The Ties that Bind

by Aemeneol Aetherisch

Anarchy is good for you. When Cravat and his partner are transferred from their position in Little Tokyo to Daten City, his life on Earth will turn into a chaotic roller-coaster of sex, insanity, and Ghost hunting. But hey, it'll be one hell of a fun ride

11. Chapter 11 Sick Day Dreams

Chapter 11 – Sick Day Dreams

A scythe whiffed over his head as he got down to pick up a quarter. What? A lucky quarter's a lucky quarter. Cravat stood straight and looked to his front. Kneesocks charged him with a full-on battle-cry. He swung his right whip out in front of him. The trail of light crackled as it wrapped around Kneesocks' scythe. With one fluid motion, the scythe flew out of her hands, landing a ways behind Cravat. He tucked the quarter into the pocket of his trench-coat, the same one Kneesocks gave him as a uniform a long time ago. He didn't give any excuses on why he still wore it, even though school's been out for almost a month. After that explosion it would be a while – a long while – before that place could be rebuilt. No more undercover shit. Just hunting Ghosts all-day-erry-day from now on. Of course, there was also the occasional slugfest with the Daemon sisters. It was one of those occasions right now.

"Can we not do this today Kneesocks? I've got a killer headache," he asked out as he sidestepped a swipe from Kneesocks' second scythe. Truth be told, he was feeling really sluggish. It's like someone put sticky-tack on his joints. They just didn't respond that quickly. He took a heel to the gut and flew across the asphalt. The highway was getting jammed from their little skirmish. A ways away, bullets and swords clashed. Panty was off having sex with god knows who right now, so Stocking was holding off Scanty. The goth girl deflected each shot with precision, sending the bullets right back to the older of the Daemon sisters, who wasn't letting anything get close. A stand-off with neither side was relenting. On Cravat's end however, he could feel the temptation of simply lying there and hoping Kneesocks would go away. She nearly cleaved his head off, which dispelled any illusion of that scenario ever happening.

"I recommend some aspirin," Kneesocks suggested before crashing down with her scythe. Battlefield-banter. It's somehow become a normal thing with the two of them. What's more, they're conversations seemed to be downright civilized, despite the events that were transpiring around them. "Or a Paracetamol."

Cravat awkwardly dodged another swipe at him and fell over. In moments, a scythe was at his throat. He groaned. Kneesocks adjusted her glasses with her free hand.

"Bah, this won't do," she muttered, dematerializing her scythe and offering him a hand. "There is no point in vanquishing an enemy in a state as pathetic as yours."

(Oh blah blah,) Cravat thought. He had cold sweat running down his neck. It helped relieve his migraine somewhat but his body still ached like a bitch. Felt like Jell-O too. (Mmmm… Jell-O…) Cravat took her hand and got up. How she kept her hand that soft and smooth was beyond his understanding. Extra-strength moisturizer, probably. "What does that make this… two-to-four?"

Him being the two, of course. Keeping track of a point where they could've finished each other off but didn't. Kind of like an I.O.U. thing. Kneesocks looked at him in disappointment. "Unfortunately yes. You have been quite the slacker lately," She said in a high-and-mighty tone.

"Well sorry for being sick."

"How could expect to best me if you cannot even protect yourself from a measly illness."

First of all, he didn't even know how this 'Race-to-10-wins-and-I-get-to-kill-you' deal started. And what was with her lecturing him all the time? Suggesting things that would be disadvantageous for your own side didn't seem like something a genius like Kneesocks would do. Then again, she's let him live for this long. She was weird that way.

"Remind me why you haven't killed me again…?"

Kneesocks shifted. "As a Demon I still take pride in the prey I destory. I merely do not want to be known as 'That Demon who defeated that Angel who looked like he was about to pass out from standing up.'"

"… I see." he merely agreed. He wasn't up for an argument. He could collapse right then and there but he had to keep face. Why? He didn't know himself. He just felt himself get conscious whenever he was fighting with her. Was his form okay? Did he hit her too hard? Did he look like an idiot when she almost chopped his arm off? Was she secretly judging him in every single way? He felt his vision get blurry. She put her hand on his forehead.

"You won't last very long in that state."

Bah, to hell with keeping face. Cravat dejectedly relented. Letting his muscles go slack, he fell backwards onto the pavement.

