Warnings: Usual warnings apply. Mild shounen-ai, Leon's dirty mouth, implied violence and dark themes, innuendo, return of Ninja!Watari, random OCs, and a rampaging succubus.
Disclaimer (because for the last three chapters I've forgotten Facepalm): Usual disclaimer applies. Not mine, never will be. OCs mine, can do whatever I want with them and theymay be recycled for later use in roleplays.
Chapter 4: Russian Roullete
Ralph Klein died in 1933 and became a Shinigami shortly after. He was a short, balding man with a fussy gray mustache and a bushy gray beard. He wore thin-rimmed spectacles and had droopy blue eyes. He always wore a brown suit, with a pocket watch and walked upright. He gave the impression of being a man who was perpetually smoking a pipe and reading an old book even when he wasn't. Ralph Klein was a brilliant man and during his life he had been a wealthy private detective in Tennessee. He had come to California in his thirties, and died in his mid-forties. Though he had been very libertine during his time, he still retained some influence from his father and often came across as a traditional southern gentleman (albeit unintentionally). At the moment he was heading for the hotel his superiors had informed him the Shinigami from Japan would be staying at.
He was in a rather bad mood this evening since his partner Micheal Phenninger had run off without warning. Phenninger was smart as a whip, and probably the best partner Klein had for a long time, but the man was impulsive to a fault. The Irish Shinigami got in more trouble than was truly necessary.
Bypassing the front desk without being noticed, Ralph took the lift to the 6th floor, took a turn to the left corridor, and stopped outside of room 614. Taking off his black top-hat, the orange lights in the halls reflecting off his large, shiny bald spot, the Shinigami tapped politely on the door.
He was surprised when a boy of about 16 answered.
"Can I help you?" the sandy-blonde haired boy ground out through gritted teeth. Well, thought Ralph indignantly, someone got up on the wrong side of the bed.
"Yes," he said with dignity, "I'm looking for a..." he produced a small piece of notepaper where his chief had written down the names of the foreign Shinigami. "...er...Hai-soh-kay Kuh-ruh-sacky, and a Tuh-Su-Zu-Kai Ass-ah-to?" Ralph Klein was a bright man, but he always had trouble with names. He gave Hisoka an apologetic smile.
Hisoka groaned. Having his name mispronounced at him hadn't improved his mood, but the man looked like he had sincerely tried. "Yeah, I'm Hisoka. Hisoka Kurosaki. Tsuzuki's still..." The young man rounded on a shut door that was probably the bathroom. "...DAMMIT ASATO, HURRY UP IN THERE!"
There was a wailing, followed by a crash and some swearing. Ralph gave a polite little cough, and Hisoka shook his head in exasperation. "Sorry, he always does this. Come in, and have some coffee."
Ralph suddenly felt for the young Shinigami. It was true Phenninger had died young, but this boy wasn't even an adult when he'd lost his life. The former-detective had a feeling that the circumstances of his death were especially unpleasant, because rarely anyone so young could have enough regret to become, essentially, undead.
"Why thank you kindly young man," he drawled as pleasantly as he could. "I take two sugars and a bit of cream in mine. And apologies that I'm all on my own today. My partner Micheal got caught up in other business-"
"It's fine." Hisoka dismissed flatly, setting down the coffee. "Let's get down to business. I can fill Tsuzuki in later."
Ralph nodded, opening the brown satchel and setting a manila folder down on the tabletop. "You've pro'lly got all this stuff already," he said as Hisoka flipped through the files. "But there's been two other attacks we suspect to be associated with this Muh-racky fellow." He produced two other files. "Both LAPD officers, found yesterday. The man was identified as Gregory Miles. Here's how he was found at the crime scene, and this is how he looked when he still had his face on."
Hisoka looked at the crime-scene photos. It was brutal work, various medical instruments impaled the man's limbs, nailing him to a wall. His face had been surgically removed and there were garlands of roses all over. Hisoka shuddered, and looked at the otherphoto of the man.
He was pretty good looking, with dark, neatly combed hair and a bit of a cleft chin. He was smiling, sitting outside with a big golden retriever and a boy who looked like he had just started high school. The boy must have been his younger brother, because he was a dead ringer for what could be a younger Gregory, though his hair was shorter and gelled into spikes.
"Has someone told his family?" Hisoka asked softly.
Ralph nodded. "Greg was a rookie, but he had a knack for the job. He was moving up fast, and was well-liked. Same with the lady Jill, but she got lucky."
"Lucky how?" Hisoka wondered.
