Kami no Matsuei Nocturnes

**Risu-chan** · February 18th, 2003, 09:18 PM

So... is anybody going to play with "nighttime" plotlines... ?

Tag 'em on here if so!

I've got an idea for one kind of spinning off Miko-chan's "Why Hisoka's life is a living hell and Terazuma can't be left in peace" moment... ^_~ (Crisis? Tsukiyama? As Those In Charge of Ye Olde Resident Loonies (TM)...? I still want to see what happens when someone gets the two of them in the same room, day OR night... ^^;;; preferably from far FAR away, but still...)

**Risu-chan** · March 9th, 2003, 09:10 PM

Okay... here's the long-threatened Hisoka & Cain nocturne bit! Most of it was plausible, but I didn't want people to *have* to write around the ending that I came up with... ^__~

ps: starting out with Hisoka's POV for scene-setting...
---------------

The second night... 

It was almost midnight, and Hisoka was utterly exhausted. He'd barely managed
a few hours of sleep the night before; the day had been spent between studied
evasion of the little blonde girl who asked far too many unsettling questions
and a fruitless search for a servant who wouldn't stare at him and then make
some excuse and hurry away when he asked to be given a man's clothes instead
of a woman's. Couple that with an evening spent running from the Hokkaido girls
and his stark point-blank refusal to get back into a bed containing Tsuzuki's
bagel crumbs, and Hisoka decided that this had to be high up there on the list
of the worst assignments of his life. Or rather his un-life. 

"Hisoka-chan! Where are youuuuu?" 

Hisoka swore under his breath, inching his way along the hall in pitch blackness
so that a light wouldn't give him away. His seeking hand encountered a doorknob;
in the first gift of mercy the day had given him, the doorknob turned. Thanking
any gods willing to listen, Hisoka slipped inside and closed the door as quietly
as he could manage. 

He'd wandered into someone's bedroom; there was a lamp burning on a side table,
but the only thing Hisoka had attention for was a tidily made bed completely
free of Tsuzuki's bagel crumbs. Hisoka twisted his arms around between his shoulders
for a moment, struggling to reach the laces which would let him out of the rigidly
corseted dress; then he surrendered, because he was tired enough to fall asleep
standing up, whether or not he was in a corset at the time, and the bed was
right there waiting. 

Somebody's going to want this room. There's a lamp lit. 

It's almost midnight. If they're out this late, I'm sure I can get a couple
hours of sleep before they come back... and maybe they'll be drunk enough to
think they went into the wrong room...

Hisoka threw himself face-down on the bed and sighed in absolute bliss, then
pulled a pillow out from under the bedcover and curled up with it and closed
his eyes.
* * *

From the shadows in the bay window, Cain Hargreaves cautiously unclenched his
grip on the handle of his sword-cane.

Here not for me, but for the bed? I don't know whether to be relieved or
insulted. 

Lightly, cautiously, Cain crept across the room to take a closer look at his
uninvited visitor. The dress looked oddly familiar -- he rubbed at his jaw reminiscently
-- no, wait, the hair's short... that odd cross-dressing boy...? And...

Something else was strange -- Cain picked up the lamp to bring it a bit closer.
The boy was lying on his stomach; the dress left his shoulders bare, and he'd
dropped the shawl which he'd worn to try to hide his face and hair earlier.
And on his back...
* * *

"Who did that to you?"

Hisoka flinched at the unexpected voice. In a moment's half-sleeping disorientation,
he wondered whether he'd misheard, because he'd expected outrage at a stolen
bed, and what he'd actually heard made no sense. There was plenty of outrage,
but no feeling of threat, either. Now completely disoriented, Hisoka pushed
himself upright and dug a hand through his hair.

"I'm sorry -- is this your bed...?" He blinked again and scrubbed
at his eyes, and then stared up at the face of the young count in utter bemusement.
He was obviously incandescently furious; and, just as obviously, none of it
was directed at Hisoka himself. Still too sleep-fogged to put any more pieces
together, Hisoka stammered, "I... er... Don't shout at the servants, I
let myself in; you ought to keep the door locked, with Muraki here... um..."