-0-0-0-0-0-

It's like someone dropped an entire island on his head. Sure, he's literally survived being blasted right into an island before without much fuss, courtesy of Scanty, but the point was it REALLY hurt right now. He tried to grasp at where he was. Skulls, stuffed-toys, darkness, and smelled like diabetes had sex with a sugar cane farm.

"Stocking's room…" or rather, his room as well. He was lying on his bed, still in his clothes from the fight. It must've been sometime in the evening judging from the moonlight shining through the windows. "Wonder where Stocking is…" As if on cue, she entered, clad in a towel. She must've taken a shower.

"You weigh a ton you know. Sheezus," she complained, cleaning out her ear with a cotton-bud. "Panty managed to distract them long enough for me to haul you back to See-Through."

Alone, Panty managed to hold off two Daemon sisters whilst he barely managed to match one. Wonderful. Just wonderful. He sat up, but it felt like the sky was sitting on him.

"I feel like crap."

"Other than you being worth that much, you seem to be draining your energy a little too much lately. Your powers will go haywire and fuck you up if you do that. I was throwing up for an entire week once."

When he thought about it, it was pretty interesting. No no, not the Stocking throwing up story, though that did make a peculiar mental image in his head. The goth girl was right there, wet and clad in a towel, in all her buxom glory, and she didn't mind. Well, this wasn't the first time. She seems to have been doing it frequently lately. Along with her hissy fits.

"You don't mind just standing there in a towel?" he asked passively.

"No, do you?"

"Well, no, but-"

"Then stop complaining." She stripped right then and there, revealing herself to him. She approached him, but even before she was close he shot up from his bed and pushed her down onto her own, parting her thighs with his right leg. Oh, but he knew better. He knew exactly what to ask. He wasn't an idiot. He was an idiot whose sickness was jacking his brain up.

"Another dream?"

She moaned provocatively. "Close," she wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing him nearer to her. He could feel her breath, but he kept a straight face. She pushed her body right up to his. Well fuck it, poker face gone. Before he could say anything she put a finger on his lips.

"You're just hallucinating."

Poof.

He found himself still sitting up, and looking at Stocking, the exact moment before she dropped her towel. (It always stops at the good part.)

Stocking walked forwards and out of his line of sight. "You look here and I will stab you," there was a slight hint of detest in her words.

"Wouldn't dream of it." He chuckled, albeit half-heartedly. As soon as Stocking gave him the green light, he laid back down. She loomed over him, examining him from head to toe. She was wearing baggy, dark-blue pajamas, which seemed like a size or two too big. The sleeves were almost past her hands. He was feeling pretty dizzy, but he felt her hand on his head.

"I doubt you'll be able to go on patrol with us tomorrow."

"Habit can go. She's been rearing to kick some Demon ass," he said almost absent-mindedly.

"And what if a Ghost winds up here? You'd die, idiot." her tone was a little sharp.

"I'll be fine, s'not like I can't fight…" he dismissed the beginnings of another rage session and tried getting up, but he just seemed so drained. "Feels like someone lodged cement blocks into my system."

"Bah, just get some damn rest. Whatever happened it's probably your fault anyway."

He wasn't listening anymore. He'd gone straight to dreamland, silent as the night. At least he was a heavy sleeper. Then Stocking did something she couldn't rationalize the reason for.

She kissed him on the forehead.

The excess energy he'd been exerting made his skin feel like a bed of hot coals. But he was warm. Maybe all this time all she wanted was to feel that kind of warmth again. It'd been a while since her fiancé had moved on. Was she trying to find someone? Could she? It didn't feel right replacing what she'd lost. But maybe… maybe Cravat could…

She shook her head violently. She wasn't about to degenerate into some stereotype. This is not a fucking… okay, that saying's been used too much. He wasn't even that attractive… sort of. He was more like a… puppy. Fine, she admitted, a relatively tolerable, relatively interesting, oblivious-to-a-fault puppy that peeved her to the point she thought about what it would be like to go dancing in the sheets with, but not anything to write home about. She'd lashed out at him in a quite a few times for the past few weeks and she didn't know why. Just a while ago she was almost about to start screaming at him again. She didn't want him to get close. It would hurt if she lost someone again. That's why she would get back what she lost.

