rei

[regnumcaelorum]

Change of fic visibility

As of today, April 24, all my fics on AO3 have been set to be viewable with an account only. I doubt scraping my writing for AI has any value, but I still dislike the idea of it. So, if you were viewing them as a guest before and can't find them anymore, this is why!

[regnumcaelorum]

Against popular belief, I'm not dead yet! I've just started a stressful job that doesn't leave me with a lot of energy for creative things, unfortunately. That's not to say I've ever stopped thinking about my stories, WIP or finished. Occasionally I check in with AO3 for comments and just saw this. 2015!me is crying, I'll have you know.

Thank you all so much for giving this story your time!!

[regnumcaelorum]

Count Your Blessings

(crossposted on AO3)

Still on his mission to find a safe place for the Sorcerous Sword Index, Shou Fu Kan happens upon a particular congregation of swordmasters in a mansion up in the mountains. The gathering starts pleasantly enough, but something isn't quite right…

Rating: T

This fic was originally posted December 2022 under the title "on the road again" as part of the Yuletide Exchange. It was merely the prologue to the actual story as it is now - the reworking of a historical anecdote (see notes at the end). The broadstrokes of a much more expansive plot existed even then, but I didn't have time or energy to expand on it in time. So, in case you think the first bit sounds familiar, it might be! But there's also 13k new things to discover :'D Many thanks to my patient recipient orz

One thing Shou Fu Kan knew better than most was that life on the road was one of simplicity and one requiring mental fortitude. Having high hopes was mostly just setting yourself up for eventual disappointment – even more so when currently, your goal was finding a place to safely leave a whole menagerie of magical weaponry at. So, every day you set course for a given destination, kept your overall expectations low and enjoyed unexpected blessings as you encountered them. 

Such pleasant surprises might be weather that was neither too hot nor too cold to make long treks, an impending thunderstorm moving just past your current location, or a cheap inn that nevertheless offered cushy beds and food that went beyond the usual cheapest-ingredients-greatest profit-margin-ratio. As someone who had spent the majority of his life to this point as a wanderer, Shou had learned to savour each and every one of these small delights.

Granted, a recent encounter with a certain someone had resulted in him being a tad more cautious with gift horses and all that, but on this day, when in the shimmering haze of the dusty road an inn shaped blob materialised on the horizon, he did pick up the pace just so. Summer in Touri, as it turned out, was unpleasantly hot and humid, which did not make his quest any more fun. The promise of some refreshments was therefore quite enticing.

The inn emerging as a bit more ramshackle as he approached did not diminish his optimism, neither did the scrawny kid sitting on a bench in front of it, squinting at him with the kind of open disdain only children dare show.

“Hey there, kiddo,” he offered, but all he got in return was more wordless staring. He tried to peer into the interior, but all the shutters had been closed, probably to keep the heat out. “You guys open or nah?”

More staring. Shou sighed, acutely missing Mutsu Ten Mei at his side —she was the type who knew how to get kids to warm up to her— and ducked under the curtain to enter. As he had guessed from the exterior, the place was a bit worn down, but overall looked clean enough. More concerning was that indeed no-one else was present – neither at one of the scratched tables, nor at the counter. Shou cleared his throat.

“Anyone here?”

A moment of nothing, then a clatter, a suppressed curse, and finally a woman’s head popped up over the counter, her hair covered in stray cobwebs. 

“I’m sorry, Sir! It wasn’t busy so I sorted some things out in the storage cellar.” She patted some dust off her clothes and directed a frown towards the door. “I told Kai to keep an eye out for customers and inform me.”

Well, that had clearly worked out splendidly. 

“No worries, I ain’t in a rush.”

She bowed in apology and motioned for him to take a seat at one of the tables. As the innkeeper busied herself with a teapot, Shou caught movement out of the corner of his eye. The kid had quietly slipped into the room, sitting down at a neighbouring table, still unabashedly staring. 

“Just one moment, Sir— Kai! I told you to inform me when a prospective customer comes by!” The innkeeper jabbed an accusing finger at the kid. 

“He didn’t look the part,” the kid spoke up, then turned to look at Shou. “Do you even have money, old man?” 

“You sure got some nerve, kiddo,” Shou replied after a moment of stunned silence. Kids really did say the darnedest things. “But yeah, I do.”

“I’m so sorry, Sir!” The innkeeper put down a tray of food and drink in front of Shou, bowing repeatedly. “My son is at a difficult age, please do forgive him for his insolence—”

“‘s alright,” Shou assured her. “It’s good he’s looking out for you like this, I guess. Are you running the place all on your own?”

“Yes, ever since my husband died two years ago. I hope you’re okay with a full beating?”

“Pardon?” Shou blinked, staring at the woman. She was still smiling, cobwebs stuck to her face, and repeated: “A full beating? Or would you have preferred a light beating?”

“I don’t think I follow,” he said lamely.

“He’s not very smart,” the kid said, earning him a slap on the back of his head by his mother.

“The amount of eggs on your rice..?” she explained, confused. She also helpfully pointed at the two bright yellow yolks.

“Oh. Yeah, no, that’s fine.”

“Could it be that you aren’t from around here?”

Shou hummed in reply and started to dig in. No matter how practical bread was on the go, it was nice to enjoy something warm once in a while.

“That explains why he talks weirdly.” The sound of another slap.

“What brings you to this region, if you don’t mind me asking? We don’t get a lot of visitors from beyond the valley.”

“I’m hoping to meet with Master Shuu Tei Waku,” Shou said, taking a sip of tea. 

“Ooh, you must be going to the Sword Blessing Festival then!”

He almost choked on his tea. “Sorry?”

“It’s the festival Master Shuu hosts every five years. That’s the reason you’re going, no?”

It wasn’t as if his trust in people had been degraded to the point that he even doubted a kind but stressed innkeeper, but nevertheless, Shou had learned to exercise caution. And if someone offered him a great excuse — why not take it?

“Oh, sure.”

“You can’t take this, then.” The kid pointed at Shou’s sword that he had laid on the bench next to him. “During the festival, you can’t bring swords into town.”

Shou was itching to ask how a Sword Blessing Festival was supposed to take place without swords, but that would show he had lied previously. 

“Hmm, true. Then, how about you hang on to it for me in the meantime?” He picked up Sekken and tossed it at the kid. “I’ll come pick it up once I’m on my way back in a few days.”

The kid actually caught it, eyes shining like glass marbles, all previous disdain forgotten.

“Really?” he asked, just as his mother cried in alarm: “Sir! You cannot give him a weapon! He—”

Shou brought up one hand, stopping the barrage of accusations of child endangerment or whatever was going to follow. 

“It’s a blunt weapon,” he explained easily, wolfing down the remainder of the food and putting down a few coins on the table. “He’ll be fine. Thanks for the food, I’ll get some more when I return.”

That said, he got up and made for the door. 

It felt strange, walking without the familiar weight of Sekken at his side. Of course, he didn’t need a weapon to fight, and if worse came to worst, he still had the index to use in a pinch, but as he headed down the dusty road, he couldn’t help reminiscing. How long had it been since he had first picked up a sword? How long since he had started to feel the toll of all the spilled blood weighing on him? How long since he decided to trade polished steel for chipping wood?

“I really must be getting old,” he murmured. 

The town was nestled against a rough cliffside, pathways winding between houses and rocks all the way to an imposing estate towering above all like an eagle’s nest. Shou squinted up at it, taking in the elegant sloping roof and shining columns surrounded by crouching mountain pines. If he was to guess, he’d find Shuu Tei Waku there. But first came entering the town proper, which required passing over a bridge spanning the river separating the town from the rest of the valley. And posted on his side of the shore was a pair of guards keeping diligent watch.

“What brings you here, stranger?” the first one called as Shou approached. He was clearly being eyed for any illegal weaponry, so he was glad the kid had warned him ahead of time. As far as the index was concerned, what they didn’t know shouldn’t bother them.

“The festival,” Shou claimed, bowing. “I’ve heard Master Shuu Tei Waku’s praises sung far and wide and it would be an honour to attend.”

Apparently, that was a sufficient answer, because the other guard nodded and motioned for him to move forward. The innkeeper had called it a “festival” and Shou hadn’t quite been sure what to expect given how small the town looked from the outside. As he was walking through the narrow streets now, however, he could tell that clearly, a lot of outsiders had come for the occasion – the guest houses were full of chatter, some industrious locals had opened food stalls outside to meet the demand, and people in all kinds of dress were out and about. It suited Shou just fine, disappearing as just another foreigner among a sea of strangers.

He caught some of those he passed by openly giving him a calculated once-over and he recognised their type of gaze only too well: It was that of a predator trying to gauge if it was up against a threat or not. The true masters were able to rightly predict at a glance how a duel would go and move accordingly, but those too young, too hungry for accomplishment, too eager to put their skills to the bloody test, they did not yet have the necessary discernment.

Yeah, making everyone come to this place unarmed probably was a sensible rule, Shou thought, involuntarily shivering as he felt some particularly keen stares on the back of his neck.

“Excuse me,” he addressed one of the street vendors, an older man who was busy preparing a new batch of batter for the fried pieces of chicken he sold, hence making it the one stall without a queue at the present moment, “am I right to assume I’ll find Master Shuu Tei Waku in that mansion up there?”

The man stopped his vigorous stirring and frowned at him. “You are, but are you an expected guest of his?” Before Shou could give some kind of vague answer, the man already continued: “Because if not, you can’t just show up there, you know. If you want to see him, you should wait for the ceremony tomorrow evening like everyone else here.”

“He’s coming to town?”

“Obviously? That’s why all these sword masters are here for, after all.”

There was a slightly suspicious undertone to his voice now, and Shou laughed awkwardly, scratching his neck. “Sorry for the dumb question, I’m here for the first time. The person who told me about this festival didn’t give me detailed instructions.”

As a peace offering, he waited to buy one of the overpriced chicken skewers, and then set out to look for a place to stay overnight. If there was a chance to talk to Master Shuu without having to risk getting attacked by wary guards the way it had been at the last shrine he had tried his luck at, that would be for the best. Now, all he’d have to do was to find a place that wasn’t teeming with hot blooded youngsters spoiling for a fight to the degree that would ruin a relaxing evening.

Munching on the disappointingly rubbery chicken, Shou was just turning into a slightly wider street when from out of a door to his right, all hell broke loose. What spilled out on the street was a flurry of motion, hysterical screaming, sweeping panels of red and blue fabric, the sharp glint of a blade, and the unmistakable scent of blood. Shou pivoted just in time to avoid the fighters smashing into him, all senses alert.

“Why does he have a weapon?” someone cried —true, that was a valid question— “Someone stop them!” shouted someone else, but as Shou looked around, no-one seemed keen to do exactly that. He sighed, swallowed the last piece of chicken and dove into the fray.

First, to separate the fighters. He grabbed the bleeding guy’s collar, yanking him back, at the same time parrying the incoming dagger with the leftover skewer in his right hand. Next, to take out the aggressor. The man’s stupefied expression at the unexpected intervention made it all too easy for Shou to grab hold of his wrist with his other hand, pulling him forward as he brought his knee up, hitting the man square in the stomach. As he hunched forward, Shou twisted his wrist further, until the man let go of the dagger with a whine, then gave the man a kick to the back for good measure. He wasn’t going to get up in a minute, but Shou picked up the dagger regardless, stashing it in his belt for safe keeping. Third, check in on the wounded man now lying in the dust of the road, chest heaving.

He wasn’t surprised to see he was young, as was the attacker, both the kind of fighters that had just graduated the best disciple at their small local school and now walked around with a chip on their shoulder, thinking they had to prove themselves by challenging every swordsman they came across. What was unexpected, however, was how ashen the man’s youthful face was, all colour drained from it, eyes wide and skin slick with sweat. It was thanks to the man’s choice in clothing that the reason for this was only evident in how the red fabric started to glisten with a wet sheen, and in how between the fingers of the hand he pressed to his side, blood started to seep through.

“Dammit,” Shou cursed under his breath, dropping to his knees next to the unfortunate kid. “He got you good, huh?”

He hadn’t expected an answer and he didn’t get one as he let his hand hover over the man’s chest, closing his eyes and turned his focus to the energy coursing through the man’s body. He could feel the frantic chaos within it, all equilibrium destroyed by life-threatening injury and panic. Shou inhaled deeply, feeling the warmth of ki within his own body gather and flow into his palm, pure vitality and strength. He willed it to transfer, pour into the body underneath his, to speed up the healing process and restore what had been left in shambles. He heard the kid take a gasping breath as the pain subsided for the first time, and Shou caught the hand that had been about to be pulled from the wound.

“You’ll need to keep putting pressure on that,” he instructed with a stern look, letting the flow of ki slowly ebb. “That gash ain’t fixed, you’ll need some medical attention for that right away, yeah?”

There was a tiny bit more colour in the kid’s face now, and he nodded, eyes fixed on Shou with desperate intensity. It wasn’t hard to guess what he wanted to know.

“You’ll be fine, I think,” Shou said, lifting his head to look around them. A small crowd had gathered, but all of them kept their distance, because of course. Sating their curiosity, yes, intervening, no. “Anyone here with some medical expertise?” he shouted. More hushed murmuring and people obviously averting their gaze. Just as he wanted to give them a piece of his mind, someone spoke up from behind him.

“What on earth is going on here?”

Shou turned around and saw the crowd part to let through two men who were approaching with steadfast determination. The one in the lead, middle-aged and clothed in plain and sensible robes of dark blue, took in the situation with a glance.

“You, go fetch a doctor this instant”, he then addressed the nearest person in the crowd, “and you three, bring some water and clean cloth from the nearest inn. Don’t just stand there, heavens!”

Clearly, he held some authority in this town, as the addressed individuals did scamper off to do as told. That seemed to break the spell on the onlookers – some now finally stepped forward to seize the attacker just in case, and others approached Shou to take over helping the kid. He was only slightly annoyed that it had taken someone else to get things going, but he had experienced crowd reactions like these too often to be really surprised. The prospect of enforcing your will on unmoving masses with Night of Mourning became especially tempting in these kinds of situations.

“Thanks,” he said to the man as he stood up, dusting off his robes, happy to leave the bleeding kid to someone else.

“And you are..?” the man replied, eyes narrowing as they took in the dagger at Shou’s side. He could see the man tense and shift his stance ever so slightly as if about to prepare for a sword fight. Just as everyone else in this town, he was unarmed – which of course didn’t meant there was no reason to be concerned. Shou considered himself pretty good at predicting an opponent's level of skill, and while this man didn’t make him fear he’d outright lose, he clearly did have a high degree of mastery. 

Before Shou could try to explain himself, the second man stepped forward and put a hand on his companion’s arm to stall hold him back.

“Wait a moment, Sir Tai.”

Shou had seen the man’s uniform a few times before in the past months, the stiff black brocade, the high collar and wide brimmed hat: it was that of higher-ranking Touri law enforcement. Which made it all the more bizarre to see it worn by this person of all people. The shadows cast on his face by the hat and the black mask might obscure it at a cursory glance, but Shou would recognise those unsettling red eyes and that smooth voice anywhere.

“From what I’ve just heard from these onlookers, it seems that this is the gentleman who broke up the fight, disarmed the attacker and provided first aid to the wounded,” Rin Setsu A said and Shou felt overcome by instantaneous fight-or-flight response.

“Is that so?” Sir Tai said, seemingly oblivious to Shou’s frozen state. “To whom do Sir Hakuba and I owe our gratitude then?”

“I’m– Well, name’s Ryouga”, Shou said, squirming internally under Rin’s scrutinising gaze. “And I don’t think I did anything grand here. It really was mere coincidence I passed by.”

“You’re selling yourself short, dear Sir. If not for your swift intervention, this might have turned out a lot more tragic.” Rin turned towards his companion. “I dare say this this gentleman’s actions are worthy bringing to the attention of Master Shuu, don’t you agree?”

Sir Tai frowned and Shou was about to politely decline, because wherever Rin was, nothing good was bound to happen, but he also did want to meet the Master and he probably wasn’t going to get a better opportunity to. So, he grimly held his tongue.

“You’re right,” Sir Tai then said. “I’m sure Master Shuu will agree with your reasoning. Then, Sir Ryouga, please do follow us.”

Shou cast a last glance at the kid that was now being properly cared for by several people. Yeah, he looked like he’d pull through, so there was nothing more for him to do here.

“I’ll graciously accept your invitation,” he said with a bow, doing his best to ignore Rin’s pleased expression. To his relief, the man didn’t actually seem inclined to talk to him as long as his companion was around, and so it was mercifully quiet as he followed them all way through town. Sir Tai appeared to be a generally taciturn and serious person, but he did acknowledge the occasional respectful greeting from townsfolk they walked by.

As they continued their journey up the mountain along winding stone paths, Shou took a moment halfway up to take in the view. The small town at his feet and the green fields beyond the river stretching into the distance where they became one with the darkening sky, painted a serene picture. The cool wind carried with it the scent of pine sap and wet soil. Definitively not the worst place to live, Shou decreed.

