AN: Success! -fist pump- Yuki-chan finally let me get somewhere~ Yeyeyey~ It feels so good to be updating all three stories almost in consecutive days, I feel so productive :DD

Much love to everyone who took the time to read, and review, all my hearts go out to you~ -heartheart- Special mention, though, to a guest named Kawaii, who will be celebrating her birthday next month~ Cheers! Happy birthday :D I hope made it on time for an early birthday gift :)

First

Ten seasons in, and Viscount Sanada Genichirou is still woefully unmarried - a feat that surprises many, for it is sure that the dear viscount possesses all the good looks (and good money) that any young lady or young man, and more importantly, their beloved mamas, could desire. He is certainly of age to marry, eight-and-twenty now, but he still shows no decided interest in any member of the ton that is of proper parentage, and has the curious, curious tendency to curiously disappear, often curiously before the start of the season.

Indeed, the Countess Sanada can now be often seen lamenting the woes of a bachelor son who, as the rest of Tokyo is beginning to learn, has tragically no talent for marriage. She is beginning to speak of old age rather frequently, and she has yet to see a grandchild.

Surely, that is not her desire.

from The Society Pages, as written by Lady Shiba

It was a crime, one deserving of the punishment of the gallows, that Sanada was not married.

Or so Sanada's mother liked to say. And she said it so very often, especially when she was pestering him, and his father, about finding Sanada a suitable match. His father had the good sense to remain quiet, having learned his lesson after all those years married to Sanada's mother, and it was probably just as well, because if he had the good sense, then Sanada could dutifully follow his example.

Like a good son.

And he was a good son, his mother would rant. He was also a viscount, heir-apparent to the Sanada Earldom, and was the cousin of a duke. No one could find any fault on his bloodlines, nor his stellar connections. No one could find any fault on his face, either, for he was young and handsome, but that would certainly change, because he would not be staying young for very long and that was why it was imperative that he must marry now.

More importantly, Sanada had a brain. A brain, by the way, that he knew very well to use.

Most importantly, Sanada had a non-receding hairline, and very straight teeth.

Which was more than anyone could say for mere Mister Momoshiro Takeshi (Sanada was a Lord, she would emphasize, a Lord!), who had snagged last season's most eligible, the Lady Tachibana Ann. Lady Tachibana Ann who happened to be the Viscount Tachibana's sister and the Earl of Chitose's niece, and who happened to have been on the top of his mother's Lineup.

Number one, to be precise. His mother still glared at him for letting her slip through his fingers.

The only thing that Sanada usually got from moments like these is that his mother did not think that he would look very handsome when he became very old. Which, of course, did tremendous wonders to one's self-esteem.

Sanada had half a mind to gallivant around women, just to spite her. But, different kind of women.

The ones that you did not marry.

Don't get Sanada wrong, he knew his duties. He was a viscount, because his father was an earl, and someday, it would be Sanada standing at the head of the earldom, too. He was the first son, the only son, and so he had, ever since he was born, a decree from the universe itself to go forth and multiply.

And then, if one was not yet blessed with a son, go forth and multiply some more.

But Sanada could not marry, and he most emphatically could not marry anyone who was in any number of his mother's Lineup.

It was not his mother, honestly. Sanada loved his mother, no matter the matrimonial fervor that had gripped her ever since Kunimitsu betrayed him and married so early in.

It was that Sanada did not underestimate his mother, and her uncanny ability to locate insane marriage prospects.

Everytime she sat Sanada down for a talk about this one young lady - which almost always became eight young ladies, and some young men thrown in just because - they always turned out to be too talkative, too crass, too not-very-right-in-the-head (and Sanada was even being nice because A Perfect Gentlemen Is Nice, even to people who are... not very right in the head).

But really, there were a million and one young, unmarried people in Tokyo. She could have easily found a beautiful, preferably blue-eyed, honey-haired young lady or man, preferably with a brain or at the very least, common sense, who can stand walking from Point A to Point Z without stopping for Point F, Point Q and Point Twelve-Point-Five along the way, and who, most preferably, was not married to his cousin.

So how come, every time Sanada thought she could not find anyone crazier than the last marriage prospect number seventy-sixth (not that Sanada would know, he would only know if he was counting, which he wasn't)...

She does.

But really, there were a million and one young, unmarried people in Tokyo. All the odds are in Sanada's mother's favor.

How is it even possible that, among all million and one young, unmarried people, she got hold of only all the crazy ones?