She remembered her agreement. She climbed back into her bed, cursing at herself. She resigned herself to looking at Cravat, then imagining slicing his head clean off.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Fuckshit. First thought that came to his head. Fuck-shit-noisy-ass-birds-chirping-shit-fuck. Outside canaries or woodpeckers or whatever they were made noise like there was no tomorrow. Mornings with a migraine and you wake up to high-pitched animal calls. Not a good way to have a pleasant day. Each squeak rang in his ears, and he held his pillow to his head as he sat up, trying to blot out the noise as best he could. He got up, deciding he should wear something that was more comfortable. Stocking seemed to be gone. Must've gone out for patrol already. He groggily started making his way to the closet, which seemed to infinitely get farther and farther away with each pathetic stride. Actually, it was more like with each pathetic inch he dragged his feet along. Angels could short-circuit and feel like shit the next morning apparently. Who knew?

Shouldn't he have known? He wasn't exactly an expert on how everything worked. He just took them at face value. Holy weaponry? Check. Limited Invulnerability? Check. Ability to overload yourself? Apparently, check. Who was he to question the extremely complicated workings of a celestial being?

(You know…) A voice in his head started.

(Oh not you again.) Cravat managed to grab a change of clothes. A plain grey T-Shirt and some red shorts.

(Yes me. You'll never get rid of me you know. By the way your migraines and whatever the hell else is painful for ya? My fault, sorry. Not really. You seem to have been needing a little extra oomph to keep me from taking over again haven't you?)

(Yeah well thanks. Now we're both stuck taking a sick day. What the am I supposed to do for twenty-four damn hours?) In the name of all that is holy, what was he going to do? He remembered the last time he was stuck at home all day because of a school holiday. The girls went off to pick up guys and shop. He was stuck at home, trying to play a console game or two, which he eventually got tired of. He read an entire novel, went to pace around the church nine or so times, and made himself a grilled macaroni and bacon cheese sandwich. And that was only during the morning.

(Read a book.)

(Already finished all of so and so and The Olympians novels.)

(Even the last two?)

(Well no, I don't own those yet. Plus those are called Heroes of Olympus) He wished he'd told Habit to grab a copy when they went to the bookstore a few weeks back. Now he was too lazy or too occupied to even attempt to acquire it.

(Well, I'm out of ideas. You're on your own. I'll be here trying to wrest control again if you need me.)

Thanks a lot. Interior monologues. Fun, but soon he would probably believe the other voice in his head was real.

(That's because I AM real.)

Whatever. To quote something he heard on T.V.: I'm a sociopath, I need to meet other people, I'm a schizophrenic, (Now in a deep raspy voice) I AM other people.

(No, you're an idiot.)

Thank you captain obvious. As he dismissed his other voice, he found himself already in front of the fridge. The heart wants what the heart wants. He opened it up and found an entire liter of mango puree, pristine and untouched. He called over to Garterbelt, who was busy preparing for lunch, if he could have the entire thing.

"Just don't make a mess," the big man said dismissively. Probably wasn't even paying attention. "Now where did I put those boxes of crickets I ordered…"

Cravat blinked. Looks like he would be ordering Fast Food for lunch. Not that he didn't like Garterbelt's cooking, but sometimes the guy experimented on things so much once he tried to feed all of them some Chocolate Covered Cockroach Bites with little black toppings he was pretty sure weren't chocolate chips. He popped open the lid of the mango puree and sat in front of the couch, listening to the news, flipping from channel to channel, eventually settling on National Geographic watching some apparently authentic videos of out-of-body experiences. Soon he found the bottle of puree empty, and Garterbelt was already prepping the microwave. It smelled of dead insects and hamster droppings. Or what he hypothesized was anyway. He felt his legs give way a little.

(Whoa…) Maybe he really should lie down for a while. He was pretty sure that whatever he had was going to make him fall right into a boiling pot of oil if he wasn't careful. He made his way back up the stairs and quietly closed the door behind him. Lunch could wait. He made his way to the nearest, softest looking thing and jumped it. In a matter of seconds, he was back in dreamland.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Well shit. He knew where he was. Darkness, all around, with invisible flooring. Back in his shattered mind. Nothing ever made sense when he visited, which was getting a little too often for comfort. The other guy(?) explained that this was supposed to be where Cravat saw his memories, but everything was blank. But he could remember things, so why didn't they show up here?

"As I've explained to the umpteenth time, it's because this ain't your body. It's mine. Ever hear of Descartes? Mind – Body thing. Well, in a way I guess," That voice again, from somewhere around him. Almost like his, but it was colder, more cynical.