"Lived. Barely, but she was on her way to visit her partner who spends a lot of time with a petshop owner and they heard her scream. Got there before he could finish. Lost a lot of blood, but she's on an I.V. and should regain consciousness sometime in the morning."
"A witness. Muraki's gotten sloppy." Hisoka murmured, looking over the photo. "...Or it's something else."
"Hmm?" Ralph was interested.
"Beneath all his tricks and magic, Muraki's a textbook case of a Sociopath. A charming, alluring front to hide the cold, calculating murderer. He's obsessed with dominance and power, and feels no remorse for those he has to hurt and kill to get it. He doesn't make mistakes, and he certainly doesn't leave a job half-finished. This woman is still up to her eyeballs in trouble. She's just being used as bait."
"There are officers stationed outside her room, day and night." Ralph replied levelly.
"How many?" Hisoka asked, looking up from the photo of Jill hugging a woman who looked to be in her early fifties Probably her mother. They had the same big smile.
"Six."
"All dead." Hisoka answered simply. "If Muraki even bothers with the entrance, that is. Which he might, just to go for spectacle. Or it'd be bad manners not to."
Ralph was impressed. This boy certainly had the mind for this kind of work.
Hisoka carefully gathered up Gregory's file and put everything away neatly. "Don't let my partner see this yet. He sometimes has trouble coping with these things. I need his head clear for a bit because I want him to talk to this woman's partner, the petshop owner and her if possible. I can talk to Mrs. Miles, her husband, and son. I don't think they'll know anything, but it's best to leave no stone unturned."
"What'd I miss?" Came a heavily accented voice from the door.
"Where have you been, boy?" Ralph said dryly. "I just went over everything with Mr. Kurosaki here."
"Had a run-in with that malarkey doctor nut job." Micheal stated plainly, indicating the bloodstained gash in his clothing. "He was goin' after a wee chit of a gel, but somethin' got to her first. Carried her off an' away, then he skankered leavin' me feelin' the fool." He took off his derby, and plopped down in a seat without waiting for an invitation. "Micheal Phenninger," he said offering a hand to Hisoka who just gave him a skeptical glare. Micheal's grin faltered, and he lowered the offered hand. Sitting back and kicking his feet up on the table, the grin returned with a vengeance. "Still, somethin' had that doc worried. I'm goin' out on a limb and sayin whatever carried that gel off has every intention o' makin' things go not-so-smooth for the good doctor. Oh hey, ye gotta pot o' coffee on!" And he was on his feet once more, helping himself to a mug and the last of the coffee.
Ralph had his face buried in the palm of his hand. Hisoka was sitting quite still, rather shocked not only the man's less-than-savory manners, but also the sheer rapid-fire way he talked. He was still trying to get Micheal's rant to sink in.
"Looked like a Sphinx that took her. Muraki had this sorta Manticore thingy. Or a Chimera that was hand-crafted to look like one. Not well made. When the Sphinx took off, I thought the Chimera was gonna follow, but 'is wings'd pro'lly drop off he ever got airborne. So he and the doc just vamoosed." He plopped himself right back down, feet on table and producing a small metal canteen from his waist-coat pocket. Unscrewing the cap,he poured some amber coloured liquid into the cup, took a swig from the canteen before replacing the cap and stuffing it back in his pocket while smacking his lips in approval. "Ah, good stuff."
Ralph just groaned, and all Hisoka could do was stare in horrified fascination. Had Tatsumi been there, all Hell would have broken loose.
"Did you happen to track where they vamoosed to?" Ralph finally managed, his tone souring.
"Near as dammit, bythat pet shop in Chinatown," Micheal said, sipping his coffee. "But he knew I was on his trail after I showed up so it was hard to track him. I just barely got there while he was takin' some poor lady's blood. Then some blond bloke was comin' 'round the corner and I couldn't have him see me so I had to run for it."
"Boy, why'd ya go and do a fool thing like show yourself?"
"What, I was jus' supposed to let him kill the wee li'l gels then? Cut 'em to ribbons?" Micheal gave Ralph a defiant look.
"How... how did you track someone like Muraki?" Hisoka asked, a little impressed though still disgusted.
"The vamoosin' magic he uses, whatsitcalled..." Micheal scratched his jaw. "A sort o' teleportin' but a little different. It leaves a slipstream, an' I can follow that."
"Micheal specializes in detection, tracking, camouflage and disguise," Ralph explained.
"Thanks fer that Ralphy, but I think I can tell the laddy meself."