How is that possible? How?

...Someone, somewhere was probably laughing his head off. Sanada dearly hoped that person choked on his laughter.

But that was not even the least of his problems, no.

Because Sanada Genichirou, who had spent all his life endeavoring to be a Perfect Gentleman, had gone and done something that any perfect gentleman should never, never do.

Sanada Genichirou was in love with his cousin's wife.

And that was the true reason why he could not marry.

Except he could not say that to his mother, of all people, because if there ever was anything heart-attack-inducing, it was that. And as much as Sanada loathed her marriage fervor, he did not wish his mother dead.

Which was why when Sanada's friend invited him to a ball all the way in Chiba, Sanada did not hesitate to say yes. Nevermind the fact that he did not have anything in common with anyone in Chiba, the good thing about it was that it was in Chiba.

In Chiba, as in away from Tokyo.

Or, in more precise terms, away from his mother.

The bad thing about it was that Sanada possessed the traditional Sanada hair, and Sanada face, and Sanada body structure... Well, it can be said that Sanada looked very much like his (also stoic) father and (even more stoic) ancestors. And so, people, even the ones in Chiba-away-from-Tokyo, knew exactly who he was. Or almost exactly.

The worse thing about it was, Sanada was in Chiba-away-from-Tokyo, and he did not know any of the people. Which meant that he cannot mentally sort the married ladies from the unmarried ladies, and married men from the unmarried men, and therefore, could not stay on one designated Safe Zone for long, lest that lady batting her eyelashes at him was unmarried.

The worst thing about it was, even the married ladies went after him. And Sanada was certainly not okay with that. Because while Sanada was okay with going to that special place in hell especially reserved for people who want to beget their cousin's wives, one can only imagine precisely where in hell Sanada would land for wanting to beget his cousin's wife and begetting someone else's wife entirely.

"Sanada-sama!" someone exclaimed, and Sanada mentally groaned. He turned, and gave a polite nod to a lady he was certain was at least thirty years his senior.

"You are Sanada-sama, aren't you?" she continued. "Of course you are, I can recognize Sanada men anywhere. So which one are you? The viscount or the earl?"

Sanada dearly wanted to say the earl - the married one, just like you.

But A Perfect Gentleman Did Not Lie.

"The viscount," he replied.

"I thought so!" she exclaimed. "Oh, you must wait here while I call my daughter."

Good Lord, another one.

"Her name is Miss Tomoka."

Sanada grunted, half-listening as Miss Tomoka's mother listed off all of her daughter's darling qualities.

"...and she thought that you were the earl, but I told her no. You are much too young and..."

Sanada decided that enough was enough, Chiba-away-from-Tokyo was worse than Tokyo after all.

So while the woman went off to find her daughter, Sanada went off to find his host. The Sanadas had a cottage, not that far away from here, and a manor home that was also not that very far away. He could go to any of those, if it was too late to make the journey home.

Sanada honestly did not care where he would go, but he certainly was not going to wait there for darling Miss Tomoka, who, he could wager in all good faith, was just as talkative as her mother.

It occured to Yukimura Seiichi that perhaps he could have found a better time to want to find a new job.

He certainly knew that he was pressed for time, but maybe asking to resign while his employers were throwing the largest ball they have ever thrown in their home was not that very well thought through.

Yukimura would normally not have done it. He liked Madam Sengoku enough. Unlike his previous employer, she did not try make him work as a maid when she thought that he was not working hard enough. And Yukimura certainly worked hard, he had earned his keep.

But this ball was going to be the last ball the Sengokus will throw before they would go off to business and leave their home in the country alone.

Of course, that was all well and good, but said home contained his employers' son. Who was unfortunately smitten with him. And then Yukimura would not even be planning routes from A to B anymore, because now Sengoku-san would have the whole house to himself.

Yukimura did not really want to know what kind of imaginations would strike Sengoku-san's fancy if he caught Yukimura in... the kitchen, for instance. Yukimura had counted five knives that he could use to defend himself, but there were a thousand and one other innocent things in there that could be used for something different entirely. Something different that, most unfortunately, aligned itself with Sengoku-san's less than innocent intentions.

Madam Sengoku, in all her finery, went from happy to shocked so quick her facial muscles were not able to catch up and she was caught between a half-smile and a half-open-mouth. It was not a flattering expression.

