Kami no Matsuei (the Yami/Cain fic thread)

[crisisdreams]

*gets smacked by the baton* Owwww...
Hmmm...hope I'm doing this right. Never written for a Round Robin before. I've played in plenty of email RPGs where one character is assigned to each player but isn't allowed to touch someone else's character. So everytime I write for another character besides my own here, I feel like I'm doing something terribly terribly sinful. *blinks* Must...get...over...that...

Hehe...let's see what insane homocidal trouble the two mad doctors can cause when together...

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?That hurt, you know,? Muraki murmured, raising his injured hand up to the window and examining the different shades blood could take on when hit by light at various angles. Continuing to focus on the wound and the bone structure of his hand, he continued, ?really, humans are simply too frail. Why, their bodies force them to feel pain over a mere knife cut or the simple disconnection of the thumb from the rest of the hand. Pointless, isn?t it?? The silver haired gentleman pressed closer against his mistaken Tsuzuki. With one swift action he had his fingers firmly wrapped around the other man?s wrist, thumb pushing down on the pressure point of Jezebel?s palm in an attempt to force the man to drop his scalpel.

Jezebel could feel his grip on the scalpel start to loosen, and forcefully swung the knife towards Muraki?s face. The sharp end of it grazed past Muraki, nearly making contact with the silver haired doctor?s oddly shaped eye. Caught by surprise, Muraki loosened his grip, allowing the other to squirm away and dash towards the other side of the room.

?Careful there!? Muraki exclaimed. He raised a hand up to his eye to ensure that it was unscathed. ?It is not easy for me to find replacements for this. Connecting the nerve ends to this mechanical darling is costly, and I doubt anyone in this place could achieve such a feat.?

?Do not try anything like that again,? Jezebel warned, his scalpel having been replaced by a gun aimed in Muraki?s direction, ?or you will find your brains enjoying a pleasant bath in my jar of preservatives.?

?Ah,? the right corner of Muraki?s lips lifted into a half smile, ?a collector. I am one myself, though I?m particularly fond of a certain violent eyed man who should be here instead of you.?

?Would this violet eyed man happen to be a Mr. Tsuzuki?? Jezebel questioned warily. He simply could not get over the unsettling feeling that here was a man staring calmly at a revolver aimed at him without showing the slightest flinch of fear. Even Cain, who had dealt with every horror imaginable, still displayed alarm when his life was at threat. Stepping forward to cow the silver haired stranger, he heard a ?clank? as his right foot brushed against something metal. He was able to determine it as being some kind of handcuff, though the odd fact that it was closed and locked escaped his notice.

Muraki noted the cuffs that Jezebel had grazed and rubbed his thumbs, relishing in the residue of pain still there.

?A Mr. Tsuzuki? Yes, that way of addressing him does sound rather nice. Allow me to introduce myself before we continue further. Doctor Muraki Kazutaka. I work at Tok...ah...the French International Hospital, and am currently accompanying the criminal investigation group from France. There was a certain Mr. Tsuzuki who I had been hoping to perform a little...?medical checkup? on, when you so crudely interrupted me. And you are?? Muraki extended a hand towards Jezebel, but the other doctor merely tightened his grip on the revolver and took another step forward.

?Doctor Jezebel Disraeli, Hargreaves family doctor. It appears you and I were both expecting to meet a violet eyed specimen in this room. After all, I am starting a nice collection, and a pair of purple eyes would look stunning next to my soon-to-be-acquired pair of golden-green orbs.?

Muraki smirked and advanced towards Jezebel, taking little notice of the gun still pointed at him.

?Now then,? he said smugly, ?why don?t you put that toy away and help me search for our...?specimen?...as you so lovingly called him. I?m sure that things would go much faster that way, and we can always divide him up between us. You can extract his eyes while I relish the rest of his lovely body. Or, if you prefer, we could also slice him in half, though you would only receive one eye in that case.?

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Ahhhh Muraki and Jezebel meet. Me thinks the cinnamon buns aren't going to be the only things doing the killings from now on. ~.^

<font color="#660033" size="1">[ April 23, 2003 04:56 AM: Message edited by: Crisis ]</font>

[crisisdreams]

Eek! *notices thread slipping off into the abyss of deletion*

*performs CPR on the thread*

This was next in line to be booted off the message board archives! Anyone want to attempt to save it? ;___;

[yukawai]

I'm realy in the "Void of nun-inpiration" v___v;;; but could you maybe save them? the parts already done I mean. If someone could host them then maybe you could put them online and if you have comments on it then you could post it! Sometimes inpisration comes with motivation ^^ or at least maybe some poeple out there have ideas that could help! ^_____^

doing the same with all the fanarts and coloring done here would be nice, ne?