"I think I've heard of Descartes. Philosophy classes at school. Interesting, but boring as hell," Cravat replied. A dark figure approached. It was him, almost exactly, except with bleached white hair and green eyes. Cravat(?) was looking worse for wear, with dark bags under his eyes and he looked a little thin. "What's wrong with you?"

Cravat(?) crossed his arms. "To be blunt, I think I'm fading. S'what happens to your consciousness if you don't inhabit your own body or if something inhabits it with you. One minute you're trying to gain back control and the next, poof. You're gone and never again remembered." Cravat(?) waved a motion in the air. "You don't look too good either."

A mirror materialized in front of him. Cravat had bags under his eyes too. It's like someone sucked fifteen pounds right out of him, his collarbones almost jutting out of his chest. "Well that's a disturbing sight."

"It's not your real body you're seeing, but the state of your consciousness. On the outside, you're fine. But bodies were never hardwired to handle two inhabiting minds, even if the other one belongs to a Ghost," Cravat(?) said simply. "So right now we're both degenerating. Until one of us relents. Which probably won't be any time soon. Like I said, you're killing us both by not letting me get back to my body."

"You keep saying 'Ghost'," Cravat started, swishing his hand through the mirror. It dissipated, and he was face-to-face with his other-self. "You're really trying to convince me I'm a Ghost aren't you?"

"Considering you're still following that trail of conversation, you've already thought of the possibility of it, no?"

Well, it was a little unnerving to be called a Ghost. Especially when every other Ghost you encounter calls you one, trying to 'get him back on the other side'. "Well if I'm a Ghost why am I here? I should be rampaging or something."

Cravat(?) let out a huge sigh. "Look, it's either what you wanted to do before you died is possess someone and annoy the shit out of their mind, or you wanted to be someone else. Someone who's actually worth something, and believe me, when I look at your memories, you were pretty worthless compared to who you are now. Well, that and some Ghosts don't really rampage. Remember that goth girl's fiancé?"

Cravat did, but he wanted to kind of forget. He was honestly… a little jealous. He could always go for Kneesocks, but seeing as they're both trying to kill each other every few days, that didn't seem plausible at the moment. Cravat(?) waved his hand again in front of him, and something like an LCD screen popped up. Something like a school insignia floated in the middle, something that felt very familiar. Cravat tried to wrap his head around where he'd seen this before, but every time he did, something inside him was screaming not to remember. There was a sting at the side of his head. His mind was fighting him head-on, not wanting him to even try.

You're better off as you are now. Don't go digging up that past.

"I'm not telling you outright what you were, it's more fun watching you realize and slowly fade. You know, just for kicks."

Cravat dismissed the illusion again. "Seriously, who are you?" Cravat(?) paced around, keeping silent about it. After a few more moments, he looked like he had an explanation.

"Clone, twin, poser, Doppleganger. Whatever you want to call me. I'm your 'what if', and you're mine. I got the sweet deal, while you lived a normal life. Look, I'm a little fuzzy on the details by now, can't think straight anymore. All I can manage to remember is if we ever meet, which we did, we both die. We're like two negatives. We cancel each out."

Slowly, with the power of Algebra, it was starting to make some sense. Just a little. Cravat still didn't get why he was in someone else's body.

"So what happened to my old body? Or, rather, my real body?"

"It's gone. Either that or it's waiting for your soul to reclaim it. Then again, most Ghosts that get purged or pass on peacefully never want to go back. They don't have anything keeping them here anymore. That's exactly why they move on in the first place." They both felt a rumble, and their dark little world began to fall apart.

"Looks like you've got some Ghosts to kill. Now wake up."

Now wake up. Well he remembered that much. Ghosts… more things about Ghosts. He always heard and saw things whenever he went to sleep. He could never remember much after, like a little memory blockade just happened to pop open when he left his dream-world. Not that it was much of a world. All dark and empty… Well that's new. He could remember the world now too. And a face… a familiar face…

Cravat tried to get a feel for something. He felt better, a lot better than this morning. It was probably late afternoon by now, judging by the sky. Recharged, he got up and stretched. He heard a rumble outside. He saw various shapes in the distance. One of them was obviously a Ghost, a relatively large bull, rampaging through the highway, destroying most of the cars in its path. Casualties were piling up.

"I better get over there."