Yukimura did not blame her. Outside the study, the ball was still going on; the music filtered in despite the closed door. She had been quite radiant, only a while ago. Apparently, some viscount from Tokyo went and visited the ball. Even Yukimura knew that it was great news. A viscount, from Tokyo, visiting a nobody's ball. A nobody from the country, no less.

It was great news, and Sengoku-san (the father, not the son) took it as a sign that they were finally getting somewhere in Tokyo society.

Of course, Yukimura knew enough to stay well away out of Sengoku-san's illusions (ambitions, ehem).

"...and has anyone ever treated you badly in this house?" she asked, her voice high.

Your son, actually. As a matter of fact, he wants to have sex with me behind your back. But other than that, everyone else has been swell. But of course, Yukimura could not say that. "It's not that, Ma'am," he tried to say. "It's just I..."

And then there was a knock on the door. Like a good servant, Yukimura almost turned around and opened the door for the mistress of the house, but he sucked it up and stayed where he was, he was not a servant in this house any longer.

Madam Sengoku gave him a torn look, before calling out, "Enter."

And then silence.

Oh, the music still poured through from the now open door.

But in the room, it was completely different.

Because Yukimura, after years of playing tag with Sengoku-san (the son, not the father) had just about every practice at honing his senses on feeling whether or not eyes were directed on his person.

Or, more appropriately, eyes that were directed on not so appropriate parts of his person that should not be not-so-appropriately eyed in appropriate settings.

And those eyes that he could feel were definitely, definitely, staring at his ass.

Yukimura found himself praying to all the gods that he knew about, wishing it was not in any way, shape or form the Sengoku son.

And it wasn't.

"Viscount Sanada!" his mistress shrieked, hurrying around her desk to actually meet the man halfway.

Yukimura dutifully relegated himself off to the side, and kept his head bowed. Underneath the shade of his bangs, he sneaked a small peek at the all-important viscount.

Viscount Sanada was a tall, imposing man, with all the stiff stature and aristocratic bearing that Yukimura had long since associated with the duke who had been his father. Viscount Sanada's entire stance was more tense, however, and while his face was stoic, Yukimura did not miss the edge, like he was just shy of getting really, really ticked off.

...He was also had the body of what could have been a god, the face that could have been made for paintings and sculptures, and was incredibly, incredibly handsome.

Yukimura kicked himself, mentally.

That was definitely not the sort of thing a person of his station should be thinking about a viscount. More to the point, that was not the sort of thing a person of his station should be thinking about a viscount, who was likely to be an earl, and who also happened to have been staring at his behind not a few moments ago.

If Yukimura had learned any important life lesson from Sengoku-san (the son, not the father), it was that when people stared at your behind, it was usually for not so very innocent reasons that may or may not begin with the letter s, and coincidentally may or may not end with the letter x.

And as it turned out, that was actually a very useful, very accurate life lesson.

"I offer my regrets," the viscount was saying, bowing his head slightly, but not deeply, completely aware that he outranked everyone in this room, in this whole entire manor, even.

Arrogant asshole.

"But already?" Madam Sengoku was wheedling, wheedling. She never even wheedled to her husband, at least not anymore. "The ball has only just begun, Sanada-sama."

"Of course," the viscount replied. "But Chiba is so very far away, and my mother is expecting my return. You understand."

"Of course," Madam Sengoku answered weakly. Yukimura knew she did not particularly want to let the viscount go, he was her crowning glory in this whole ball. Fancy having a viscount visit a country ball. He was probably even going to become an earl. Fancy being the nobody family in the country that had connections to an earl.

But Yukimura also knew that she knew that she couldn't very well order him around. Her entire posture deflated as she gave the study another cursory glance, trying to find a last minute might-be-connection to the future earl.

And then, her eyes landed on Yukimura, who was trying to lodge his aforementioned behind into the wallpaper behind him.

And then she looked from Yukimura to Sanada and back to Yukimura again.

It was then that Yukimura realized that Madam Sengoku had decided that his loss as her employee in the manor could be overlooked.

Because then, she smiled. She smiled, in fact, like her son did when he found Yukimura in another compromising, completely off-guarded situation.

He could almost see the wheels beginning to turn in her lady head, as her head bobbed to Yukimura, then the viscount again.

Oh Lord no.

"You were heading to Tokyo, were you not, viscount?" Madam Sengoku asked sweetly, with a sweet, I-am-innocent face that people who were not-so-innocent liked to wear.

"Yes." The viscount looked unimpressed.