Ralph rolled his eyes as Micheal sat back raising his mug to his lips. "You got a specialty, lad?" He asked before sipping his coffee.
"Empathy, but I'm up to Basic 2 Telepathy." He answered without thinking, and suddenly felt genuinely shocked. He rarely offered information about himself. And Micheal just gave him another reason not to as he dribbled coffee down his ripped shirt and exposed chest, eyes wide with shock.
"An empath? Really?" Ralph asked, one bushy gray brow raised.
"Basic 2 Telepathy. That means you can read and comprehend surface thoughts and reactions through physical contact, right?" Micheal said, doing what he could to wipe away the coffee with his tie.
"Yes..." Hisoka replied warily. He wanted the topic to change. Now.
"We had someone who got up to Basic 10 but couldn't get through Advanced 1," Micheal said thoughtfully. "Rare, but dangerous gift telepathy..."
Hisoka wondered what Micheal meant by 'had', but Tsuzuki chose that time to step out the bathroom in a fluffy blue bathrobe and his dark hair wet and sticking out every which way.
"Hey, 'Soka," He mumbled looking around with a rather distracted expression. "You gotta hairdryer I could borrow?" He looked up and his eyes fell on the two other Shinigami. "Hullo!" He said brightly. "Did the LA branch send you?"
"Yes," Said Ralph standing and offering his hand which Tsuzuki took and shook happily. "I'm Ralph Klein, and this is my partner Micheal Phenninger."
"Cheers!" Micheal said with a grin, and raised his mug up to Tsuzuki.
---
Leon sat down, dark circles under his eyes. It was a bit past midnight and he had just come out of the men's room. That had been, near as dammit, the only time he had cried in fourteen year. He hadn't bawled, but his throat had gotten tight and his face had gone all screwed up and there had been tears.
Jill. That sick fuck had gotten Jill. His partner, and his friend.
He looked down at her with the I.V. Drip to get her blood sugar up. She would be all right, but...
...He couldn't deny what he saw. The way those puddles had just raised up from the ground, creating this sort of globe and vanishing...
...Jill's blood. That bastard had taken Jill's blood.
And D knew something. Leon knew he knew, but he couldn't even begin to think of how to ask about it.
Frustrated, he buried his face in his hands and pressed hard as if trying to rub out the confusion so some things would start making sense. When he looked up again, a perfectly manicured hand was holding a styrofoam cup in front of him.
"Not what we're used to," he heard the Count say, "But it might clear your senses."
Leon took it, managing a small nod. He sipped it and felt a little better. "That was... that was a really close call." He breathed and felt like a weight had lifted off his chest.
"She's not safe yet." D replied pulling up a chair.
"Yeah, but they ran tests. She's not in a coma or anything. She didn't even get a concussion." Just enough blood sucked out to nearly kill her...
D looked like he wanted to say something for a minute, but simply remained silent.
But still water often belied a strong current, and D's thoughts were positively boiling. First and foremost, he shouldn't even be here watching over a stinking human.
But were it not for the whole human thing, D could quite easily get along with Jill. She could be overbearing, but also a cheerful optimist. And he certainly shouldn't be offering any sort of comfort to that brute of a detective.
Not that brute of a detective who came over almost every day and despite their disagreements could hold a damn good conversation. Definitely not that brute of a detective.
If his grandfather could see him now...
He squashed that particular thought, because he had been very careful about keeping his less than hostile relationship with the human very, very quiet.
But there was something else he couldn't repress, and that was a cold fury bubbling in the pit of his stomach.
How dare he...? How dare that doctor bring his sick games anywhere near the shop! D knew it had been a warning from Muraki, and he could be fairly certain the doctor knew just how close to home it would hit D.
For all his wards and protections on the pet shop, D knew it could be as easy as breaking a babies arm if Muraki wanted to force entry.
Why does grandfather seek an alliance with such a human? Certainly, he has the means to our... desired ends. But the way his mind works, the way he regards life... is he not what our race should seek to destroy? Not incompetent parents or washed up movie stars, but humans like Muraki so full of malice and ill intent. He gave a sidelong glance to Leon and felt the edges of his mouth curving into a frown. Leon may have all the tact of a stampeding herd of elephants and more concern about toe fungus than the tropical rain forest, but he wasn't a bad human. He could be harsh spoken, and sometimes say hurtful things, but he wasn't cold. He wasn't a killer.
So why then did his grandfather value someone like Muraki and wouldn't think twice about killing someone like Leon? Or Jill?
