A/N: I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.
Futotsuki-sensei had asked Shiro and Mephisto to walk with him after lunch and asked – oh had he asked! The conflict had aged the poor man, but he wanted to know everything that had happened at the Academy since he had left. His questions were directed as much to Mephisto as to Shiro, and while one answered the ones concerning the state of the school and the personnel, the other filled him in on the students' progress and pranks.
"She and Midori-chan are doing fine", Shiro replied, although Futotsuki-sensei had only asked how Sen was doing.
It wasn't something the old teacher had expected, that much was evident from his face. But he didn't seem to mind it.
"Oh? Well, you are a clever young man, Fujimoto-kun. It's no surprise that you have noticed my niece's affections."
Mephisto politely turned away to blow his nose. In May. With the warmth of the day still lingering in the afternoon sun. The unseasonal cold also seemed to have caused him some blockage in his throat; Shiro silently wished it would choke him.
"And how is the young Todo doing as teacher?"
"He is industrious."
"He's boring."
Futotsuki-sensei's countenance crinkled in merriment.
"Well, well; true both, I dare say. It takes passion to teach, and passion I'm afraid I haven't seen in that young man for years. He's a fine exorcist, though… I'm sorry to hear of the accident", he said in his deep, sombre voice. "Word reached us that demons had slipped through the barrier and that lives had been lost, but the details went missing on the way. Please, tell me everything that happened."
"A most sad and unexpected tragedy", Mephisto said softly, seemingly more attentive of the garden irises that held the same colour as the fodder of his cape. "A group of students wilfully dismantled wards in the barrier and fell victim to the demons that got through. Thankfully they were the only ones, plus one guard that tried to prevent them. As for why they did this, I'm afraid we will never know."
Smooth words, without any hint of hesitation or conscience behind… Under different circumstances, Shiro might have felt a twinge of guilt: but his heart was cold and indifferent to Mephisto's lies.
"So sad, so sad." The old teacher shook his head. "And now this. Brother disowning brother, mother and daughter at each other's throats… I hope you can resolve this at tomorrow's meeting, Sir Pheles. It breaks my heart to see my people like this. And you know that I…" Futotsuki-sensei's voice faltered, and his years wore heavy on his shoulders. "If it comes to fighting between the Order and the Futotsuki, I don't know which side to take. I beg of you, Sir Pheles; if it comes to that, please don't order me to oppose my own people."
"There is always two sides in a battle." Mephisto's interest now lay with the small shrine snuggled against the trunk of an ages-old ginkgo. "And there are times when belonging to neither might cost you more than choosing one. I will not ask you to fight, Itsuhito-san: but if you do fight, you fight for me."
"Yes… Yes; thank you. Thank you for your time, Sir Pheles. I will need my strength tomorrow, so I bid you a pleasant evening. And you, Fujimoto-kun." He bowed, showing how far up the grey had crept from his temples, and left them on the walkway where it made a respectful bend around the ginkgo, as if the tree's growth had slowly forced worshippers to alter their path.
"…any idea how things will go tomorrow?" Shiro probed, following as Mephisto kept trailing the path.
"Why, isn't it more exciting to wait and see~? I have a feeling that-" His ears twitched apprehensively, and the two men turned simultaneously to find that Futotsuki-sensei had turned around and followed them.
"Pardon me, Fujimoto-kun, my mind has been greatly occupied lately: Sen asked me to say happy birthday from her and Midori-chan", he said with a gentle smile.
Shiro managed not to close his eyes and groan, thanked Futotsuki-sensei, and asked him to pass his thanks to Sen and Midori.
"Today, is it?" Mephisto hummed. "Oya oya: happy bi-"
"Once is enough", Shiro cut off, shoving his hands back in his pockets after bidding his teacher goodbye.
"You don't want people to congratulate you on your birthday?"
"It's not that I don't, it's... Whatever. No, I don't."
"What kind of person are you, who don't appreciate birthdays?" Mephisto sounded like this was not only impossible, but downright affronting. "Presents and games and sweets, merry times and celebration – what lacklustre mind doesn't find that enjoyable?"