Almost as unimpressed as Yukimura felt when he lunged from the wall, servant propriety be damned to hell and back, and parked his feet in between Sanada and Madam Sengoku. He had worked for her long enough, he knew exactly what was going on in that brain.

Exactly.

And Yukimura, no matter how penniless and prospect-less he was, was not in any way, shape or form, riding with this viscount in his carriage all the way to Tokyo just so Madam Sengoku could brag and keep a connection.

Not if he could help it.

No way.

No.

A good thirty minutes later, Sanada found himself sacked with a servant.

Not that Sanada was complaining, because that was not what Perfect Gentlemen do. Even if the situation finds many justifiable cases for complaints. And maybe even if it finds just as much justifiable opportunities. But really, it was no trouble. It was not like Sanada's carriage did not have enough room, Sanada was not inconvenienced in any way.

Really, Sanada was not angry at all.

...Okay so maybe he was a tad bit irked at being manipulated so easily by a woman. Of all things, a woman. Sanada was a man. And men do not fear a woman's talkative mouth.

Sanada did not even know how it happened, only that he had gone into the pointed study to say his proper farewells alone, and went out with a reluctant, recently-resigned footman that he knew next to nothing about. And, who had a very shapely behind (ignoring that...).

But really that was all. Really.

It might also be that maybe Sanada had an issue that the footman looked more like a boy than a man. Or that maybe the boy looked more like a girl than a boy. Or maybe the girl-looking-boy looked just about as girl-looking as... well, Syusuke.

It wasn't so much of a similarity that Sanada could have claimed that the two were of the same blood, but certainly, this boy had the high cheekbones, the thick eyelashes, the rose lips. He was petite enough to be androgynous, with a face and a bearing that could have made for a very good parlor maid.

Parlor maids who, by the way, were hired for their aesthetic appeal.

He also had a very aesthetically appealling behind (still ignoring that).

He even had blue eyes.

Blue eyes.

How many people in Japan had blue eyes? More to that, how many servants in Japan had blue eyes? Sanada only knew of one, and that was Syusuke's companion, Kikumaru. But he was just the one. None of Sanada's servants certainly had blue eyes, Sanada would have noticed if anyone living under his roof had the same shade of eye color as Syusuke's.

And, he had a nice behind (look, just be patient for a bit, and then I'll assess that situation).

Sanada could barely stop staring at him.

And now he had to spend an entire ride from Chiba to Tokyo with him. Sanada doubted he'll survive. Oh, he'll have control, he'd always have. But he'd be clinging to every last shred of it, trying not to notice the boy who was in such close proximity. Trying not to notice how the boy looked almost-but-not-quite like Syusuke, every bit on that right, precarious balance between feminine and not that just one more trait would have tipped the scales.

Here was a boy whose every body part seemed to be created just so everything was bordering on feminine, but not quite crossing that line.

Here was a boy, whose face, eyes, and damned body structure reminded him of Syusuke, who was, last time Sanada checked (which was, unfortunately, not that long), still married to Sanada's cousin.

Here was a boy, whose very nice behi- (ALRIGHT, THE BOY HAD A NICE ASS. THERE. ADMITTED. MOVING ON.)

"I could serve as an outrider, Sanada-sama," a quiet voice cut him out of his thoughts.

Sanada turned around, finally glad that he didn't have to find ways to look behind his back anymore, just so he could sneak glances at the boy. "I have an outrider."

The boy was staring at the ground. He flinched at Sanada's words, as if Sanada's stern reminder brought him much pain. He was clutching his bag to his chest tightly, pitifully small for someone of his age. "I could be the other outrider."

"There is no 'other outrider.'" Sanada realized that he had not asked for the boy's name, so he let the sentence trail off without addressing anybody.

It felt rude, and Sanada felt wrong, if only because of the rudeness he was not raised to possess. It was most definitely not because he did not know the boy's name.

He was not dissatisfied because he had not acquired this boy's name. Most definitely not.

The boy raised his head and glared, as if Sanada was making his life harder than it should be. But really, Sanada had already agreed to take him to Tokyo while the boy was currently employer-less.

By all counts, Sanada was making his life easier.

"Well, there is one now," the boy insisted, defiantly.

Sanada watched him passively before he walked the few short steps that took him directly in front of his carriage. The door was already open, beckoning him to the warmth inside, and the long, long journey back to his mother.

And, inevitably, his marriage. Or, more appropriately, his apparent lack thereof.

