pledged couples holds that a bride wed in June remains as sweet and loving as the day she marries, and remains a bride for the rest of her life. Instead, the ice-fox replies that any day in late August would be fine, though preferably no later.

The Abbot, having managed to memorize the schedule of this summer's ceremonies, is delighted to agree on August 20th for the date, and with a brief but very warm handshake, returns to his duties in his office.

Aislin merely smiles over at Anthony before she walks outside, once again making her way to her deceased opponent's gravestone. And understandably enough, the young monk follows after her. He stops several feet away while the ice-fox crouches beside the grave, pale fingers repeating their path over the worn epitaph. "You're one of his descendants, you know that?"

Anthony blinks, caught off-guard by the sudden question given by the woman who has yet to turn around and face him. "Ah, yes, I do. That's why my mother named me after him, because she hoped the name would help me shape my soul into something great."

"Names don't make a person great," mutters Aislin, eyes dimming slightly. "A person makes their own greatness; they either make their fortune or break it by their deeds."

"So says the demon of Barbarac?" Anthony asks quietly, finally rewarded with a glimpse of clearing mint green eyes.

"So says someone who's lived a lot longer than you, whippersnapper," she retorts, lips curving into her infamous half-smirk.

Her companion chuckles, coming a few steps closer. "So why are you here, Ms. Moors? Or is it Ms. Tsuki? What is your real name?"

"It's Aislin Moors. Tsuki is the name I use for some of my businesses; the names of my partners and myself translate to Shadow, Silver and Moon, descriptions of our colors and affiliations."

A finger is wagged in front of her nose, a surprisingly impish smile lighting up eyes the color of a summer sky. Somehow Anthony has moved to stand before her without her even noticing. Damn. I must be slipping in my old age.

"So why are you here, Mademoiselle Aislin? That's the question I truly want answered."

A slow smile spreads across her face as Aislin indulges in her favorite Game: purposeful density. "I'm picking a place to get married, of course. You already knew that."

Anthony sighs in exasperation, acting very un-monk-like as he leans against another tombstone, this one plain marble just like Yuuki's. "Let me rephrase: why here? Why this place? And why did you ever come back?"

"Ahh," Aislin breathes, closing her eyes. "The boy knows how to ask a demon questions, Yuuki. Make yourself comfortable, my sweet monk, and let me tell you the tale of the man who called himself Yuuki Miyami."

Anthony does as he is bid, choosing a seat on the ground in order to keep his companion from getting a crick in her neck. The woman goes back to staring at the words carved on the polished marble in front of her, the fingers of one hand absently tangled in the vines of the rosebush.

—

A long, long time ago, as humans reckon time, there was a man who died in the pursuit of a murderer. He was very brave, but very foolhardy, and tried to make his horse take a jump it couldn't do, killing himself and the poor beast in one horrible fall. Incidentally, the murderer had been hiding in that very same ditch, and was also killed when a ton of horseflesh and human landed on top of him.

But the man you would call Jesus, who in truth is a shapeshifting prince named Enma Junior, or Koenma, chose the brave man for a perilous task. Because the man died unexpectedly in the fall, he didn't have his place in the afterlife ready for him. You see, Yuuki was only supposed to have fallen from his horse, not get tangled in the tack and break his neck.

Koenma offered the task now held by another; to be this world's Spirit Detective, the one who hunts down the hunters and kills them. The one who protects humans, even the bad ones, from the predations of the beings known as youkai. And Yuuki, being the foolhardy and good-hearted man that he was, accepted the job.

So he was given a second chance at life and was taught how to use what every single thing in this entire universe has: their spirit energy, their life-force. And he was taught to use that as a weapon. He was very good at what he did. For even though he had been born a lesser nobleman, Yuuki had always loved the thrill of fighting, of contesting his strength in physical combat, and he took to the hard role of Spirit Detective like he had been born specifically for that purpose.

Yuuki hunted. He hunted hard, and he hunted fast, bringing down one vicious youkai criminal after another, until his greatest challenge lay in a mixed-blood female known simply as 'the Whiteout'. She, in turn, made a Game of playing with the man, relishing the challenges and the entertainment he offered her in the way of a stubborn opponent.

He managed to arrest her once, and then only for a short time.

After she escaped, she stopped playing so freely with him, having been given a hard lesson in her own mortality at the hands of several unkind guards. But she continued to let him fight her until the day someone else bigger and stronger than the Detective came onto the scene. Yuuki never saw another sunrise after that.

On the oath that no effort would be made to arrest her should she choose to appear, the Whiteout attended the brave man's funeral, giving him the best kind of immortality she could offer: being remembered. And then she left, taking the memory of sapphire roses glowing against shattered pieces of the rainbow with her, to be kept until the day she died and longer. Because that was how she was. Because he was the one who had shown her what 'nobility' really meant.

—

"The last time I came here was to retrieve something I left in his safekeeping the day he was buried," Aislin says after letting her brief story sink in. "The other two really are my students, and that thing is crucial in breaking a curse that's been laid on them. That's why I came back."

"So he really was given a task by God," Anthony breathes, looking over at the worn stone with something akin to awe shining in his face. "It wasn't just a legend."

"No, it really wasn't." A pained laugh from the ice-fox holding her captured vine to her lips. "And he was on a crusade; a crusade to catch people like me."

