Luncheon Discussions

A/N: Drabble. In which they all realize that lunch didn’t explode in their faces, domestication is an amusing thought, and Saint still can’t understand his predecessor’s tendency of antagonizing everything that moves. Though it could just be that karma and idiocy runs in the family.


***

“Okay? Seriously, doesn’t this scream surreally disturbing to any of you guys?”

Three pairs of eyes slowly turned to him, each gleaming with a different emotion. For all that they quietly spoke, accusation or annoyance wasn’t present in any of the looks shot at him. He took that as a sign that his day wasn’t going to go downhill earlier than he thought.

“What kind? As in surreal like you actually wearing the pants in your living-together-finally-leveled-up relationship?” The man with bright crimson eyes sitting across him spoke in bemusement.

Scratch that last thought.

The first man rolled his eyes and very nearly threw his cup of juice at the other. Then again, Sidhe had been very sweet to make him a cup before she left. No one can never say he wasn’t prudent or grateful.

“Screw you.” He settled for insulting instead. “And for the record, it’s called marriage. You know, making vows and an official commitment to loving each other equally til’ unto Death’s threshold we cross? I guess you don’t remember that seeing as you’re actually an old man possibly suffering dementia.”

The stare turned a notch less interested. “For the most part, people call it a Game Over. Was the after-party at least worth it? Oh wait, don’t answer that.”

“I reiterate, screw you.”

A snort of amusement. “As much as that sounds rather amusing, I have standards. And you technically being my successor sounds terribly like, ‘Father I’d like to--’”

“Don’t. Even think about finishing that sentence.” Kia, the only female of their little group threatened with a spaghetti wrapped fork. As of late, she had taken to wearing a silvery mask attached to a sturdy blindfold that hid most of her face, save for her mouth and the sides of her eyes. But even then he could imagine seeing her blue eyes glaring threateningly at the other, daring Red-eyes to give her the permission to doing unspeakable damage to his person. To which, the first man thought, was not unlikely to happen.

The older man shrugged, never once voicing his yield but it was already evident in his actions. The woman shot him another long, warning laced silence, before looking back at the first speaker. “So what’s gotten you asking that question, Saint?” Her tone changed to mild-mannered and curious in two seconds flat.

Get back on track. On topic. Okay. Don't make the old lady mad. “Just a random musing. I mean we’ve got a bunch of new kids hanging around trying to get a grip on things, sure. But even I have to admit Enlil being domesticated is just eye-popping. Even this,” He gestured to the four of them seated at the table. “Is just disturbing to an extent.”

“For the latter, a point made.” Red-eyes said. A grin stretched across his face as he leaned forward, interlocking his fingers in front of his face. “I should be killing you all too, for the lack of a better way to explain myself. One of us shouldn’t even be married at all, given that he’s of a class that practices celibacy.”

“You just love picking me out, don’t you?”

“It’s a hobby.”

The woman looked up, most likely rolling her eyes skyward. “For the love of everything... Saint just stop, will you?”

“Which Saint are you referring to, woman?” Red-eyes drawled, resting his cheek against an upright palm.

So even they had to admit it was infuriating. The two men shared nearly the same face -almost like twins but Odin forbid it-, and the same name. A lack of originality perhaps? Or was it something more close to following an unspoken rule of some sort?

Whatever. Bottom line, it was annoying and hell lot confusing.

Kia shook her head. “Ugh, you know what? I’ll just call you Johan. Him, Saint. Sounds fair enough.” That made the green-eyed one blink in confusion, and his predecessor glower all of a sudden.

“Why am I being addressed by his dead name?” He practically hissed.

“I am not going to call you Overlord. He’s the you now and I just like being difficult.” Came the speedy reply. Saint fought back the urge to chuckle.

The older one rolled his eyes but looked away with a muttered, ‘Whatever.’

“However surreal it is, it is fine, isn’t it?” Their attention drew to their fourth member who had been silently watching their exchange with veiled interest in his ash-grey eyes.

In place of a normal pair of ears, a pair of orange gradient wings flapped once. Saint had been curious and was tempted to reach out and touch them, but he knew when to listen to his voice of self-preservation. It didn’t mean that he wasn't distracted by their movements each time Irae was within sight, though.

“I don’t know about you, Irry, but I think I would be disturbed if supposed villains or someone along those lines were to eat at the same table as me without maiming me one way or another. The food could be poisoned for all we know.”

Irae stared at him with wide eyes before pushing away his half-eaten sandwich with a cautious look. Kia tried and failed to prevent slapping her face just as Johan -now that sounds really weird- let out a breathy chuckle.

Saint himself tried not to feel too guilty about giving the young mage knight the thought. “It was an assumption, Irry. A pure unfounded assumption that really can’t be true. You can take back your sandwich and eat it. It's actually good! I promise! Sidhe makes the best sandwiches this side of the continent.” He nudged the plate back to the other.