Because your prejudice has made you bitter. Your family has been so consumed by vengeance that you cannot look beyond it at a bigger picture. You have seen but cannot accept that not every human is a monster.
D mentally shook himself. That was nonsense, and he knew it. He shouldn't be questioning his grandfather's methods. But perhaps...
...Perhaps Grandfather is being threatened as well?
That could not be so easily dismissed as mental ramblings. The thought persisted, sticking hard in D's craw and making him feel a little sick.
But how could Muraki possibly get under his grandfather's skin? Certainly the man was powerful. More powerful than D even. But surely he was no match for his grandfather?
D couldn't stay here. He needed to get home, and Chris would be worried sick.
Another human you've taken under your wing... He thought bitterly. But Chris was a child. An innocent.
He stood, gracefully as he could. "Will you be staying all night, Mister Detective?"
Leon gave a small nod in response.
"Very well. I must go and feed the animals. And make sure Chris isn't getting into any trouble. I shall be by tomorrow to visit. Give her my regards when she wakes up."
Leon nodded again and D gathered up his things.
"Tell Chris that everything's gonna be all right."
"I will. Good night, Mister Detective."
It would be all right, D thought as he stepped into the florescent lit hall. He'd make sure of it. Because he wasn't going to stand for Muraki...
---
The night had brought with it dry, cool, clear air. A cold front must have been pushing away all the heat and humidity and for that D was grateful. He could hear the hubbub of the city, somewhat subdued because it was quite late. It buzzed and hummed, roared and beeped. Somewhere, a dog was barking.
He made it home shortly, feeling relieved to be in the safety of his pet shop. Chris, Pon-chan, and Tet-chan ran to greet him almost immediately.
"What happened?" Chris asked, worry all over his face.
"Your brother's partner was in a bit of an accident. She'll be fine, but he's going to stay at the hospital with her for a while." Chris relaxed, and D smiled patting the boy's cheek. "Now, I think it's time everyone turned in. We'll go see your brother in the morning, Christopher Orcot don't even think of arguing with me, now to bed!" He said it one long run-on sentence so there would be no arguments or questions. Resigned, Chris carried Pon-chan off, though the Toutetsu remained.
"Count," he said quietly, "Someone was trying to get in the shop while you were gone. We didn't let them in though."
D stiffened, but his expression was unreadable. "I see."
"I got scared. Like the time the Manticore came in."
D just nodded. "Thank you for telling me. Good night."
"'Night," and the Toutetsu shuffled off casting worried glances over his shoulder. D watched him go, before finally his shoulders sagged and he breathed out. So Muraki had tried to get in. Thankfully the barriers and wards had held.
Still, that meant Jill and Leon were in a heap of trouble, and D was no match for Muraki.
...but he knew something that was.
---
The study was hard to locate in the pet shop. It moved around a lot and even D had trouble keeping up with it's various eccentricities. Or at least those of its occupant. Today, he had to climb several flights of stairs which should have, by normal standards, taken him to the roof and beyond. But as anyone who has ever set foot in the pet shop could tell you, it was no normal building. And so, D came to the top landing and out into a large corridor. There were no doors, no windows, just dark, polished hardwood walls bearing lamps and tapestries. The woodwork was a piece of art. D had never been to this part of the pet shop before, and he was certain the study had relocated itself here just to show him what he had been missing.
He walked on and came to the dead end of the corridor. Without thinking, he touched his hand to what at first glance only appeared to be a carving in the woodwork and turned the knob.
The door opened inwards to reveal a room with dark beams and deep red walls with gilt fern patterns. There were shelves of books, and by a large window that overlooked a sunny rural landscape was a hardwood desk and red leather sitting chair with its back turned to the door. D could see a plume of green smoke streaming up gently from the chair's back in the soft yellow light coming from a kerosene lamp on the desk and the popping and crackling fire in a marble hearth.
Unlike all the other rooms in the shop, this one bore no signs of Chinese architecture. In fact, much of the patterns were reminiscent of rococo France.
"I believe I owe you a boon," said the Prince of Demons from his chair without turning around.
"That you do," said the Count wasting no time with formalities. The Prince of Demons had no desire for them, and the Count had little patience with the Prince's kind. He told him what he wanted.
"Easy enough." He saw a ring of smoke rise up from the back. "You say this man is human?"
"Yes."
"And the two you wish for me to watch over are also humans?"
"Yes, but I don't see that's relevant. As it stands, you are obligated to-"
"I know what I amand what I am not obligated to do." He said snappishly. "Just thinking that you certainly have more brains than your good for nothing grandpappy."