[rev.tsukiyama]

I was thinking we ought to keep a record of the story somewhere. I could throw something together at my place. It seems to work well updating here, though. Well, when people feel inspired, that is. :hangs head in shame:

BTW, I think I've FINALLY fixed my uploading problem and the server is behaving itself. So I'll have midare in place by tomorrow. Again, I'm sorry about that screw up. >_<

[crystalgryphon]

I know I wasn't in on this originally, but given the status of the thread, I didn't figure anyone would mind if I borrowed the homicidal cinnamon roll for a bit.

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It was quite frustrated at having lost its prey. First the two blond humans had split up, and then the one it had chosen to follow had jumped up and simply hung in the air, and although homicidal animate cinnamon rolls have many peculiar aptitudes, the ability to fly is not among them.

Alas, several minutes of searching the grounds had failed to turn up any other potential victims (except that pale-haired, pale-eyed creature with the bloodied shirt cuff, who had given it such a dangerous smile that the cinnamon roll had been disenclined to tangle with him), and frustration was rapidly becoming mingled with boredom. Clearly, there were no more prey-creatures out here. Therefore, they had all gone somewhere else. And therefore . . . therefore, it would be necessary to get back inside the building.

(This was rather an impressive deduction on its part, for, just as cinnamon rolls cannot fly, they are not particularly renowned for their brains.)

Of course, getting back inside the Hargreaves mansion was also easier said than done, for the peculiar cosmic event which had created the cinnamon roll had failed to implant the concept of "door" in the construct which the deviant baked good used as a mind. The only opening it could find was a crack in the foundations where some mortar had crumbled, and squeezing itself through that crack was rather uncomfortable to say the least, even before it fell the three feet or so down to the shelf that was positioned below the crack.

The cinnamon roll decided that it was having a bad day.

It also decided, after it had had a moment to recover its composure, that the room it was now in was Most Fascinating. All those jars and bottles and vials full of colourful powders and liquids were just, well, *neat*, and the other items carefully arranged here and there--dried flower petals, and leaves, and roots, and other things less identifiable--were likewise interesting. And appetizing.

It having been several hours since it had eaten its way out of anyone, the cinnamon roll was hungry.

It oozed its way over to the nearest pile of leaves and engulfed it, and had anyone else been present, they would no doubt have been puzzled by the soft belch which then ensued from behind the tall jar at the front of the shelf.

It was only when the cinnamon roll had left that oh-so-fascinating room in search of new prey that rumblings from somewhere in its midsection informed it that perhaps eating those leaves had not been such a good idea after all, and it decided to take a nap in a nice quiet place until its stomach could settle. And so it oozed up a flight of narrow, ill-lit stairs and under the first door to the left in the hallway at the top.

The cinnamon roll was not knowledgeable enough to realize that the uncarpeted floor and narrow bed indicated that this room was in the servants' quarters. It could not read the spines of the well-thumbed medical textbooks stacked on the desk, or identify the piece of furniture onto which it was now climbing as a dresser, but when it had oozed inside the half-empty[1] top drawer and settled itself in beside the neatly-balled-up socks, it knew it had found just the place it was looking for. And a good thing, too, for its discomfort was growing worse by the minute.

Hidden inside Riff's sock drawer, the cinnamon roll slowly grew to twice its original size, shuddered, and . . . divided.

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[1] The question of whether the drawer is half-empty because a man "born with his clothes on" doesn't have to change his underwear all that often, or because Riff starches his boxer shorts and keeps them on hangers in the closet, is left to the interest of the reader.

And now someone else had better get in there and rescue the Hargreaves household and the Shinigami before they're all eaten by mutant cinnamon rolls (or knifed by Muraki and Jezebel, whichever).

[crisisdreams]

OOC: Hmmm...I'm going to pick up on that cute little idea Risu-chan left about Tatsumi finding a note from Cain, since I'm itching to write and Muraki is itching from the dust he's collecting. ^^ Whoever wants to claim him afterwards (didn't someone express an interest in him before?), just raise your hand in the Cain/Yami crossover logistics thread!