That held true for the mansion itself, too. It had looked grand from the valley, but was even more impressive when seen up close. The building extended to the very edge of the cliffside on two sides, only accessible from the main path they had taken. The red lacquer seemed to glow in the diminishing daylight, and the mansion lay surprisingly quiet. There were no guards posted outside, no sounds of servants or disciples, quite different from the previous Gouinshi shrines and temples Shou had visited on his travels.

“Please, enter,” Sir Tai said, pushing open the heavy oak door to the main building.

Rin walked in ahead of him, entirely at ease, but as Shou crossed the threshold, for just a split second he felt a peculiar shiver run along his spine. He stilled, confused, and looked back. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, the path deserted and quiet. The feeling had disappeared as quickly as it had set in, and even as he focussed on his surroundings now more keenly, he couldn’t pick out anything that was amiss.

“Sir Ryouga?” Rin’s voice pulled him out of his momentary confusion.

“Coming,” he replied. He could feel Rin’s eyes glued to him as he passed him by, but did his best to ignore it.

Sir Tai led them through quiet, gloomy hallways until they reached the entrance to a large hall. Several lanterns cast warm light on three people gathered at its centre, and all turned to look at the newcomers

“Pardon our late arrival, but as I escorted Sir Hakuba, there was an incident in town that required my attention,” Sir Tai said, bowing. A tall man dressed in warm amber coloured robes stepped forward from the group, frowning.

“What happened?”

“A fight broke out and someone had brought a dagger with them that must have been missed by the guards. This gentleman managed to put a stop to it and saved the one injured,” Sir Tai explained, still keeping his head low. That meant the one in amber was in charge then, Shou thought. He looked too young to be Shuu Tei Waku, however, with a smooth, friendly face and short dark hair.

“Oh dear, how unfortunate. I’ll have to check in with those guarding the bridge to be more thorough while on duty in the future, then.” The man smiled nodding his head at Shou. “But thank you for intervening, Sir..?”

“Ryouga, wasn’t it?” Rin chimed in. Shou wasn’t sure if it was because he worried that Shou could already have forgotten the name he had given or if it was just that he preferred taking control of conversations in general. In either case, he shot the man a quick glare.

“Yeah,” he then confirmed nevertheless. “And it really wasn’t a big deal. It’s not like I could completely heal the kid that was injured either, but I’d say he’ll be fine.”

“Heal?” one of the other men spoke up with some surprise, this one dressed in expensive robes of deep purple and gold. He was clearly the oldest of the men present, his hair already fading to grey.

“In any case,” the one in amber said, “since my dear brother disciple brought this heroic deed of yours to my attention, it will be my pleasure to host someone who acts so selflessly–”

“You’re hosting?” Shou interrupted him. “I thought this was Master Shuu Tei Waku’s place.”

The man’s smile did not waver. “Indeed it is, Sir Ryouga. My name is En Nou Sei, I am Master Shuu’s current disciple. The master is indisposed today, which is why I am in charge of taking care of the guests.”

“I see.” 

“Well, let me introduce you to the other guests of honour, then – I see you’ve already made acquaintance with Sir Hakuba and Tai Shi An, a former temporary disciple of Master Shuu’s.” Shou gave a brief nod to the latter, ignoring Rin. “Similarly, these two gentlemen are particularly outstanding swordsmen from across the country, here to seek Master Shuu’s blessing: Master Sha Tei Ho and Master Sen Mou Ri.”

The first apparently was the one in purple, who still eyed Shou with some interest. Sen Mou Ri, on the other hand, barely hid the fact that he was annoyed by the whole situation, clicking his tongue. He was a broad-shouldered young man wearing robes of red and black, and radiated a kind of nervous energy that Shou disliked on sight.

“Well then, with all guests gathered, why don’t we move on to dinner?” En Nou Sei motioned towards the adjoining room. But when Shou was just about to pass the man, he stopped him with a gesture.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to take this first, Sir Ryouga” En Nou Sei said, holding out his hand expectantly, and it took a moment for Shou to remember he was still carrying the dagger.

“Sure.” He handed it over, noticing how the dried blood on the blade had dulled its shine. “Wasn’t going to keep it myself, anyway. I have no use for it.”

En Nou Sei nodded, seemingly pleased.

“Unexpected or not, I am sure someone of your caliber would always have been welcomed by the Master. Then, shall we catch up with the others?”

The feast laid out for them matched the splendid mansion – everything from roast quail to chestnut pies, accompanied by high quality tea and alcohol. Even though Shou still couldn’t see or hear any servants, some clearly had to be around and do quick work at that, because six spots had been prepared at the table. Considering the mediocre chicken from before, he couldn’t help but look very much forward to digging in. And that was even though his mood was dampened by the fact that of course, as soon as he had sat down at the end of the table, Rin made himself comfortable next to him. En Nou Sei had taken the place of honour at the head of the table, which presumably would have gone to the Master otherwise, with Tai Shi An to his left. The other side was occupied by Sen Mou Ri and Sha Tei Hou. 

“Please, help yourselves,” En Nou Sei encouraged, and people did. For a while, it was quiet except for the sounds of chewing and clinking of bowls, and Shou realised that it was in fact a rather awkward assortment of people here – presumably, all had been invited for their skill at swordsmanship except for himself, but apart from the disciples, they didn’t seem to know each other, nor did they seem intent on becoming friendly. Apparently, at least one other person was bothered by the weird atmosphere, because Tai Shi An suddenly addressed him.

“Sir Ryouga, may I ask what school you belong to?” Shou was stumped for an answer, which Tai Shi An seemed to think of as him not understanding the question, as he specified: “Or which school of magic or monastic order your teacher originally descended from, at least. Going by how bad the young man’s wound was that you managed to render first aid to, your skill at manipulating ki flow must be impressive.”

“No school, really. I’m more of a– what’s the word, an autodidact?”

“Is that so? Fascinating, I never would have guessed,” Rin said lightly. Shou took a breath and counted to twenty-three in his mind. Punching him was not worth it, he reminded himself. 

“Never saw the point in learning that stuff myself,” Sen Mou Ri said. “As a swordsman, you just have to become so skilled that no-one can cut you, so knowing anything about healing won’t be necessary.”

Clearly, the thought of it being worthwhile learning in order to help others had never crossed his mind.

“I agree to a point,” Sha Tei Hou mused, although going by the downturned corners of his mouth, it caused him no joy to agree with the other man. “I think you need to choose which path of mastery you want to achieve – magic or swordsmanship. Trying your hand at both will just muddy the clarity of your ability and diminish its splendour.”

“That’s assuming someone cannot achieve pure mastery of both,” Rin interjected.

“I’m surprised to hear you of all people defending that position,” Sen Mou Ri said, looking displeased.

“Why’s that?” Shou asked, confused. Honestly, if someone was going to do it, it was this guy.

“Sir Hakuba is renowned as the best swordsman among law enforcement in the Northern Mountain province,” Tai Shi An informed him. “And he might be the most skilled one in the entire country's, really.”

“That so,” Shou said, unimpressed, and took another piece of pie. It seemed under this alias, then, Rin was someone who didn’t use magic and trickery – well, people were in for even more of an unpleasant surprise in that case. 

“I think that the beauty of true martial art is that it should be untainted by any other discipline,” Sha Tei Hou said with conviction. “Don’t you agree, Sir En?”

The man at the head of the table, who had merely watched their conversation play out so far, now tilted his head, smiling. 

“A basic understanding of magic might come in handy at times,” he replied, diplomatically, “but I agree that it is very hard to try and achieve true mastery in two such challenging and distinct fields of expertise in one human lifetime. Choosing one or the other might be more sensible in that regard.”

“In any case, we can be grateful there was a man knowing enough healing arts to save that young man’s life.” Tai Shi An seemed to feel obligated to take on the role as the mediator of this party, a fate that considering the very different natures of those present, Shou pitied him for.

“Speaking of, what’s going to happen to these two kids?” he asked. 

“They did break one of the core rules of this festival,” En Nou Sei answered, face now serious. “So there will be repercussions, but that will be decided on at a later point in time.”

“They should just have taken their fight across the river,” Sen Mou Ri sneered. “Idiots.”

“Many of the swordsmen here in town are chomping at the bit to prove themselves superior to others,” Rin said easily, and then, seemingly mainly to Shou: “You know the type.”

The latter was a statement, not a question, and Shou had to agree. 

“They used to take it out during the Sword Association Tournament as long as that was around, but alas, that’s no longer possible.” Sha Tei Hou sighed.

“Why not?” Shou asked.

“How do you not know that?” Sen Mou Ri scoffed, but Tai Shi An cast him an annoyed look and explained: “At the last tournament, there was an unfortunate incident with a brutish candidate taking out a personal grudge on the main judge of the contest. Considering the bloodbath that followed, the tournament was discontinued afterwards.”

“Truly a tragedy,” Rin said, sipping his tea.

“Yeah, I would have loved to join that one and show them the superiority of the Southern Storm Blade school.” Sen Mou Ri’s voice sounded almost dreamy as he said it.

“And you wouldn’t happen to know any more details about this event, I’m sure,” Shou murmured, only loud enough for Rin to hear. The man had looked a tad bit too pleased for his own sake just now. Anyone’s sake, really.

“Would you call the gust of wind that carried the arrow the culprit when you get shot by an expert marksman?” Rin replied vaguely. “Do not concern yourself with this matter too much, I assure you, none of the contestants at this tournament were the type you’d mourn. As I’m sure you know, few pick up the sword with good intentions at heart, and even fewer keep wielding it for good.”

Shou wanted to argue because he knew several fighters who were definitively good, still, but Rin already continued: “Which makes the rare exception even more interesting to behold.”

He had to turn away at this, not liking the way Rin looked at him one bit. The conversation at the table was now flowing more freely, with Tai Shi An, Sha Tei Hou and Sen Mou Ri exchanging opinions over certain Touri schools of swordsmanship, which mostly consisted of them pointing out the several shortcomings of any of them that wasn’t their own. It was terribly boring, but at least it allowed Shou to focus on enjoying the food instead.

Eventually, En Nou Sei clapped his hands, calling attention back to him. 

“Well, I must go to check on the Master and prepare for tomorrow’s ceremony. Feel free to choose any of the rooms for the night. Rest well, gentlemen.” 

Shou took that as his clue to leave the table, too – he didn’t particularly care for anyone in this present company by virtue of them all being too involved in their pride as swordsmen or being called Rin Setsu A, so he was only too happy to make his exit.

The room he chose was double the size of what Shou occasionally indulged in during his travels, with a small dining area and very inviting looking bedding. Sliding the window open, Shou found himself looking down the cliffside into the darkness of the night, only some flickering lights way down proving it wasn’t an endless abyss. An eagle’s nest; his first thought had been apt. He closed the window again, stretched with a sigh and then settled in the dining area for now. Shou wasn’t really sure what to make of the whole gathering here, and regretted just a bit not asking the innkeeper for more details on the festival. Why did Shuu Tei Waku entertain guests of honour separately from the rest? What exactly did this blessing ceremony of his entail? And, most importantly, was this really a place to leave even just parts of the index at? The lack of guards indicated that either it wasn’t meant to hold valuable items, or that the person living here was strong enough that extra protection was not needed.

The sound of the door sliding open cut his musings short.

“How about joining me for a drink, Sir Ryouga?”

Shou turned and saw Rin standing in the doorway, holding up two bottles of sake. He had changed out of the heavy uniform of the police into more comfortable robes, his long hair for once unbound. 

Shou pulled a face, but Rin had already entered anyway, entirely matter of course.

“Now, there’s no need to be so tense,” he said as he sat down next to Shou, putting down the bottles and a pair of delicate cups.

“You’re here, so what else do you expect me to be except worried?”

“My, my. Did our journey together scar your ability to trust that much?”

Shou didn’t deign that with a reply, pouring himself a drink instead. He noticed with surprise that as soon as the warm sake flowed in, bright red maple leaves appeared at the bottom of his cup. Fancy, like everything in this place.

“Which makes me wonder: Why are you here,” he demanded to know after drinking, fully aware that any answer should be taken with a whole barrel of salt.

“A little birdie brought me an invitation, simple as that. Oh, don’t look this doubtful, please.” 

Rin reached into the folds of his robe and produced a bundle of very expensive looking paper. 

“To the esteemed Sir Hakuba, hoping that this message reaches your esteemed personage, it would be our great pleasure to extend to you an invitation to be Sir Shuu Tei Waku’s guest at this year’s Sword Blessing Festival,” Shou read out loud, then shot a disdainful glance over the top of the page. “How many fake names do you even go by?”

“Who knows, who knows. Truth be told, I was pleasantly surprised you had an alias ready to go this time.”

Shou cleared his throat awkwardly at that. “Well, yeah. After that shit-show last time I’m not trusting anyone in your immediate vicinity with my name, least of all if you’re not even going by yours.”

Rin looked tremendously pleased.

“You think quick on your feet as always, esteemed Sir Shou.”

“Stuff it,” Shou said, uncomfortable. Truth was that the last thing he wanted to do was take a page out of Rin’s book and let himself be pulled into all this deceit, double crossing and lying, but the last time he had freely given his name in this country, it had turned him into a hunted man, so some caution was to be exerted. Things really had been easier in Seiyu, and that was saying something.

Rin obliged his request for once and refilled both their cups, looking very content all the while. No matter his changes in appearance, that insufferable expression would always be unmistakable.

“In any case, what are you doing here?” Shou asked.

“I thought we had just agreed that I was invited?”

“I mean this room specifically. I distinctly remember not having invited you.”

“You seemed uneasy during dinner, so I thought I should offer some company.”

“And what, for heaven’s sake,” Shou said slowly, “makes you think that I would find your presence a relief in any capacity whatsoever?”

The bastard’s laugh was airy and delighted as he leaned in a bit, fixing his unnerving red eyes on Shou with a gaze that was half taunting, half fond.

“You might not believe me, but I’m looking out for you, esteemed Sir Shou. While I’d like to believe you’ve truly learned from what’s happened to you previously and won’t easily be played by others again, I do have my doubts in that regard.”

In spite of how true that might be, Shou nevertheless felt the heat crawl up his neck, an unpleasant mixture of anger and embarrassment. He himself thought he had a good enough sense for if someone was a threat, even if Rou had always disagreed with him on that notion, too. He curbed the feeling by downing another cup of sake, the burn of the alcohol a pleasant distraction.

“That being said,” Rin continued, “I am the only person you know in this place, and you know exactly who I am, which puts you, for once, at a distinct advantage compared to everyone else here, as does me knowing who you are.”

No, you don’t, Shou thought to himself, and neither do I. Honestly, he didn’t want to know more about the Enigmatic Gale, because he was certain nothing good was going to come of it. And if Rin ever learned just who Shou Fu Kan really was, well, only worse was going to happen as a result.

“Something about all of this here does feel strange. This is not an alias I’ve used often or recently, and I’ve never had contact with Shuu Tei Waku before, so this invitation was very unexpected. Therefore my reasoning goes: why not rely on the other person we know to be uninvolved for dealing with whatever it might be that’s going on?”

“And I’ll just have to take your word for it that you truly don’t know what’s up, huh.”

Rin smiled. “My word to you is true, I swear.”

“I’m too tired to argue with you,” Shou declared, rising from the table and glowering at Rin from above. “I’m just here to speak to Shuu Tei Waku about the index, that’s it.”

The other man opened his mouth, undoubtedly nowhere near to running out of things to say in defence of his argument, but Shou cut him off.

“If you want to take extra precautions, do whatever you want, but I’m beat, so I’m going to sleep. If you wanna keep watch or whatever, suit yourself.”

Rin blinked, surprised for a moment that Shou had given him any kind of acquiescence at all, it seemed. Then, he tilted his head in acknowledgement.

“Then I’ll do just that.”

Shou hadn’t been lying: after a splendid meal, with the pleasant gentle burn of alcohol in his stomach and the prospect of enjoying an actual factual bed for once, he was beginning to feel quite tired. Never even mind the fact that dealing with Rin’s mere presence was exhausting enough in general. He walked over to the sleeping area and started to take off the heavy, travel-worn outer layers of his clothes. He didn’t even have to turn around to confirm; he could feel Rin’s gaze.

“Have some decency, man.”

Rin only laughed, but did turn his focus to lighting his pipe instead, filling the room with the strangely sweet smoke of his tobacco before long.

To Shou’s surprise, the soft clinking of porcelain and rustling of fabric as Rin continued to drink by himself were strangely comforting. He fell asleep before he could wonder about why that was.

By morning, the room was blissfully empty of Rin Setsu A, only the lingering scent of smoke telling that he had ever been there, and Shou counted that as the first good thing to happen on this day. As he got dressed, he cast another look out the window, but only found himself faced with an impenetrable wall of fog that surrounded the entire estate. He wondered if that was an inauspicious sign for whatever blessing ceremony the Master was going to host.