It did not put Sanada in a very pleasant mood.

"It is either you ride inside the carriage with me, or you ride on top of it," Sanada replied in a clipped tone. "I have no room anywhere else."

The glare only intensified, before the boy finally stalked up to Sanada, with all the grace of a male who was bordering on feminine. Up close, Sanada could see the fire igniting his eyes, so different from the almost empty ones of most servants of his station.

Eyes, Sanada knew despite the darkness that clothed them both like a cape, that were blue.

"You are strangely oppossed to this," Sanada observed. It was so unlike the expected reply of a servant. An ordinary servant would have said his thanks, not once but a million times, and Sanada was not even being the least bit arrogant. It was a fact. "Why?"

But then again, he was quickly beginning to learn that this boy was different from any other ordinary servant.

Maybe it was that he was beautiful. But many other servants were beautiful. Sanada had seen his fair share, and given the fact that there were more poor than there were aristrocrats, Sanada could wager that there were even more servants who were beautiful.

The boy took one long look at him, and smiled. It reminded Sanada, strangely again, of Syusuke's smile. The one that Syusuke wore before he was about to extract revenge at some poor bloke who had struck his fancy in all the wrong ways. A smile that was a double-edged blade, and was twice as sharp. "It is not my habit to remain in the company of people who stare at my ass."

...Sanada felt like he was slapped, well and good in the face.

The boy climbed up the carriage, daintily and not in the least bit clumsy or awed by the new surroundings. His smile remained intact as he turned back to Sanada, still standing by the carriage door.

"Sanada-sama?"

His tone did not even deviate from what Sanada now considered to be this boy's norm. It was still sickeningly pleasant, coated in honey and sugar and other such things that dangerous objects should not be coated with.

It was deceitingly haunting.

Sanada wanted to kick something. He most preferred it if he could kick something that may remind him perhaps of sly, damnable smiles of sly, damnably beautiful people.

It was then that he realized that he had not been quite himself these past few moments.

He had not been quite himself, in fact, ever since he'd opened that study door.

What was it with this boy that brought out all the worst in him?

"It is not my habit to stare," Sanada climbed in the carriage. The door closed in behind him and then the carriage started rattling away. Sanada took one long look at the Chiba countryside, before he drew the curtains closed.

He did well and good to not look at the boy any longer. "If I have offended your delicate sensibilities, then you must forgive me..." He paused. "What is your name?"

Somehow, even when he was not looking, he could feel the glare, intensely directed at his person. "Why do you want to know?"

"So that I could apologize properly?" Sanada left that bit out as a question, because he knew it would piss the boy off. For some strange reason, or another, Sanada found that it was easier not to be entranced by him, and his vague likeness to Syusuke, if Sanada got him angered. "Better yet, perhaps, so I know what to call you."

"You would not even remember it, come Tokyo." Although the words were bitter, the voice was calm. It was almost as if having people not acknowledging so much of his existence came naturally to the boy, almost as if he could ignore it. As if it was just another something to live with.

Sanada could pity him.

And he can't do that, because if he pitied this boy, then he would just go back to being entranced all over again. And his entranced self was not himself, and was most definitely not the perfect image Sanada strove to be.

Sanada could not have that, and he especially could not have that because of a servant.

"What do your employers call you, then?"

"They don't." This, too, was empty.

"I have to call you something."

"I'm sure 'The Footman' or 'The Servant' would suffice, you've certainly survived all this time thinking about me in that manner," the boy replied. "Or perhaps you've been thinking about me in the lines of 'The Servant with the Fine Ass.' That's fine, too, as long as you keep your thoughts and your eyes to yourself."

Sanada was being baited, he knew. As a gentleman, he also logically knew that he should just shut up, and not take the bait, but the gods knew, he'd only spent about a good hour in this servant's company, and he already knew that the boy would forever be bringing out the worst in him.

Somewhere, at the very back of his head where he ensconced thoughts he liked to pretend did not exist, a small, niggling voice told him that he liked it.

"Notice how you did not restrict the movement of my hands," Sanada replied.

He could feel the boy bristling. In the corner of his eyes, he followed the boy's hand, moving not so subtly towards one of the decorative throw pillows on the carriage seat.

"Don't do it," he warned.

"Do what?"

This time, Sanada did face the boy. "Don't throw the pillow."

"I wouldn't dream of it," the boy's face spoke sarcasm, his hand twitching where it clutched the corner, where golden tassels hung off.