Oh yes, just keep in mind that the letter Tatsumi receives from Cain was written days after the cinnamon bun fiasco and Muraki?s meeting with Jezebel.

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Back in JuOhCho, year 2003, Tatsumi sat in his desk with the newspaper in his hand, basking in the peacefulness of the empty office. Sending the shinigami off to the past had been an ingenious idea on his part. As of the late, there was no rabid Tsuzuki devouring everything in sight, and none of the office workers had magically switched genders. Life was good.

Tatsumi took a bite into Tsuzuki's box of cinnamon buns that had been left behind during the shinigami's time travel. He frowned at the cinnamon bun, turned an unhealthy shade of green, spat it out, and dumped the box into the trashcan. Once his face had resumed its natural cover, he scanned the paper's front page again.

"City Panics Over Unusual State of Peace". Yes, sending Muraki to the past was definitely another one of his ingenious ideas. He was just full of clever ideas these days. Tatsumi pondered over the even more ingenious idea of kicking Konoe off the seat of power and taking over, but his brilliant plan formulation was interrupted by a letter that suddenly dropped onto his desk.

"What's this?" Tatsumi asked in surprise. The Gushoushin brothers who were hovered over his desk squawked, "a letter for you, Tatsumi-san! It's been sitting in the mailroom for two centuries because the instructions said it wasn't to be opened until today!" Tatsumi marveled mildly over how two floating birds could talk in unison so well, but quickly proceeded to open the letter after that.

The contents of it made him frown.

"To whomever it may concern,

Allow me to first introduce myself. I am Count Cain C. Hargreaves, master of the Hargreaves household which is currently housing a certain group of "French investigators" that you sent.

As of today, fifteen of my workers have been murdered as a result of a collaboration between the French doctor you sent and my mentally unstable half-brother. Five of my oriental rugs have been permanently stained with blood, and the draperies are completely unsalvageable. In addition, half of my irreplaceable poison collection has been consumed by a biologically impossible bakery item created by one of your ?investigators?, which in turn has murdered twelve more workers and scared off the remaining three. The only servant I have left is my personal butler, who suffers attacks of epilepsy every time he is asked to open his underwear drawer.

I kindly ask that you either pay for the damages caused by your investigators, or you personally come back here to prevent all this from happening. I do not like to make threats, but I assure you that your other investigators will have their hands full if this is not resolved.

Sincerely,

Count Cain C. Hargreaves?

Tatsumi glanced back at the newspaper. ?London Suffers Biggest Blow to Tourism because of Ghost Encounters?. ?Unsettled Spirits Roam England?s Shopping Mall?s Freely?. ?Massive Death by way of Infected Cinnamon Buns?. With a sigh, he threw the paper down and stomped out of the room.
?Tatsumi-san, where are you going?? Gushoushin Elder squawked.
?To the past.?

Out of the corner of his eye, Tatsumi swore he saw a green cinnamon bun crawl out of the trashcan.

* * * * *

Two centuries earlier, Tatsumi popped into the kitchen where people were still gawking at the bloodied body. He frowned at Tsuzuki.
?T...Tatsumi!? the violet-eyed man squeaked.

Elsewhere, the cinnamon bun had just climbed into Riff?s underwear drawer.

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OOC: Hehe...how did everyone like the letter? ~.^

<font color="#660033" size="1">[ May 25, 2003 09:47 AM: Message edited by: Crisis ]</font>

[ember_fang]

Would anyone mind if I added my two cents?...^_^' Err...I think no one does...well here goes nothing!

~*~

Cooing lovingly to it's nest of cinnamon-rollings, the proud cinnamon roll mother compulsively arranged the small nest made out of un-balled socks and a few rare pairs of underwear yet again.

It had just went through a major binary fission, and the product, six wonderful little cinnamon-rollings! Chewing dutifully on a silk boxer, it sank into a light sleep, it's offspring actively dividing again and again.

~*~

To say Riff was shocked when he opened his sock/underwear drawer was a gross understatement.

He stood there in nothing more then a towel, dripping wet after a rare bathing session, and opened his drawer, expecting to find nothing more then clean balled up pairs of socks, and a neat stack of boxers, not a nest of mutant cinnamon rolls binary fissioning in a nest of fabrics.