Johan chose that perfect time to add in his two cents. “Besides, food poisoning is such a boring way of killing someone. Only assassins get a kick out of poisoning things. Then again, Saint, you are living with a couple of assassins that are unhinged one way or another, right?” If Irae’s glare could set fire to things, the sandwich would have been nothing more but a charred piece of lump.

The same could almost be said for Saint, only, he was more of a strangling type.

“You’re really unfortunate that Sola isn’t here at the moment or that the bag of cats isn’t very interested in crossing you.”

“Really now?”

There was more to be had, really. If things went the way the former Saint wanted it to go, the table would be shot into non-existence and the kitchen wouldn’t even be called a kitchen. But there were forces that even he couldn’t defy sometimes, one of which was the woman who was already stomping on his foot under the table with a not so harmless metal heel.

Well shoot, when did she equip those pointy greaves? And no, that wasn’t him yelping like a dog. It was a manly grunt. Only in a slightly higher pitch.

“Fu--! You woman--!” He didn’t get to finish his sentence as he was grabbed by the collar and dragged out by the backdoor. Saint laughed at the sight of seeing his predecessor being dragged away by someone nearly a head shorter than he was. A rude gesture was sent his way, but he only returned it in kind with an added snort.

Kia turned to glance at the remaining two at the table. “Excuse us for a moment.” She spared them those words and promptly closed the door behind them.

“Saint.”

“Yeah?” He said, not turning his gaze from the epic earful going on outside in his backyard. Irae shifted a little, looking a little embarrassed before he took his sandwich again and ate a mouthful.

“I have to ask. Does your ‘father’ understand that he’s rather domesticated for a so-called villain?”

Now the high priest had to laugh. Normally he’d correct people about the father thing, but he was just too amused right now to bother. “Just as much as I understand why he enjoys picking on me,” a blank look from Irae, “... which is as far as I can throw him with my own bare hands. Which isn’t much.”

Irae seemed satisfied then. “These lunch gatherings. If it doesn’t end up in catastrophe, I’d like to have another.”

“You’re strange.” A smirk found its way onto Saint’s face. “I’ll see if I can get the whole house to participate next time. Bring Luce, and I’ll order pizza.”

And wasn’t that just inviting pandemonium in a box?

END ENTRY.

In The Midst of Madness

A/N: More random writing. And of course, featuring my favorite characters to write about as of late.

***

He was thankful for the silence.

This windowless cell that held the barest of comforts was his home, his somewhat sanctuary, from the madness that threatened to choke him from all around. However, much as he delighted in insulting the guards that came for him each day, he did not have the power to keep himself permanently within the walls of his poor haven.

He was often dragged out, out into the hallways that rang with the soundless cacophony of choking -choking!- madness, dragged by hair or by arms into the starch white rooms that stank of copper, of cold metal and the ever lingering odor of sweat covered insanity.

He hated those rooms, hated the white that he came to associate with the facade of innocence. Hated the professional gazes that held a primal hunger that ignored any sense of morality in the name of playing God.

The darkness, he found it ironic, held him together more than the light ever could.

But with the doors closed behind him in his little haven, the madness became a little more bearable, his sanity given more footing to snarl and keep the worst of the pain at bay.

He didn’t know why. Why, with all the chances of something horrific to happen, it had to be this. Why it had to be one of the monsters that lurked in the darkness of the human society, and not one of those that so boldly flaunted its supposed grasp of power. If it had been the latter, he would have been able to sense it and prevented more than a superficial wound.

But no, it had to be the one that stole him away in the night at the height of his unguarded state. It had to be the one that made him flinch in surprise and prevented him from making sense of anything in the crucial moments that could have held his chance of escape.

His fists clenched tightly -painfully- at his sides until angry red grooves were lightly carved into his palms. Blood dotted the grooves, but did not seep out.

Kidnap for ransom? Jealousy? He didn’t think for a moment that any of the answers he could come up with would be close to the truth. Truth that so infuriatingly eluded his supreme logic. He may have been bested once, captured and treated no more better than a prisoner, but Hel fall upon those fools who thought it would wound his pride.

And why... why had things turned for the worse? Plans of destruction in the wake of his escape whispered to him each night. But those plans had to be shoved away, in the light of the prisoner they had dropped into his cell a month after his own capture.

His brother. His precious -how dare they hurt him!- other half had also been dragged into this mess that he knew not why it concerned him. Why? He was nothing of interest to the world. No notable achievements unless one would count the amazing streak of pranks he had in his acolyte days.

He was useful. His captors had saw fit to tell him at the least. Neither of them were useful without the other. But should they prove more than a handful to handle, they had threatened to dispose of his brother first. Sadistic, heartless bastards! He had screamed at them until his throat was raw and sore.

Why indeed? Everything screamed of madness that it hurt. The answers that were kept from him only served to agitate him more. He tried to keep his wits together to form his own observations to his questions whilst he was conscious and not screaming like a frenzied dog, a feat that was nigh impossible in the white rooms. He needed to know, he direly needed to know!