"No, I like parties; I just don't like birthday parties." Rather, he didn't like his own birthday parties: several of them spent at an orphanage tend to dim the magic shimmer. "If you're gonna celebrate, at least celebrate something sensible. I mean, it's supposed to be some kind of achievement to be born? Or to grow older?"
"For you, that last one is quite the achievement."
"Pff…" Shiro huffed and smiled crookedly up at the darkening sky. "Oh well, you're right. And here I thought going away on business would keep people from noticing. Well, nothing out of the ordinary anyway. A stroll at the night market is my usual way of celebrating, and this ain't far from it."
"Oh~?" Shiro tensed at his tone; mostly because anything that made Mephisto happy usually did so at the expense of his own happiness. "I know the perfect thing for you, then~"
"Oi, what are you-"
Mephisto poofed them both away from the gravel path and into… a forest. An old, old forest, the kind where the trees have grown bitter and selfish and choke life from the forest floor with their heavy branches. Only things that thrive in darkness live there, among the shed life of leaves and needles: moss that licks the dew off gnarly roots, and lichens that bleed ashen eruptions on wood and rock. The air was pungent with the smell of moist soil, mingled with the smell of things that hadn't quite returned to being soil yet. Despite the warmth of the season, Shiro felt a chill slither down his spine. Forests weren't that quiet, not in May when birds should be singing like there's no tomorrow. Though surrounded by growing things, the forest around him didn't feel alive.
"Can't have you going like that…" Mephisto snapped his fingers again, and Shiro's school uniform disappeared in favour of a white yukata with pink cherry blossoms: Mephisto's uniform was replaced with a pale pink kimono with lavish peonies. "Hmm, no." He snapped his fingers again, and Shiro found himself in a black yukata with red obi and bright azaleas.
"Going like what to where? Where are we?"
"Too eye-catching." Mephisto snapped his fingers a third time, and Shiro was robed in an azure yukata with cranes. "Too cold nuances." A snap and a poof, and this time the yukata was pale yellow with a reddish pattern of koi.
...well, it effectively chased away the chill from Shiro's spine, at least. The dark atmosphere of the place felt less threatening when Mephisto's only concern was his attire.
"I said 'where are we?'" Shiro repeated.
"Clashes with your eyes." Poof, and his clothes were wine red, almost mauve, with golden chrysanthemum flowers. "Too flashy."
"Oi, are you even listening?"
"Of course not."
Of course not. Shiro surrendered. It was the only thing to do when Mephisto was absorbed in something; even something as silly as playing dress-up.
Shiro's clothes stopped changing once he'd gotten into a yukata in nuances fading from deep lavender to white, with white wisteria flowing below the obi: but Mephisto kept snapping his fingers. And looked more and more annoyed.
"What's taking you so long?" he asked, absentmindedly picking his ear with his little finger.
"That hair of yours", the demon grumbled and watched, again, how Shiro's hair reverted back to its amorphous state like a released spring. "It's simply not emendable."
Shiro chuckled and ran a hand through the unkempt haystack on his head.
"The hair that defeated the King of Time. How's that on your record?"
"It's not hair, it's a bird's nest", he said dryly, brushing his fingers over the greyish tips in a dismissive manner. "Your constant bleaching doesn't exactly improve the quality of it."
"Oh, and the guy who favours the colour scheme of an eggplant should give advice on hair-care?"
There was a moment's confused silence as Mephisto pieced together the message.
"…are you implying that would I dye my hair?" he asked with a face of utter disbelief.
Shiro raised his eyebrows at him.
"Are you implying that that is your natural hair colour?"
Mephisto's eyebrows rose, too: and settled in that disgruntled inrun formation over his drooping eyes.
"That you even doubt it is offensive – of course it is! There is no way one could look this dashing unless born to it", he declared, splaying his clawed fingers over the chest of the kimono.
Shiro failed to choke a bout of laughter. Actually, he didn't even try.
"Oh, of course, you're a natural purplette…!"
"I am", the demon maintained in offended tones. "Look at my claws: same proteins, same colour."
He didn't really care – Mephisto might have naturally purple-greenish hair, or he might not. What mattered was his abhorred look when Shiro explained the dark purple claws with nail varnish.