The edge of the towel, clutched tightly in his hand to protect his modesty, slipped from his clutches and pooled at his feet.

"Cinnamon..." He did not scream, did not panic, he just stared, motionless at the cinnamon rolls, which hissed venomously upon spotting the frozen butler.

"Riff! Riff! Are you there?" Even the irate voice of his master could not awaken Riff from his frozen state, and when it seemed Cain finally given up on finding out whether Riff was there, the door suddenly burst open.

"Riff!" Cain's voice, no longer muffled by the thick wooden door echoed through the room, which thus, finally awoke Riff.

"Cain?!" Whirling from his position, the naked butler turned to face his Master who turned a crimson red upon seeing his...erm.."thing".

~*~

Two different voices, could be heard screaming in unison, scaring all birds who nested in the nearby forests surrounding the Mansion.

~*~

^_^ Well...Crystal_Gryphon did say it was up to our imagination where Riff placed his boxers...so...he.he.he. I'm a real sadist.

[ember_fang]

^_^' Silly me, I forgot to mention that Cain was looking for Riff about his missing poisons.

[crystalgryphon]

The cinnamon roll had now had *enough*. It had been pleased with itself when it had drifted off to sleep, one auditory organ half-cocked to listen for sounds of distress coming from its brood (or for the first cry of "Mama!"), but now it had been rudely awakened by a sudden influx of bright light and an unpleasantly loud and high-pitched noise coming from these two human creatures. They were disturbing the babies--and just to add insult to injury, they were clearly too bony to even be worth eating!

Nevertheless, the cinnamon roll was a good mother, and knew its duty. It drew itself up to its full height, and *growled*. To its immense gratification, the two humans scrambled backwards, nearly falling over each other in their attempts to get through the door and out into the hallway.

The immediate threat was thereby neutralized, but even the cinnamon roll's slow thought processes had ground far enough forward for it to realize that the refuge it had chosen wasn't, in fact, a very safe place. It needed to find a location that the humans couldn't easily get at, but which was also close to a food source--couldn't have the children's growth getting stunted, after all.

The deviant pastry rolled up several pair of still-balled-up socks in a pair of silk boxers and hoisted the package to what served it for a shoulder, then hitched itself up onto the edge of the drawer and chirruped to its brood, indicating that they should follow.

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Meanwhile, out in the hallway, Riff and Cain were leaning against the wall furthest from the open doorway to Riff's room, watching rather dazedly as the baby cinnamon rolls poured out of the drawer and oozed through a crack that marred the wall not far from the window. Then Cain, cheeks still stained with pink, reached out and shut the door.

"I don't think either of us should go back in there quite yet--Riff, are you all right?"

"I . . . Give me a moment, please, sir." Riff was slowly sliding down the wall as his knees gave way. "I believe I am in shock."

Cain glanced quickly in either direction and, seeing neither "French investigators" nor any of the other servants, sat down beside his butler and began to remove his jacket. "Here, cover yourself up." *If you can,* he added mentally. The young count had never had any idea that Riff was so shockingly . . . well-endowed. It was enough to make him blush again just thinking about it. "Once you've gotten yourself together, we'll see about finding you something to wear, even if we have to borrow from one of our . . . guests." He looked down at his lap, and added thoughtfully, "I had come looking for you originally to ask if you'd seen anyone in the general area of my poison collection, but I'm fairly certain that I now know where the missing items from it went."

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The space below the stairs wasn't quite as pleasant a place as Riff's dresser drawer, but it was dark and quiet, and, best of all from the cinnamon roll's point of view, it was accessible only via a three-inch-high crack between two sections of baseboard. It crooned softly to its children as it unballed the socks it had brought with it and arranged them into a new nest.

Then it felt a vibration in the flooring, and slipped a little way back out through the crack to have a look.

A human was coming up the hallway outside--a human much plumper than the two that had disturbed it upstairs. Perfect.

The unsuspecting servant had no idea what hit her when the family of cinnamon rolls fell to like a horde of starving land-piranha. A few moments later, there was nothing left in the hallway but a neat pile of gleaming white bones.

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[Is there a temporal gap that needs to be filled in between Crisis' and ember_fang's segments, or is it just me?]

[ember_fang]

*Eye brows stick together* no...it's the story! ^_^ And you make good bridges...do you know that?