The count's eyes were like molten gold in the lamplight, and his silence was
distinctly uncomfortable to listen to.

"Look, I'm really sorry," Hisoka said, fighting back a yawn. "I
just can't go into the other wing or the girls will sic Terazuma on me again
and Tsuzuki's gotten crumbs all over the bed and I don't suppose you might let
me sleep on a couch somewhere? And maybe loan me a pair of clothes too...?"

Very, very quietly, Cain reached out and touched Hisoka's shoulder; the incendiary
rage burning in him was almost like a brand touched to Hisoka's skin, and he
gasped and pulled away.

"Nerve damage too...?" Cain whispered, and set the lamp down with
a hand shaking with fury; he spoke in a voice that might have sounded reasonable
if Hisoka hadn't felt the same implacable rage burning like molten steel just
beneath the surface. "Tell me. Who did that to you...?"

Staring up at him, Hisoka put a hand to his own shoulder, where he could still
feel the heat of that anger. His fingertips met the old, whitely faded scar
tissue, and then he realized what was meant.
* * *

"I think I'd better not tell you that," the boy said, with eyes far
too old for his age. "It's long since over with, so..."

"No," Cain said, digging the palm of his hand into his eyes to try
to block out a vision burned into his memory. "No, it's not. Because if
there is a reason you should not tell me, then the bastard who did that to you
is alive and here among us now; if he were not, then you would have no reason
to hide him from me. So, all in all, I think you're going to tell me."

"With all due respect, sir... no, I'm not."

"If there's a sadist here who likes beating children and that bastard
gets his hands on Merryweather--" Cain lunged forward and grabbed him by
the shoulders. "You're going to tell me his name!"

And then the boy screamed, and Cain found himself being blasted across the
room by a force he couldn't see; he hit the corner of the mantelpiece badly,
felt something tear, and then it was gone, and he slumped to the floor gasping
in pain.

God...! I think that cracked a rib -- what are these... things...?
He's not human... not anymore...

"I'm sorry," the boy whispered, huddled in the bed shaking like he'd
just been shot through with agony from just that one touch. "Mr. Hargreaves,
I'm sorry, but... don't touch me like that, don't touch me when you're..."
He stopped, and gulped hard, and said, "Don't touch me when you're angry
enough to kill. Because I... I feel it..."

Feeling blood trickling down his side from scraping against the stone, Cain
clamped his elbow against his ribcage hard in order to try to give himself enough
support to stand up without setting off another spasm of pain. "You're
an empath...?"

The boy nodded a little, still shivering. "I'm sorry if I hurt you --
I... it's just... you were burning me."

Cain laughed despite himself, and ran a hand down his face. "I'm the one
who owes the apology. If I'd known... --I'm amazed an empath could bear even
being in the same room with me, really. I'll leave you in peace..."

"This is your room," Hisoka mumbled, shame-faced.

"This is my house," Cain replied. "All of the rooms are mine.
So I can take another for the night." 

Rather stiffly, he bent toward the cedar chest which held spare blankets, and
hissed through his teeth at the sharp sting from protesting ribs as he pulled
the lid open. Hisoka made a sharp sound of shock.

"Who...?"

Cain straightened carefully, with a blanket in his arms. "'Who' what?"

His eyes haunted by too much understanding of others' pain, Hisoka asked very
gently, "Mr. Hargreaves, who was it that gave you your scars...?"

Damn -- I should've realized; if the mantelpiece cut through to my skin,
of course it tore the shirt -- Fighting off a completely irrational wave
of resentment, Cain struggled with himself for a moment. No, he's not Riff.
But if anyone in the world would understand, it would be someone who'd suffered
the same treatment... and I can hardly tell him 'none of his business' if I
expect him to give me that name.

"My father," Cain murmured, and took a dressing-robe out of the armoire
as well, so that no one else would be able to see the scars when he left the
room. "It was my father. --Tomorrow, when Riff wakes up, I'll have him
ask you for the name you're hiding," he added. "Riff is a far kinder
person than I am; I should imagine he won't burn you the same way."