"I will not tolerate that sort of slander about Grandfather under this roof. Need I remind you that-"
"-'I am the one sheltering you from repercussions for your crimes in the Demon World' yadda, yadda, yadda. We've been through it. Right, I won't dishonor the ol' fart. Just saying. You got the common sense in the family."
"Oscar..." D warned.
"Right, I'm going, I'm going."
"Oh, and one more thing Oscar..."
"Sunnuva... what?"
"When you run into Mister Kazutaka... Try to manifest as something a little more... intimidating."
He could hear silence from the red leather chair. He could guess the Prince was glowering.
"...I'll give it a shot." Oscar conceded. "But I guarantee nothing. I like this form."
D felt a little hint of satisfaction as the view on the window changed to the inside of the hospital bedroom where Jill was still asleep and Leon was pacing. He'd occasionally fiddle with the empty styrofoam cup or look at it as if it had grown a head.
The Count smiled and stepped out of the study, feeling a little better now that he had found a use for the little fugitive. He disliked demons, more than he disliked humans, but they had their uses. And if it made Muraki think twice before trying that stunt again, it was well worth it.
And now it was time to check on his Siren. She should be constructing a nest by now...
He gave pause to consider this. Just what was she going to be making a nest with?
Despite his poor heart condition, the Count was certain he had never run quite so fast in his entire life, even on that Christmas with Honlon...
---
Q-chan fluttered about the sitting room, for the first time unable to make a sound. He had been watching over the Siren in D's absence and while curtains, cushions, and furniture meant very little to the batbunny, the Count was going to raise merry hell when he saw this disaster.
---
Sakon watched the sun come up over the sky rises, dark shadows under his eyes, and hugging Ukon to his chest like the puppet was a favorite stuffed animal.
His heart was still drumming in his chest, and he hadn't switched the lights off all night. He couldn't get that man, that faceless man, out of his head. It must have been some kind of nightmare, where he ended up sleep walking. His mind playing tricks. Maybe a hallucination. His doctor had said that he should get checked for schizophrenia...
It couldn't have possibly been real. Not a real ghost.
He clutched Ukon a little tighter, the sunlight very reassuring. Sakon had been scared of many things as a child but the dark wasn't one of them. But now he knew that instinctive fear, and he hated it.
He looked up at the yellow and blue sky outside his window and inhaled, exhaled.
Just a nightmare.
He stood, hitching up the waistband of his boxers and smoothing out his t-shirt. He'd need a shower, brush his teeth, scrub away all of last night because he'd feel better when he was clean and had something in his stomach that wasn't made of 90 grease.
It could have been the food disagreeing with me, he thought desperately. His grandfather had always been very strict and traditional about what they ate, and it had been Sakon's first bacon-cheeseburger with fries. He'd been nearly sick afterwards and giddy with teenage rebellion.
He promptly vowed to go vegetarian if meat induced those kinds of hallucinations. That had been terrifying.
He gave a little laugh to reassure himself, though it didn't do much good. It sounded high and hysterical, and he quickly snapped his mouth shut.Standing in front of the cabinetmirror, the puppet master examined his reflection critically. His eyes were red around the rims and definitely bloodshot. He wore a hunted expression and his black hair, usually so neat, was wild and sticking up in the back.
He looked like he did at the end of each semester finals: haggard, exhausted and stressed.
Shower. Cold shower. And coffee. Coffee had been something else his grandfather had disapproved of, and Sakon felt the urge to order a grande latte with two shots of espresso. It was the sort of thing Ukon would do, if the puppet could, indeed, drink a latte with two shots of espresso.
Turning the blue tap, he shed his t-shirt and boxers, and stepped into the cold blast of water. When he felt jolted awake by the rush of cold, he switched to warm water and got down to getting clean.
Soap, that anti-dandruff shampoo and finally some prescription face wash because he had acne trouble with some of the makeup he wore on stage. He could never quite get it all out...
Stepping out the shower, he tied a towel around his waist and got to rummaging around in the cabinet for his toothbrush and tooth paste. When he was done with that, it was time to comb his hair. Taking the hand towel from the rack and wiping away the fogged up glass on the mirror...
...And there, in the reflection, a pair of empty eye sockets watched him from the doorway.
---
Ralph could understand the hurt expression on Tsuzuki's face as they headed for the hospital. It was around eleven in the morning and the dark-haired Shinigami was clearly not happy about being separated from his partner.