Making his way towards the dining hall in the hope of finding some breakfast, Shou bumped into Sha Tei Hou, who greeted him with a nod and then sidled up to him nonchalantly.

“You seem to have become friendly with Sir Hakuba quite quickly, Sir Ryouga.”

“Whatever gave you that idea?”

“I did see him leaving your quarters this morning.”

Shou swallowed a curse. He knew damn well that if Rin wanted to leave a place unseen, he could, which meant he’d done this on purpose, for some undoubtedly twisted reason. Shou couldn’t guess at what it might be, but was pretty sure it would involve him getting dragged into something annoying against his will.

“He was just looking for someone to drink with is all,” he said, trying to put the topic to rest then and there. Usually, he couldn’t care less as to who people thought he spent the night with, but he just knew Rin was up to something, so this instance was to be handled with a bit more caution.

“It seems he’s taken a shine to you,” Sha Tei Ho insisted, unwilling to let this go.

“I surely hope not.”

“Good morning, Sir Ryouga, did you rest well?”

Of course, the first person to await them in the dining hall and clearly determined to prove him wrong was Rin, back in the dark uniform and chipper as can be.

“Sure,” was all Shou said in return, walking by him, determined to avoid eye contact. As he had hoped, there was food and drink prepared for them, and given that Rin was already seated, Shou seized this opportunity to make sure he sat opposite, as far away as possible. Sha Tei Hou took the place next to Rin, looking between the two of them with great interest.

“I must say I’m surprised to see you not primarily associate with one of the renowned sword-masters present, Sir Hakuba.”

“Really?”

“No offence to Sir Ryouga and his unique abilities,” Sha Tei Hou said, and even Shou could tell that it was dismissive lip-service at best, “but from what I’ve heard about you, I’d have assumed you’d be much more interested in finding out more about the Southern Storm Blade school, for example.”

“Why bother?” Rin asked with a shrug as he poured himself some tea. “I don’t think there’s much value in learning about inferior schools.”

Sha Tei Hou’s expression went from disbelief to one of a near feral delight. Shou was reminded of the unpleasant atmosphere in town yesterday and had to suppress a groan. Nothing good ever came of people who valued their pride and skill over their lives congregating in one place.

“Is that so? Then, about the Silken Steel school—” Sha Tei Hou pressed on.

“I’m not sure you’d like to hear my opinion on that one, either.” Rin took a measured sip of tea, seemingly completely oblivious to the other man’s expression falling as quickly as it had lit up. “Sir Sha, there’s no point in me bothering with any of the Touri schools.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Shou noticed even he had frozen, a spoonful of soup suspended midair. Please, he thought, not this kind of shit first thing in the morning.

As if in response to his desperate wish, the tense moment was broken by the arrival of Sen Mou Ri and En Nou Sei.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” En Nou Sei greeted, clearly choosing to ignore Sha Tei Hou nearly shaking with indignation. “I hope you had a good night’s sleep?”

“Perfectly fine,” Rin assured him evenly. “Are the preparations for the Blessing ceremony coming along?”

“Indeed they are.”

“What about the Master, is he not going to join today either?” Shou asked, thankful for the change of topic.

“I’m afraid Master Shuu Tei Waku is not feeling quite well enough yet to grace us with his company this morning.” En Nou Sei sighed. “But rest assured that the ceremony will take place later in the day as planned.”

Shou frowned at that. While he still didn’t know what this ceremony would entail exactly, if the man was this frail, it was debatable if it was a good idea to got through with it. Additionally, none of this boded well for what he was actually here for.

“I invite you to make use of the amenities as you please to pass the time until then. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you gentlemen that fighting remains prohibited.”

The latter had been said with a humorous undertone, but Shou couldn’t help but notice Sen Mou Ri click his tongue again as soon as En Nou Sei turned his back on him. Yes, he really didn’t like that man’s energy, best to give him the widest berth possible.

“It seems Sir Hakuba wouldn’t be interested in a spar with you regardless,” Sha Tei Hou told him coolly. “Apparently he considers both of our schools too inferior to bother.”

“What’s that?” Sen Mou Ri leaned forwards, both hands firmly planted on the table, eyes furious. Shou cast a rueful look at all the food laid out, and decided to drink up the rest of his soup quickly, grab one more piece of pie and make his exit.

“You asked me for my honest opinion, and I gave it,” Rin replied. “Nothing more than that.”

“All talk and no actual skill, I’ll bet”, Sen Mou Ri spat. “Why else would you hide behind a cushy civil servant job otherwise?”

“Gentlemen,” En Nou Sei tried to appeal to reason, but Shou knew that this was already an inevitable disaster waiting to happen. After all, if any of the men present had actual skill, they could settle this debate even without blades, and he wanted no part in that.

“I shall leave the swordsmasters to it, then,” he said as he got up. “I have to to do some, uh, meditating and stuff. Working on my abilities.”

He was already at the hall’s exit when he heard: “Wait for me, Sir Ryouga!”

Shou turned to see Rin catch up to him, but rather than that, it was the remaining two guests who caught his eye. If looks could kill, Shou thought, the two of us would drop dead on the spot.

“I’m not spending my time waiting around you all,” Shou informed him brusquely as he continued down the hallway, jabbing an accusing finger at Rin’s unusually covered chest for emphasis. “They were this close to eviscerating you, and I’m not staying to watch.”

“I’m touched by your concern, my friend.”

“I’m not concerned for your sake, but because you’ve already roped me into this whole scheme again somehow. Just so you know, I ain’t going to help you if they come for your neck.”

“Duly noted,” Rin said, still evidently pleased. “But I agree with you that I have little interest in spending half a day waiting around with squabbling fools hung up on their own egos.”

“And here I thought that would be right up your alley.”

Rin scoffed. “If I satiated myself by humbling any conceited swordsman in this country, there’d be no end to it. Neither of them is worth stealing from.”

“Good for them.”

They had reached the door to Shou’s room now, but he hesitated in front of it. It wasn’t that he minded spending a few more hours just resting —it was a nice change of pace from his usual days of arduous travel— but nothing about this situation invited comfort. Not just was their company, whose blood-thirst Rin had clearly stoked seemingly just for fun, unsettling, but so was the whole ordeal with their absent host.

“I don’t like any of this,” Shou voiced his sentiment out loud. “Something here ain’t right.”

“It is most unusual that the man who specifically asked for my attendance and is hosting us so generously has not made an appearance, I do agree.”

“I only wanted to talk to that Master Shuu guy and see if he’d be willing to take some of the swords off my hands, or at least point me elsewhere. Because if not, I’m out of here. I don’t care for whatever weird ceremony they offer, I’m good.”

Rin smiled.

“Sound reasoning, Sir Shou. Then, what do you say, should we just go and pay the Master a visit ourselves?”

Rin lead the way through the dark corridors of the estate with the ease and assurance of someone who owned the place.

“How do you know where to go, anyway?”

“Oh, I have my methods of scouting,” Rin said lightly. “But those are all trade secrets, I’m afraid.”

“I don’t particularly want to know,” Shou grumbled.

He wouldn’t even know what to do with Rin’s trade secrets now and wouldn’t have had remotely the patience and love for long cons to have used them in the past, either. This was another reason he hoped Rin would never find out more about him – no doubt the other man would have some choice opinions on Shou’s past as the Sword Plundering Nemesis. His modus operandi had mostly just consisted of barging into a place with brute force and seizing mystic blades that way, at best setting up some form of distraction to make it easier if that was a possibility. He had never intended to be seen as a skilled thief, but considering he was up against the Enigmatic Gale, who prided himself the epitome of the profession, it was best to let the man remain unaware regardless.

Despite having seen the mansion from the outside, Shou found he had no idea of how the layout might convey to the inside, thus left to trust in Rin’s expertise blindly. The entire place was dark and quiet safe for the sound of their own soft footsteps. There wasn’t an actual necessity to move about in secret — En Nou Sei hadn’t specifically forbidden them from exploring the mansion when leaving them to their own devices, after all. Nevertheless, there was something about the strange atmosphere that had Shou on edge, casting occasional glances over his shoulder to see if anyone was following them.

They passed by the entrance to the kitchen, and Shou halted in surprise, catching hold of Rin’s sleeve to get him to stop.

“Have you seen anyone other than the guests so far?” he asked, taking in the scene in front of him with a frown. The kitchen lay just as deserted as everything else, not a single servant to be seen. There was no fire burning in the fireplace, either.

“No,” Rin said, stepping closer. “Matter of fact, I am fairly certain there’s no one but us here. I suppose it’s possible that they make people from the town bring the meals up multiple times a day rather than keep any staff here.”

Shou shook his head. “But yesterday, there was a seat prepared for me as well, how would-”

He paused, the answer coming to him mid question.

“I’d suppose the sixth spot wasn’t intended for you, Sir Shou, but rather for the absent Master of the mansion. I was surprised to see the demure disciple take seat at the head of the table so matter of factly, actually.”

“But why wouldn’t a place such as this have permanent staff? Especially if the Master is in ill health, it makes no sense.”

“Peculiar, indeed.” Rin seemed to enjoy this development, the whole strange situation just another challenge for him to kill some time. What a way to live, Shou thought, making all your own problems simply because you were bored. “The most likely answer is that there is something going on they don’t want anyone to see. Shall we find out what it is?”

Their path now took them down another corridor, this one leading to a set of intricately decorated doors. They stopped in front of it in unspoken agreement, exchanging a glance. Clearly, the doorway was leading to the chambers of the actual Master of the house. Rin reached out to open it, then jerked his hand back with a quiet hiss.

“Would you look at that,” he murmured as he extended his hand again, more carefully this time, until his palm hovered just above the wood. “Someone put up a rather potent barrier here.” He shot Shou a sideways look. “And I’m fairly certain it was cast from this side of the door.”

“Ugh,” was Shou’s reply. The vague bad feeling that had been plaguing him since his arrival crystallised into certainty that something in this mansion was decidedly wrong, something with the people here was wrong.

He stretched out his own hand now, and if you expected to hit magical resistance, it wasn’t quite as startling. He could feel the interwoven lines of intent made manifest in pure energy, clearly spelling keep out.

“Can’t you do something about this?”

“Maybe,” Rin said.

“This is not a maybe situation, this is a yes or no and it better be yes kind of situation.”

Rin turned to him, eyebrows raised.

“I would have thought you of all people would know better than that, Sir Shou. All too often it is very much a maybe situation, because it all depends on whether you have the right tool for the job at your disposal.”

Shou opened his mouth to argue, then closed it, because he realised he had been about to say something along the lines of “From what I’ve seen, I simply assume that you’re always prepared and equipped with the right tools for just about anything”. Even if he didn’t exactly mean it as a compliment, it surely would have sounded like one to Rin, so it should definitely go unspoken. The man’s ego was big enough already.

“Useless bastard,” he grumbled, bringing both his hands up to his core, palms facing each other. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the ki flow within his own body, and willed the energy to manifest externally. Peripherally, he heard a soft ohoh, but Rin thankfully kept his mouth shut otherwise. Shou could do without condescending commentary on his form, thank you very much. He’d already gotten his fill of those from Tenkokishou back in Seiyu.

“Your one saving grace when it comes to handling anything spell related,” the old man had said, “is the ridiculous amount of ki you possess. Your use of it lacks any refinement and skill, but it gets the job done as long as it’s about brute force or simple seal activation.”

Shou opened his eyes as he felt the necessary amount of force gathered between his palms. He took one more deep breath, then he simply let go. A fraction of a second, then the door burst in a shower of splinters and angry flickers of separated spell-work.

“I must say, I do like your go-get-it attitude, Sir Shou,” Rin said as he stepped over the smouldering threshold. “Fast and straight to the point.”

“Not everyone has to go through twenty unnecessary steps of plotting before getting shit done, you know.”

Rin didn’t reply to the jab, and as Shou followed him into the room, he instantly knew why.

“Well, shit.”

In the middle of the spacious room, partially obscured by thin curtains meant to keep bugs out, was the Master’s bed. Shou had expected to find the man bedridden, yes, but this was something different altogether.

“You said it,” Rin agreed, stepping closer and pulling the curtains to the side. “Now, this complicates matters quite a bit.”

Shou fought the urge to look away from the corpse in front of him, its sunken glassy eyes staring into nothingness. Both arms lay relaxed on top of the blanket, no sign of a struggle had disturbed the bedding and curtains.

“He hasn’t been dead for too long,” he heard Rin’s voice as from afar. The man seemed utterly unaffected by the sight, as if he had expected nothing else. “I’d assume he was killed yesterday morning or the night previous, just in time for the guests to arrive.”

“Killed?”

Rin pulled the blanket down to the man’s waist, uncovering a clean stab wound to the old man’s chest. “In his sleep, I’d reckon.”

By whom seemed evident enough. Shou exhaled deeply, arms akimbo. “So, what now? Should we make a run for it before things go completely sideways?”

“What’s the meaning of this?”

Shou spun on his heels and found himself staring at Tai Shi An standing in the doorway. The man’s eyes were wide and fixed on the remains of his previous master, his expression one of pure shock.

“Now, hold on a moment,” Shou tried to intervene before things went out of control, but in the back of his mind, he knew just what picture they must paint right now.

“You killed Master Shuu!” Tai Shi An exclaimed, his stance shifting instantly, his whole body tense and ready to spring into action. His eyes were narrowed and shining with fury. “You’ll pay for this, I swear-”

“We didn’t do anything like that!”

Still, Shou braced for attack. His impression on the previous day had been that even unarmed, the man was an opponent to be taken seriously, and he wasn’t about to get himself beat up over something he was entirely innocent of.

“I knew something was wrong when I heard the bang just now, but to someone as noble as Sir Shuu, how could you, how dare you, you-!”

Tai Shi An sprang forward, but to Shou’s surprise, it was Rin who suddenly appeared at his side, caught the man’s fist with apparent ease, and sent him stumbling back towards the door with a swift kick.

“I implore you to listen, Sir Tai, for you are gravely mistaken. Word of concern for Master Shuu’s well being reached the police, and I was dispatched to look into it.” Rin’s lying was as smooth and natural as per usual, and Shou took note of a moment of uncertainty flickering across their opponent’s face. “I assure you, neither of us had a hand in this incident. He was dead by the time we arrived.”

Tai Shi An hovered, torn between a drive to avenge his old master and the desire to understand, to find some sort of logic behind something clearly nonsensical to him. He had seemed to be the most sensible of the guests, so Shou held on to the hope that this could be solved without spilling more blood in this place.

“Yeah, didn’t you think it was weird that the Master of the house didn’t receive us personally yesterday? He was probably already dead by then!”

“But that would mean,” Tai Shi An began, blinking in confusion even as the same suspicion had to be dawning on him. “If that’s true, then that means he was killed by-”

His words were cut off by the long familiar sound of metal tearing for flesh. Shou stared in shock as Tai Shi An looked down at the point of a sword protruding from his chest, his expression one of mild surprise. At his side, Shou felt Rin tense up.

“Ah, you two are messing up my schedule,” came En Nou Sei’s voice from the dark of the corridor. He pulled the blade free with a sickening sound, and his brother apprentice crumpled at his feet like a broken doll. He stepped over him with the same disregard you might show a piece of debris. “No matter, all important preparations have been made, so I’ll just deal with you right now instead.”

Bizarrely, nothing about the man’s open face and friendly demeanour had changed as he stood before them now, not a drop of his brother’s blood staining his robes. The only thing that was different was the sword in his hand, a slender blade of strangely rust-like colouring and lacking ornamental flourishes.

Shou had seen enough of them in his lifetime to know at first glance that this weapon wasn’t just any old sword.

“Goddamnit,” he groaned.

“Which schedule have we so rudely messed up, pray tell?” Rin asked, voice showing no concern at all, even though Shou would have bet good money on the fact that this man, too, knew exactly what was facing them here.

“The festival, of course, what else? Although there is a change to the usual proceedings this year, I’ll admit.”

“I assume the killing of one’s master and fellow disciple is not a regular occurrence, then.”

En Nou Sei laughed. “Yes, quite right. Well, originally it was supposed to be a festival of giving to others. Master Shuu claimed he could bestow strength on others through this ceremony, although if you ask me, that has always been a bunch of hogwash.”

He stepped closer until he was standing at the head of the bedding, looking down at his previous master with a strange sort of fondness.

“If you ask me, he only liked gathering swordsmen in this town to have someone to talk about martial arts with, and he forbade the bringing of weapons to avoid the kind of bloodshed you’d see at the Association’s tournaments. He’s recruited several of attendees as his disciples over the years at the festival, too.”

“Were you one of them?” Rin asked. Shou felt the man’s hand on his arm, giving him a gentle squeeze. Now that the wayward disciple was in here with them, technically they could make a run for it – provided they were faster than whatever ability this cursed blade might hold in store for them.