"What an utter and unbelievable monkey you are", he frowned. "Expecting you to behave is likely a guarantee for disappointment, so if you settle for staying out of trouble that will do. Don't put anything in your mouth unless absolutely certain what it is, don't go saying aloud that you are an exorcist; and don't let slip of your focus. This will be good exercise for you."
"Then maybe you can tell me where we're going?" Shiro tugged at the yukata, which was probably one of female cut since it showed more of his legs than he was used to or comfortable with.
"Hyakki Yagyou~!" Mephisto announced with a beaming smile and spread his arms like a magician about to present his next performance. "The demons' parade! It is of earthly wonders still the strangest, and thus in equal measure craved and cursed; whether from man- or demonkin thou rangest, you'll find a brew to slake your thirst~ Your heart's desire shall not, I pledge, evade thee, for every soul can have its wishes' worth, the night I can most proudly claim to emcee; the night when heaven high", he reached up and splayed his fingers as if to pluck down a star, "is hell on earth~" The hand descended with a flourish to rest at his abdomen, and with a devilish smirk he bowed the way they once did at European courts. "So let's be on our way~"
"…I'm not sure I can walk", Shiro confessed bluntly, following stiffly on his geta.
"Quite the expert on ruining moods, aren't you?" Mephisto sighed, and managed to convey an impressive amount of disdain just by Looking at him. "My my, like a newborn deer…"
"Well, sorry, I haven't walked in heels as much as you have", he snorted, carefully navigating across the treacherous roots – though inwardly, he grinned. "Always a pleasure to ruin your moods, Princess." Still, if that was improvised verse, he had to admit that Mephisto did have a talent for- "…I'd rather trip and knock a tooth out, thank you very much", he said as the demon, in the spirit of a true gentleman, offered his arm for support.
Nestled securely like a secret whispered between lovers, the depression hid behind thick foliage of evergreens and lush maples, betrayed only by the drifting lantern lights. Once out in the open, Shiro realised it wasn't lanterns: it was onibi, thousands of them, swarming like fireflies in the dusk. And in the pale, rippling light bloomed a strange flower indeed.
It was the dilapidated skeleton of dead dreams: it was the tangled seed of miracles holding its breath. It was as though the bones of the earth had broken and pushed through her skin, coaxed out of her dark flesh to draw nourishment from the hopes and nightmares of the living. Of earthly wonders still the strangest…
The light of the onibi melted over pillars and spikes that impaled the sky in angles askew. The soil grew winding buildings on teetering legs, and three-way archways with no sense of direction. Above, the air hung low with the weight of a hundred dishes cooking, a thousand voices speaking, and demon fireballs that chased each other amongst the banners and flower vines. All around and everywhere, from every twisted nook and crevice, the steady light of lanterns trickled colourful shadows of bypasses onto the streets. The lanterns were the only ordinary thing Shiro could spot there: they looked terribly out of place.
It was just like the night market in True Cross Town on a bustling summer evening, and nothing like it at all. Nothing… at all…
Shiro liked night markets for the anonymity: for the tranquil feeling of being just another person in the crowd, comfortably surrounded by people who happily minded their own business and let him mind his. That… was not going to be the case at the demons' parade.
"Greetings and welcome, your highness."
"Welcome, your highness."
"Most honoured, your highness."
…it was like watching the waves of the ocean still their restless caravans. Horned heads, scaly heads, furry heads: like a rice field in the wind, they bent as demons of all shapes and kinds bowed deep before them. Conversation dropped to murmured greetings, and merry music from further away sung jarringly loud in the solemn atmosphere. Vendors left their stands to offer gifts, runners came from food carts to deliver treats, tumbling imps that chased each other underfoot came to a dead stop… and inwardly, Shiro squirmed. Formality had never been his cup of tea. He didn't like acting formal, and apparently he was just as uncomfortable with being acted formal towards; even if it wasn't actually him they were bowing to.
"He must be used to this."
But as Shiro glanced at Mephisto, he was forced to take back his words. No, Mephisto wasn't used to this: he was born to this. Born and bred to be the Crown Prince of Gehenna; and here, amongst his own kind, everyone knew that. Here, he was royalty; and his flamboyant mannerisms looked perfectly normal.