"Mr. Hargreaves, I won't tell your servant either."

Cain fought back the urge to drive a fist into the wall. Making an effort to
sound more reasonable than he felt, he said, "Why not?"

"Because it's not that man's time to die. I know that."

"If he's here now, with the lot of you, then it certainly isn't his time
to live either," Cain said, darkly. "But that in itself has just given
me my answer, you know. There's only one whom you brought here under restraints,
and Merry seems fixated on the idea that her cards indicate there's only one
among you who's still properly alive..."

Hisoka's eyes widened in shock. 

"Of course, I can't test whether or not he was the living one without
watching him die," Cain continued, carefully easing the dressing-robe around
his shoulders. "So it's quite convenient that once I find the one who does
die, the question will answer itself, won't it?"

"Mr. Hargreaves -- no. You're not going to kill him."

Cain gave him a particularly brilliant smile. "But as you yourselves have
observed, there are a startling number of inexplicable fatalities around me;
who's to say that he won't find his way into one of them? Since this isn't his
time to live and all..."

"Don't make me take your memories of this conversation from you,"
Hisoka said, flatly. "I can, and I will, if you make me."

"If he lays a hand on anyone under this roof, he will regret the
day he was born. And you will regret trying to stand in my way as I seek to
protect those under my care. You may be immortal, but you are hardly immune
to pain. And I've seen enough pain in my life to make you wish you'd never been
able to imagine empathy."

Hisoka stepped between him and the door, looking at him quietly. "We are
taking precautions," he said. "Muraki is our responsibility. And because
of that, in a way, he is under our protection. So I give you my word
that he will not be permitted to harm anyone else while he is here. I think
he would be unlikely to take any interest in harming you or your family, in
any case; the one he wants most of all is Tsuzuki. In return, you are going
to give me your word that you will not seek out opportunities to give him his
death."

"You protect the man who gave you those scars...?"

Hisoka sighed quietly. "Look into your own heart for a minute," he
said. "How long did you spend thinking that your father beat you because
he loved you? I know better than that; I don't pretend that his death would
grieve me. On the contrary... I want to be the one to give his death
to him. And only time will tell if I'll have the chance or not. I don't intend
to let you take that away from me... just like I don't intend to take from you
the opportunity to have your reckoning with your father. Now. Are you going
to give me your word or am I going to erase this conversation from your mind?"

"I think we understand each other far more than either of us could have
anticipated," Cain said, rueful, and offered his hand. "His death
is yours; you have the best right to claim it, after all."

Hisoka hesitated for a moment, then shook his offered hand with just a bit
of discomfort showing. "Thank you. --Now, honestly, this is your
room..."

"If Terazuma was the one who went rampaging around costing several hundred
pounds' worth of damage to the furnishings last night, I have every incentive
to keep you away from him," Cain replied, droll-voiced. "Besides,
I don't imagine you can possibly get out of that dress by yourself, can you?
Turn around."

"You know how to get someone out of one of these ridiculous outfits?"
Hisoka asked, both amazed and relieved.

Cain coughed delicately, and said, "Well, one might say that I've had
sufficient motivation to learn..."

"Motivation?"

"Are you actually that young?"

The boy blinked twice, and then his face turned a charming shade of crimson.
"Oh. Oh! Right... er... never mind..."

A few minutes later, Hisoka stretched both arms up over his head, wrapped in
one of Cain's nightshirts, and he looked to be on the verge of tears of gratitude.

"Thank you -- this is the first time in forty-eight hours I've
been able to breathe. And you're not that much taller than me either;
if I'd raided Tsuzuki's wardrobe I'd have spent the day tripping over the ends
of the pantlegs... thank you!" The rest of it was interrupted by a jaw-cracking
yawn; he rubbed both hands down his face, and sat down on the floor. "I'm
not taking your bed away from you," he mumbled, "but if you don't
begrudge me a corner of the floor where the Hokkaido girls won't find me, just
for one night..." 

"How can I let my guest sleep on the floor?"