"But you are dreaming of it right now." Sanada very deliberately went back to his normal relaxed position that he used only when he was inside the privacy of his own carriage. "You are not going to do it, though."

The boy's glare was almost amusing, it was such the situation that Sanada could almost be amused. Almost. "Of course I am not going to do it. Unlike you, I am a mature, respectable human being."

"I am sure."

This only served to annoy the boy even more. "You are despicable."

And Sanada, Lord bless his mother's soul, found that he liked being despicable.

It was like a breath of fresh air, Sanada thought. To not have someone look at him and immediately come to the conclusion that he was the ideal. All his life, the members of Tokyo society had looked, and in that one moment, came up with a long, long, long list in their head in which ways they thought he should act.

Sometimes, it was exhausting.

"I knew you were not going to throw the pillow." Sanada could almost smile, seeing the the boy's perfect countenance break, watching a delicate eybrow twitch.

In a movement so quick, spanning only the tenth of seconds, that Sanada was not able to react fast enough, the boy picked up the pillow and threw it straight at his head.

Sanada suddenly found himself with a mouthful of tassels that tasted nothing like an ordinary fabric should (not that Sanada went around tasting fabric). He sputtered them out, as dignified as he was capable, and had to sputter some more, to get out the ones that were left behind in his mouth.

The boy's lips were stretched so wide, they almost split his face. He was biting his lips, like he was trying very hard not to laugh. He failed every now and then, little giggles escaping his tightly-closed lips, and that somehow made Sanada want to laugh, too.

Somehow.

And it was dangerous.

Because Sanada, Viscount Sanada, who was someday going to become an Earl (an Earl), did not have room in his life to be despicable.

The members of the Tokyo society did right in keeping a list of behavioral patterns that Sanada had to follow. Sanada had duties. He had responsibilities. He had a House, and a bloodline legacy to uphold, and none of that made way for acting anything less than a gentleman, or anything less than perfect.

Sanada threw the pillow back, and turned to stare at the curtains. He only had to tough out one carriage ride, one, before he could be rid of this infuriating, damnable, beautiful boy who had also happened to be the first boy to have brought out the absolute worst in him.

And Sanada thought that wanting to beget his cousin's wife was bad.

"Yukimura." It was a whisper against the silence that seemed to have descended upon them both.

"Excuse me?"

"That is my name," still a whisper. "Yukimura."

Sanada opened his mouth, and found that he had nothing to say. He turned his head to the boy – Yukimura – and nodded curtly, once before his eyes once again turned away.

The name fit.

But it was not a name that Sanada would do very well to remember.

And so, when Sanada settled himself to sleep, he vowed to become one of those aristrocrats that Yukimura had served. He vowed that he would forget the name, come Tokyo; that he'd become those people that had not stopped to acknowledge that this boy, beautiful and bursting with fire, existed.

And Viscount Sanada Genichirou certainly would have forgotten, if not for two events that occurred that night that were just on the verge of being particularly life-changing.

The first happened in the dreams of the Viscount Sanada Genichirou himself. As always, like the plague, his dream was full of bright blue eyes and honey hair. As always those blue eyes were looking at him, laughing at him, and he didn't mind.

Only when Sanada Genichirou looked a little bit closer, the eyes were of a strangely different color, maybe a tad bit (or two) shades darker.

For sure, they were not Syusuke's eyes, and that was particularly life-changing indeed.

The second happened not in the carriage, but also not so very far away, set into motion by quite the most unexpected group of people. And in fact, if this group of people had not happened into the carriage of the Viscount Sanada going merrily down the lonely road in the middle of the night, Sanada's life would not have particularly changed, at least not in the drastic fashion that it did after the end of this night.

Those group of people were a band of thieves, who had spotted the lonely, luxurious carriage, rattling merrily away in the lonely, desolate road, in the lonely, desolate part of the night.

And then they decided, as thieves usually did, that tonight was the night that they would steal, and earn great, great money, from a Tokyo viscount.

Longer update, because I might be a while -sob- I have to go write a long, long report now. Actually, I wrote this to procrastinate, I really DO NOT want to write a report about contraception. Can you guys believe it? All other people get cool things like cloning and gene splicing, and here I am, lucky me, getting contraception. WHY, GOD, WHY.

But moving on... I hope you guys enjoyed~ And if you have time, you know the drill~ Drop by and tell me what you think :)

/silverglitters