"Everything is relative, huh…"
Still, that it could be so very different… Here, his clownish flourishes didn't look clownish, his ridiculous swagger didn't look ridiculous, and his stupid, self-important smirk didn't look stupid.
He looked like a king.
"Wonder what they make of me, then? Doesn't it look strange for a demon like him to show up with a human?"
Oh, he got an explanation quick enough. All people of royal lineage have servants; and guess who got to be porter for the braided basket with the ever-increasing pile of… things. Most of the offerings looked like food, some of them looked like dried roots; some of them were odd, disc-like things that could've been biscuits and could've been thin clam shells in strange colours.
"What are these?" he asked as they strolled leisurely among the market rows and caused demons to stop and bow.
"Oh, I like those~" Mephisto plucked the shell-like object out of his hand and ate with a satisfied purr, dangling a skewer with caramelised plums in his other hand. "Very tasty. Not for humans, though."
There were a lot of things labelled "not for humans". There were a lot of things Shiro didn't want to have any deeper knowledge of anyway, but some things he really did want to try: like the games. They came upon a ball game in an open square, where the ground had been cleared and ringed in with bales of rice straw, much like you would do with a sumo wrestling ring. Rather than wrestling, however, it seemed to be a mix of grappling and capture-the-flag. The ring master was an impressive figure: a snow white kitsune with no less than seven tails. He stood on his hind legs, like a human, and was at least as tall as Mephisto. The demon was tossing a red ball, no larger than a honey dew melon, up and down in his clawed hand; tossing it behind his back, above his head; tossing it to the other side of the ring and dashing after it to catch it before it touched the ground. Another demon, one of the sickle-clawed kamaitachi, was darting after the fox, doing jumps and tackles in its attempts to snatch the red ball.
"So this is...? It's not actually his heart he's chucking around, right?"
"Goodness no. The game is still called Hoshi-no-Tama, but that is a regular temari ball." As Mephisto spoke, a smaller fox demon in the crowd called out 'time's up!' and held aloft an hourglass to show that it had emptied. The kamaitachi bowed and left the ring, whereupon the next challenger stepped in. "The target is the ball: the prize is a wish."
"It is, hah..." Shiro Considered. The kitsune was much faster than he was, much taller and much stronger, but a voice in the back of his head reminded him that he had outsmarted demons that were faster, stronger, and taller before. The difference this time was that he didn't know the demon, so he couldn't pinpoint exactly how he would outsmart him... But a free wish from a kitsune, that was quite the prize...
"Judging by the expression on your face, the answer is no."
"Eh?"
"Your face." Mephisto wiggled the plum skewer in his general direction. "You were thinking of how to win Hoshi-no-Tama: the answer is no. I will not have you miss tomorrow's meetings just because the majority of your ribs have been relocated to the inside of your lungs."
"Oh come on - it's not like I would go into close combat with him. I'm not that stupid."
Mephisto's amused look silently questioned just what evidence he was basing that statement on. Shiro shot a glare back at him, eyebrows raised.
"Oi. I would not have been turning nineteen today if I'd been dumb enough to think I could wrestle down a demon. How about you wipe that smirk off your face and find me a game I can actually play?"
Mephisto did talk back at him, as that was their customary route of negotiation: even so, he led Shiro deeper into Hyakki Yagyou, to a dead old tree whose branches had been covered in pristine white sheets. As they came closer, it dawned on Shiro that it wasn't sheets at all. The tree was covered in cobwebs, so thick and finely spun that they seemed solid. Beneath the branches sat a wrinkly old jorougumo. Shiro recognised it from his school book illustrations: the spider body, plated with chitin armor; the human torso that rose out of it where its head should have been. The human body half was covered in the finest silk lace, layer upon layer, and her grey hair pinned in the most exquisite ways. She looked less like an old lady and more like an aged empress - well, aside the shiny insect mandibles and her eight beady eyes.
"This game is called Tsurube-otoshi", Mephisto explained, although Shiro could see exactly what it was from looking at the reed pipes and the bowl of dried peas sitting next to them. "The rules are as simple as they come: load the pipe with a pea and hit the targets."