There. A gentle emotion, radiating a soft shade of red drifted to him from all the slowly retreating white madness. It brushed against his mind, calling out to him.

Aniki.

Instinctively, he pressed up against the wall, running a hand against it as if caressing someone. Closing his eyes, he let himself breath into a forced calmness.

Moments passed by in silence.

He bit his lip, his eyebrows furrowing until suddenly it disappeared, a mask of indifference resting on his face despite no other was inhabiting the room. Rest, otouto. I am fine. The words soundlessly escape his murmuring lips.

It was something he and his brother shared. A strange but not unpleasant link. Words were never needed with it, but sometimes it helped put focus on the feelings sent rather than let a jumble of emotions be thrown to the other end. Odin knows they had each done that too many times as children before they eventually learned to control it. To some extent.

No matter the distance, the link provided a faint -very faint- line to a pulsing heartbeat at the other end. It was their own secret security blanket throughout the years loneliness came to grip their souls.

You can lie to everyone else as you please, but you can’t lie to me.

The soundless emotion that threw itself at him retorted and he forced himself not to laugh lest he rattled his bruised ribs. Breathing was difficult as it was.

Amusement echoed from his side. As if you could tell whether I lie or not. Pain-laced exhaustion creeped into the unspoken conversation, and his brother’s end threw an empty threat of castration should he continue being a lying bull.

They continued to have a silent conversation. He knew his brother was fine, better off than him in fact. They had been together today, and went through a battery of experiments that left them weak and barely able to return to their rooms. They may have pursued different paths in life, but one thing they did share was a cunning mind. His brother had managed to save the energy to heal himself quietly, and him to a small extent during the brief moment they touched, before being roughly shoved into their rooms.

It wasn't enough for a full recovery, but at the least it promised that he would not die from internal wounds.

His body shook with barely restrained laughter at the last thing his brother said. The sharp pain made him hiss, but fortunately kept him from hurting himself further. Lifting his hands, he looked at the crimson broken half moons on his palms. The sensation of pain was a dull throb as opposed to the bruises marring his chest under his stained tunic. A groan escaped his mouth as he let his hands fall back to his sides.

The white madness had ebbed to the edges of his mind. The darkness filled the spaces, beckoning to him, whispering the promises of comfort and escape. Cold comfort, he knew, but he would not complain. There were certainties of nightmares prowling in that darkness, but he told himself that he was far above such fears of the mind. He was strong. He was above this pain. And certainly far above those fools that called themselves his captors.

They will not break him.

When his vision began to grow fuzzy and his senses dulled against his wishes, he knew then to give into sleep beckoning to him.

He did not have the strength to drag his body to bed, and so he laid as comfortably as he could on the cold stone floor. There would be sore consequences once he woke, but he found to not care for any at the moment.

As his eyes drooped and his breathing evened out, he felt a gentle nudge. A wordless utter, filled with affection that he would never exchange for anything else, an affection he wished to be freed from the shackles of the white rooms and cold, hungry gazes. He will find a way.

He must. He will.

END ENTRY.

Condemned to the Fickle and Wicked

A/N: I have no idea why it's so hard to publish a work of mine here lately. Blogger don't like copy paste much?

Prompt: “Evil from within that has been let out."

***

The mind was capable of horrors that reality couldn’t begin to fathom, couldn’t bear to stand. This, was something she understood very well even without living the experience. Horror that couldn’t be spoken, that could only be restrained within the mind as ideas, birthed from the darker side of circumstance and emotion. Because to execute such would be the ultimate social death in the society in the world of Matter, the world she called her reality. And while she had fantasies about the end of life, being a murderer was something she frowned upon.

But it was something she did not dissuade completely, at least in the land of the Immaterial.

It didn’t completely surprise her then, that when she sensed another presence in the room, she didn’t do more than jump a little in her seat as the figure stopped by her side.

“Good evening, Haizek.” The man said in a lilting tone. A smile spread across his pale face which had splatters of blood. They trickled down his cheeks in thin rivulets, cascading down a flawless and pale throat before seeping into the usual pristine white of his robes. But even then, his clothing had been a white canvas on which a rich crimson was splashed on with careless regard.

Drip, drip, drip the droplets went. But as they fell they disappeared into nothingness a mere hair’s breadth from the linoleum covered floor. A walking macabre that was fit to be hanged on a museum’s wall for the world to gaze upon in horrified fascination. She wished that he being hanged could be made true. But it was an impossibility she knew all too well.

The girl, Haizek, spared him a quick glance from top to bottom. “Any of that yours?” Haizek asked as she turned back to the sketch on the table.

A soft laugh, with a dark undertone of madness reached her ears. “Do you need ask?”