"I slammed you into the fireplace earlier," Hisoka said. "You
shouldn't go sleep on the stones after that; you won't be able to move tomorrow
if you do." He took the blankets Cain had gotten out of the chest earlier,
and tossed them onto the floor, and curled up on top of them.

"Hisoka..."

"Just let me sleep...!" He yawned again, and pulled a corner of the
blanket over his head, and mumbled, "G'night..."

Cain studied the situation for a stymied moment, tried to bend enough to pick
the boy up, and stopped short at a sharp protest from the injured ribs. With
a rueful sigh, he replied, "Good night." 
* * *
In the darkest part of the night, Hisoka woke again at the awareness
of a huddle of absolute misery; it took a few sleepy moments to realize that
it wasn't his own, because it felt so familiar. An incoherent tangle of terror,
pain, shame, and such profound isolation-- Hisoka had to sit up and scrub the
sleep out of his eyes before he was completely certain it wasn't one of his
own nightmares of childhood memories. It was almost as clear as words: why
can't anyone see me? It hurts...
Obscurely guilt-stricken at the memory of throwing his host into
the edge of the mantlepiece, Hisoka crept closer to try to tell whether the
dream was tied into the physical ache of scratched and bruised ribs. ...No,
this was an entirely different sort of pain; the physical ache was still there,
but barely noticed in the too-familiar ache of a far older wound. Bracing himself,
Hisoka held a palm just above Cain's shoulder.
...running... a crowd of dark-dressed servants who never saw
him, never spoke; nowhere to hide... the only one who saw him was terror incarnate,
and it followed unerringly, relentlessly, laughing at him as he ran, alone,
through an uncaring crowd... even when he clung and begged, none of them saw
him, no one would speak... always alone with the terror that never stopped hunting
him as it laughed...
It felt like an old, old nightmare; the perspective was a very
young child's, because the crowd he ran through was twice his height or more.
The isolation felt too familiar; if it weren't for the fact that Hisoka himself
had never had the freedom to run, it could have been one of his own dreams.
Now I think I know why he said an empath probably couldn't
bear to be in the same room...
Fear and self-preservation struggled with Hisoka's own bone-deep
awareness of that pain; cursing himself for a fool, Hisoka climbed up onto the
bed beside him and took his hands.
...CAUGHT -- there was only one person who would catch him
here!...
It's all right, Hisoka said. I hear you. I see you.
You're not alone anymore.
Who...? Hazy in his sleeping child-mind was a premonition
of a tall pale-crowned angel reaching toward him, with such a familiar presence...
If he could, I'm sure he'd hold you through your nightmares
too, Hisoka said. He's only human, though, so he can't. But I'm not human
anymore. Is that all right? 
After a moment's contemplation, the tangle of nightmare-haunted
semi-consciousness responded with, Fine. Humans hurt.
Yes, they do, Hisoka agreed quietly. They hurt on purpose,
and sometimes they hurt by accident, but they don't have to. --Come on. I'm
not all that good at happy dreams, but at least I can find you a more peaceful
one... shall we go see the beach?
Hisoka's favorite memory of the beach by his home was from a warm
summer night; the air was thick with the scent of the garden flowers, and no
one else had been there. The dark-haired boy sitting beside him said, This
isn't my beach.
No, this one is mine. It's in Japan.
Why can I see a beach I've never seen before...?
Isn't it better than where you were? Maybe this way we can
both get some rest...
Even unconscious and shadowed by decade-old nightmares, his bright
quick mind caught on that. My nightmares kept you awake?
Definitely, Hisoka replied, a little more sourly than he
meant. 
But nobody could hear me...
