Thirteen Ways to Mess With the X Storyline

Way #5

She beamed at him; her smile was for him and him alone. This woman was the most precious person in the whole city, no, the whole country - no, the whole world! And she was smiling as if the universe revolved around him, when it in fact it could only be true that it moved for her.

Her lips parted. "Congratulations," she said - this goddess in human form was deigning to speak to him. "I heard that you've been promoted. You've done so well! Would...would you like to go out after work for a drink with me sometime?
If you're not busy."

"Shimako-san..." Aoki said dreamily.

A co-worker waved a magazine in front of his face. "Hellooo? Anyone home?"

Aoki's half-lidded eyes opened fully. "Ah! Sorry!" He snapped to attention, the very image of virtue and resolve.

The co-worker - Sato, a man with slicked back hair and a badly concealed gum chewing habit, laughed quietly. "Don't worry, the boss wasn't here when you were dozing. You're so earnest, Seiichirou-kun."

"I'm just trying my best." Aoki said ruefully. He straightened his crooked glasses and propped his chin up on one hand. "It's just that I can't seem to concentrate."

"Does that have something to do with, oh I don't know, 'Shimako-san'?"

Aoki's eyes widened. "I -"

"When are you going to ask her out? There's no time like the present, you know."

"It's not that simple." Aoki sighed. "At the moment, what have I got to offer her?" He waved an arm expansively over his small desk, then finally indicated the whole cramped office. "As so junior an employee, how can I even think of talking to her?"

Sato whistled. "You've thought this through. Are you that serious about her, Seiichirou-kun?"

The slightest of blushes coloured Aoki's cheeks. "It's difficult to say. I need to spend more time with her. But I am hopeful that she might be the one for me. That special person I've been waiting for."

"You're the best worker out of everyone here - don't be modest - so that promotion's got to in the bag, and everyone knows it. Better decide where you're going on the first date, eh?"


"Thank you, sir! I'm sorry - what did you just say?"

"I said that your application has been declined, Aoki-kun."

The young man paled. "I'd thought you said -"

"I'm afraid not," said his boss. "No we chose not to promote you now. It's true that you're qualified, but you see, the one to have the job needs a certain...pizzaz."

"Pizzaz?" Incomprehension was painted on Aoki's face.

"Style. Panache. Je ne sais quoi. A sense of danger and mystique is what we're looking for the magazine to hold, and as such we want its editorial staff to possess some of the same."

"And I don't have that sense of danger?" Even Aoki, sitting there in his tweedy suit, felt decently embarrassed at asking that question.

"In a word, no." Aoki's boss leaned back in his chair, looking less than happy at this situation; he'd always been a decent man, except that the advertising department seemed to have its claws in him a little too deeply.

His boss spoke some more, and Aoki listened intently. But all the while a thought ran traitorously through the back of his mind: I'm a wind-master from an old and mystical clan. I will be fighting against deadly foes in the battle to determine the fate of the world. If that's not danger and mystique, what is?

I'm sorry, Shimako-san.


After what seemed like months but was only a few weeks, Aoki was offered a promotion, A new knitting and crochet magazine needed a sub-editor. He gritted his teeth and accepted the job gracefully. It wasn't that he thought it would be a boring job, but that the ones giving it to him thought it was.

"Aoki-kun?" said the editor, while shuffling through pattern cards. "Cross-stitch, slip stitch, top stitch...Ah yes, Aoki-kun, you know the pet judging competition we're running?"

"The one that says the cutest pet photo will be selected by our panel of judges, for a cash prize of -"

"Yes, that one. Well, Aoki-kun, you are that panel of judges."

"Oh, I see..."

Aoki watched the clock; the minute hand seemed to move too slowly, but eventually it made its way around to lunch-time.

He knew that Shimako always ate her lunch at the same cafe each day. His feet - which had felt leaden before, so heavy and out of the wind - were now lighter. Running was the easiest thing in the world - at least, he thought wryly, it would be, if the streets of Tokyo were any less crowded at this time of day.

The distance to the cafe was small. There she was - Shimako-san sitting by the window, all by herself...She was smiling. Was it premature to think that he wanted to see that smile every day of his life?

After glancing at his reflection in the cafe's glass door, he adjusted his tie. He didn't think he looked anything more than presentable, but Shimako was surely not one to be swayed by flashy appearances.

Knowing exactly what he wanted to say, he gathered his courage and stepped forward.

