Yaten didn’t particularly mind performing on television, per say; the energy was far different from that experienced at a concert, but carried the same general principle. What he did mind was giving interviews.
It was a pointless waste of time, in his opinion ( putting on a show for so-called fans did little to increase the Starlights chances of finding their Princess here on Earth ), although Seiya and Taiki clearly felt otherwise. Should he open his mouth in opposition, they were swift to berate him for it — playing along with Earthlings’ ideas of fame was imperative, they claimed.
A sigh escaped Yaten’s lips as he leaned back in his chair in front of the television. The host of the talk show they were scheduled to appear on waved his arms enthusiastically on screen, showing off more of his tacky suit than anyone ever wanted or needed to see. His bandmates had already headed for the green room to warm up before their initial performance, but he’d elected to stay behind for a few more moments.
Answering personal questions was an uncomfortable endeavor, which lead him to needing ‘ a second ’ of isolation before stepping out in front of so many people. Yaten would’ve preferred far more than just the short amount of time he was given, but he wasn’t willing to risk the unity the Starlights held in finding Princess Kakyuu because he was out of his element. Griping about it before and after was a different matter entirely, however.
As he got to his feet, stretching his arms above his head, he settled on the fact that it was better to arrive on time to the green room than late ( he didn’t need a lecture from Taiki about timeliness ) — the dressing room door was abruptly shorn from its hinges.
Turning on his heel, he gazed at the bizarre man standing in the threshold. “I don’t happen to be a fan of insincerity.” Yaten’s green eyes narrowed, his entire body tensing. One hand slipping as inconspicuously into his pocket as possible to grab his transformation brooch, he snapped, “Who the hell are you and what do you want?”
What’s that? He’s not scared? Now that was unusual. He used to a wide range of reactions from his targets. It usually went from simple confusion to panic and anything in between. Close wasn’t used to those who were bold enough to look at him like that. These were usually the one he had the most fun breaking.
Of course, he was asking him who he was. They always did that, and he rarely bothered answering... But today he decided to make an exception, as a way to salute the other man’s courage - or pure foolishness.
"I am Close. Musketeer of the Kingdom of Dysdark. Now that I expect you to understand what this means. As for what I want...”
He stepped over the door and approached the other slowly while licking his lips.
“I want to destroy you dream and pull yourself and those you love in the deepest despair. That’s not to much to ask for, is it?”
That was usually all it took to intimidate those who tried playing hero. He was slightly surprised to see this didn’t work, as the idol was now within arm reach and didn’t seem to have lost this temper of his. The act of courage was starting to get on his nerves. He leaned forward, bring his head mere inches away from his prey’s.
“I hate wasting my time, so let’s get it over with shall we? For starters, Let me have a look at your dream.”
He didn’t have to force eye contact with this one, since he seemed determined to stare back at him defiantly, which certainly saved him some time. For a few seconds, the red marks around Close’s eye glowed in an ominous red color... From this moment, he would be able to get a vision of what gave him hope, so he could lock this image out of his mind and feed on his despair.
At least, that’s what usually happened... but nothing happened. He couldn’t see anything, or feel anything. Yet he could feel there was something, the guy had a big secret ambition, a dream he had yet to realize! Could some idol’s willpower be as strong as to keep him from sealing his dream?
“You’re just trying to piss me off aren’t you?” He said in a nonchalant tone as he took a single step back.
He extended his arm above his head. Instantly, several ranges of black feathers grew out of it with a chiming noise.
"No matter. I’ll just stick to my initial plan. Your fans’ mourning will be enough sustenance.”
He slashed his wing at the pretty boy’s throat.
No way any normal human could avoid that attack he usually only ever used on genuinely annoying foes. Using his razor-sharp feathers again almost made it too easy.