I can hear you, Hisoka answered. I can see you. Even
if you thought no one could, I can. Maybe if you believe that deeply enough,
you can let that nightmare go. Maybe I can too...
Despite himself, his mind flashed on the inside of that cage,
and his parents' faces; he was huddled in the corner, and every bone in his
body hurt with the curse that was killing him. There was a flash of terror,
and then defensive outrage -- and it wasn't his own; he'd brought his dream-visitor
there too --
MY beach, the dreamer beside him said fiercely, and dragged
them both away; the water there was much colder, but the stars were the same
stars, and Hisoka felt warm hands against his shoulders, steadying him. My
beach. Further away from -- that. Are you all right?
I will be, I think, Hisoka said, shaken. Don't let go.
I won't, he replied. Don't you let go either. Promise?
Hisoka nodded. I promise. We'll watch out for each other here.
Nobody will catch us that way, right? So... it's all right to relax... I'm so
tired of nightmares...
A sleepy head beside him nodded toward his shoulder. I'm so
tired too...
* * *
If anyone had told Cain Hargreaves that his soul's vision of paradise
had nothing to do with waking up in a woman's arms after a night of passion,
and that instead it had to do with waking up holding a boy's hands after a night
of sleeping -- just lying there sleeping; what a blow to his reputation! If
someone had told him that his soul was that prosaic, he would likely have broken
a rib laughing. Since the rib had already been broken for him, though, he thought
it would be wiser to forego the laughing and let the boy rest. If peaceful nights
without nightmares were that rare for them both, then he probably needed it...
Dimly, out in the hall, he heard an uncomfortably familiar echo:
giggles.
"Hisoka-chaaaan! Where are youuuuuu?"
Hisoka made a small whimpering sound, and let go of Cain's hands
to pull a pillow over his head more firmly.
Cain struggled with temptation and lost. He scrubbed a hand through
his hair to make sure it was suitably rumpled, then opened the door and leaned
on the frame of it. "Can't you be quieter? He's still sleeping!" he
said, with the righteousness of the perfectly truthful.
"He's... he's... what...?"
Cain leaned aside and pointed in so that the girls could get a
look at Hisoka's sleeping figure. "Why did you go and put him in that dress,
anyway? It was dark last night; I didn't figure it out until rather too late..."
He kept his eyes wide and earnest by sheer force of will -- that
and an uncomfortable awareness of how much it would hurt to laugh.
The girls stared back and forth between Hisoka, Cain, and each
other, their faces going pale.
"Well?" he asked. "Why the dress?"
"We... er... we thought..."
"...he looked... cute..."
"Oh, he certainly did," Cain agreed, far too eagerly
for their comfort. "Absolutely delectable..."
The girls traded a miserable look, and one of them burst into
tears; they both fled sobbing down the hall.
Chuckling breathlessly to himself, Cain stepped back inside and
shut the door quietly. Now, if THAT doesn't solve the problem of Terazuma
and the midnight rampages... I wonder approximately how many repair bills I've
just spared the steward?
Unless, of course, they prove to be obnoxious drunks in their
heartbroken disappointment.
Somewhat chilled by that thought, Cain resolved to make some discreet
inquiries about their alcohol tolerance before the next time he saw to singlehandedly
ruining a boy's reputation.
Hisoka was blinking blearily up at him from the sheets. "Mr.
Hargreaves...? I thought I heard the twins..."
"Oh, that problem's solved," Cain said cheerily. "I've
got it all fixed for you."
"Solved...?" Hisoka sighed and flopped back into the
pillows. "I'm still dreaming, aren't I..."
"Something like that," Cain agreed. And I'll let
him find out about the rest of his newfound reputation when I'm safely OUT of
throwing-into-fireplace range.