"Shimako-san, would you like to go to the theatre with me this evening?"

That wasn't his voice.

"Why yes, I'd love to..." said Shimako.

But that was the response he'd been hoping for.

"...Thank you." She smiled as she spoke.

"I'll see you later, then." The man standing by Shimako's table turned around.

Aoki just stared. His hand tightened around his briefcase.

"Is something the matter?" asked the man charmingly. He was blond, handsome, and seemed about Aoki's age. The suit he wore fitted him so well that if it wasn't custom-made, it meant he possessed a keen eye for style.

Aoki couldn't reply.

"No? Well, please excuse me," said the man, without missing a beat. He swept past, and closing the door gently, so as not to disturb the other customers. The newspaper held by an office lady at the next table was barely ruffled by the movement.

Soon after, Aoki left, and the gust left in the wake of the door as it banged shut all but yanked the paper out of the office lady's hands.

Just one minute, he thought. One minute might have made all the difference.


"I realise the knitting magazine assignment isn't the most interesting of positions," said Aoki's boss carefully, "but it will give you valuable experience. You're a promising young man and should do well. But if the job is that much of a problem, I could look at other options for you."

"It's not the job. I want to leave the company for -" Aoki pursed his lips "- personal reasons."

"I see, but jobs with other publishers may be scarce...It could be difficult to find work at the same level of pay, requiring the same level of competence. It's not too late to reconsider. I'd hate to see your skills put to waste." Aoki's boss seemed friendly, if a little anxious.

Aoki smiled humourlessly. "I've already got something lined up which I'm happy with." He'd always hoped to be editing books, but this was sooner than he'd expected...

His boss sighed. "I'll tie things up for you here."

There was one small pang of regret. Aoki felt it briefly - a little guilt, and some reluctance to leave this place he'd worked so hard to get to - and then just as easily he brushed it away. It couldn't compare to seeing a suave, composed blond man wait at the door of the company's building for Shimako-san, watching her take that man's proffered arm and say something in her lovely, lilting voice about going out for dinner.

He was, however, going to miss the knitting magazine. Who knew that cross-stitch could be so fun?


One floor down, Shimako was on the phone giving someone the I'm-sorry-I-think-we-should-see-other-people call, while her workmates rolled their eyes.
"Uncle Seiichirou! Uncle Seiichirou!" Daisuke ran up the hill, panting. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve; the air was thick with dust. Screwing his eyes up so that they wouldn't sting too much, he scanned the area.

"Uncle Seiichirou! Are you here?" There was something, a dark shape that didn't look like a man, off in the distance. Daisuke, brave or stupid, went closer.

A mini tornado thrashed wildly from the green hilltop up into the sky, not reaching the clouds. Dirt and uprooted grass whirled around it in vicious circles. As if the air was impossibly anchored to the ground by a heavy weight, it did not move away from the one spot.

Seeing the figure at the eye of the storm, Daisuke's jaw dropped in awe. Soon a stray clod of grass flew into his open mouth. After spluttering and coughing it out, he closed his mouth firmly while he watched, fascinated. It was some time before he was willing to risk calling out once more. "Uncle Seiichirou!"

The wind speed died down, slowing until the tornado melted away and all that was left was a circular furrow of earth.

Such control, thought Daisuke.

His uncle's hair had been whipped about by the wind, but Daisuke was willing to bet that his own, sandier hair had not been treated so kindly. He shook his head, and a cloud of dirt plummeted to the ground.

Aoki opened his eyes. "Ah! Daisuke!" He smiled.

Daisuke knew that recently it was rare for his uncle to smile. He beamed back at him. "Uncle Seiichirou, that was amazing."

"No, no," said Aoki. "Not at all."

So modest, thought Daisuke. If I could do that I'd want everyone to know it. At least, Princess Hinoto.

"That didn't turn out the way I wanted it to," said Aoki distractedly.

Partly out of nerves and partly because of the dust clogging his throat, Daisuke coughed. "Could you teach me how to make the wind do that?"

"Maybe. Not today. But I think you'll be able to protect your special person just fine anyway." Aoki gazed fondly at his nephew.

"Have you found your special person yet, Uncle Seiichirou?" Daisuke said brightly.

Wherever Aoki was looking now, it wasn't at Daisuke. "I haven't," he said slowly. Almost inaudibly, he murmured "I don't know if I will."