“Obviously not.” She quickly answered with barely a show of emotion. She tapped the pencil against the table, focusing on anything but the manic presence beside her. From the corner of her eyes though, she saw movement of that stained sleeve, however it was only that he crossed his arms over his chest. As if sensing the underlying concern, he spoke, “Rest easy. From time to time, I do enjoy visiting those phantom worlds the Children so love to get lost in.” A soft chuckle cut in, “Did you know about the double purpose of those worlds?” The question hung in the air.

Phantoms made of flesh and blood, denied the grace of Time or Death. She stopped tapping the tool and sketched out patterns on the folds of the robe, only to erase those mere seconds after.

Immortal fodder for the decadent.

“It is wonderful how your skills are improving,” Said the white-haired man, peering down at several sketches resting under his splayed palm. He seemed to grow disinterested after a moment, and so turned his sights once again on the artist.

The hand that was on the drawings transferred to her shoulder, settling down with a gentle squeeze. “Azrael has been very good in tending to that. I do not understand why you vehemently think his loyalty’s work is otherwise.”

“I hate your voice.”

“Azrael’s burden is so great. I do not want to even begin to fathom how he has been handling your fleeting rejection and acceptance so well.”

“You know why. LeRoux, don’t be stupid.” She placed heavy emphasis on the second and last word. Glaring up at him, she continued, “It’s revolting that you would try to be dumber than you really are.”

LeRoux blinked owlishly, then laughed. “Ah yes, yes. Apologies then. Perhaps that idiotic priest Child’s glaring tomfoolery is beginning to grow on me.” She felt the weight of his hand lifting from her shoulder. Belatedly, she realized the grip she had on her pencil had loosened a notch at that.

I hate him so much.

Haizek decided to drop any thought of prolonging the conversation. Screw being politely outraged, she’ll leave that to the more refined gentlemen and ladies. “Why the hell are you here?”

There was that smile again. “An evil. A necessary evil.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, asshole.” Her answer made LeRoux frown and sigh, almost like a father would to a swearing child.

He ran a hand through his hair, humming in annoyance at the blood that began to congeal his hair into spiky clumps. “I’m curious. While Belucci does engage me still in our marvellous dance of death and rebirth, it hasn’t been as often.” He let his hand fall from his hair, to rest it against the table’s edge as he leaned against it.

Carmine eyes regarded her with barely veiled curiosity and accusation. “It could be that... you are stopping him?” Haizek looked to him, watching him watching her. Well, there were some things even he wouldn’t know.

She answered him. “I don’t have that kind of power over any of you.” It wasn’t a lie, not a complete one anyway.

LeRoux tilted his head, reaching out a hand to brush against her cheek. She didn’t flinch, but the narrowed eyes spoke volumes of her being uncomfortable with the contact. “Stop touching me.” She made to swat his hand, but it quickly went down to tap a finger at her collarbone. The light in his red eyes momentarily gleamed with realization as that finger traced feathery circles over where her heart was under the layers of skin and cloth. “Ah, so you are deviating his advances then.” The tone sounded crossed between slightly impressed and infuriated.

The look on his face was what he would show when someone stole away his partner, permanent and not. It was uncommon, but she knew such cases to happen and relished in his frustration every time, even if it was at her own expense sometimes.

“Call it trying to give his duty a more effective result.”

“Is it?”

“It is. He didn’t object to it. And looking at it this way, if you’re here after spending who knows how long on those worlds, it would only mean that it is working.”

There was a moment of tangible silence then. Haizek impatiently turned back to her drawing, scribbling a few notes and boxing them under the sketches before a chuckle floated to her ears. She resisted the urge to look at him and throw a useless punch at him. Then again, she would realize much later that it was a far better to have acted on it than leaving that feeling to be consumed by him.

“Well, no matter. A change in the script is not very troublesome.” LeRoux flicked his wrist, looking for all the world as smug as a narcissist would. “Actors learn to adapt to sudden changes in the story. It wouldn’t be the first time I would need to ad libitum.”

Bastard. She let out a long and low growl. “Get out. Leave me alone.”

“In a moment.” He answered.

“I never should have created you.”

“Or rather, should I have never revealed myself to you? That is the question, isn’t it? Who influences who?” LeRoux said, examining his nails with interest. He closed his eyes, letting that smile stay. “I have always been there. And always I will be, in your lifetime. There is only one way to rid me off the stage.”

He sighed, opening his eyes to look at her in mirth. “But murder is something you frown upon.”

She threw herself at him. He laughed a little as she pressed him to the floor, hands on his crimson stained neck, squeezing it in a death grip. Eyes a window to the soul, he saw in them the burning despair and hate, shackled and restrained by so many chains of gold and crystal, to only allow a faint gleam to show.

Infuriating, but a challenge is a challenge.

“Come now.” LeRoux smirked, unfazed by the hands attempting to cut his supply of air. “This is not an effective way.” He reached up his bloody hands, mirroring her grip on her neck.

“If you want to kill me, this is the way.” He spoke softly in that lilting tone. “Press down here,” his thumbs rubbed against that soft spot, “And maintain a steadfast will to not let go.” He finished.