-0-0-0-0-0-

Well this was bullshit. Ho ho, she made a pun. That thing was rampaging through the highway like nobody's business. The thing wouldn't stop either. Whatever its beef was – wow she was on a roll today – with anything and everything, it wasn't about to let a bunch of Angels and a human to ruin its fun. Panty swooped right in front of it, her red, one-piece dress flaring out like a matador's cape. Toro, bitch, I fucking dare you.

The Ghost got the message. It flared its nostrils, or whatever remotely looked like it anyway, and readied to charge. Panty shot at it, but it used its horns to deflect her bullets away from their otherwise dead-on flight path. The bull rose on its haunches, before slamming down. It didn't charge, it just created a shockwave strong enough it sent the blonde flying across the pavement. She cursed under her breath, picking herself up and began running towards the bull. Now she was the one being led on. The Ghost jumped up high, obviously it didn't look like it could but it did anyway, and swerved itself back down to earth, its horns combining into one menacing, spiraling drill, heading right towards Panty as if she had a gigantic target sign on her, which she kind of did. Panty dove at the last second, the bull barely grazing her, just taking a little nick out of her dress. Whatever was barely covering her before now acted like a coincidental censorship bar. Whenever she flipped in the air it didn't matter anyway, so it was kind of moot.

Habit went for her throwing knives, ripping the side of her skirt for easier access, and got four in each hand. She let loose a first volley, which managed to snag the bull's broad back as it tried to remove its horns from the sizable hole it'd created when it missed Panty. The bull managed to break free from the concrete, and charged Habit, its eyes flaring with newfound rage.

"PENETRATE EVERYTHING!" it shouted.

For some reason most of the Ghosts they've fought have had sexual undertones to it. Habit nimbly jumped up, using the bull's back as a landing. Had it been weakened? Those knives at its back seemed to be sapping the strength out of it. Then, its one eye went dark. Not suddenly, it felt something pierce through. A dagger found its way through its eye-socket, and blood as black as night sprayed out. In brightest day, in blackest night~

Unfortunately the bull was now raging mad. It overcame the weakness the holy knives had been working on it. It felt the need to penetrate anything and everything and anyone. It's drill-horn spun wildly, and it grew even more of them out of its body. It began shooting spinning drills everywhere, along with its already annoying charging and shockwave slams, which seemed to sprout drills now too.

"Well fuck this we can't even get close," Panty spat, taking refuge behind a few piled up cars.

"Sorry, it seemed like a good idea to keep stabbing it," Habit apologized, barely avoiding a drill as it flew over their heads. Stocking was nowhere to be seen. "Stocking?" Habit called out.

The goth seemed to have an idea, because she readily launched herself through the air, using each and every drill that flew at her as a stepping stone to get to her target. Panty had crazy-ass firepower, Socking had amazing acrobatic skill. If they were up to full power, none of that would've mattered, but right now they had their limitations, and Panty couldn't muscle her way through this one. Stocking leapt through gracefully, almost getting impaled on more than one occasion, but she concentrated enough to get close. Dangerously close. If you've ever learned anything about Science, there's this quaint little thing called entropy. In summary, it's basically a law that a system will eventually fuck up. Okay, so that's used for thermodynamics, but hell, it's applicable to anything.

After all those beautifully executed feints and lunges, she fucked up. A drill was a little too out of her reach, and she tried to go for it. She barely nicked it, and she tripped up, falling towards the demon. She was trying to get into a position above it, and just quickly stab its still-exposed back, but no dice. She was falling right into a pit of spinning doom. Then she felt lighter. Something had wrapped itself around her body, and pulled her, almost violently, away from her death, slightly shocking her in the process as well. She couldn't complain. Being the masochist that she was, she practically welcomed it. Who could have given her such euphoria at a time like this?

'Oh you have got to be fucking with me,' she thought through an involuntary and disturbingly pleasured moan. She looked at her body. Those distinctive trails of light, that mild electricity that flowed through. Ghost Kiras. He just had to play hero. He set her down beside him, looking at her with a 'Seriously? With my whips? Seriously?' kind of expression.

"I didn't ask for your damn help!" she shouted. Cravat retracted his whips quickly. The friction it caused on her made her moan involuntarily again. He raised his eyebrows.

"Wow. Just wow."

"Fuck this I'm killing that son of a bitch right now. Shouldn't you be, like, resting or some shit?"

Good to see you too. Oh and no problem, I just saved your life, but okay. "I feel better. Plus it looked like you needed help."