"Tell me when you do huh? And, by the way..." Daisuke wrung his hands behind his back, and his face reddened. "Could you tell me how you make a kekkai?" he said in a rush.

"You should go back to the house now, Daisuke. Your parents will be wondering where you are." Aoki looked away. His voice held a sharp edge.

Daisuke hesitated, teetering between embarrassment and distress. "Okay," he said after a moment. He must want to be alone. Uncle Seiichirou, are you alright?

The wind picked up again.


They screamed. It was a banshee's wail, a pure cry of agony twisting up into the sky - like nails being raked across a blackboard only it was their tortured souls instead - and Kusanagi leant against a lamp-post, letting his head loll back. A hazy smile lingered on his lips.

Still they screamed. They were loud; he could hear them all the way out here. But - his mouth quirked again - no-one else could. It was a satisfying thought.

Although he was the only one who could hear them, it hardly meant that no-one had noticed. The sign on the door extended its sincere apologies to disappointed customers.

The whispers of those few who walked through the doors were all the same - who, why? The eco-vandal struck again, the fifth place this week, what a blow for the industry, why would anyone want to kill a harmless plant?

Kusanagi knew the answer to the last one.

Someone was staring at him, It was the sort of piercing look that made him feel as if it was projecting itself on the inside of his skull. His brain wanted to itch, but didn't know how to go about it.

The only person there was the one just leaving the garden centre, and he wasn't looking in Kusanagi's direction. (Strange, Kusanagi couldn't remember seeing him go into the building.)

Shifting his feet, Kusanagi felt a tug. A prickly vine hung grimly to his sock.

"You pulled the stitching right out," he admonished it. Though, now it matched the other one, which had met its fate courtesy of a rosebush.

Kusanagi hunkered down. "I'm not an angry person, really. But this is too much. Let go of me now."

The vine was defiant.

"When humanity has ground the environment to dust and all you have left to grow in is sand, I will be happy. Hear me? All I'm doing is giving extinction a hand." He drew a bottle out of his jacket with no small amount of glee. "This is the most powerful weedkiller known to any gardener."

"Is it?" said a voice, politely.

Kusanagi froze mid-tilt of the bottle. The vine gratefully let go of his sock and fell to the ground, lying low and hopefully forgotten.

A well-dressed man of somewhere around thirty years of age stood a scant few feet away from him, smiling in an apparently friendly way.

Kusanagi's eyes narrowed. Threat, supplied his intuition. "Uh...Hello." said his vocal chords.

"Good morning," said Seishirou. "Isn't it a lovely day?"

"Yeah, I guess so." Kusanagi cast his mind back to the petunias - cunning little blighters that they were - wailing helplessly in their death throes on the other side of the wall. "Yeah, it is a good day."

"How delightful." Seishirou turned his head to look at the garden centre. "Although I must admit that it was disappointing to find my destination was already closed by the time I got here. Still," he added cheerfully, "the walk here was pleasant."

"Did I see you leave the garden centre a few minutes ago?" questioned Kusanagi, his unease growing exponentially. Idiot, supplied his intuition, you shouldn't have said that. "It was you, wasn't it."

"Certainly not. As you can see, it is closed to the public." Seishirou tapped a finger on his chin. "Oh! But I'm sure I've seen you before elsewhere. At several other garden centres, if I am not mistaken. Are you a keen gardener?"

"You could say so."

The vine squeaked in indignation. Kusanagi promptly stepped on it.

"I keep bonsai," said Kusanagi more gruffly than he had intended. He ground his heel as if there was gum stuck on it. "You?"

"I've yet to find something which truly grabs my attention. By the way, do you like sakura?"

"No!"

Seishirou brightened. "My sentiments exactly."

All the way to the train station, Kusanagi shivered, but he didn't get that dissected-on-a-lab-table feeling of being watched again.


Seishirou sighed. "I'm just too nice today. But there are so few people who share my opinion."
"Open the door! Show us the way!"

"Lead us to victory!"

"Annihilate our enemies!"

"No, annihilate our enemies!"

Karen adjusted her earplugs to block out more of the noise. Turning the page of her magazine, she focused on the first article - and winced when a particularly heavy thump on the door reverberated through the apartment and shook the table, spilling her tea all over the page. She suppressed a growl at the back of her throat, and then, changing her mind, let it loose. It didn't sound like the lion's wrath she'd expected - more like an aggrieved kitten.

The door was bolted several ways, deadlocked, reinforced at the hinges, and a great deal thicker than the average for the building.