**Risu-chan** · March 9th, 2003, 09:14 PM

augggh... I wrote it in Dreamweaver but the spacing's still all funky! @_@ haven't got the brainpower to go fix it right now though... and the next thing I've got in mind is SERIOUSLY goofy so as to counteract all the angstfesting going on... ^_^;;

**rev.tsukiyama** · March 18th, 2003, 07:32 PM

Holy fuck, how did I miss this post?
Brilliant, truly brilliant. As ever.

I have taken a lot of drugs and shall now go and add to the 'daytime' thread, as promised. Eek. I've also got a daft lief/cain in the works although it dosent have anything to do with KnM.

**Risu-chan** · April 6th, 2003, 10:58 PM

Okay, people should hook up generators to THAT, and let the resulting steam supply electricity for half of Britain!

Taking off the localized iteration of the "plot-what-plot hat" and bowing forehead to floor and offering it up to Tsukiyama-san... ^__^

Ed: @_@ I keep meaning to throw in a random comic Dr. J and Watari bit involving belated side effects from that potions, because it was the prototype of "things that should NOT go in the daytime plot thread"...

but dang, I just can't make myself face dealing with a keyboard for that long! WANT OUT OF SPLINT DAGNABBIT... (yeah, I'm a completely terrible patient; I'm sure doctors hate me...)

[ April 06, 2003 08:00 PM: Message edited by: Risu-chan ]

**rev.tsukiyama** · April 7th, 2003, 03:41 AM

As mentioned. I've got a LxC that I hope someone might like to beta for me. Not my greatest work, but you can find it at, under a pseudonym. http://www.nijikon.net/betafic.htm

I'll warn you in advance that it's sexually explicit. Okay?

[ April 06, 2003 12:43 PM: Message edited by: tsukiyama saunt ]

**rev.tsukiyama** · April 7th, 2003, 08:20 AM

*Sits in the public library blushing*
I'm not entirely happy with it, but I'm glad if the resident kami no fanfic thought it was okay. I cant help but think I could have put more sex in it and less well, plot. I'll just have to keep writing this stuff until I get better at it, I suppose. :rubs hands together:

Oh and random comic bits are always good. I swear, I'll fastforward my internal fic clock to daytime and prod the main KnM thread next XD

**Risu-chan** · April 8th, 2003, 02:40 PM

<BLOCKQUOTE>quote:<table border="0" width="90%" bgcolor="#333333" cellspacing="1" cellpadding="0"><tr><td width="100%"><table border="0" width="100%" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="2" bgcolor="#FF9900"><tr><td width="100%" bgcolor="#ffffff">Originally posted by tsukiyama saunt:
[Q]I cant help but think I could have put more sex in it and less well, plot.[/Q]</td></tr></table></td></tr></table></BLOCKQUOTE>

ROTFL! ^___^ I'm not sure if there could have been much less of a plot unless it had started out with 'em horizontal... ^^;;

<BLOCKQUOTE>quote:<table border="0" width="90%" bgcolor="#333333" cellspacing="1" cellpadding="0"><tr><td width="100%"><table border="0" width="100%" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="2" bgcolor="#FF9900"><tr><td width="100%" bgcolor="#ffffff">I'll just have to keep writing this stuff until I get better at it, I suppose. </td></tr></table></td></tr></table></BLOCKQUOTE>

Oh yeah -- I love using that excuse too. ^__~

Q. What do authors and pastry chef trainees have in common?
A. They (and everybody else) can have wayyyy too much fun with what they do for "practice"... ^_~

(sweatdrop) and I could have put a much older profession in for the pastry chef trainees, but I assume this is something approximating a PG-rated board... ^^;;

**crystalgryphon** · April 12th, 2003, 08:32 PM

Er . . . What can I say? I was bored. -_-;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;

This is really pure Yami no Matsuei, owing nothing to Count Cain other than the setting, and there's probably something in here somewhere that contradicts what other people have already written, but heck, I figured that at least someone might find it amusing. And besides, I never pass up a chance to use the word "perspicacious". ~_^

-----------------------------------------------------

Any member of the household who had not seen the pale man when he had arrived might have been excused for thinking that he was a ghost, since only a spirit was likely to be wandering at large at this hour of the night, pacing silently through the hallways. It would have taken a most perspicacious observer to realize that the ghostly figure's footfalls were silent because it was barefoot, rather than because it lacked physicality, and that while a ghost might have been bespectacled, and have held something dark between its hands, it was hardly likely that such a creature would have red marks banding its wrists where it had been chafed by the handcuffs intended to restrain it from the sort of mischief on which it was now bent . . . if not, indeed, from worse things.

He stopped outside a door, and pale fingers reached out to grip and turn the knob. Bloodless lips creased into a smile as he realized it was not locked, even though he knew, somehow, that the object of his desire lay within, and that the other was alone. Apparently, his minders had thought that the cuffs, and the lock on his door, would be sufficient to protect their companion from his desires, fools that they were.