Shiro was about to point out that there were not targets to hit, when the demon playing fired off a dried pea and hit something with a sharp konk. The target - a coconut cloven in half - had dropped out from somewhere among the web-covered tree branches. It disappeared back up again as quickly as it had come down, and Shiro suspected the old jorougumo and her silk strings had everything to do with that.
"Make your gift basket hover or something, I gotta try this."
It did take him a moment to get used to the reed pipes. However, his aim was good, and his reflexes sharp, and Shiro left the jorougumo's stand with a smug smile and fairly large spindle of fine spider thread for prize.
He felt it constantly; the demons around him. Like a barely noticeable breeze against his skin, their presences immersed him but flowed past him. And that "flowing past"… Tentatively, Shiro tried opening his heart a crack: just a little, just enough to feel the thrill tickling his senses. Oh yes. The demons didn't bother looking at him any more than they did before, and he could feel: feel the adventure rise like carbonic acid in his veins, feel his chest swell with the smells of the unknown. He was at the demons' parade, a place humans sometimes visited but seldom lived to describe, and the mere thought made his hairs stand delightfully on end.
"Greetings, your highness."
Greetings indeed.
Shiro had to make an effort not to let slip of his heart. Most of the demons at Hyakki Yagyou were hideous, or looked like disfigured animals. Not this one. A harionna, a flytrap for human men, bowed to them; waves of her lethal hair, braided and threaded with beads for the occasion, gushed over her shoulders as she did.
"Please, accept our gift." She hefted a small girl – her daughter, from the looks of it – and lifted her up eye-level with Mephisto.
Shiro thought for an instant that she was offering him the girl in accordance with some strange demon custom, until he saw the little one gently gather purple-green hair to the side and fasten it with a comb.
"You look very nice, your highness." Her voice was like windblown grains of sand whispering over dunes, and she fidgeted shyly with the beads threaded into her own hair.
"So do you, little one." And to Shiro's great surprise, Mephisto plucked off one of the caramelised plums and gave to the girl.
Mother and daughter bid him a good evening and bowed deep.
"How do I look~?" he asked as they continued their slow stroll through the market.
Oh, what to say…? Peony kimono, purple hair, a comb decorated with seashells arranged in the shape of cherry blossoms…
"Like a half-starved comfort woman", he said before he could think, and cringed. "Shit, will they lynch me for saying something like that…?"
When in Rome, do as the Romans do: and most importantly, don't go calling Caesar a prostitute. But no demon within earshot paid any mind, and Mephisto shook his head through a mouthful of sweets.
"A demon who can't defend his own honour has no honour to defend. Knowing that you are romantically challenged I shall assume you have a hard time expressing your affection in proper ways."
"Oi, are those big ears just for decora- Hold a sec, it's falling off." Shiro saved the seashell comb as it fell… and realised he was in over his head. In more than one way. "Right: how the hell do you do this?"
Because giving a hair decoration to a guy is like putting a tatting shuttle in the hands of a blacksmith.
The interesting thing about guys is that no matter what you put in their hands, they will most likely give it a try: maybe because it stings to admit incompetence, and maybe because incompetence itself is a quality guys are blissfully unaware of. Against better knowledge, Shiro decided to pick up the proverbial glove: he put the basket down, and reached up.
"It would be easier if you weren't so damn tall…" Shiro struggled to keep his balance on the wobbly toes of the geta. Would've been neat to stumble and fall on him now, wouldn't it? Like some clueless couple-to-be in shoujo manga… "You wearing geta is just ridiculous, you know that? You gotta be two meters even without them."
"One ninety-five", he corrected and leaned forward to enable him to reach. "It's custom to wear them with traditional garments; as a native, you ought to know."
"As a native, I can inform you that's a woman's kimono."
"I am well aware of that, actually." Seeing the look that Shiro didn't bother concealing, the demon smiled. "Male, female – what does that matter? I pick clothes that look good on me; an approach that would benefit you too, my friend. Winning a woman's heart is much easier if you take care to present yourself properly. It's a downright disgrace to neglect fine raw material, and given your general aptitude for courtship-"
"You want this in your hair or in your eye?" Shiro snorted, brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to figure out what the demon girl had done to fasten the comb. "I'll be damned, it looks like he actually has that hair colour." Really, like an eggplant… "There's nothing wrong with my 'aptitude', I just have a knack for picking the wrong girls."