The veiled pain in her aloof eyes only made his smile widen.

“But of course, you abhor murder.” His hands fell away, just as her own released his neck. She scrambled up, facing away from whilst rubbing at her neck as if his touch burned her. Perhaps it did. She did not speak, not even when he gently patted her head.

“Thank you for making the story even more interesting. Keep me entertained, will you not?” Her answer, his own answer to the question, was there but left unspoken.

In a blink of an eye, he was gone. Not a trace of his presence left in his wake.

Not anything that reality could see or fathom.

End entry.

Premonition

A/N: Another one. It's sort of a... mini prequel to an ongoing RP between me and a friend. Might be AU-ish unless I can confirm it with her, then again it doesn't say much about her character. And I suck at making fancy titles.

*****

It had been a long time since Luce had felt so sullen. He stared out at the white roofs in neat and uniformed rows spread out across the residential quarter, the main plaza’s spiralling spinel clock tower seen towards the other end of the white roof fields. The sun was slowly setting behind the western mountains, painting the expanse of his city in shades of orange and gold.

Star, the ever so patient and kind butler who had half raised him, could be heard bustling about in the kitchen of his home. In a part of his heart, he felt sorry for getting angry at the man because of his bad mood. Star might have looked alright, but Luce knew he had been bewildered and hurt. He wanted to apologize to the older Child, but somehow he couldn’t find the courage to say anything and instead locked himself up in his room like a petulant teen.

After nearly five years, the fragile balance of his mind was shattered unduly by a nightmare a fortnight before. That beautiful man garbed in white and red had appeared, becoming his unheeded partner and fellow witness to the horror that he was forced to watch.

It was one of those dreams he wished didn’t play out with such clarity. The colors were too vivid, the sounds too crystal clear. He could see the pale pallor of tender flesh caged under thick tendrils of black and grey, struggling against the bondages of its prison and yet betrayed its intended goal. Hair the color of a peaceful winter morning fell limply like a torn veil, being tossed about as the flesh it was attached to kept moving about. Wine red eyes were clouded over with pain and forbidden pleasure, just as pale lips remained open and garbled screams and pleas escaped it.

Monstrosities he had only heard of from his more experience allies were everywhere, slithering in and out of the shadows aimlessly. Some though, had become attracted to the main object of this dream and slowly made their way past him towards the writhing mass his eyes were currently gazing upon.

“Horrifying, isn’t it?” His companion had asked, but it wasn’t a question as much as it was a statement. Luce frowned, crossing his arms over his chest to calm his wildly beating heart. The moans and screams weren’t something he wanted to hear. In some other time, the sounds made would have been amusing. But now, it was simply disgusting. How he wanted to stop everything himself. But it was only a dream, and this companion of his seemed to be controlling it. The young mage knight knew long ago there was no other recourse but to let everything happen, bitter as he was with this show of submission.

The man he knew as LeRoux turned to smile at him. It was very unnerving, but he couldn’t look away. Snow white hair fell in layered and loose curls to his thighs, blood red eyes regarded him with slight amusement. “This dream feels much like that day, does it not?” There was no disgust, no pity in his tone. Neither did LeRoux look anything remotely bothered by the scene. In fact, he looked quite the opposite.

Luce was quick to snap a reply. “I don’t need you to tell me that.”

“No, of course not, of course not.” Sang LeRoux, clapping his hands merrily. No, he certainly did not need for this psycho to remind him of that memory branded with the shatter of his heart. A pained scream jolted him back to the present. The mage knight turned to see flesh jerk against the tendrils before it relaxed back into the dreadful dark mass. Pity, he could understand that feeling, but why did rage threatened to explode as well? He didn’t recognize the human trapped under all that mass. One of the mages he knew perhaps, but he recalled none of them had eyes like those, like his. Male or female, he did not know nor did it matter to him either. The rage didn’t leave him still.

He turned towards the other, mask shakily set into place. “What’s the point of showing me this, fiend?”

“Fiend? Ah, I have fallen that far since our last meeting.” LeRoux chuckled, but went on, “Oh, you certainly needed to see this. I find it very entertaining to say the least.”

“You’re damnably sick if you get your kicks off of things like this.”

“Words, Luce. Indeed, it is a terrible sin unto myself that I have left your upbringing amongst the less eloquent Children. Ah! Mea culp-”

“Shut it and just answer my question.” Luce felt his already thin patience wearing thinner. LeRoux merely brought a finger to his smiling lips and pointed back to the scene. As if on an unspoken word, the shapeless monstrosities began to move in a different pattern, dragging the human deeper into its mass. The screams renewed with strength, and Luce could even hear swearing and cursing.

“The hell!” Luce swore, catching himself at the last minute before he lunged for the monstrosity and its victim.

“Would you be that hero you could only dream about, Luce?” The white haired man beside him asked. “Or would you always remain the boy gladiator?”

“What?”