“I suppose you could say that, although I came with the specific goal to find out if the rumours about this man being able to share his abilities was true. In the end, I suppose it was all talk, but I’m thankfully not reliant on it in order to become stronger.” He lifted his blade, the strange copper shine of it making Shou’s skin crawl. “You seem to have a discerning eye, Sir Hakuba, so no doubt you’ve noticed this isn’t a sword like any other. It has the ability to drain another swordsman’s skill, transferring it to its wielder.”

“Ugh,” Shou groaned, for the second time on this day. He thought of Seven Blasphemous Deaths, currently securely sealed within the Sorcerous Sword Index, and felt a particular kind of headache set in. “Demonic Swords bring nothing but trouble, you’ll pay a steep price for using it before long.”

“Oh? Do you have experience, Sir Ryouga?”

“Enough to know when someone is in over their head, yeah.”

“I do wonder what will happen if I try it out on you, actually. What skill will it draw out of a magic user?”

Shou didn’t like the sparkle in the man’s eyes one bit. Now, it was him who gave Rin a covert shove.

“See, this is another maybe kind of situation,” Rin replied in a low voice, “but for this particular one, I’m happy to tell you that I do have just the right tool at my disposal.”

The flash of silver and blue of Rin’s pipe in his hand was as familiar as its sudden appearance was always somewhat of a mystery. He raised it to his lips, drawing from it with an air of utter nonchalance.

“I’m afraid that I find myself quite unwilling to hand over my life just to improve a second rate swordsman’s skill,” he said sweetly, words clouded in smoke. “My apologies, Master En Nou Sei.”

And with a flick of his wrist, he emptied the pipe’s ashes onto the floor. The flames that shot up were unnaturally hot and white, and Shou squeezed his eyes shut in reflex. He followed the pull on his wrist blindly, almost tripping over the remains of the door. Even as he opened his eyes again, bright dots danced in his line of vision as they sprinted down the corridors.

“What is wrong with you Touri people,” he shouted, finally pulling his hand free.

“I do object to that generalisation.”

Rin slid to a stop and made a sharp turn to the right, much to Shou’s confusion, as the corridor turned to the left. All that they were left with here was a window, and he instantly felt his stomach sink.

“Oh no, absolutely not.”

“I’ve taken the liberty of holding on to the Genkishuu’s demon bird bone whistles,” Rin said, peering down into the sleet-coloured void. “So this drop shouldn’t be a problem if-”

For the second time this day, he jerked back, cursing under his breath.

“Seems like En Nou Sei was thorough with his barriers.”

“Are you for real?”

“I’m afraid so. Unless we break it, we’ll have to face who and what we’re locked in with.”

Shou closed his eyes, trying to gather his composure. Sometimes, he did wonder what deity he must have pissed off in his previous life to constantly end up in these types of situations in this one. He could also break through this barrier by force, granted, but it would take time and another not inconsiderable depletion of his ki, so he’d prefer a quicker solution. And there was an obvious one, however much he wanted to avoid doing so with Rin present.

“Maybe,” he started, reluctance heavy in his bones, “I could summon-”

“Hey there, you two!”

They both turned around in unison, the flare of annoyance equally shared between them. Sen Mou Ri was sauntering towards them, which in itself was unpleasant enough, but what was more alarming was the sword in his hand. A demonic blade it was not, but he was the type of person Shou wouldn’t even trust with a kitchen knife.

“En Nou Sei just told us that you’ve killed Master Shuu,” he said, clearly devoid of any sadness about that fact. If anything, he radiated pure glee. “And that any restrictions on fighting are lifted if we encounter you. Lucky me, looks like I’m first.”

“Luck lies in the eye of the beholder,” Rin sighed, pushing up the brim of his hat a bit. “I could tell you that this is all a set-up and you’re being tricked by En Nou Sei, but I doubt it’d get through to someone as obsessed with fighting as you. Then, let’s settle this according to your liking.”

Shou was half expecting another parlour trick of gunpowder and fire to follow, but as Rin flicked his wrist this time, there wasn’t anything akin to the warm glow of flame in response.

It was the first time Shou actually got to see Rin’s sword. From what had happened at the Tan clan shrine before his arrival, he’d been able to guess that the man had duelled Betsu Ten Gai, but it had truly been the least of his problems at the time, so in all honesty, he hadn’t spared it a single thought since. Frankly speaking, he was burdened with enough swords in his life, so whatever this pain in his neck might carry on him was none of his business.

As the blade shimmered in the pale light now, however, the curved edge distorting the mirror image of Shou's own eyes, he found it hard to tear his gaze off it. He had seen and handled countless swords in his life, from cursed demon blades to blessed divine weapons, but this one – it made the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand up. The delicate embellishments and feathers matched its owner, but even more so did the cold, eerie aura it exuded. 

“I’ll leave the matter of the barriers to you, my friend,” Rin announced as he shifted his stance, rolling his shoulders as if preparing for a playful spar. “I shall entertain this gentleman, if he so direly wishes for it.”

“Entertain?” Sen Mou Ri spat on the floor. “I’ll chop you to bits, you arrogant bastard.”

“You’re welcome to try.”

Sen Mou Ri crouched, all muscles tense, a feral grin on his face. His charge forward was but a flash of red, his blade cutting through air with an angry howl. Shou didn’t stay to see how Rin would parry, sprinting past their attacker further down the hallway. Sen Mou Ri clearly didn’t care about fighting him, so unless he should manage to defeat Rin, that would be one worry of his back.

Another turn, and Shou stumbled into the dining hall. He took a breath of relief — at least he knew the way out from here for sure. While any window would do, he definitively preferred the actual door for their exit, just in case. It wasn’t that he truly worried that Rin might let him fall to his death, but the thought that he’d be reliant on him to this degree didn’t exactly feel good either.

His moment of respite was short lived, however, because on the opposite side of the hall, guarding the final corridor, stood Sha Tei Hou.

“Oh? Did you manage to avoid that hotblooded brat?”

“He got his wish of fighting the damn bird,” Shou said, taking measured steps towards the door. Sha Tei Hou looked relaxed, back against the wall and arms crossed, but he, too, had been given a blade by their oh-so-gracious host, the gleam of its untarnished edge more obvious a warning than any body language could have been.

“Bird?”

“Never mind. Look here, I ain’t got anything to do with Master Shuu getting killed, that was his dear disciple himself.”

Sha Tei Hou inclined his head with a hum. “So you say.”

“He has a demonic sword in his possession that lets him steal the abilities of swordfighters he’s killed,” Shou pressed on, now only a few metres away. “He’s going to use it on all those at the festival he deems skilled enough.”

“And I’m meant to believe that?” Sha Tei Hou pushed himself off the wall, posture still at ease, but Shou could see straight through it. He didn’t need to know the intricacies of the Cotton and Copper school —or whatever its name might have been— to understand the fluent, relaxed movements were but a prelude to a vicious attack. “From my point of view, you’re the most suspicious man at this entire gathering, Sir Ryouga.”

And it was all Rin’s fault, again. This damn bird bastard.

“Then don’t believe me, it’s all the same to me.” Shou shifted his stance, exhaling as he channeled his ki into his fingertips. “If you won’t let me pass, then whatever happens next is on you.”

“Whatever happens next?” Sha Tei Hou snorted. “You’ll lose to me, that’s what.”

His attack couldn’t have been more different than Sen Mou Ri’s, a fluent and graceful sequence of steps, not straight-forward but meant to confuse and disorient the opponent. But it wasn’t Shou’s first brush with similar techniques, and he dodged the first actual strike, aimed at his legs, and the second, directed at his left side, and the third, coming straight for his head.

“Oh?” Sha Tei Hou stepped back, clearly preparing for a new wave of attacks. “You’re dodging well for someone without proper schooling. But dodging won’t-”

He moved in the middle of the sentence, and something in Shou almost pitied the man for the fact that this was probably the pinnacle of underhanded technique to him. Oh, if only he knew just what kind of people Shou had faced before. It was time to put an end to this and get out of here, really, all people in this mansion were driving him up the walls for one reason or another.

This time, he didn’t dodge the slash aimed at his neck, instead catching the sword with both hands before it could make contact. Sha Tei Hou’s face fell in the fraction of a second as Shou snapped the blade in between his palms.

“What-”

Shou dropped the shards on the floor between them, a shower of silver.

“I told you,” Shou said. “Whatever happens next is on you.”

And with that, he gave the man a kick that sent him flying against the opposite wall where he folded like a deck of cards.

The fact that En Nou Sei was waiting for him by the heavy doors leading to the outside was, at this point, not a surprise at all; Shou had expected as much. What was slightly concerning, however, was the absence of a certain someone.

“Oh? I’m surprised you’ve arrived here first, Sir Ryouga,” En Nou Sei voiced Shou’s exact thought.

There was no way Rin would lose, of that, Shou was inherently sure, but maybe that bastard had gotten sidetracked by humiliating that bundle of anger issues. It certainly wouldn’t be a surprise.

“Sorry that it’s me,” Shou said, cracking his neck irritably “I suppose you won’t just step aside and let me go, huh.”

“No,” was the friendly reply. “I meant what I said earlier, I am most curious as to what Bottomless Well of Shadow will draw out of you in specific.”

Now, that name certainly fit the vibe of that awful sword. Shou sighed.

“I don’t even want to know where you got this cursed thing from, and at this point, you’ve clearly already gone off the deep end with killing your master and all, but I can tell you this much: using demonic weapons always, always comes at a price.”

En Nou Sei shrugged.

“And if so, that’s fine by me. There is simply nothing that can compare to the feeling of suddenly understanding, fully grasping and owning a style you’ve always admired. You’d agree if you ever experienced it, I’m certain.”

“There’s more to true mastery than just knowing all the specific forms of a certain style. You might now possess them, but you lack the understanding of how they were developed, what history is tied to them and in which circumstances you should use which specific form. None of this can simply be stolen.”

“You speak as if you had experience in that regard.”

“Who knows? I can promise you this: even if you acquired my style, you wouldn’t be able to use it with that sword.”

For the first time, the man’s friendly expression shifted to something more unsettling, the bottomless greed underlying his actions surfacing in the glint in his eyes, the cruel turn of his lips.

“Let’s put that to the test, then, shall we?”

En Nou Sei getting into a fighting stance had nothing in common with either of the three swordsmen Shou had seen about to strike on this day. There was a total lack of any discernible form to it, the way he lifted his blade almost amateurishly lax. It had nothing of Sha Tei Hou’s swagger or Sen Mou Ri’s aggression, but neither did it match Rin’s ostentatious self-assuredness. It was a blank slate, and Shou realised that this was because he was waiting to see what Shou would do. Whatever form he’d see his opponent take, he’d draw on something ideal to counter from his library of stolen ability.

“What a pain in the ass,” Shou swore under his breath.

Fighting an opponent such as this barehanded while just drawing on ki was risky, especially considering how much he’d already expended throughout the day without any amount of rest in between. The best way to counter a demonic sword and its abilities would be something from the Sorcerous Sword Index, of course. Maybe Heavenly Ember or Echo of the Void would do the trick, or that one sword he’d taken from that utterly unhinged government official in the southern province. The caveat for all of these was that unsealing the index would take precious seconds even if he knew exactly which sword he wanted to summon, and at this close proximity with a barrier keeping him locked in here with this lunatic, this time was hard to come by.

Now, what to do—

All of Shou’s deliberations were rendered moot as with a thunderous crash, the ceiling collapsed in on them. Shou moved on instinct, dodging the chunks of wood and tile that rained down on them. Blinking against the sudden influx of diffuse sunlight in the remnants of the hallway, he could see that En Nou Sei had equally avoided getting squashed to death. He was staring up at the hole above them, looking quite floored. Shou reluctantly took his eyes of his opponent and followed his gaze.

“I’m not too late to the main event, am I?” Rin called from where he was sitting on the broken end of a beam jutting out over the entrance, legs crossed and apparently quite comfortable. Whatever magic he had used on himself so far had been discarded, as he was back to garments of pristine white and ice blue, the long sashes of his coat fluttering in the mountain breeze.

“Who-” started En Nou Sei, confused. “Who exactly...?”

“What on earth took you so long, Rin?” Shou yelled, barely avoiding shaking his fist at the sky, too.

“After dealing with our overambitious friend, I checked if there truly was no way for me to easily break through these barriers anywhere, and lo and behold, there was something I had missed beforehand. The caster did not consider the possibility of leaving this place in this direction.” Rin helpfully pointed his pipe towards the sky, his expression incredibly smug.

“You’re not Hakuba,” En Nou Sei spoke up again, clearly still not fully caught up with the sudden development. “But then who..?”

“Oh, but I am, too. I am Hakuba of the Provincial Police, among many other things,” Rin replied, drawing from his pipe. The white smoke pouring from his lips disappeared into the fog still surrounding the entire estate. “I would not have come had you not called for my presence, but now that I am here, I would be amiss to not tell you that it was no one other than the Enigmatic Gale that you’ve invited.”

The response came in form of a strike so fast that Shou had trouble even seeing it. The beam Rin had just been lounging on snapped in too, a cut so clean it left the surface looking polished. Whoever’s style the man had just used, it truly was first-rate.

“I won’t let you take anything from me, you hear?!” En Nou Sei shouted, any trace of amicability now vanished, his eyes open wide, gaze frantic. Fear, Shou thought, was a powerful tool to wield.

“I won’t.” Rin now stood only a hand’s breadth from where the slash had cut the beam apart, not a single hair out of place. He took another drag from his pipe, lips curled into one of the smiles that meant things were going exactly as he had envisioned them. “When it comes to dealing with sorcerous swords, it’s not me who you should answer to. Sir Shou, catch!”

And with that, he let go of the pipe in his hand. Shou jumped forward and caught it on reflex more than conscious thought, the weight of solid steel in his hand unfamiliar and unpleasant. It wasn’t his style, this sword, it’s curving edge and embellishments so very different from Sekken.

He wasn’t given time to bemoan this fact, however, because En Nou Sei didn’t miss a beat in his next attack, in a different style this time, more grounded and powerful. Shou deflected the tip of the rust-coloured blade from his neck in the nick of time, Rin’s sword reverberating in his hand from the force of impact, the metal clang a shrill ringing in his ears.

“What the hell, Rin!” he shouted, blocking another attack, this time a deceptively shallow slash that twisted direction in the fraction of a second.

“This is your area of expertise, Sir Shou,” he heard Rin’s voice from somewhere above. “Engetsu is a reliable blade, feel free to use her to your heart’s content.”

“Fuck you!”

Another parry, another dodge, the styles so incongruent that Shou had trouble keeping up. It was like he was fighting multiple opponents here, the lack of consistency in the flow of attacks leaving Shou at constant disadvantage. Close range, long sweep, stab and feints, spectral attacks and bizarre stances. If this was the current capability of the man, Shou didn’t even want to imagine what the absorption of the skills of all those attending the festival would have added to this menagerie.

His struggle was helped none by the fact how foreign Rin’s sword felt to him. It wasn’t as if he had never used steel weapons in all his time after picking up Sekken and the style of the Edgeless Blade — in a pinch or when making use of the weapons from the Index, exceptions were made. But this was different from one of the magical Index weapons, and a far cry from a random blade such as those he had picked up from Genkishuu soldiers back at the Seven Sins Tower. He could tell that Engetsu was a formidable sword that was imbued with strong magic beyond just shapeshifting capabilities. It was drenched in its master's cool energy, and Shou could tell that this blade had been used to end more than just dreams in his quest for toying with people.

“A true master doesn’t blame his tools if he messes up,” Tenkokishou’s voice floated up in his memory, “because to do so is nothing but admission of inadequacy.”

Shou cursed, parrying another blow, and then for the first time in this spar, went in for an attack of his own, pushing forward with brute force. En Nou Sei switched styles accordingly, movements fluent and evasive. Distance, Shou thought, just a fraction of distance, that was all he needed. And if swordplay was not going to do the trick, well, he wasn’t devoid of all ideas. Ducking under a retaliating swing by his opponent, Shou picked up a few chunks of broken tile with one hand, turning just in time to deflect another deadly blow.

The two other guests would probably have considered it fighting dirty, he thought as he threw the pieces at En Nou Sei with all the amplified power he could muster at this point. The man jumped back in surprise, barely avoiding one in direct collision course with his head. But alas, he was still alive and well, and that was more than you could say about them. And he had got what he needed — a distance that would give him the necessary second to prepare for a final move.

“Formless Rogue Sword: Eight Point Arrival!”

Even before he released the strike, he could tell that its impact was going to be different from the equivalent executed with Sekken. This was a blade used to shatter Rin’s enemies, emotionally, physically, psychologically, and it eagerly accepted Shou’s intent just the same.

En Nou Sei managed to parry the first strike, commendably enough, but the second hit its mark, piercing right through Bottomless Well of Shadow’s hilt alongside the man’s hand. He let go with a sharp cry, the copper coloured blade clattering to the floor with all the elegance of discarded scrap metal.