They had met bright and early that morning, ready to discuss plans for interrogations and it had been Hisoka's suggestion at splitting up. It would mean both bureaus would be on the same page, and Tsuzuki wouldn't wallow in guilt about the brutal murder of that officer Gregory Miles.
That, and Ralph knew the youngest Shinigami wanted to question the Miles family, as well as the pet shop owner, himself. And somebody needed to be the responsible adult with Tsuzuki.
It meant Micheal and Hisoka would have to take a pit stop at the L.A. Branch, but that was beside the point.
"So, you two are experts on this killer fella?" Ralph started conversationally. "Least, that's what the chief says."
"As experts as anyone can be," Tsuzuki said vaguely. "I don't think anyone can really understand how Muraki works."
Ralph cocked his head to the side. "Huh. Oh!" He rummaged around in his pocket and produced a leather wallet with a badge and an FBI identification card. It had Tsuzuki's picture on it.
"Custom made. You can thank Aloysius later when you meet him." Ralph said, showing his.
"FBI?" Tsuzuki asked, looking the badge over. "What do we need this for?"
"Well, we're questioning police officers here and we sure as hell ain't LAPD. And the little lady's partner might be there. Actually, I'm willing to bet money he is." Ralph grinned, hoping Tsuzuki might take the hint.
"How much?" Tsuzuki asked, giving the balding man a sidelong glance.
"Five dollars?"
They passed a pastry shop, and Tsuzuki cast a furtive look to a dish of what looked to be very tasty apple strudels. Five dollars a pop, and while Hisoka wasn't fond of many sweets, he'd occasionally indulge in an apple strudel.
"Ten."
"Done."
---
"This is Doctor Aloysius Grant," Micheal explained as they stepped into the clean, white lab. It smelled strongly of disinfectant, "Master of disguises, tech support and all around lab-man. Usually 'e just makes us police or FBI badges, but sometimes an investigation requires a little something else."
Aloysius was a tall African-American man in his mid-thirties with short braids in his hair and wore a black, long sleeved shirt and a pair of navy blue slacks. He stood and offered his hand to Hisoka and the young Shinigami noticed he had a gold band around his ring-finger. Hisoka wondered if his wife lived in this world, the next, or was still alive somewhere as he took the hand and shook it.
"Nice to finally meet you," he said brightly. "Your chief sent photos over so I could doctor up you guys some ID badges, but I didn't know what to do with yours. A 16 year old FBI agent is kinda..." he trailed off and made a face.
"Yeah," Hisoka said, trying to keep the aggravation out of his voice because he got a good vibe from Aloysius and it certainly wasn't this man's fault he was stuck with a 16 year old body that was, Hisoka was ashamed to say, barely in the throws of puberty. Aloysius Grant didn't deserve to be the victim of Hisoka's usual sour temper.
Aloysius continued with a sympathetic smile, "So I talked to your lab guy. The one that talks about 90 miles an hour."
Well, that sounded like Watari.
"And he told me about this potion he concocted that caused age regression. And I thought to myself, 'huh', and finally got the recipe off of him. Then he told me about the remedy and I got to thinking, and I whipped up these two little beauties-"
Before he could finish, there was a shrill female voice echoing in the lab: "Aloysius! Darling!"
"Susan!"
It wasn't the little black batwings or the long pointed tail with a flat spade-like end that tipped Hisoka off the woman named 'Susan' wasn't and never had been human. Nor was it the little black horns. He couldn't place his finger on it, but something about her felt... familiar. Like, Sagatanasu only... not. She radiated a certain badness, but if Hisoka could put images to his empathy, little pink hearts would be bubbling out her head as she nuzzled Aloysius' cheek. She was bad, probably untrustworthy, and cunning to boot, but there was no black gaping maw of evil steaming off of her like there had been with Sagatanasu. And then there was the warm bubbly feeling he had in his stomach he often felt when he was around young couples or newlyweds. So there was bad, and then there was malevolent.
"A demon?" He remarked to Micheal rather quietly.
"A Succubus, lucky bastard. That's Marie Susan Grant, Aloysius Grant's wife and our secretary."
"Susan the Secretary Succubus," Hisoka grumbled. "Figures."
She was pretty, despite the pale, blueish white of her skin, which put Hisoka uneasily in mind of Maria Wong when she had turned into a vampire. She had cropped black hair, dark-rimmed square glasses, and wore a neat black business suit and skirt, black stockings and soft leather pumps. The outfit was remarkably conservative, but the fact of the matter was, Susan was a Succubus and practically blazed with sexuality.