LeRoux shrugged with a careless smile. “People cling to objects that remind them of things they could not save. That was the source of your idea to become a ‘hero’, however disillusioned that dream is. That hope is quite smaller than it used to be, however you are still an optimistic hypocrite.” The older man spun merrily with his arms spread at his sides, his bell like laughter filling the darkness aside from the whimpers coming from the prisoner. “My young gladiator, who always struggle to fight for causes beyond his control.”

Luce heard the words, but he did not look at the other. Instead he kept his gaze fixated on the struggling form before him.

Even if he were a phantom to his own dream, those red eyes seemed to focus on him, only him.

Please. They begged. Please? Luce could not understand what this person wanted. Please can mean so many things. Please? If by some miracle he understood what exactly this person wanted, can he do anything?

Don’t look at me. He quietly said in his mind. Tears spilled out of those accursed red orbs, their lips trembling to form the word that those eyes voicelessly pleaded.

Ever since that incident, he didn’t want to be deeply involved with people. Hating was better too, but he realized to his frustration that he couldn’t hate as much as he wanted to. But he could still hate. He can still turn down what was being asked of him. Who was he to fix someone else’s problem? That person probably deserved what was happening to him.

“Stop it.” Luce whispered, unable to shake the emotions gripping his heart the more he stared. Unable to take it anymore, he glared at LeRoux. “I said stop it!” He demanded.

Please.

The mysterious smile on LeRoux’s face turned a notch sinister. “Stop it? Luce dear, have you ever heard of dreams as premonitions? Prophetic messages? What is happening is something I do not have control over. I only invited myself into your dream to oversee.”

Luce lunged for LeRoux, baring his teeth in an angry scowl. The other did not move away, but he laughed as the younger man gripped his shirt and pulled back a fist.

A sudden, sickening crunch and abrupt silence stopped them both. Fear gripped Luce’s heart as he closed his eyes, understanding what that noise was a result of. But a force compelled him to turn, to force his eyes open at the sight. He nearly retched at the blood that leaked into rivers from between the monstrosities’ tendrils, at the now wet and deadened eyes in a head tilted at a very disturbing angle. Blood trailed from lips parted in a scream that was denied escape.

LeRoux brushed away the hands that lost its grip on his shirt. For a moment, he sniffed childishly at his rumpled clothes. Smoothing the creases to his satisfaction, he regarded the mage knight with all mirth returned to his smile. “You are a smart man Luce, though one so muddled with hatred for humanity’s imperfections.”

Luce felt LeRoux touch his cheeks, wiping away the tears he did not know had fallen from his eyes. But he didn’t feel the need to push the man away. There might have been something that LeRoux saw in his eyes, for somewhere between the heaviness constricting his chest and the fuzziness in his head, he heard the other vaguely sigh.

“Ah, I am sure you understand what this is. Take this as a good-natured advice.”

He heard a high pitch note of metal being unsheathed. His instincts kicked in, but a moment too late as he saw the blade swinging up towards his chest.

 Luce screamed his agony, that very same emotion filled cry finding its way back with him to the waking world. There was supposed to be no pain felt. It should have been nothing. But the pain that exploded in him had been remarkably realistic. The blood that spurted like wine from a bottle too convincing.

That had been the first and last time he would have that dream, and the last he saw of LeRoux. Frankly, he was grateful for both to happen. Since that dream, he still rubbed his chest, feeling the ghostly sting where the scythe’s tip had pierced.

It was now the present, months since then. Luce trudged out from his room and stopped before the door across from his. He stood there for a long time with a hand hovering over the knob, creasing his brows while lost in thought. After a long debate, he let out a breath then stiffened his shoulders. Quietly, he turned the knob, pushing the door open just a little to peer at the occupant lying asleep on the bed.

He could not see his eyes, but he knew in that moment that Star brought him to his home that the man’s eyes would be wine red like his. His hair was parted away like a veil of white blue, making his pale face visible to all. Bandages swathed the man’s thin form, though a heavy blanket was tucked up to his chin. He didn’t know how old the injured man was, but that was a question he could ask when his surprise guest was in better conditions.

Luce watched the man take shallow breaths before he closed the door behind him. He leaned heavily against the door, rubbing his temples with a hand while the other gripped at his chest.

Don’t fall in love with something you don’t understand.

The psychotic Immortal was half right. Hatred is something Luce was more familiar with. Masks too, were just as familiar. LeRoux’s parting words made so much sense, but Luce... Luce knew that nothing was as predictable as they looked.

His story was beginning to move once more.

Luce hated a lot of things, but most of all, he hated that he could not do anything to stop the wheels of Fate from turning.

End entry.

Saihate

A/N: ... I... I don't know. It was supposed to come out a little solemn but this suddenly went from that to... something that isn't. Maybe. I think. *headdesks*

***

The long stretch of white that she stood on was one amongst many that glowed in the dark void, scattering across the dark expanse like broken piano chords. Beside her was a man she had thought to be her other half, her counterpart, her soul mate. And he still is, even after all that has been said and done. The hand holding hers never once let go of hers even as they drew nearer towards a door of light on the other end.