Carefully he eased the door open just enough to admit him, and then, once on the other side, just as carefully eased it shut again so that it made not so much as a faint click. He would have liked
to look around first, but it would not have done to be impatient. That way lay discovery by his captors . . . and in any case, anticipation was half the pleasure, was it not?

The room had only one bed in it, and the shaft of moonlight falling across the pillow illuminated a head of tousled dark hair. The pale man licked his lips and set that which he carried aside on the dresser, then removed his glasses and deposited them beside it. The bed was large enough that he was able to turn back the covers on the far side of it and slide under them without disturbing the occupant. He frowned as he realized that there were crumbs in the bedsheets, then shrugged. Such was typical of the one that he now lay beside, and it was a small enough price to pay for what he intended to do here tonight.

He inched slowly across the mattress until he was separated from the other man by a mere handsbreadth of space, then cautiously slid one arm over the sleeper's body, taking him in a gentle embrace. To his pleased amusement, the other rolled over and snuggled up against him, burying that beautiful face in the curve of his neck and muttering something incoherent. Even having the pale man deposit a kiss on the crown of his head only made the dark-haired one move in closer, and the intruder was about to run his tongue delicately around the curve of the other's ear when he heard footsteps out in the hall. He held his breath, willing them silently to go away, but no such luck--the doorknob was rattling. Swiftly, he rolled himself off the bed, dropped to the floor, and slid himself under the mattress, where he was forced to pinch his nose to keep from sneezing, for the area had clearly not been dusted in quite some time. As the door swung open, he occupied himself with dark thoughts of what he would do to the servant responsible for the cleanliness of this chamber if the opportunity to be alone with that person ever presented itself.

"Hisoka? Are you here?" The voice was a woman's, and the pale man licked his lips, tasting phantom blood. Women made such wonderful victims, and this one had just offended him so that killing her would be a joy as well as a pleasure. Imagine, interrupting his interlude with his beloved because she was searching for that brat! "Funny, I thought he was supposed to be sharing Tsuzuki's room, but there's only the one bed . . ."

Finally, the sleeper stirred, making the mattress above the pale man shake. "Go 'way!" a sleepy voice insisted, and there was a dull thud as something well-padded struck flesh.

"Tsuzuki, you--"

"Calm down," a second female voice said. "It's only a pillow, and we are kind of disturbing him. Let's go check the others' rooms--maybe Hisoka's hiding out with one of them."

The door was shut again, and the footsteps retreated, but the pale man continued to lie beneath the mattress, fingering the knife in his pocket and dreaming of putting it to use, until the sleeper's breathing had once more become deep and regular. Only then did he emerge from his hiding place and rise silently to his feet.

Regretfully, he padded over to the dresser to retrieve his glasses. He would have very much preferred to stay, but although he doubted that Hisoka was hiding in the room into which the other
Shinigami had locked him for the night, it was possible that the girls would search for him there at some point, or that someone else would check on him to make certain that he had not murdered the youth a second time, and he had no wish for them to discover him gone, for if they were to ascertain that the precautions they had taken to keep him imprisoned were ineffective, they might well decide to use stronger ones which would be more difficult to escape.

Nevertheless, he took a moment to fling the other object that he had brought with him onto the bed, where the shaft of moonlight revealed it to be, not black as it had previously appeared, but blood red and dark green. The sleeper took no notice of it . . . yet.

* * *

The next morning, a chambermaid was passing through that hallway when she heard whimpering sounds coming from behind one of the doors. Having an overdeveloped sense of curiosity, she stopped for a moment and peered through the keyhole, and was perplexed to see one of the Master's peculiar collection of houseguests staring aghast at a single blood-red rose that lay neatly on the bed beside him.

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**rev.tsukiyama** · April 13th, 2003, 10:48 AM

Muraki! ^_^ [img]graemlins/rose.gif[/img]

Lovely stuff, Grphon, dear. Really nice. I may yet become a yami fangirl at this rate. Get bored more often!

Thread: Kami no Matsuei Nocturnes

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