"I just finished up the filing," she said, arms wrapped loosely around her husband's shoulders, "So I'm going to go pick up Dave from daycare and take him shopping. He's grown right out of his shoes already, bless him."
"Alright sweetheart, I'll be home later. I just need to finish up with these gentlemen and then I'll have the afternoon off."
"These gentlemen...?" Her attention turned to Hisoka and Micheal, and almost immediately Hisoka realized he never, ever wanted to be the center of attention for a Succubus again. "Oh my gosh, he's adorable with those big green eyes! Like a little girl!"
Hisoka sighed. He was starting to feel at home already, unfortunately.
"I could just eat him right up with a big ol' spoon!" The Succubus crooned as he tried to wriggle away from her sudden and enthusiastic embrace, but that tail had wrapped around his ankle and sent him flying flat on his face. He realized that with those fangs, she wasn't being metaphorical.
"Susan, we talked about this." Aloysius warned.
"Just a little nibble?" She pleaded, her lower lip trembling. Hisoka noticed that she wasn't wearing black lipstick, but that was the actual color of her lips.
"Susan..." Aloysius raised a warning finger.
"Oh fine. The things I do for my pookie-pie." She humphed, releasing Hisoka. "But you better not work too late. And bring home that riding crop. That's always fun."
"Erm..." Aloysius gave a polite cough as his wife sashayed out the door, waving her tail in a little 'toodle-loo' fashion.
Micheal looked as though his ears were going to start bleeding, and Hisoka was trying not to cringe.
"Well, now, um... that was my lovely wife Susan. Anyway, moving on."
"Yes moving on." Because there were things that did not need to be lingered on.
"I made up a rapid development potion... why are you looking at me like that?"
Hisoka was now creeping away very slowly, watching Aloysius with a caged look. "The last time I saw a rapid development potion," he began and Aloysius laughed.
"Let me guess, someone used a black belladonna and made an invisible potion?" He shook his head. "No, I'm not so careless. This one works. My wife tried it with ah... very positive results."
"Is that why she's got tits the size o' ripe melons now?" Micheal asked, tactless as ever. Aloysius rolled his eyes.
"Yes, jackass, that's why my wife is significantly more endowed than she was two days ago. Thank you for pointing out the obvious."
"Well, that's my job, detectivatin' an' all."
"I'm so going to kill you. Anyway Hisoka, I think you'll find you won't have any trouble with my potions and the effects are permanent until you take the regressive potion." He held up the bottle and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Side effects may include within the first 12 hours dry mouth, itchy nose, rash, and possibly vomiting. Within the next 24 hours you may get a migraine or have trouble breathing. Micheal or I can lend you one of our suits if you experience a growth spurt. Bathroom's down the hall and to the left.
Hisoka took the potion feeling rather dumbfounded. Did everyone here just fire off a million words a minute? It was like a whole department full of Watari.
The young Shinigami gave this the due consideration it deserved. And shuddered.
Right, time to take a potion. Be a man.
---
Watari was hunched over the glowing screen of his laptop, scribbling frantically across a piece of notepaper. Occasionally he uttered little phrases like:
"Jesus H. Christ on a Harley fucking Davidson," or "Holy hopping monkeys on a pogo stick."
Watari had some very unique ways of expressing himself.
"Watari," Tatsumi said levelly, though there was an impatient edge to his voice that added the sentence 'hurry up or I'll kill you. Again. Repeatedly.' without actually having to say it.
"Erm," the blond Shinigami quickened his rapid keystrokes and finally sat back in satisfaction as a menu came up on the screen. He let out a triumphant "Ha!" and pointed at the rows of type. Needless to say, Tatsumi couldn't make head nor tail of it. It looked to be an old case file, some pet shop that had given the Judgment Bureau a fair bit of trouble back in the late 80's and early 90's.
"What am I looking at?" Tatsumi demanded, glaring at the screen. "And do you ever plan on taking off that stupid Ninja outfit?"
"One of Muraki's motives t'be in Los Angeles. I think." Watari brought up a list of names on the screen, on which 'Muraki Kazutaka' appeared repeatedly alongside the name of some sort of creature and a price. Watari looked at Tatsumi, any trace of joking gone from his usually sunny face.
"And no, the costume stays. Tatsumi, do you know what a Kami is?"
Tatsumi raised a brow. "You look ridiculous. And yes, but I thought they'd gone extinct? Something to do with some prince and a big war and such. I don't keep up with Kami mythology."