It was as if a veil had lifted from her mind. With each forward step, memories quietly flowed back, flashing images that which had been long kept away ever since she landed in this plane of existence. The same could be said of her partner. To be accepted into the world that they were now leaving, many aspects of themselves had to be kept away. At this moment there was no need to have what was rightfully theirs kept from them.

An old friend stood a few yards away from them, greeting them with hands outstretched and a benevolent smile etched on his face. A smile of her own couldn't help but form on her face.

How long has it been since she had last seen that smiling face as more than part of a vague dream?

A long time, she would answer. A terribly long time. So long that he was someone who she had almost forgotten.

“Welcome back, Children.” The man who appeared in her dreams spoke, his powerful voice laced in gentleness. Even with hair as white as snow, pulled back into a loose ponytail, his youthful appearance fooled everyone who ever wondered on how old this man was. He was dressed in a simple minstrel’s outfit, as he had once said that it befitted him more than a priest or a knight’s would.

“Lachesis!” She beamed, rushing over to embrace him. It felt as if her soul had been unfettered, and finally found the release it wanted. Laughter escaped the man, his purple eyes twinkling merrily in amusement.

Once upon a time, in a story of a world now lying in sleep, he had been a guardian –in the loosest of terms- to the knight who was her predecessor. When she had joined all the others to rest in Arcadia, it was Lachesis who chose to stay behind to watch over the Children of the New World.

"Blue! I hope you're not ditching me for him." Said her companion jokingly.

Kiara flashed him an exasperated smile just as Lachesis settled her back on the ground, giving her and her companion a scrutinizing look before saying, “Enjoyed the time you were there?”

“I don’t think it’s much of a welcome back compared to a ‘Finally we’re leaving that place for good’-”

“Saint!” She was quick to chastise her lover.

“What? I was only being honest.” Her partner argued. He gave her a look crossed between a pout and a hint of irritation. She was about to bite back a retort when the older man coughed to gather their attention once again, giving the couple a mild disproving look. She felt her cheeks flush in embarrassment as she quickly muttered an apology.

“You are forgiven, Kiara.” The snow haired minstrel spoke, sighing when he saw Saint shrugging and looking away. “Putting that aside, are you certain you want to leave this world behind?”

Kiara’s face softened into one that was contemplating regret, but at the same time, there was a steeliness in her eyes that couldn’t be ignored. “We have made our decisions.” Saint came to Kiara’s side, his face set in reflection of his wife’s. “And there’s no changing them, I’m afraid.” The high priest finished.

Lachesis closed his eyes and spoke, “I am just reminding you that you were born with a choice, both of you.”

“There’s nothing left for us there. You know that, Lala-san.” Saint retorted. “The moment Hai-kun withdrew, we knew. We didn’t have much time left before we needed to return. Besides, what can we do without her?”

We are her voice, just as she is our voice. Without her, without us, who are we in the face of that world? The thought ran through the female crusader’s mind.

“It’s not as if there’s any need for us to stick around when our existences have basically been wiped clean off the slate. We’d be ghosts with no influence.”

“And the people who you would be leaving behind? What about them?”

A moment of silence passed between them.

“Don’t make this harder than it already is.” It was Kiara who spoke, softly though, as if speaking any louder would bring untold judgment upon her.

Lachesis didn’t need more answers than that. “Very well.” And he turned, walking towards the door from which tendrils of magic coiled and curled around the door’s frame. The familiarity of the world beyond it called to them, whispering for them like a mother calling to her Children.

Come home. Come home. It seemed to say.

“But, like I have said,” Lachesis voice came floating to their ears. “You do have a choice. You can choose to forget everything of that world and return to once was, or continue to live on with the memories until the next.”

Kiara mulled the words over and over in her head. True, they could live on with the memories but it would be somewhat painful to bear. A hand suddenly dropped on her pauldron and she flinched, pushing that hand away until she realized it was only Saint.

“What’s wrong?” She asked.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He grinned, pocketing his hands in his robes. She nodded in consent, and the man continued, “You know, it’s just me but, it’s not like we’re going to be completely removed from the people we still want to talk with. I mean, I would trade a thousand other existences just to keep playing with the interesting ones.” Unfortunately for those people, Saint was very sincere about this.

Kiara rose one delicate brow. “Somehow I feel sorry for them.” She said as Saint laughed. Still, the crusader was doubtful. “It is only you who would be missed though.”

“What? Hel, no way. Do you see how much those guys leer at me? Wait, no. Of course you wouldn’t. No offense, Blue.”

“But your annoying presence is what makes you appealing.”

“That sounded very demeaning, Blue. I am hurt.” He placed a hand on his heart with mock pain on his face. Kiara didn’t find it entirely funny.