“That’s not possible,” the man stammered, hand clutched to his chest, eyes focussed on his sword. “With the styles of forty-seven masters, how could I have lost, lost to someone-”

Ending a life was so much easier using a weapon with a true edge and a taste for it, Shou thought, watching as blood dripped from Engetsu’s delicate blade, leaving a cheerful pattern of dots in the rubble and dust to his feet. En Nou Sei probably hadn’t even felt the cut at this speed.

“Well, it truly is a bottomless ocean, the mastery of the sword,” he heard Rin’s voice from behind. “Lesser people have drowned in it.”

Shou turned to glare at the man, but he was all of a sudden too tired to muster genuine anger. He had any right to be furious — Rin could have fought this man just as well, or tried any of his parlour tricks of hallucinogenic smoke and thereabouts to help him out before putting him on the spot like this. He had been tested once more, that much was clear.

“Here,” he just said, shoving the bloody sword back at its owner. “With the caster dead, the barrier should have been lifted. So, bye.”

He picked up the damaged remains of Bottomless Well of Shadow off the ground as he headed towards the heavily damaged front gate. He would seal this troublemaker later, once he had recovered enough energy to deal with the Sorcerous Sword Index and well out of eyesight of Rin Setsu A. That was just his luck — he had come hoping to unburden himself from some of the weapons, and instead he’d gained another one to take care of. One step forward, two steps back.

“I can still summon the birds,” Rin called after him. “Makes the journey quicker.”

“Get lost!” Shou shouted back, heartfelt.

Just as earlier in the week, the sight of the inn was a most welcome one after a long day of walking. As Shou approached it, he saw the figure of the kid jump up from the bench, disappear into the house, then pop back out and run towards him, Sekken in hand.

“Uncle!” he called out.

At least he had been promoted from old man, Shou thought, if just barely.

“Thanks for keeping an eye on it, kid,” he said, taking the sword back and securing it to his belt. He had missed it more than he had realised, feeling an instant relief in the sense of familiarity as he rested his hand on the worn hilt, his fingers tracing the chips and dents in the warm wood.

The kid nodded enthusiastically.

“How was the festival?”

“It sure was an event,” Shou replied slowly, deliberately keeping it vague. “Didn’t find what I needed, though.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Well, it happens. Is your mother in?”

“Yup, but she said you wouldn’t come before tomorrow at the earliest.”

“Hm, well, things happened. In any case, let’s get going then, I could do with some food.”

As he followed the kid, Shou reminded himself that especially in the face of once again seeing his actual goals unfulfilled, it was about focussing on the small good things in life. And sometimes, those came in the form of a surprisingly talkative kid at your side and the prospect of hearty food. Oh, and a noticeable absence of one Rin Setsu A in his life once more.

You could always do worse.

Omake: Some time later

“I’ve been meaning to ask”, Rin said, easily keeping pace with Rou Fu You as they trudged through the red sand of this hellish landscape, “but you do have the most interesting companion in that instrument of yours, Sir Rou. Pray tell, what’s his name?”

“Me? I’m Ryouga, but what’s it to you?” the pipa replied, hedging. His master’s dislike of Rin obviously was a shared sentiment. 

“Oh, is that so? What a coincidence.” Rin smiled. He’d have to give Sir Shou some pointers as to how to come up with proper aliases, really.

Notes:

Every so often, I think of the fact that season one points out that Seiyu and Touri are divided by a minor language barrier and everyone thinks Shou sounds weird. The scenario in the prologue is based on this historical gem. As for the names, here are the Kanji I based them on, for those interested: Shuu Tei Waku 修  to master, discipline 低  humble, low value 惑 beguile, be lost, confused, seduced En Nou Sei 烟 smoke, hazy 能 ability, skill 穽 sunken trap Tai Shi An 替 replace, exchange, spare 厮 companion, cut, divide 厭 bore, disagreeable, dislike Sen Mou Ri 尖 pointed, angry, edgy 妄 reckless, without authority 俚 rustic, ill-mannered Sha Tei Ho 奢 extravagance, luxury 薙 mow down enemies 鋒 base of a dagger, sword point Hakuba 白馬 white horse;  ties into 白馬非馬 (hakubahiba) sophistry, sophism, false syllogism 

[regnumcaelorum]

Hi! I've just started getting into ficbinding (making physical books out of fanfic!) and I was wondering if you'd be okay if I did a fanbound version of Hanakotoba? I read your fic years ago when the Aldnoah.Zero fandom was more active and the story really stayed with me.

Hello! I'm sorry, I've never gotten a notification of this message, I just saw it by pure chance just now. Of course, you'd be welcome to do it if you still want to :)

[regnumcaelorum]

that which is forgotten (3)

(crossposted on AO3)

A strange presence comes to town.

Rating: G

“You must like doing things unnecessarily complicatedly, don’t you?”

The woman turned towards him, expression blank.

“What do you mean?”

“It would have been much easier for you to destroy youkai using your own powers instead of relying on these exorcist techniques.” Madara narrowed his eyes. “And yet.”

She blinked, then sighed.

“I suppose someone of your caliber can tell pretty easily, right.”

“Of course, did you think I was blind?” Madara growled, shifting into his true form. “Don’t underestimate me, brat.”

She did not look the least bit intimidated, merely tilting her head back to maintain eye contact as he towered over her. But then again, he had already ascertained pretty clearly that this fellow wasn’t all right in the head in the first place.

“Well, you’re right, I could easily have dealt with that spirit in our usual way, but that’s not why I’m doing this.”

“Pray tell, then, why’s a youkai running around playacting being an exorcist?”

She remained silent for a moment, eyes remaining as black voids.

“Sure,” she then said, leaning back against the nearest tree trunk, “you might actually understand. I used to be worshipped as a protective deity in a village in the mountains, a long, long time ago.”

Her gaze drifted off, beyond what was in front of her, to a different place, a different time. Madara patiently waited for her to continue.

“Living conditions there were harsh, and after a particularly bad winter, the villagers decided to relocate to the valley. All of them just packed up, and left, as simple as that.”

“And you remained.”

Her focus snapped back to him, and for the first time, she smiled, although there was no joy in it.

“Yes. Humans can be such fickle creatures. I watched them pack their important things, discuss about what was not valuable enough to drag all the way with them on the journey, and then witness them deeming everything about my shrine as not important enough to make the cut.” The smile remained. “Maybe they blamed me for failing to prevent the harsh winter, although I always did the best I could to protect them from more imminent disasters, but how would they know? Humans are ignorant of the powers beyond their immediate grasp. But I don’t have to tell you, surely.”

Madara remained silent. Hers was a fate that wasn’t uncommon to local deities, to become forgotten, wither away or turn vengeful, turning on any humans and spirits alike. As much as she bemoaned her fickle worshippers, as obvious it was in her story how deeply she must have yearned for their return for a while. Pitiful, he thought, gritting his teeth.

“I don’t know how long I remained in those ruins all by myself, watching the seasons, years, decades drift by. But eventually, humans came back, trying to forge a pass across the mountain. Different people, from a different age, with no knowledge of the shrine and even less respect for it.”

The iciness in her tone and the glint in her eyes left Madara with little doubt her mercifulness for humans had at that point clearly run its course. He gave a short laugh.

“And yet, they came back again and again. And one day, they sent someone to exorcise the malevolent spirit halting their progress.”

“They must have done a pretty bad job at it.”

“He didn’t even try.”

The smile was still there, but it had shifted to something softer. Madara knew that expression, he saw it every dang time Natsume released yet another precious, valuable name from the Book of Friends. It made something inside of him want to scream.

“He just came up to me and told me that he, too, would probably be in a bad mood if he was stuck somewhere all alone, but I should just have done something about it and ventured into the valley myself. He point blank told me I was stupid for not even thinking of it.” She laughed, and this time, it was genuine. “This puny human, talking like that to me! Exorcist or no, I could have squashed him. And yet, he just told me to tag along and get a change of routine. He was a complete idiot.”

“So you became his shiki?”

She shook her head.

“I wasn’t stupid enough to give my name to humans ever again, just to watch them forget it once they lose interest. He declared he’d just call me Kuromatsu, because my shrine had been built from black pine wood. Like I said, he was an idiot. And still, I ended up accompanying him on his travels, watching him deal with both youkai and humans in the same careless, lackadaisical manner.”

She fell silent, and Madara had a good idea why.

“Human lives are short”, he offered eventually.

“His name was forgotten, just as mine was. The world of humans moves on, washing away traces like waves on sand. But we can remain to remember, and keep some of those memories with us.”

“Dressing up as a human exorcist goes beyond what I’d ever consider doing,” Madara sniped.

“Maybe.” She shrugged. “And yet, your attachment to that boy is just as strong.”

He felt his fur stand up in indignation.

“That’s nonsense, I’m only with him to get the Book of Friends eventually.”

“You, too, are doing things more complicatedly than necessary, then. You could just have let him run into deadly danger one time and then collect what you want, no?”

Before he could put together a fitting rebuttal, something along on the lines of that he was about to bite her smug head off, she pushed off the trunk and turned to leave.

“It’s not a bad thing, to care, even though we know that it’s ephemeral. That’s what I think, at least.” She bowed her head. “Take good care of these kids, and savour the time you have with them.”

“I don’t care!” he shouted after her, but got no reaction. Madara huffed, shaking his head to free himself from the strange sense of unease her words had brought forth. As if he needed some stray wasuregami to give him, noble youkai Madara-sama, any advice on how to deal with humans.

He looked back towards the temple, but things seemed calm. He was going to pick up his troublemaker charge later, first, he would strongarm the Yatsuhara folk into giving him some sake.

There was no point in dwelling on troublesome things like mortality and inevitability, Madara decided. He was only here for the Book of Friends, after all.

[regnumcaelorum]

that which is forgotten (2)

(crossposted on AO3)

A strange presence comes to town.

Rating: G

“I can’t believe you of all people got 89 points on that math test!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?! You’re just jealous!”

“I still wonder if you didn’t use a cheat sheet, there’s no way you’d get more than 60 without it. Isn’t that right, Natsume?”

Natsume laughed, but brought up his hands in a defensive move.

“I wouldn’t know, Kitamoto.”

Nishimura took Natsume’s diplomatic answer as backing his stance, gleefully turning on their friend.

“Like I said! You’re just jealous!”

Their squabbling continued as they made their way across the school’s front yard, and Natsume let the normalcy of it all wash over him, smiling to himself. His own grades were nothing to write home about, and even if all the youkai related trouble he had to deal with definitely was a contributor, at this point he also had to own up to some subjects not being his forte. It was a nice break, however, this kind of school life - chatting with classmates, discussing the merits of ditching homework, walking home after school. It had been almost a year since he moved to this town, but it still seemed too good to be true, sometimes.

“Hey, look, it’s your fat cat here to pick you up, Natsume!”

He started, pulled back into the present moment, and watched on as Nishimura crouched down by the school gate, trying to pat Sensei’s head. The youkai dodged him with one swift move, running and leaping to settle on Natsume’s shoulder. While Kitamoto said something about how cats were good judges of character, Natsume’s ears were focussed on Sensei speaking instead.

“I just received word from the Yatsuhara crowd. Seems a very strong youkai made their way here yesterday, and they agree that one’s bad news. So we’re going straight home before you get yourself involved in something stupid again, you hear me?”

His expression didn’t look like there was room for negotiations, his claws digging through the thick wool of Natsume’s coat ever so slightly.

“Sorry, you two, I just realised I promised to be home earlier to help Touko-san with some yard work,” Natsume called out to his friends, already on the move. “See you tomorrow!”

He didn’t wait for their reply, jogging down the familiar path home.

“Is it a dangerous youkai?”

“The remnants of their presence sure weren’t pleasant,” Sensei said, still perching on his shoulder. “Let’s hope they’re just passing through and won’t get us in any trouble.”

“You said the Yatsuhara crowd told you, did anything happen to them?”

“Not yet, I don’t think. Dunno, there’s a lot of them, I don’t think they did a headcount.”

Natsume came to an abrupt stop at the crossroads beyond the river, turning his head to glare at his bodyguard.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You don’t have to worry about the strong ones, and even the mid-ranks should be fine, probably, inspite of being dumb as a bag of rocks.” Sensei dismissively waved his paw. “Like I said, maybe that youkai is just passing through and nothing will happen to any of them, but-”

Natsume resumed running, making a sharp left turn, right towards the path leading to Yatsuhara.

“Did you listen to a single thing I said, you idiot?” Sensei complained, digging his claws into his shoulders a bit more aggressively. Natsume ignored him, breathing heavily as he made his way uphill through the narrow paths in the woods.

His body was vibrating with the long familiar sense of anxiety that came with worry for others, and now that he paid attention to his surroundings on this different level, he, too, could feel an unpleasant presence, however faint it might be. Its intensity ebbed and flowed, as if he was experiencing the ripples radiating from a stone dropped in a pond. As he approached a small clearing, Natsume stopped, frowning.

Something bright had caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. He leaned down to fish it out of the thick carpet of colourful leaves covering the ground. It was a scrap of blank paper, torn in half, but still showing that there used to be a very distinct shape to it. Natsume felt as if his stomach dropped for a moment.

“Urgh, shikigami,” Sensei remarked, ears flattening against his back as his eyes narrowed in disgust.

“Do you think it’s Natori-san’s?”

“I can’t tell from just that little bit of leftover energy. Exorcists are all pretty similar to me, anyway.”

“I see.”

Natsume almost wanted to say that he was sure Natori-san would have contacted him, had he been in the area, but before he could speak, he already knew that wasn’t quite true. While he trusted the man not to go out of his way to clash wish Natsume’s way of coexisting with the local youkai, had he been hired to conduct a job capturing a more dangerous youkai, he might specifically go out of his way not to get him involved. It was impossible to be absolutely sure of what another person might do or think, frustratingly so.

His fingers tightened around the paper.

“Let’s hope it’s not the Matoba clan”, he said, resuming his foray, albeit slower this time, and more careful.

“I’ll eat that brat next time”, Sensei growled. Natsume did not bother to chide him for it.

The sound of leaves crunching underfoot made them both flinch and tense, ready to face any danger. Up ahead, coming towards them, was a woman in a violently orange windbreaker, stopping in surprise as she took note of them. Her eyes scanned Natsume, then Sensei, then landed on his right fist, still clenched around the rests of the shikigami.

“Good afternoon,” she said, slowly, nodding her head in greeting.

“Sensei?” Natsume whispered, many questions in just one word. There was something vaguely unsettling about the person in front of him, but he couldn’t quite place it.

“No, it’s not her,” Sensei replied, jumping of his shoulder and taking stance in front of him, protectively. “But that shikigami are yours, aren’t they?”

“Ah, yes.” She reached into her pocket, pulling out one that was not torn into shreds. It came to life on her palm, righting itself up like a living thing. “That would be the case.”

She clearly could feel the tension from Natsume and Sensei because the paper fell back limp and lifeless as she declared: “No reason to be alarmed, my business here is finished. I mean no harm to you.”

“Business?” Natsume asked, on edge.

“I was following a youkai that escaped me upstream to this region. I made sure to exorcise it. With that, my job here is done.”

Natsume exchanged a brief look with Sensei. So the youkai the Yatsuhara crowd had been anxious about had been dealt with already, that was good news. However, strange exorcists were always to be seen with a bit of caution, that much Natsume had learned over all his previous encoutners.

“So you’ll leave now without exorcising any of the resident youkai?”

“I have no reason to meddle with those that do not harm humans, so I’m on my way out. I just wanted to drop by the temple again, to check on that boy there.”

Natsume felt as if a bucket of ice water had been emptied over his head. He had ran past Sensei and up to the stranger before he could even process he had moved at all.

“Did something happen to him? Is he all right? What-”

“Natsume!” Sensei called after him, but he was too caught up in worry to care if it was dangerous.

The woman blinked, seemingly barely taken aback at all by his behaviour.

“He’s fine,” she said calmly. “It seems he’s quite sensitive to matters of the spirit world, though. He had a strong headache following this youkai’s arrival, but I made sure he took some medicine to combat the issue. Nevertheless, I wanted to ensure he was feeling better before leaving.”

Natsume exhaled a shaky breath, suddenly feeling almost boneless as the spike of panic vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

“Thank goodness”, he murmured, turning to Sensei. “I’ll go check on him, you make sure she’ll get to leave without issues.”

He didn’t wait for a reply, already taking off to make sure his precious friend was unhurt.

[regnumcaelorum]

that which is forgotten (1)

(crossposted on AO3)

A strange presence comes to town.

Rating: G

Tanuma remembered once having caught a commercial on tv for a painkiller that claimed that there were 37 different kinds of headaches. While he had been somewhat sceptical of how you could differentiate between so many types initially, on this day, he felt quite confident he had suffered through at least ten in the past 23 hours. What had started as a faint sense of pressure around his temples the previous afternoon had turned into a throbbing persistent ache overnight. Sleep unfortunately hadn’t magically fixed it, although he woke up with less of a pronounced ache and more of a dull weight in his head that made everything sound as if filtered through a thick blanket. School with its commotion and need to focus hadn’t exactly helped, either, and by the time lunch break began, it had once again worsened to include sudden bursts of pain, as if someone was stabbing at his brain.