Serious blue eyes regard her without a trace of fear—after all, if she was going to kill him, she'd have done it already and not bothered saving the church. "What were you?"

"I ruled in the land of the youkai as Queen of Thieves, little monk. There was no angel beside me that day; the tall man is my beloved and he ruled as King of Thieves. We were…if not precisely evil, then certainly not of the law-abiding portion of the citizenry." The vine is released, a scratched and bloody palm is pressed to cool stone in an unorthodox kind of offering. "He was…a friend. A good friend, who never hesitated to try and take me down a peg. He was brash, stubborn, uncouth, loud, and he drove me crazy every time I turned around. But…"

"But…?"

"He never faltered. He was always so god-damned convinced that he walked a path crafted by the hand of God, and he ran down the thing head-first with that stupid smile on his face. Nothing could shake him, not even me when he'd gotten me good and pissed. So many times I came close to killing him just because he annoyed me, but I never did because I liked having someone like him around. He reminded me of Yoko, how I used to see Yoko before that damned fox grew on me."

Anthony stares in disbelief. Not because this eccentric demon is crying over someone long dead; no, he can understand that. Immortality (offered only to you) is, after all, one of the first tainted gifts that the Tempter often suggests. No, the reason he stares is that instead of water, cloudy beads the color of the oceans after a storm are falling to the ground. After a few moments, he hesitantly reaches out and tugs her towards him. She moves, pliant, until he holds her in a careful embrace, her damp face resting on his shoulder.

"It's not fair," she mumbles into his frock, sounding like her throat's clogged with more than swallowed pain. "Every man I every really care about gets taken away from me. I loved Kuronue as dear as a brother; I lost him for centuries. I love Yoko more than life itself; I lost him, too, for what felt like centuries. I love Obsidian, and I lost him to Koenma's prison and didn't know where he was until this year. I love Hiei like my other half, and I lost him in Life's chaos and the interference of Koenma. I loved Yuuki for the ass that he was, and I never got him back."

"But everyone else came back?" A ragged sob and a wordless nod into his shoulder. "Then why don't you think my ancestor will come back? In all the stories I've ever heard of him, he's never sounded like the type to let himself be left behind."

He gets a choked almost-laugh for that wisecrack, and Aislin pulls away, sniffling and wiping at her eyes. She gives her companion a watery smile, her hands full of cloudy gems, her body framed by the dark green leaves of the rosebush. "You're right, Anthony Barac. You're absolutely right. I'm just being silly."

"Everyone is allowed to be silly once in a while, Aislin Moors," the monk counters with a gentle smile. "And it sounds like you were seriously overdue. Now, perhaps you'd like to come with me to talk to Monsieur Gordeau about the loan of his field?"

"I'd like that, Monk Barac. I'd like that a lot."

——

A few hours later…

Aislin is long gone, back to Japan to take care of school work and Spirit World business, and Anthony Barac works by the light of the late afternoon sun, tools scattered around him on his room's work-desk, the pale yellow light gleaming off a number of spheres fenced in on a corner of the sanded surface with pencils and a piece of costume chain.

His best friend peers through the open doorway, grinning at the picturesque sight of a bowed black head before a window decorated only with the metal framing of a simple cross. But amusement is joined by curiosity when he spies the beads being carefully pierced by his jewel-working friend. "What're you doing, Anthony?"

The other young man holds up a half-finished strand of opaque, grey-blue beads that don't appear to be mere glass, half-turning to face Mark leaning against the doorframe. "I'm making a new rosary with these stones that I found."

"Really?" Mark walks over to the table, picking up one of the unpierced beads with a sound of appreciation. "They're very pretty, but what kind of stone are they?"

"I've never seen their like before," admits the other, continuing his painstaking task of drilling a clean hole through the middle of each gem. "But I thought I'd call them Winter Tears."

"There you go getting all poetic again," scolds Mark jokingly, setting the bead back down with a laugh. "I swear, Anthony, you're obsessed with snow and cold things! If I didn't know any better and if your hair was white, I'd feel justified calling you a polar bear." He picks up another bead, this time whistling at the clarity and emerald green color. "How 'bout this one?"

"The same."

"They look different."

"They are."

"How?"

Anthony gazes out the window, tool and gems momentarily forgotten as he recalls a slender hand pressing half a dozen of the emerald stones into his palm and folding his fingers over them. "Tears of sorrow, and tears of joy," he breathes, repeating what Aislin had described the stones as before she left. "That's how."

Mark sighs, setting the bead down and clapping his friend on the shoulder. "Tony, my friend, I think you're spending a little too much time out in the sun. You're officially a nut-job."

"So I've joined your ranks, then?"

"Har, har. Come on, lunch time. We'd better hurry if we don't want to let Nate eat everything."

Anthony waves his friend off with a smile, picking up his tool again. "I'll be in as soon as I finish stringing these. Save me a plate?"

"Yeah, sure, crazy one. But heaven help you if you miss Vespers."

—————————————————————————————

Everyone has moments where their emotions drown out their normal masks; I figured Aislin was overdue, indeed, especially when she was reminded of just how frail a human's life can be. But the monk has a point: what makes her think his ancestor isn't coming back? He really isn't the kind to let himself be left behind.