Saint quickly dropped the act when she shot him that look. “Alright, alright. I’ll let you wallow in your denial pool. But I am telling you, there are people who like you, me, and us. We can still be ‘us’ to them. You can still be ‘you’ to them. We can still meet with them in those small worlds that we hanged out in most of the time.”

“So, the phantom worlds...?”

“Exactly the phantom worlds.” Saint chuckled, ruffling her hair. In that moment in time, the two shared a quiet understanding no words could properly explain. A call from Lachesis standing by the door called them back to their present state, so they continued to walk.

“... Are you still keeping that scar, Saint?”

“This?” He lightly traced the scar running across his nose bridge. His mood seemed to darken for a moment, before a mischievous smile shown in his face. “... Why not? At least I’ll be distinguishable from the other bastard.”

Whatever makes him happy to call his predecessor, she guessed. “And your eyes?” She pointed to his bright green orbs.

He tapped his cheek thoughtfully. “I could decide on returning them to red if that’s-”

“Keep them that way.” She interrupted him.

“What?”

Kiara refused to meet eyes with him when he looked at her. “I said keep them that way.” She muttered, increasing her pace towards the door. She half-expected Saint to question her request, but she was somehow relieved that he didn’t bother asking about it. He easily came up to her side, matching her strides. She could feel his eyes on her, and from the corner of her eyes, she can tell that he had that trademark smile on his face.

“You’re blushing.” Sheer amusement was practically dripping from his tone. She wanted to stop, but that would only prolong her suffering.

“What if I am?”

“You like my eyes, don’t you? I can imagine it now. You, my angel, declaring that these beautiful eyes the color of leaves in spring compliments your eyes that have a whole sky contained in them!” He spoke in a jesting tone. She mentally noted to herself to wipe the floor later with his face.

Casting a face splitting grin above as he spun once, Saint continued, “Like the earth and the sky, bounded together in natural matrimony until the universe comes to a chilling end. You and I-”

She resisted slapping a hand to her face out of habit. “Priest. Drop it.”

“Why should I? It’s not every day I get to see you smile and blush like a virgin with her first crush.” He let out a chuckle shortly after, which led her to thinking that he needed to do something about that personality. But then again, his personality wasn’t entirely something made for that world for the sake of that world. He had been formed from a predecessor who was a jerk and a tease. It was only logical that he would wound up with the same traits, albeit more charming in its deliberate mellowness.

Unfortunately and fortunately for her.

At last, the gateway was only a few steps away. The hum of their world thrummed in their veins, beckoning them to take those last steps forward and into a land they could only visit in their deepest slumber for the past two years.

“-- Wonder if that jerkass is still hanging around. I hope that even if he’s my original, he doesn’t attempt to make passes at you. And you better not answer his calls, that’s a betrayal of trust right there-”

“Just shut it until we get home.”

The priest laughed, but said no more. Instead he pulled her hand, bringing her close as his lips descended on hers for a passionate kiss. She hadn’t prepared for it, and was left breathless and weak kneed. Hadn’t he been holding onto her, she would have crumpled to her knees from the kiss alone.

She’d forgotten just how easily Saint turned her into a mush when he was in the mood for it.

“You sneak...” She growled non-threateningly. A hand stroked against her cheek lovingly before running through her hair. Kiara tried hard not to lean into the touch more, even when she felt her cheeks grow warm from the intimate touches. Slowly, the other hand supporting her let go, making its way to cup her other cheek whilst Saint leaned down again for another. This time, the kiss was anticipated and turned slow and sultry but just as passionate as the first had been.

Reluctantly they parted, but his hand was still on her cheek and the other stroking her hair. Kiara looked at Saint with a hazy gaze, still lost in the euphoria of the moment. When had it suddenly felt too warm?

“This time, I hope things will work out better between us.”

“Would it?”

“It will. I promise you as much.” He spoke, lightly patting her cheek as he supported her by the elbow and continued to walk towards the door. It seemed that Lachesis hadn't gone ahead and was in fact, still standing by the gate. It would be terribly foolish for Kiara to think that he hadn't seen what had gone on between her and Saint at all. The amused expression she saw on his face made her inwardly cringe, but it was without malice. At least she was thankful he wouldn't be talking about it to anyone else.

Just when they were a step away from the light, Saint suddenly stopped. The hand holding her elbow gripping her tight and pulling her back to his side just as a boot was an inch from the door.

She peered at him, suddenly curious of the blank expression on his face. “... Saint?”

“Hey, Blue. Remember the last time we went through one of these doors?”

“What about it?”

“Well if you remembered it right, we were technically falling through the sky.”

“...”

“Hai-kun has a thrilling sense of where to put gateways, doesn’t she?” The grin that suddenly graced his face was not comforting at all.

“Saint, you’re not-”

But it was too late as she was roughly shoved into the gateway, hearing a peal of laughter just as she felt the wind whipping her hair wildly about and the cloudy blue skies appearing above her.

And below her.

End Entry.