"An impressive such – ever thought of trying your luck with men instead?"
"Ever thought of trying your luck with someone as depraved as you?" he returned. "Wasn't that why you came here? There, I think I fixed it."
"This is a place for pleasures of all kinds, each with its own allure", he smiled, straightening up and biting off another crinkly plum. "Take a look around and see what suits your palate, birthday-boy."
Mephisto had, it would seem, tried every snack in existence at least four times.
"These are made of fermented grain, these are wild honey and crushed hazelnuts; those over there are pieces of honeycomb filled with goji berries and coated in ginkgo resin, and those gooseberry shortcrust tarts are extremely savoury…" He used his plum skewer to point to this-thing-and-that on the counter of a food stand that also seemed to sell gelatinized sea slugs artfully wrapped in cobweb. "And if you are a little less of a sweet-eater, these-"
Shiro deftly pulled a caramelised plum off the skewer.
"But those are my favourites!"
"You eat all that yourself and you'll get fat", he grinned and plopped the sticky, aromatic treat into his mouth. After all, what suited his palate best was Mephisto's irritated face…
…ngh…
"Guaaaaah! Ah, ng-huerh ptweh oh god it burns!"
He breathed fire – or, it felt like he did. He couldn't tell, as the fumes that rose up from his oral cavity burnt tears from his eyes. And it didn't stop. No amount of swallowing, spitting, cursing or wheezing did anything to quench the inferno.
"Tsk tsk, what a mouth you've got", the demon snickered, face melting from false sulk to a mean smirk. He wasn't the only one: all around, demons cracked up at the sight of the human boy that was gagging and spitting. "Now where's that flask of holy water you keep around~?"
Realisation hit Shiro's furiously blushing face. This was for the tea incident…? No, he couldn't have…
"You could not know I would-ng-hauhh… that I would eat that!"
He should control himself better, had to control himself better, but the laughing throng of demons made a vein pulse at his temple. Shame, chagrin, anger...
"Of course I could~ Know your enemy, and you can predict his actions in any given situation: predict your enemy's actions, and you can create situations to lead him wherever you like."
Like wagging a skewer around and asking if there was any food he would like to try, sneaky son of a…!
Shiro struggled to breathe as slowly as possible: even the gentle stream of air was oil on the fire in his throat. He could eat peppers and he could eat wasabi, no problem; but that…!
"Damn you to hell and beyond, what the fuck was that?!" he wheezed, tears streaming down his cheeks.
"I believe humans call it Devil's Tongue." He twirled the skewer between his fingers with a pleasant smile. "Can't imagine why~"
A/N:
Onibi are demon fireballs.
Obi is the sash worn around the waist with kimonos. (yes, you probably know already)
Harionna is a beautiful female demon with long, breathtaking hair where each hair is tipped with a barb.
Kamaitachi is described as a wind demon taking the shape of a weasel with sickle like claws.
Hoshi no tama is that sphere you often see kitsune depicted with. Accounts have different theories about what it actually is, but since most of them agree it has to do with the kitsune's power, and that the demon doesn't want to part from it, I just decided to make it the kitsune's heart: it seems to fall in line with how demons work in AnE.
Temari is a traditional Japanese handball made from cloth.
Tsurube-otoshi is pea shooting.
Devil's Tongue is the world's seventh hottest pepper. I've given Mephisto's cooking some thought, and I don't he's that poor a chef – at least not by Gehenna standards. I think he just likes extremely spicy food… Suppose you could take it for a little simile, if you like: don't make the mistake of trusting the sweetness of a devil's tongue, for it will burn you. =P
Shiro's birthday is the 10th of May. I mentioned that the meeting would be on that date in ch 46, hoping that you would have forgotten about that by now (he had)... =P
Rhymes are something I do from time to time in this fic, when Mephisto is in a theatrical mood. Most of the time I aim to make them sound like something he could have said in Goethe's Faust but sometimes I just play around.