Deciding he had at least made a valiant effort to not tarnish his attendance record  by going to school this morning at all, Tanuma asked his class rep to excuse him for afternoon classes, and started out on his way home.

It was a bright autumn day outside, almost summery, still, but there was a haze over the mountains in the distance that Tanuma had learned to understand as signs of an incoming change of weather. Maybe that was the source of the headaches, he thought, trudging along the familiar streets. To this day, he couldn’t for sure name a reason for them each time, since without someone like Natsume to confirm it for him, knowing for sure whether it was Youkai related was impossible. Sometimes, a door suddenly opening was just due to it not having been closed properly, and sometimes a headache was just something to do with atmospheric pressure or a cold - not everything had to do with forces beyond human knowledge. Considering his constitution had gotten better in the past year they had been living here, much to the joy of his father, and knowing that Yatsuhara seemed to teem with Youkai, he could try to ease his anxiety that way.

As he approached the bridge across the river, he saw a woman leaning against the railing, looking out over the the course of the stream towards the mountains. She was wearing a bright orange windbreaker and hiking boots. Even with his spirit dampened by his current condition, following her line of sight, he had to agree that it was a lovely day to be taking a stroll in this area. The forests on the hills appeared like a colourful quilt thrown on the landscape, woven in hues of red and gold, the river carrying single leaves downstream like paper boats.

He had almost caught up to her when a sudden flash of pain made his knees buckle, his teeth clenching at the sudden intensity of it. He only noticed that he must have stumbled when he felt someone’s hands grab hold of him, keeping him from falling.

“Are you alright?”

Tanuma blinked against the water in his eyes, trying to breathe slowly and at regular intervals. The intense pain had passed as quickly as it arrived, but it left an unpleasant anticipation of return in its wake. As the blurriness in his sight lessened, he found himself up close and personal with the violently bright orange jacket. Lifting his head a bit, he found the woman looking at him, frowning. Her eyes were so dark that it was hard to distinguish pupils from iris.

“I’m sorry,” he said, trying to smile in a way that he hoped was encouraging. “I am feeling a bit under the weather today.”

“I’d say that’s an understatement.” Her hold on his arm didn’t loosen. “You’re pale as a sheet of paper. Are you on your way home?”

“Yes, I left school early.”

“In your constitution, you should have asked someone to pick you up.”

“It’s not far,” Tanuma explained, awkwardly. “Just beyond the hill over there, the temple at Yatsuhara.”

The woman made a noncommittal sound, but did let go of him. Tanuma wanted to bow in thanks and then make a quick exit, feeling embarrassed for nearly collapsing on a total stranger, but he had barely moved before a second wave of pain crashed through him.

He was only vaguely aware of the woman’s arm around his shoulder supporting him as they made their way up towards the temple, all remaining brainpower focussed on the bare minimum task of putting one foot in front of the other. Everything was as if transmitted with lag, and he put up no resistance as the stranger led the way into his house and made him lie down a blanket in the living room. Something cold and wet was placed on his forehead and eyes, and Tanuma sighed. Then, a hand pushed up his head just a bit, and a cup pressed to his lips.

“Drink,” the stranger said. “It’ll help.”

Tanuma was in no state to refuse. The liquid was warm and sweet, but left a peculiar tingling sensation on his tongue after he swallowed. The relief was almost instantaneous, the ache in his head slowing down to a pale shadow of its former self, and the sensation of stumbling along behind his own body lessened.

He reached up to push the wet kitchen towel from his eyes, and found the stranger returning from the kitchen with a glass of water.

“You should keep that on,” she told him, kneeling down by his side and offering him the water. “It’ll help, too.”

“Thank you, I’m feeling a lot better all ready.” Tanuma meant it.

“I’m glad to hear that. Apologies for intruding without permission.” She pointed behind herself, at the kitchen.

“Oh, no, not at all! I am sorry for troubling you with having to take care of me in the first place.” Tanuma could feel the heat of embarrassment rising up his neck, mercifully combatted by the cool towel.

“I don’t mind, I wasn’t in a hurry, anyway.” Now that she was close and his headache receding, Tanuma got a better first good look at the stranger. He had never been good at guessing at adults’ ages, but she didn’t look much older than thirty. Her dark hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail, and her expression was absolutely calm.

“I’m Tanuma Kaname” he introduced himself, bowing his head. “Once again, thank you very much for helping me.”

“Kuromatsu.” She gave a curt nod. “Do you get these headaches often?”

“Sometimes. I guess I’m more prone to getting him than most.” He tried to say it lightly, but her serious mien didn’t change.

“When did this particular one start?”

“Yesterday afternoon.”

For just a moment, something flashed across the woman’s face, but it was gone before he could make sense of it.

“In any case, you should rest up for today, Tanuma-kun.”

“Are you a doctor?”

“Not quite, but through my line of work I did pick up on some ways to deal with certain problems. Your kind of affliction is much more common than you might think.”

Headaches were known to be one of the the most common ailments, Tanuma thought, a bit confused. Maybe his was one of the 37 that were considered more rare, then?

Kuromatsu got up and left the room without a comment. He heard the sound of rummaging from near the entrance, then she returned and set down an old, somewhat rusted tea caddy by his side.

“Keep it”, she said. “You seem like you need it. Half a tea spoon on a cup of hot water, and it’ll help with those headaches.”

“I can’t possibly accept this,” Tanuma rose in protest, but found himself pushed firmly back down by his shoulder.

“I insist. I don’t get headaches myself, so it’s more useful in your hands. Well, take care.”

That said, she turned to leave.

“Thank you!” Tanuma called after her. He heard the front door first open, then shut. The silence of the empty house was only broken by the occasional drip from the kitchen faucet - his father still hadn’t gotten around to having it be fixed - and the rustling of leaves outside. He sighed and let himself sink back into the soft blanket, staring at the ceiling.

Maybe it was a side effect of the herbal medicine, but he now felt comfortably tired, far from the earlier pressing exhaustion. Just as he was about to doze off, he caught a blur of movement from the corner of his eyes. In a corner of the ceiling, he could make out the long familiar reflection of the pond outside the veranda, the dazzling play of sun on the surface of water that was invisible to the human eye.

The shadows of the koi were unusually clear today.

[regnumcaelorum]

shiki no uta

(crossposted on AO3)

Four times Shang Bu Huan encounters the Enigmatic Gale on his travels.

Rating: G

A/N: This is set between the first movie and the second season. I don‘t think the show ever specified how much time passed in between the events of the first season and Lang arriving in Dong Li, so for artistic purposes, I've decided it's a year.

A magpie calling among the quiet deep green of the summer trees

                                        Issa

Shang wasn’t sure what he had expected, really - sincere ruefulness and apologies clearly were nothing Lin Xue Ya ever bothered with. But even a lip service apology would have been nice to get, considering what new chaos the man had wrought upon his life.

“Come, now, Sir Shang. There’s no reason to be all that mad, is there?”

Shang slammed down his cup on the table and glared at Lin, whose face remained as innocent and composed as a roadside buddha statue’s. The jester hat he was still wearing skewed the image just ever so slightly to the utterly absurd.

“You’ve been running around telling people all sorts of nonsense about me for who knows how long!”

“How could I not share as magnificent and heroic a tale as a mysterious traveler singlehandedly saving the world from a new demon invasion? The allure of story-telling has always been my biggest weakness, you see.”

Shang took a steadying breath, willing himself to calm down just a bit. Lin had put up no resistance as he had dragged the man by the scruff of his neck away from his rapt audience, and the man had had the gall to greet him with the easy-going cheer of an old friend in spite of why their paths had crossed again so soon after the incident at the Dan shrine.

“You’re telling all sorts of ridiculous lies that do nothing but get me in trouble! Just earlier, I had a run-in with some of the remnants of the Xuan Gui Zong because of it!”

“Which you had no trouble dealing with, I’m sure.” Lin smiled patiently, and Shang had to curb the desire to take the iron-cast tea pot and whack the man in the face with it. The owner of the small inn had cast them worried glances all throughout their stay whenever Shang had raised his voice, and he didn’t want to cause the man further trouble by breaking his appliances just because the Enigmatic Gale was that irritating.

“That’s not the point and you know it! Just you spreading any sorts of rumours about the index is going to get to God knows who and give them all sorts of dumb ideas.”

Lin’s smile took on a hint of the pitiful that clearly conveyed that yes, that had indeed been the point of the whole venture. Shang grit his teeth. Considering how his first encounter with this man had gone, he wasn’t sure why he was even still surprised to find him constantly make use of Shang, his abilities and index to stir up trouble. The more people would hear about this ridiculous tale, the faster it would spread to ears that could filter the truth from the fantastic and come after him. The only good part was that the Wasteland of Spirits would hopefully prevent it from ever reaching Xi You. Tian Gong Gui Jiang would never let him hear the end of it.

“I already had to deal with an impostor who was inspired by your bullshit stories just the other day,” he groaned, rubbing his eyes. It had all seemed so promising - traversing an almost impenetrable cursed wasteland to get to a new country where he was no-one, where no-one knew who he was or what he had done. A new chance to get some peace and quiet as he tried to deal with his burden. And yet, here he was, stuck in the same vicous circle of pursuit and escaping once more.

Lin laughed. “I’m sure that was a sight to see, I’m sorry to have missed it! What did you do with him?” “I let him go, of course. Poor bastard had enough problems on his plate already.” “As heroic and noble as ever, Sir Shang.” Lin nodded, content. “And also quite a smart move. With someone posing as you elsewhere, you can easily obfuscate your whereabouts and confuse your enemies. Maybe even send a few of the more troublesome ones in the wrong direction.”

Shang froze. The thought had never once crossed his mind, and it was paralysing. He had permitted the impostor to use his name for as long as it would take for him to rediscover his own, and hoped that he would be less bombastic about it in the future for everyone’s sake. He had never stopped to consider what danger it could get him into if more troublesome people would start to come after the Sword Plundering Nemesis once more.

“That thought didn’t even occur to you, did it?” Lin’s voice was surprisingly soft, but the look in his eyes unsettling as ever. “You truly are honest to a fault, Shang Bu Huan.”

“Of course it didn’t,” Shang murmured. “I’m not as twisted as you are.”

He paused to refill his cup. He would just have to hope that the man would be able to fend for himself in the time being, nothing more he could do about it. To pull his mind from worrying about things he could no longer change, he voiced another of his complaints.

“Also, pray tell what was up with this entire romance subplot nonsense.”

“It’s what the people want,” Lin assured him earnestly. “You cannot just have a straight forward tale of adventure and heroism these days. Where would be the spice, the heartrending drama, the thrill of a love forbidden and tragic?”

“Then just focus on Dan Fei and Juan Can Yun! You had a perfectly valid love story right there, why make up something so ridiculous on top of it all and give Xing Hai even more reasons to hate me?” Shang’s unease regarding this was sincere, really. Not so much because of the demon necromancer, although he could do with fewer people having deadly vendettas against him, always. Massively over-exaggerated tales of his exploits as a fighter and thief, sure, that he was familiar with from Xi You, but all this seduction nonsense just did not sit right with him. He sincerely hoped that Lie Mei had no living relatives left or, heaven forbid, a spouse or fiancé that would take Issue with the fictional whirlwind romance and come at him over it. Now that was one more wrinkle in his daily affairs he really could do without.

“Oh, I didn’t put any high-class engagement of yours in Xi You at risk by circulating this story, did I?”

Shang choked on his tea. “No!” he snapped. “Not that it would be any of your business, but no.”

“Then, I don’t see a problem here. I’m sure the young lovebirds won’t take any offence, and for what it’s worth, Xing Hai hates all humans equally already.”

“She surely hates you the most,” Shang murmured, but that was probably a source of pride to this twisted person, anyway. “Anyway, stop spreading these nonsense tales, or so help me the next time I ever run into you.”

“I’m already looking forward to our next encounter,” was all Lin replied brightly as Shang rose and left.

Let Lin pay the tab.

In the autumn rain in the same boat as people is the mountain crow

                                        Issa

If asked to list his current biggest problems, Shang could probably go on for a while, what with carrying an entire load of powerful mystic weapons, having an order of nefarious assassins on his trail and considering his less than hope-inspiring encounters with certain people in this country. However, one of the more prosaic albeit not at all less pressing issues of being a perpetual traveller, especially in a different country, was simply the securing of funds and lodging. It had not been quite as noticeable at first, partially thanks to being roped into the Enigmatic Gale's plots after barely having set foot on Dong Li soil. For as much as that man was lacking in morals, he was abundant in funds, as ill-gotten as they probably were. Travelling with him had been an affair of luxury, warm meals and splendid inns, good company withstanding. And that was a thing you could easily get used to and miss dearly, particularly so during the rainy, cold season of autumn. Wishing for a warm, dry place to sleep over camping out on damp, cold moss surrounded by the sweet scent of decaying leaves was not too much to ask for, was it.

Shang sighed and put another log on the chopping block. It wasn't as if he minded the labour as such, it was a nice menial, mind numbing task, and considering he would directly profit from freshly cooked meals, a fitting compensation for the small temple's hospitality. Strictly speaking, they had not tasked him to do it, but there were only so many off-handed remarks you could hear about how most of the monks were getting on in age, really, and it was hard to gain new disciples, what a shame, before one caught the actual meaning. No, his current frustration stemmed more from the fact that once again, one of his destinations had been another failure, as the locals' reports about their small temple's incredible barriers had clearly been quite exaggerated. They weren't bad considering this wasn't a Seal Guardian shrine, even Shang's talented amateur eye had been able to discern that, but they weren't "let's leave a number of mystic blades at this place and happily leave"-level, either. Then again, was anything?

He sighed once more for good measure and bent down to throw the fruits of his labour into a large reed basket when he heard crunching steps on the gravel through the soft whooshing of the rain. Shang looked up, expecting to see one of the monks checking in on his progress. His groan was as instantaneous a reaction as it was heartfelt.

"Good afternoon, Sir Shang," Lin greeted him cheerfully, tilting a - suspiciously familiar looking but whole - red paper umbrella slightly back to send a placid smile his way. "Have you decided to turn to monkhood?"

"What are you doing here," Shang gave as a reply, noting that it came out more defeated than accusatory.

"Why, I am just a humble traveler looking to seek shelter from the rain." Lin joined him under the sloped roof of the outbuilding without asking for permission, folding his umbrella as he did. As per usual, the Enigmatic Gale hardly looked like someone who had had an arduous day of travel, no strand of hair or panel of silk out of place.

"Like hell you are," Shang murmured and kicked the basket slightly. It could probably fit a few more logs, he decided, and picked the ax back up. "Go take it up with the head priest then, if you‘re looking for shelter."

He got nothing but a hum in reply and felt Lin's eyes on him as he split another log cleanly with one strike.

"You're not thinking of leaving the index here, are you?"

Shang stopped in his tracks mid-swing, turning to glare at him. "I wouldn't tell you even if I was."

“Leaving it in a holy place with strong barriers isn’t the worst idea, but this one is by far not fortified enough. I could pass through them and make off with the index in less time than it takes to brew a pot of tea.”

"Thank you very much for your unwanted expertise, Lin."

"You know, I could create a copy of the index if you let me see it for but a few moments up close. Leave the fake at some shrine like this one and mislead your pursuers-"

"Absolutely not!" Shang cut him short as he whipped around. He realised he held the ax leveled at Lin's throat without having intended to do so. The steel at the end made the weapon feel heavy and uncomfortable in his hand, so very different from his sword. “One is enough of a cursed thing to bring about bloodshed and strife wherever it appears. If a fake was involved, so many more innocent people would lose their life over worthless junk."

Lin remained unfazed, merely pushing the blade slightly to the side with his fingertips. His smile never faltered.

"You truly are a kind and noble person, Sir Shang," he said, and Shang didn’t like the glimmer in his red eyes one bit. "You never cease to surprise me.”

“Unlike you, I simply don’t like dragging other people into my messes,” he said curtly, turning and finishing his earlier swing. The ax cut through not only the log but split the entire sturdy chopping block straight down the middle. Shang grit his teeth. He didn't have issues with controlling his qi, generally. Curse the Enigmatic Gale and his games.

“Well, I suppose it is all the same to me in the end, anyway. Fake, real, what does it even matter? Those who come after it are bound to fail and I'll very much enjoy that show.” This time, Lin's smile was positively feral. “And if they don’t… I suppose they might make some actually rewarding marks for me to put my sights on."

Shang cast a last rueful look on the destroyed chopping block and picked up his basket. "Suit yourself," he said curtly. "I already fully expect you to tell the first villain you consider even remotely interesting about the index and send them my way. If my death serves your entertainment, I suppose that's how it'll go."

By that way of farewell, he stomped out from under the roof and into the cold rain. Lin did not follow him.