"Join us!" called a cultist. "The Society of Anti-Cthulhu pro-pyromania demon summoning devotees NEEDS you!"

"Back off, she's ours!"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah!"

The grunts of a brawl were added to the cacophony.

Karen contemplated throwing open the door and fire-balling the lot of them. Yes...that would be fun.

But...it wouldn't be a very Ten no Ryu thing to do. There were probably penalties involved. On the other hand, would the others need to know? She felt herself clutching at the cross hanging from a chain at her neck, and pursed her lips. It wouldn't be a very Christian thing to do, either. Pity. Besides, they'd probably learned the value of flame-retardant clothing by now.

Her mother's last letter to her was on the table. It contained the usual things: Karen-chan, why don't you pick a more fun religion? Or even better, why don't you rotate them so you have a new one each week? - and - Why don't you get your own TV show? 'Karen's Hour of Fire', that sounds good. I've already started negotiations with a TV station, and I'm worried you'll be lonely by yourself, so I contacted this nice group I met at the Dawn of the Past of the Moon's annual new recruit drive. They're coming to see you on Thursday. You need to be more relaxed about using your powers, darling! How else are you going to help defeat the Dragons of Heaven in 1999?

"Dragons of Earth," Karen had snapped over the phone before slamming down the receiver. "Dragons of Earth. I'm on the other side."

Shortly after that, the answering machine had sprung into action, playing her mother's voice: "Aha, of course. But sweetie, I want you to know that if you ever change your mind, I'll support you just the same."

That had been the point when Karen unhooked the answering machine.

It was a terrible feeling, to know that the sound of the screaming masses in the hall would never cease; she'd seen them switching shifts earlier. Those outside were the relay teams of cultists, determinedly going for gold with the aid of the strongest coffee known to humankind.

"You are useless." Karen took her black wig in hand and glared at it. It already bore two scorch marks.

She closed her eyes and counted to ten.

One...Two...Three...Four...

WHAM-CRASH-SCREECH-THUD-YELL! met her ears from outside.

...fivesixseveneightnineten.

Her eyes snapped open. "Enough!"

She caught her breath and reached for the phone. Coldly and calmly, she began to dial.


"Who was Kazuki?" Subaru asked softly.

"She was a little girl." Unblinking, wide eyes stared up at Subaru. "Kazuki's Mama and Papa and Grandpapa loved her very much."

"And...what is your name?"

The girl's mouth dropped open slightly. "My name?" she said confusedly.

Subaru smiled at her encouragingly, though he felt more than a little confused himself. "Yes, your name. You have a name, don't you?"

"My name?"

"Uh, that's right."

"My...name...?" The girl struggled for words.

Had Subaru ever possessed any confidence in dealing with small children, it would have eroded by this point. He knelt down so that at least he would be on the same level as her. "Are you feeling unwell?" he asked with concern.

Deep in thought, the girl was standing still with her eyes closed. She muttered something that sounded like 'name', plainly no longer paying attention to Subaru.

Subaru gave the slightest of weary sighs, and looked down at the ground. This was a mistake; the mist floating through the air of the grey landscape was also floating through what he had thought was the ground. Past his knees he could see that when the mist shifted, all that was revealed was another cloud layer, pushed along by a wind he couldn't feel. Questions such as 'Where am I?' and 'What is this place?' began to rise insistently in his mind, and the answers seemed no more forthcoming than the little girl's name.

But...there had been a little girl whose name was Kazuki.

"I remember," said the girl with a remarkably blank expression. "My name is Nataku."

"Nataku?" Subaru knew mythology well enough to recognise what a strange thing that was to name a child.

"That is what the people in the lab called me," she said. "It's because I don't have a soul."

Subaru's eyes widened at how matter-of-factly she had said that; then he shook his head. "No. No, I'm sure you've got a soul. I've only been here with you for a short while, but I can tell that you have one."

Nataku was unmoved. "That's not what the people in the lab said. That's why -"

"They're wrong," Subaru whispered.

"Kazuki's soul could not be retrieved in the cloning process," Nataku recited, looking very much like a bored schoolchild reading out to her class. "All that was created was an emotionless doll."

This really was beyond Subaru's field of expertise. Much like social skills and the neglected art of wasting time on frivolities, instruction on the topic of cloning was something not touched upon in the Sumeragi family's teaching lexicon. But he was sure she had a soul. "So...you are Kazuki."