"Yeah well fuck you," she lashed out again. What was up with her? Here we go again. She was lashing out at him. Her face was hot from his little rescue act. She'd pretty much remained celibate since that New Year's thing. Maybe she just needed a good fuck. Too much pent up sexual frustration. Whatever it was, she was getting crankier and crankier. She didn't need it to be Cravat, for all she cared she could go with Panty, hook up with some guy, and call it a day, but he was an immediate resource. That and he was really fucking good with those whips, even if it was involuntary.

"Did you catch Panty's swear-bug or something? Is that contagious?"

"Just stand the hell back, I've got a Ghost to mess up," Stocking stood, with fire in her cyan eyes. Well okay, Ms. PMS, whatever you say.

"Okay, geez," he noticed it too, that she was getting pretty aggressive towards him. Whatever it was on her mind she never told him, and it always ended with her huffing away, her fine little ass swaying provocatively as she did. Involuntary, voluntary, whatever the hell, it was getting pretty distracting. He was forgiving, sure, but even he had his limits, metaphorically and physically speaking. If that hallucination showed him something, it was that he was at his breaking point. He wasn't the one being pushed around. He was on top of her, and he was ready to take point. But right now he would relent. He would stand back like a good boy.

It's a good thing he did. Whatever got into her, she channeled it so well it was scary. You can't really explain the massacre that happened. Drills, hundreds of drills, all redirected, all at once, along with a pretty vicious overhand slash. The bull looked like a mutilated beehive, bleeding profusely, begging to be put out of its misery. Stocking obliged, obviously, but not before having a little fun gutting it. Cravat didn't know you could even do that to a Ghost. Its throes of despair reached far along the city, and two would-be assailants decided now was not a good time to go into a duel with the Angels. They all got home that evening, banged up, exhausted, but two heavens richer. They all sat around the dinner table, poking at scraps of chocolate crickets and buttered newts. Panty decided she wouldn't go and pick up guys tonight. It's been like that lately. Ghosts have been getting stronger. Not enough time to just pick a guy up and fuck him all night long. The one guy who was near enough was trying to avoid sexual relations with his teammates. Of course, right about now it was nearing its tipping point where a sexy goth girl was concerned.

"What's up with you lately?" he asked from across the table. She tried to avoid eye-contact, focusing on stabbing the cricket which still seemed to be alive as it kept avoiding her fork. He followed her eyes relentlessly with his own, until he managed to lock them in place.

"Just buzz off would you?" she finally stabbed it, and ate the entire thing whole. Chocolate is chocolate.

"If you don't share your feelings it's going to gnaw at you from the inside out you know," he said coolly as he finished his roasted grasshopper. Stocking slammed her fist on the table, startling everyone.

"Why do you care so fucking much?" she meant it to sound a lot more aggressive, but it sounded like she was begging to know the answer. Don't let her down, she whispered in her mind. Please.

"Do I honestly need a reason?" he said, trying to keep his tone normal. "I just do."

"Not good enough, asshole."

"Dammit Stocking!" he stood up. He didn't know he even had that tone of voice. It kind of scared him. She was shocked too, but she couldn't show it. Enough of the calm approach bullshit, he thought. If he was going to get an answer he was getting it the hard way. He went around the table and grabbed her by the wrist, dragging her away, just outside the dining room. "You are starting to annoy the hell out of me! Now tell me, right to my face. What. The hell. Is wrong?"

Stocking looked at him. He had a crazed expression. She didn't know he was even capable of that. For as long as she'd known him, she didn't know this side. He never showed this side.

She was scared. Scared she might lose him if she tried to take things too far.

That fear slowly turned into anger again. Why do you want to know so much? Just stop it dammit! It all started when she was beginning to realize, all that time ago, she saw him with Kneesocks, on more than one occasion. How happy he looked. How she wasn't the one he was happy to be with. That Daemon girl and Cravat had gotten close. Closer than she wanted them to be. It wasn't fair. She lost her fiancé, the first one she's genuinely cared about in a long time, while he got to keep his… what was it, probably a happy crush or something? Even if they're trying to kill each other? What the hell kind of logic was that? Then she realized, she wasn't angry at Cravat. She was jealous of Kneesocks. She wanted to be her. She wanted to make him smile. She wanted to feel like someone wanted her again. Try as she might, the oblivious bastard never got the message. So she became angry again. Angry at herself, angry at Cravat, whomever whenever wherever. She just needed to vent. It was selfish, sure, but she didn't care. She was sick, in a way.