Watari shook his head. "Yeah, well that tie of yours makes you look like a prat." He looked to the screen again. "There are at least three left alive, maybe four..." said the scientist. "...Sofu D, the eldest. His son, 'D', and his grandson 'D'. I'm not to sure what happened to the son, but the eldest and his grandson have a pleasant little business."
Recollection began to raise itself from the thin haze in Tatsumi's head. "I remember now. It was a pet shop in Chinatown. Most of its costumers turned up dead, and the merchandise was certainly not anything you'd get in a normal pet shop. We had Asato and Kobayashi on that one. Big failure... Tsuzuki still regrets it."
"Yeah, well, looks like the grandson has taken over the family business in L.A.'s Chinatown. Same pattern of bizarre deaths and even more bizarre animals croppin' up."
Tatsumi looked at the list. "And Muraki was a frequent customer."
"Yup." Watari said brightly. "But Muraki doesn'twant just the regular ol' animals. He'll buy a bunch, cut 'em up and put different pieces together."
"In other words, he makes Chimera's."
Watari nodded and stood to pour a mug of coffee for himself. "Yeah, but lately he's noticed his little creations lack a certain 'Umph!'," he said, thrusting his pelvisto emphasize the word 'umph' in a manner that would make any Elvis impersonator cringe.
"How do you mean?"
"His first run-in with Tsuzuki, none of his creatures could begin to compare to the power of the Gods he could summon. Like a little kid jealous of a boy with a better plastic thing... waddayacallit..."
"...A 'toy' Watari?" Tatsumi sounded exasperated. "Get to the point."
"...Jealous of a new toy," Watari continued, not missing a beat, "Muraki plans on handcrafting himself his own personal gods using the bits he likes best from powerful animals and humans."
This was met with silence from Tatsumi.
"Now, makin' Chimera's is looked down on enough as it is, but throwin' human's into the mix..." Watari tsked, wagging his index finger. "Big 'no no'."
"We saw a human Chimera, with that Mariko girl back in Kyoto."
Watari nodded. "Muraki's first success. Started simple. Just a human and an insect. But I get the feeling he's gonna to try something much worse, much bigger. And he needs a steady supply of parts from little Grandsonny boy."
"What do you mean much worse?"
Watari was quiet for a minute, which didn't hold well with Tatsumi. Finally, the scientist spoke, "I'm not sure. He's trying to build a God to serve him, and I don't know all the specs of the ritual. It's only been seriouslyattempted once... but I think I know it entails using a Kami in the final rite."
---
Sakon didn't scare easily. When you grew up in a house full of puppets, and murders cropped up everywhere you went, you tended to have a higher threshold for fear.
Sakon had screamed, more in surprise than anything, and mostly because he was in a towel. But he wasn't scared. He was annoyed.
He turned to the door frame and looked at the apparition. "You're just a bit of bacon-cheeseburger. Or a bad chip. Go away."
The hallucination didn't vanish. Instead it tilted its head like a child who had just been sent to its room. Now that Sakon looked closer, the faceless man didn't seem so threatening. It just sort of stood there, as if it was trying to say something, but couldn't get it out.
What bothered Sakon was the politeness of it all. If this was a ghost, it should have been trying to scare the pants off him (if he were wearing pants), or causing a ruckus. It just seemed polite and... sad? Yes, Sakon thought, the posture has a definite gloominess to it.
Looks like he'd have to play charades with his indigestion. But he'd feel better if he could at least have some pants, because he was becoming increasingly aware of his whole lack of leg-garments...
"Look, do you mind? Now's not a really good time. Can this wait 'till I get my clothes on?" He'd never been snappish in his life, but now he felt like he needed to be. "Just... wait outside in the living-room, I'll be there in a few minutes."
It nodded, and shut the door with a soft 'click' behind it.
Sakon exhaled. Never, ever, eating meat again. Ever.
---
AN: Ah, the end of another chapter. This should havebeen up two weeks ago, but alas, I kept getting errors every time Iuploaded. Sorry for the delay (Excuses, excuses).
I had only intended to introduce Aloysius in here, but he seemed so damn normal. And a potential angst bucket. So he needed a wife and thus Susan the Secretary Succubus was thrown in. She may pop up again once or twice, because god knows I love bizzare married people.
Once again, feedback (especially criticism) is loved.
To Caer: I'm glad you're enjoying this! I hope that it doesn't go down the same drain that other crossovers have in the past, because this is fun to write.
Next chapter, expect some answers.