Nataku looked at him as if he were stupid. "Kazuki died," she repeated. "She was cloned, but all that was created was a soulless doll."

"But you have a soul!"

"I am Nataku. I have no soul." The girl sounded more confident by the second.

"I think you do," said Subaru with conviction. His eyes were bright, his tone was warm, and Nataku was ignoring him utterly.

Clearly, this wasn't going to work.

"Alright, I'll leave that for now," said Subaru, taking another wary glance around the landscape. The monotony of it was depressing. He began to wish for another colour: anything but grey. The girl wasn't grey. Her eyes were a pale honey, and her cheeks held a small amount of colour despite her still face. Everything else was insubstantial and grey, grey grey...Why had he felt so comfortable here before? He snapped his attention back to Nataku to block out the creeping sensation of the surroundings.

If Nataku was bothered by the lack of colour, she didn't show it.

"Why am I here?" said Subaru in a small voice.

"I don't know. I thought this was only my dream. No-one else should be here."

"But...Kazuki-chan, I'm not a dreamseer."

"Nataku," she corrected him after a moment, perhaps a tad peeved.

"Uh...Well, Nataku-chan?" Subaru folded his arms and almost shivered, although it was not cold.

"Perhaps," Nataku said, seeming to startle herself at the idea, "you are also a clone?"

"I don't think that's right," Subaru objected politely.

"Huh. I think I will wake up now," she said.

"What?" Subaru was hopelessly lost.

As an afterthought, Nataku turned to him, frowning. "Before, there was a girl who called me 'Subaru'."

Then she was gone, leaving Subaru in the dark.


Hinoto was not surprised when another of the cloaked figures disappeared only to materialise on the opposite side.

"At least the numbers match now," she murmured. She had wanted her dreamseeing to be wrong, but a small amount of treacherous professional pride had prevented her from fully enjoying the spectacle of the Eight Seals and Six Angels. There was still the thoroughly perplexed Seal/Angel standing mid-way between the groups to serve as sufficient visual confirmation of her error.

"What's going on here, Nee-san?"

"Kanoe...I'm so pleased to see you," said Hinoto, her voice as sweet as honey.

"N-nee-san?" Kanoe took a step back and crossed her arms defensively.

"Weren't you expecting me to be here?" Hinoto smiled crookedly. "Please, be my guest."

Kanoe barely focused on the Seals and Angels, keeping her eyes riveted on her sister. "Are you unwell?"

"I've never felt better," Hinoto assured her.

Shock ran across Kanoe's face, followed by disbelief, and shortly after that, by deep concern. She didn't run over, but she did walk very fast.

Kanoe knelt down and peered at Hinoto, taking in the glazed eyes and the flushed cheeks. "Tell me -"

Hinoto hiccupped.

The dreamscape dissolved into a cloud of feathers hurtling in every direction. Kanoe gave a startled jump, and covered her eyes. Her voice was muffled by the thick flapping sound.

When it died down, Hinoto giggled. "I was not expecting that."

"What IS the matter, Nee-san!"

Hinoto looked up. "I asked Souhi and Hien to give me some sake," she said idly. "But, now, without meaning to, every time I (hic!) -"

A storm of white feathers engulfed them once more.

Kanoe brushed some feathers off her suit, and tossed her hair. "You're drunk!" she accused, pointing a beautifully manicured fingernail. "How much did you have?"

"Only half a cup," said Hinoto sullenly.

One of the last, lonely feathers drifted slowly down and landed on Hinoto's petite nose. "Ah - ah," she gulped in air as it tickled her with its soft, fine strands. "Aaaa-"

"Wake up!" Kanoe ordered in a panic. "Quickly, Please!"

"...aaa..."

...Hinoto opened her eyes. It was the strangest feeling, to wake up halfway through a sneeze.


In the dreamscape, Kanoe spat out a mouthful of sakura petals.
Hien hung her head in shame. "It's my fault, I was the one who brought it for her."

Patting her twin's back comfortingly, Souhi disagreed. "No, I poured it for her, so it's my fault too..."

"How could we have known it would affect her so much..."

"Oh! Hinoto-hime!" Souhi exclaimed.

Hien looked up as Hinoto stirred into a sitting position.

The tiny woman smiled giddily. "I think I shall sing to you some more!"


End of Way #5: Delay Aoki's promotion.

Thank you so much to everyone who's reviewed so far. I won't take so long over the next chapter!