“This snow is all mine”  spun like that, featherlight is  snow heavy on your hat

                                            Kikaku

Something about their last encounter must have put Lin off his pursuit for a while, or maybe, hopefully, he had just found himself some new unfortunate prey to play with in the meantime. Either way, Shang wasn’t the one to look a gift horse in the mouth - there were already enough troublesome encounters to deal on a day to day basis if you were a vagrant swordsman, and that was without the interference of the Enigmatic Gale. In any case, it wasn’t until the unpleasant cool of autumn had fully transformed into the petrifying chill of winter that they crossed paths again. By chance, Lin assured. Absolutely no fucking way it was, Shang insisted.

“Setting out on this particular road might be a bad idea, Sir Shang,” Lin informed him, unbidden as always.

“That so.”

“It’s not one that’s well travelled,” Lin continued, entirely unbothered by Shang’s curt replies and general abrasiveness, as usual. “Because this time of year, this region often experiences heavy snowfalls out of nowhere that sometimes turn into veritable blizzards.”

Shang couldn’t help but cast a discerning look towards the sky, which was a winter typical pale grey. Xi You didn’t experience severe winters, or at least the parts of it he knew didn’t. Dong Li overall was cooler, and looking at the light dress of many of its inhabitants, Lin included, made him feel the morning and evening chills even more keenly. Even now, Lin had barely changed his attire from what Shang had seen him wear during those first summer months when they had unfortunately met. The view of his exposed collarbones was almost enough to give Shang a cold by proxy.

“If it’s such a risky route, then why are you following me?” he asked, wondering the next moment why he even bothered. He doubted the Enigmatic Gale ever gave straight answers. And sure enough:

“Mere convenience, my friend,” Lin replied, tone chipper. “I have business to attend to further north, so this is in fact the shortest route for me to take as well. I just felt obligated as a citizen of this country to warn you about potential dangers.”

“Much obliged,” Shang said sarcastically.

They had barely made their way up to where the road became noticeably steeper, and already, the snow that had been but a thin powdery layer in the valley was piled up knee high along the sides of the path. Not enough people had traveled through here lately to lay bare the soil and stone of the road, which was somewhat concerning, but at least there were some footprints. Look at the bright side, Shang told himself.

His current destination was a Seal Guardian shrine up in the mountains, as he had not yet given up all hope that one of their shrines would prove fortified enough to take at least some of the swords off his hands. And that remained something he wished to do sooner rather than later, so snow or no, he was determined to push on.

He trudged along even as the soft blanket of snow became harsher and frozen solid, all the while ignoring the occasional inane chatter from his unwanted travel companion. The temperature had dropped enough that the moisture of his breath froze on the strands of hair closest to his face, the sky had taken on a purplish slate colour, and while the first snowflakes came down soft and gentle, it only took a couple of minutes for them to turn into a white flittering wall that obscured the world around them.

“Having you with me brings nothing but bad luck,” Shang grumbled, pulling his scarf tighter around his face. He wished he had brought his broad rimmed rice straw hat from Xi You, as he furiously had to blink against the snowflakes getting stuck in his eyelashes.

“Oh, don’t treat me like a bad omen,” Lin called behind him. He almost blended into the world of pure white, looking more ethereal and ghostly than ever. His only concession to the blizzard had been pulling up the hood of his coat, and he seemed entirely unbothered by the shift in weather. “All I did was give you the sound advice of a local, and now you see that you can trust me on that, at least.”

“That and little else.”

Lin clearly didn’t take his words to heart, walking up to his side and pointing towards something beyond the curtain of white.

“I also seem to recall there being some sort of shelter nearby. So then, let’s not stall here, Sir Shang!”

Curtesy of not being able to see anything, Shang had to begrudgingly let Lin take the lead, focussing on what little sparks of ice blue and crimson red remained of his silhouette to not lose track of him in a world of white noise. He wasn’t overly worried about being stuck out in this snowstorm - after all, he had lived through literally hellish sandstorms during freezing nights in the Wastelands of Spirits, where the elements were the least of your worries. He was certain he’d live through this, too, even without finding shelter, but not having to expend a ton of qi to prevent dying from the cold did sound nice.

Lin being right about shelter was no surprise, really. The man had an uncanny knowledge of this country and its people. Slowly materialising out of the blank canvas of the world around them was a small wooden house, slightly leaning to one side as if ducking to escape the storm. It had obviously been deserted some time ago, the windows had been closed with wooden shutters that were missing a few panels, but the roof at least looked mostly intact. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, so Shang didn’t hesitate for a second as he followed Lin inside and shut the precariously flimsy door behind them.

While Shang busied himself with brushing off as much of the snow stuck to him as he could, Lin knelt to investigate the derelict fire pit in the middle of the house, filled with nothing but old ash and debris. Then, with a smooth flick, he emptied the dubious contents of his pipe into the fireplace, and instantly a small fire lit up, fuelled by seemingly nothing. “More gunpowder?” Shang asked warily. “In a rickety shack like this?” “Oh, don’t worry, this is perfectly safe.” Lin raised his eyebrows at him. “Or would you prefer to freeze?” That shut Shang up.

In the warm orange glow of the suspicious fire, the barrenness of their shelter became fully apparent. Whoever had once lived here had not left anything behind, or maybe what had been left had been swiped by vagrants who had found refuge at this place before them. The fact that the layer of dust on the floor was disturbed in many places spoke to this theory. Shang settled down in what he decided was a safe distance to the fireplace and pulled the bag with provisions out from under his coat. He hesitated for just one moment before offering to share - Lin seemed to usually travel without any supplies, probably confident he’d somehow swindle some out of whoever was unfortunate enough to cross his paths that day - and his companion gratefully accepted.

They sat in surprisingly amicable silence across from each other for a while, the only sounds the crackling of the fire and the hissing and howling of the wind outside. The strange white light filtering through the gaps in the shutters slowly faded, and yet, the blizzard raged on.

“Looks like we’ll be stuck here for the night,” Lin stated the obvious at last. “We might as well try to get as comfortable as possible.”

Shang eyed the other man warily as he stood and slipped off his coat, spreading it out on the floor. Somehow, Shang had the strong feeling that no dust or soot would be visible on it the next day. Lin removed the ornaments holding his hair in place, putting them aside, and gave Shang an expectant look as he combed through his hair with his fingers.

“What?”

“Like I said, might as well try to make this as agreeable under the current circumstances as possible.” He gestured at Shang to come closer. “It’ll only get colder from now on. Don’t be a stranger, Sir Shang.”

He bit back the reply that he would have wished to remain strangers rather than whatever they had ended up being, but where the Enigmatic Gale was right, he was right, and pragmatism was the law Shang subscribed to. With a sigh, he followed the invitation. Spell-enhanced as it potentially was, Lin’s coat did not magically turn the wooden floor softer, and as he laid down, Shang could already tell his back would have complaints about this sleeping arrangement in the morning. It was considerably warmer next to Lin once they had both pulled Shang’s cloak around them, even though Shang had chosen the spot closer to the door, further from the suspicious magical fire and facing Lin’s back. Just because he thought it highly unlikely the man would try to stab him didn’t mean he would let go of old habits. His thought process must have shone through in his actions, because as they settled in, Lin spoke, voice light and amused:

“Don’t worry, I won’t try anything funny.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Shang replied. It wasn’t a lie.

Lin was a royal pain in the neck, sure, but he didn’t seem interested in the mystical blades for their own sake, if the incident with the Dan clan’s sword was anything to go by. Nevertheless, opportunity invites theft, and there were some troublesome weapons in the index with abilities that he probably would enjoy very much. Shang shuddered thinking of the dreadful possibility of Night of Mourning falling into his hands - the man was manipulative enough without magic this overwhelming backing him up. He just hoped that his seals on the index would hold off even a thief of Lin’s caliber long enough to give him opportunity to stop him should he be tempted to do something stupid after all.

And if there was one thing that Shang had a lot of confidence in, it was his ability to react, and to survive. Of all the things he worried about, his own survival was not on the list.

“Good to hear that,” Lin said, laughing softly. “Well then, sleep well, Sir Shang.”

Objectively, this was a very odd situation. At no point ever since he had come to Dong Li would Shang ever have imagined curling up next to Lin Xue Ya of all people to sleep, and yet, here they were. How long had it been since he had shared sleeping quarters in such a fashion? How long had it been since he left Xi You, left his comrades, stole away like a thief at night? The thought made the guilty conscience curled within his chest rear its ugly head like a poisonous snake. I left them behind for their own good, Shang inwardly repeated the mantra he had started the moment he had made up his mind. They should never again be pulled into his mess and have to deal with the Divine Swarm. They had already lost too much just by virtue of crossing his path. Not Lin was the bad omen, no - Shang knew it was no one but himself.

Trying to pull himself out of this spiral of pessimistic thought, Shang focussed on the sounds around him - the crackling fire, the howling of the storm outside. He counted his own heartbeats set against Lin’s breathing, calm and even. He should by no means feel safe here and with this person, he thought, even as he felt himself relaxing in spite of everything.

Shang woke up to vaguely aching bones, air heavy with the smell of a fire that had recently gone out, and a curious absence of warmth. As his mind was still trying to unfurl itself from the depth of heavy sleep, he heard a familiar voice.

“Good morning, Sir Shang.”

Lin was awake, sitting crosslegged next to him and smoking his pipe. He clearly had been up for a while, his hair already neatly arranged in spite of missing mirrors and brushes. More curiously, a matching white bird was perched on his shoulder, comfortably nestled close to his neck.

“Morning,” Shang managed, somewhat confused.

“The snowstorm has ended, nothing but clear blue skies,” Lin informed him and motioned towards the shutters. Indeed, Shang could see the way sunlight filtered through them, casting clear cut shadows on the dusty floorboards. “And this brave little messenger found its way to me despite the cold and winds. Admirable, no?”

“Sure.” Shang finally sat up, stretching his limbs and feeling his spine crack in those strangely pleasurable ways. “Any news that would concern me?”

“Not quite, only in so far as that we’ll have to part here for now, something came up that I should tend to right away.”

“Oh no,” Shang said, mood instantly improved. The notion of a day of peace and quiet was pure bliss.

Lin raised his eyebrows in mock surprise at the reply, then his expression shifted to something more somber and hard to read. He reached out across their short distance between them, taking a strand of Shang’s hair and letting it glide through his fingers, catching some of the white strands between his fingertips.

“You ought to be careful not to burn the candle from both ends, Sir Shang.”

“Don’t you worry about that.” Shang reached up to tie back his hair in his usual fashion, and Lin dropped his hand. “Might just be me getting old, you know.”

They both knew that wasn’t all there was to it, but Shang was not up to more discussing with Lin Xue Ya on matters that weren’t any of his business. So, he got to his feet and crossed the small room, opening the door with a determined push.

The cold outside was so intense that for a moment, it was hard to breathe. But ah, what a sight - everything from the gnarly pine trees to the slopes of the hills was covered in a smooth blanket of white, dazzling in the light of the sun like a billion crystals. Shang enjoyed the sight for a few heartbeats, then stepped outside, immediately sinking in up to his mid-calves. The path they had followed so far was only perceivable thanks to a slight dip in the even layer of snow, if you knew where to look. Shang had just reached it when a horrible whistling noise made him spin around, in time to see Lin catch the Demon Bird bone again.

“I wish you safe travels, Sir Shang,” he called from where he was standing, only a few steps outside their shelter that looked even more rickety in the bright light of the day. Shang stared in open-mouthed surprise for a moment before his temper flared.

“You could have done this the entire time?!”

“I seem to recall you not enjoying this method of transportation much,” Lin said angelically. “But by all means, I shall offer next time.”

With that, he effortlessly jumped up to meet his ghastly bird companion, and Shang watched as they disappeared against the blindingly bright sky in but a few heartbeats, leaving nothing but footsteps in the snow that ominously ended in the middle of nowhere.

“This damn bird bastard.”

Annoyingly, Lin had been right - Shang vastly preferred his own two legs. And so, he sighed, pulled his collar closer to his face, and resumed his journey.

As a gentleman  the fox does pose within the  dusky spring twilight

                                        Buson

Spring, it turned out, was just as lovely and colourful in Dong Li as it had been in Xi You. Unfortunatley, Shang's travels hadn't become any more successful or less strenuous, but there was something to be had in just admiring the blossoms of the cherry and plum trees as you moved from shrine to shrine, and finally no longer having to worry about blizzards.

This particular day had started out nice enough as he had left his last campsite, a cave formed by a rocky ledge within a beech tree forest, and headed out in the direction of another Seal Guardian's shrine. The sun was slowly regaining its power, every day a bit more, and Shang's journey led him through patches of forests, branches dotted with the violently bright green of the first leaves, and along swelling streams fed with the mountains' last melting snow and framed on both sides with brightly yellow clusters of marsh marigolds. Everything smelled of wet, rich soil warmed up by the sun, and amidst the singing of birds, Shang decided that sometimes, his vagrant existence wasn't all bad.

He inwardly berated himself for the thought but an hour later as he heard the first rumbling of an incoming thunderstorm in the distance. Spring showers might be necessary to nature, but considering he was not a plant and could do without being soaked in cold water, he picked up his pace and had barely made it to the next guest house along his path when the first heavy drops began hitting the ground at his feet.

Shang was about to commend his luck, but before he even could make a move to enter, a worker opened the door, bowing in apology.

"I'm sorry, Sir, but we are hosting a group of high ranking officials from the capital today," she explained, and Shang sighed inwardly. "So we cannot permit any other guests at the moment." He wanted to reply that he understood, but his voice was drowned out by a vicious clap of thunder close by. The worker almost jumped in surprise and then gave him a pitiful look.

"Look, I don't mind. If it's alright with you, I'll wait out the worst of the downpour here by the entrance," he offered. There was no bench to rest on, and the roof barely jutted out enough to keep the worst of the rain away from him, but it was better than being fully at the mercy of the elements.

The woman hesitated for a moment, then shook her head. "You can go around the building," she said, pointing to the left, "and take shelter on the veranda. It's the side that's faced away from the wind. I'll bring you some tea and see what's left over from the gentlemen's dinner." He smiled brightly at the woman and professed his thanks. It was these random acts of kindness from strangers who did not at all have to go out of their way to help anyone that had Shang manage not to lose all faith in humanity, encounters with wretched existences such as the Enigmatic Gale or Huo Shi Ming Huang be damned.

If you found yourself a cozy and dry spot, watching the downpour was actually quite calming and meditative, Shang decided. He observed the rain drops bounce of the springy new leaves and form rivulets on the stone slabs paving the way from the guest house to the stables, and he was able to let his thoughts wander peacefully to the background noise of the heavy rain and the faint laughter and chatter of the party behind the sliding doors.

He was torn from his pleasant mindlessness when the woman appeared with a tray that offered fresh tea, bread and a bowl of soup. It truly was about enjoying the simple things in life. "Thank you once again," he said, handing her one of his precious few Dong Li coins. "You wouldn't want to send a dog out in this rain,“ she replied, wrinkling her nose at the weather. "There would have been enough room inside for all, but alas, these types of men do not wish to mingle with commoners." "I've certainly had to weather through worse," Shang assured. "Nevermind the lordships inside, food and a dry place, what more could you want?" The woman clearly had her own opinions on the matter, but kept them to herself, merely telling him he could stay as long as he wanted and simply leave the tray for her to collect later.

Shang had just finished his meal when he heard a sliding door behind himself open, then close once more.

"I thought that voice was familiar." Shang froze in his spot, closed his eyes and sent a brief prayer to whatever deity between the two countries would help rid him of this plague. Then, he turned around.

If the voice had not already been enough to give him away, the self-satisfied expression on his face definitely was, even considering everything else about Lin Xue Ya was different. He wore heavy dark silk robes with complex embroidery and had traded his usual hairstyle for a more restrained, official looking do. He came closer in a whisper of silk and as he knelt by Shang's side, he caught a whiff of expensive incense.

"You," was all Shang managed, tired.

"Me," Lin replied, cheerful. "Although I assure you, this meeting is as unexpected to you as it is to me." The reply "I highly doubt that" was already on Shang‘s lips on reflex, but just a glance at the other's current getup lent some credence to his words.

"I guess you found yourself a new project, then." He sighed. "I imagine you're not in any danger of running out of bad people with big egos in the capital. At least there might be some people who almost deserve dealing with you, at least."

"Oho?" Lin gave him an appraising look. "That sounds like you have some experience with the ilk of the capital, Sir Shang." "That would be none of your business," Shang grumbled. He should have kept that second bit to himself. Nothing good would come out of Lin learning more about him, that was for sure. "No, by all means, please do tell. I'm sure the insight of a good man such as you on those that run our countries would be most enlightening." Lin leaned in, placing his hand on Shang's shoulder in an entirely misplaced show of friendship. "I'm sure there isn't much of a difference between those in power in Xi You and Dong Li. These positions always attract the same sorts of people, don't you agree?" “Listen,” Shang said, taking hold of Lin's wrist to remove the man from his personal space at least, if he was already unable to do so when it came to his life in general, much to his regret. “I’m not going to put up with-“

“Sir Gui Nao, pardon me-” the sliding door behind them opened once more at that moment, and Shang threw an annoyed glance over his shoulder. Illuminated from within the cozy inn's room stood a young court official in robes similar to Lin's, but what his expression lacked in smugness, it more than enough compensated by haughtiness. Shang knew the type on sight, and could say the same about dislike forming.