"Well?" He asked again. He was calming down.

Stocking stayed silent. She decided, then and there, on something drastic. Something that might make him forget all about Kneesocks. Even if it didn't, maybe if she did what she was about to do, she would finally get some peace of mind. He might even hate her if it didn't work, but if it did, it would be a load off, in more ways than one. Maybe it really just was sexual frustration. She started to drag him upstairs towards their room while the other three watched like moviegoers to a horribly scripted drama. As she got through the doorway she flung him over to her bed, and he barely got his balance back. She nimbly locked the door and went up to him, tiptoeing so she was almost face-to-face with him. "You know what? I hate you, that's what's wrong. You pry on everything I do like it's your damn business, so stop prying and then maybe I'll stop being so damn moody all the time!"

Where the hell did that come from? "Are you saying it's my fault?"

"Yeah, I'm saying it's your fault, what are you, deaf?" She stuck her tongue out at him. He hated it when people were being irrational. She pushed him down on the bed and went on top of him. "You're…!" she started shaking him. Real tears were streaming down her cheeks. She was starting to relieve some stress, one way or the other. "Stupid stupid stupid!"

"You're acting like a damn kid!" he flipped her over, he was on top now. He pinned her arms to the bed. "Would you calm down for a sec?"

"I'm not hearing anything lalalalala~"

"DEAR GOD!" He was about to snap. He was really close to it. She was being an immature little bitch. She kicked him in the gut, wriggling free from his grasp. He rolled off her, gasping for breath.

She started to undo her clothes. She was still in her usual black Lolita outfit, albeit torn up from the battle. She only half-undid it, leaving on the blouse underneath, her panties, and her stockings. She mounted him again, and Cravat saw what she'd done.

"Wh-what the hell are you doing?"

"WE'RE GOING TO HAVE ANGRY SEX AND YOU ARE GOING TO LIKE IT." she tried to sound angry, but there was ever a slightness of anticipation in her voice.

"DEAR LORD IS THAT WHAT YOU WANTED ALL ALONG?" he shouted frantically. Okay, fine, he'd call her bluff. He flipped her over, so her back and her ass were facing him and he pinned her down with one hand as he frantically undid the buttons on his coat. He barely got his coat off before she managed to wriggle free and mount him again. Do a barrel roll!

"JUST SO YOU KNOW I'M A VIRGIN OKAY?" he shouted, involuntarily. Wow she was taking this bluff far. He was getting a little nervous. Pinch pinch. Nope, not waking up. Not yet anyway.

"NOT WHEN I'M DONE WITH YOU!" she shouted back, her face flushed and red. This was fucking embarrassing. Then she noticed something. Where were his… "Oh dammit…"

She got flipped over again, and this time, Cravat tied her hands and feet with his Ghost Kiras. Not the most glorious of roles they've played in his life, but hey. Dream or not, he wasn't going to be on the bottom this time. They were both probably sick on something. She was sick in the head, he was sick of being pushed around. He tied her at the ankles, so he had enough room to slip between her legs, in one awkward motion, so he was right on top of her, face-to-face. Hi there, I will be your partner tonight, please try to act as if you're enjoying it so it won't bruise my ego, thank you for your patronage. He wiped the tears off her cheeks. She looked at him.

And she genuinely smiled. That set him off.

Was it the adrenaline? Probably the adrenaline, because before he knew it his hands were roaming all over her, and he had her in a lip-lock. She tried to muffle her moans, but she wasn't doing a bang up job.

Puns. Hell yeah.

After a while, it occurred to him. Holy shit, this isn't a dream. This is really happening. If it was a dream, don't let him wake up.

DO NOT.

WAKE HIM UP.

He pulled back. Her face was red and flustered, her eyes a little glazed over and trying to grasp at what sanity she had left going for her. He probably wasn't doing any better. "I hope you're prepared for the consequences." He said sternly, looking at her with intent so clear he had crazy eyes going. She had to bite back a whimper before responding, with all the confidence in she could muster, which was still a lot, everything considering.

"Bring it, bitch."

Author's Notes: Soooo, another late update. But yeah, I had fun with this one. Wink wink. Nudge nudge. Ish ish. Yeaaah. Might make another chapter in the middle of the week, who knows. I'm on sem break, anything can happen. At the same time, maybe nothing. Blech. Thank you to all those who've reviewed. It's appreciated~