There was a beat as the man took in the scene before him, then almost shook with visible indignation and started to shout: "How dare you ruffian treat the noble Sir Gui Nao in such a way-"

Shang would have had to say a few things about the noble epiphet, but Lin cut in with a wave of his hand that had the other man shut up so abruptly that Shang wouldn’t have been surprised to learn a spell was involved. People pulling rank on others like this was something as foreign to him as certain kinds of magic, anyway.

"No, no, my dear Sir Secretary, this is but a misunderstanding.This man is a travelling swordmaster called the Edgeless Blade. He’s an old acquaintance of mine,“ Lin went on to explain, and to Shang's great displeasure, he now sneaked his entire arm across his shoulder, pulling him into a companionable embrace. "It has been all too long since we met, hasn't it, Sir?"

"Not long enough," Shang murmured under his breath, just as the young official cut in: "I’ve never heard of him.” He glared at Shang from above with all the arrogance he could muster.

“Which only speaks to his actual skill. He has no need to go around and brag, and I assure you, his proficiency is very real. It is always the true masters who you don't hear about, and the self-important dilettants that have their praises sung the loudest by easily deceived fools,“ Lin lectured. That seemed to have hit a nerve with the young official, and he flustered even more in wordless outrage. Shang had the distinct impression he had just been used as bait in Lin's schemes, again.

"Skill as a martial artist aside, I consider him an irreplaceable friend, too." Lin leaned closer as his hand slid from Shang's shoulder down towards his waist, entirely matter-of-course. It made the fine hair on the back of Shang's neck stand up.

The expression on the young official's face twisted into another shape of humiliation and he cleared his throat.

“My apologies for interrupting you, then. I’ll wait inside for you to rejoin us, Sir Gui Nao.” And with that, he retreated as fast as decorum would allow.

“What was that about?” Shang asked, shaking Lin's arm off with emphasis. He resisted the urge to scoot further away on top of that.

“Hm? Surely you could tell I seized the opportunity to mess with this wonderful example of capital nepotism a bit?“ Lin beamed.

"Not that," Shang sighed. "You’ve never called me by my art name before.”

“Last time you carelessly gave your name to a stranger in this country, it got you into all kinds of trouble, no? I am always looking out for my friends' well-being, you know.”

“I don’t believe someone like you has friends.“

“Aaah, I truly did miss that unadulterated honesty of yours, Sir Shang.” Lin’s hand came to rest on Shang’s shoulder once more, giving it an amicable squeeze as he leaned in and told him in a confidential tone: “I know you don’t believe me, but what I said is true. I do consider you invaluable.”

“As your pawn in more petty revenge schemes, yeah.”

Lin sighed and shook his head. "Well, I suppose I cannot blame you for not believing me just yet."

"You really cannot," Shang agreed, empathically.

This time, Lin laughed.

“Well then, I better not let the dear Sir Secretary wait too long, else he might turn sour on me yet and spoil all my fun. I wish you safe travels, Sir Shang, and I‘m looking forward to meeting you again.“

"I don‘t," Shang called after him, without much heat.

The rain let up shortly afterwards, and Shang was on his way once more.

[regnumcaelorum]

it's, like, part of his job description

(crossposted on AO3)

In which Viscount Canning has a brilliant idea (according to Viscount Canning).

Rating: G

“Waiting for your master?”

Adam tore his eyes away from the wide landscapes outside the hallway window. Not that he had been actually actively looking at anything in particular considering his eyes had glazed over a while ago, no. But while they had lost their pure novelty at some point, the views of endless green rolling hills and dense forests had retained their calming effect, so very different from his former homeland.

“Good day to you, Captain!“ he replied brightly. “Yes, I am waiting for Lord Montague to finish his meeting with the Cardinal.“ He helpfully pointed out the door to his right.

“I see. But this being the Royal Palace, I don‘t think you standing guard by the door the entire time is actually necessary, is it?

“Oh, I have absolute faith in your soldiers keeping this place safe, Sir,” Adam assuaged, accompanying his words with a sweeping gesture. The Captain’s half tired, half skeptical expression did not change. “However, in these troubled times, I prefer to never leave Lord Montague’s side if it can be helped at all, as such is my duty.” The last words, he spoke with tremendous gravitas.

“I’m sure he‘s beyond thrilled,” the Captain replied dryly. “I guess they’re busy drafting a new law regulating the heretics’ actions in there?”

“I wasn’t actually informed as to what they wanted to discuss today.” Adam furrowed his brow in thought. Maybe at some point in the morning, Joel had mentioned something, but he had looked particularly handsome in his new coat so Adam had had some trouble focussing. “But do you really think such a small scale meeting is about a new law?”

“Well, your master is the Lord Judiciary. So yes, he is the one to draft new laws and submit them to His Majesty to put them into effect.”

“I know Lord Montague is the Lord Judiciary,” Adam said, a bit petulant. “But I didn’t expect the lawmaking process to work like this.” He pointed over his shoulder at the locked door. It wasn’t that he had any doubt that Joel had as much integrity as any person could have, but backroom dealings didn’t quite fit the image he had of the man who got into his position for publicly criticising the king himself.

Apparently, the Captain could guess at his thoughts, because he sighed and went on to explain, tone a bit less abrasive than usual: “Don’t worry, it’s all safe and sound. Lord Montague is very diligent when it comes to his duty and his suggested changes to the law usually have been broadly discussed among his fellow judges prior to any real consideration at court. But since they have to pass His Majesty’s verdict in the end regardless and His Majesty relies on his council’s advice, sometimes the Lord Judiciary brings it up to the council members first to speed up the process. Especially the Cardinal, for some reason.”

“Because they’re friends, of course,” Adam stated, getting the same bewildered expression from the Captain that he had got from Joel himself. The thought still amused him - how could Joel be unaware of the fact that he had a close friendship with the Cardinal?

Smiling, he was just about to say something along those lines to the Captain when something caught in the back of his mind.

“Wait, so you’re saying that technically, Lord Montague could draw up any law he wants to see in effect, get support of some of the council members and see it passed?”

“His Majesty puts extraordinary amounts of faith in him, so most of his suggestions have been accepted right away without many questions asked as far as I can remember - why do you ask? Sir Canning-”

“Oh, no reason,” Adam cut him off, already in the process of opening the door. Whatever else the Captain might have had to say, he would never know.

The Cardinal’s cordial “Viscount Canning, what a surprise!” was drowned out almost entirely by Joel’s much more alarmed “Adam! Did something happen?!”

“Pardon the intrusion,” he offered, bowing. Joel had jumped up from his seat, and Adam felt a bit guilty for startling him the way he had - under the current circumstances, his unease was very understandable. However, he had an important matter justifying his actions. “Rest assured, there’s no danger to report, but I do however have an urgent question for you, Sir Montague, pertaining to something of personal curiosity.”

“Oho,” the Cardinal drawled, eyebrows rising in expectation. “Well, we were about finished with our talks, I’d say, so by all means, Viscount Canning, don’t hold back on my account.” He shifted in his seat to give him his full attention, gesturing to him to proceed. He clearly had no intention whatsoever to leave and give them privacy, but Adam did not really care either way. For a cleric, he found the man surprisingly likable. Joel, for his part, eyed him warily, still half standing, half leaning on his desk.

“Knowing you, there’s no way this is going to be a normal question,” he murmured.

Undeterred, Adam went on: “In your position as Lord Judiciary you can draft any law and have it put into practice in general, right? So, would it be possible for you to legalise the marriage between two men the way it is in some of the southern countries?”

A suspiciously chuckle-sounding cough by the Cardinal was followed just a beat later by a deep sigh of Joel’s. It was less explosive a reaction as would have been possible, Adam decided.

“I don’t even know what I expected at this point.”

“Because, see, considering you are adverse to our courtship because of such a mere formality-”

“Let me stop you right there,” Joel cut in, stepping around his desk and jabbing an accusing finger at Adam. “There is no courtship, and therefore, nothing to legitimise in the first place!”

Since at this point, Adam was thoroughly convinced these quick dismissals had to be for show only, obviously, his spirit was not dampened in the slightest.

“Exactly, but if there was a possibility of marriage in the future, an official courtship would be possible!”

“Putting all that aside,” Joel replied, crossing his arms and doing his best to look down his beautiful nose and hideous beard at Adam who was a good head taller, “just think of what message that would send to the people: The Lord Judiciary changes a fundamental law and right after, a man wants to court him. It would look like I was changing laws to benefit me exclusively, abusing my office in the process.”

“Oh.” Adam paused, giving it some thought. He had come to Lorraine specifically because of Lord Montague’s reputation as utterly fair and just, so that was a point to consider. His mind, however, was filled by the sweet promise of finally chipping away at the last walls of denial his master put up, so it thankfully provided him with a counter argument in just a moment. “No problem, so all that would be necessary is finding a few couples to get married before announcing anything pertaining to your person! I assure you, that would be no trouble at all. I’m sure if you give me a day, I could persuade a couple of gentlemen who would gladly jump at the opportunity. Or a couple of ladies,” he added, proud of his quick thinking.

Joel opened his mouth, then closed it, then shook his head in mute overwhelmedness. Adam preened.

“If I may be so bold as to voice my stance.” The Cardinal rose from his seat, voice level but eyes sparkling with amusement. “The Church of the Goddess does not conduct marriages between members of the same sex as of this point, and I have not heard of any plans to change this part of the doctrine from Mother Church in Xehena. However, it would be my personal honour to offer a mere service of blessing to those who’d ask.”

“There’s no need whatsoever!” Joel practically shouted. It was hard to tell under all this horrible wig and facial hair, but Adam would swear he could see the man’s face blush ever so slightly.

“What a lovely idea. I am much obliged for your offer, Your Eminence, and will approach you if it comes to that." Adam bowed again, deeper this time.

“What an interesting young man your bodyguard is, Lord Montague,” the Cardinal said, waving at Adam to raise his head. “And I feel this is a matter to be settled among the two of you, so I shall excuse myself for the day.”

“Interesting  is certainly one way to put it.” Joel sighed once more, leaning back against the desk. He looked tired, and Adam’s heart felt tight. Once the door was shut behind the Cardinal, he continued. “Look here, Adam. Something like this would be a fundamental change to our country’s law, and one that would by its definition require debating the Church of the Goddess on base principles. In current times with the ongoing crises involving the heretics and attacks on the judicial system, such a thing is out of the question.”

“I understand.” And truly, he did - whenever Joel took the time to lay out his views to him like that, Adam marveled at the man’s comprehensive understanding of the complex issues faced by the kingdom. As much as he wished that just once, Joel would put himself first, just indulge in pleasure for his own sake without worrying about whatever consequences this might cause in the long term, he could also appreciate this part of his character. The wistfulness was almost always outweighed by genuine admiration. He was about to say as much, when something in the back of his mind snagged on a particular phrasing in Joel’s reply.

He searched the man’s eyes, tentatively.

“You said in current times.”

Joel shot him an unreadable glance from the corner of his eyes as he passed by Adam, making for the door himself.

“In current times,” he repeated. “For now, let’s go home, Adam.”

A/N: Catch the Cardinal officiate their wedding 2 years later

[regnumcaelorum]

bizzarri soci di letto

(crossposted on AO3)

Lauren did not care for Roberto Nicholas.

Rating: T

Title from Shakespeare’s Tempest, Act II Scene 2.

Bizzarri soci di letto, alcuna volta, il gran bisogno ne dà, indeed.

My most sincere and neveranding gratitude goes to my trusty beta @meguri-aite who took all this fic's comma sins on herself in order to save you. Also, endures me talking about CSI Vatican on the regular in spite of being a heathen. Bless you.

“Well then, I should take my leave. Until next time, Lauren, and thank you for the match!”

 Lauren didn’t bother with a farewell, but Hiraga wasn’t the type to be offended by his lack of social graces at this point. Already at the door leading to this high security prison cell, Hiraga turned and gave him a sunny smile, as if he was just leaving a friend's house and not a secret dungeon for those deemed utterly unreformable. Lauren could sympathise with the frown of the Swiss Guard seeing the visitor out, because honestly, there had to be something off about your perception of reality to walk through a life populated by criminals, scammers, lunatics and honest to God Nazi cultists, and still maintain that cheerful disposition. 

 At this point, Lauren knew it would take a tectonic, earth-shattering event to ever change Hiraga’s attitude, and if it ever came to it, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to see the result.

 He stood up from the table, not bothering to put away the Game of Angels and Demons; that could wait until tomorrow. He didn’t believe in its magical purpose the way Hiraga did, but playing it against an opponent that smart did pose a challenge of the kind Lauren’s life was desperately lacking, and at the end of each visit, his brain felt agreeably exerted, even when the rest of his body was still brimming with restless energy. 

 He flopped down on the bed, staring at the barren ceiling above. He no longer needed to hack into the security camera feeds, since by now he knew intimately the speed at which Hiraga would make his way out of the facility, out of this underworld and onto the sunlit piazza, skitting by the edges of tourist crowds as he made his way towards a certain residential building on the state’s outskirts. There were no CCTV cameras there he could have looked into, but Lauren knew the house’s floor plan and could imagine Hiraga making his way up to the first floor, to the second apartment to the right, and that the door labeled “1.03 Pat. R. Nicholas” would be unlocked because he was expected, he always was.

 Lauren did not care for Roberto Nicholas.

 In fact, Lauren did not care for people as a general rule. Apart from the most infinitesimal fraction of a tiny percentage comprising the exception that proved the rule, they were just an amorphous mass of beings driven by self-interest and all varieties of cobbled-together beliefs meant to justify their actions. This vast majority of the human race was easier to ignore than this one particular man, however.

The truth of the matter was, after all, that he was Hiraga’s partner, and that meant that wherever Hiraga went, whatever intriguing mysteries he would apply his brilliant mind to, Roberto Nicholas would be there as well. And he did not even have the grace to silently fade into the background, either, no – from his sheer imposing physique to the fact that he practically loomed behind Hiraga like a second shadow from the second they shared the same space on, he was literally impossible to miss and dismiss.

 At least the man made for a serviceable shield, thanks to his idiotic self-destructive impulses and a tendency to throw himself into action with no foresight, making him likely to take any metaphorical and literal bullet that might come Hiraga’s way. However, the same habits had already landed them both in a fair share of trouble on missions in the first place, so even these meager redeeming qualities were of limited use.

 Lauren had dug through his personal file on the internal servers as soon as he had become interested in Hiraga, of course. Begrudgingly, he had to admit that Roberto did have some qualifications in his own specific field, but being allegedly the youngest cryptographer to ever work at the archives was a far cry from an actual genius of Hiraga’s caliber. Lauren had observed on a few occasions that Roberto would access the digital high-res scans of the Voynich manuscript, no doubt whining the entire time that he could not get his hands on the actual parchment, and watching Roberto close the tab time and again with no progress in deciphering it caused Lauren no little satisfaction.

 (Why anyone would bother with some self-important 15th century alchemy book to this degree, Lauren would never understand in the first place.)

 One sleepless night that overran well into the next day Lauren found himself contemplating the merits of being captured or imprisoned earlier. That would have put him in a better position to influence the choosing of Hiraga’s partner. He could have easily arranged the right files to land on the desk of self-declared defensor fidei Saul, and ensure that whoever was to be paired with Hiraga, would be, if not his peer –it was impossible to find someone to match his genius–  at least not this man.

 Lauren had curbed the thought as soon as he had grown fully aware of having it.

 At the same time, that very difference in their levels made Robero much easier to understand than Hiraga. 

 Hiraga was a one-of-a-kind genius who was only held back by his blind, all-encompassing commitment to his religion of choice; someone who applied his abilities solely in a hope to one day come upon a real miracle. How this assumption could ever coexist with a razor-sharp scientific mind, Lauren did not understand even after all these months.

 Roberto, however, was drifting along with this religious enterprise rather than following any deep faith. It would have endeared him to Lauren a bit more, if only the man wasn’t so obviously and desperately torn up by guilt about it. Lauren had no patience for people wallowing in self-pity, and he could sense an entire folio’s worth of it behind Roberto’s perfectly groomed facade.

 That was another thing, too – while Lauren had purposefully tried to oust all memories of Sunday school from his valuable brainspace, he was quite certain that superbia still counted as a cardinal sin. Not like it would be the first time the Vatican tolerated those: eternal hypocrisy was woven through every last gold-and-marble inch of this whole wretched city. Son to a psychotic murderer or not, Roberto had clearly inherited some good genes with that mix when it came to his looks, and he was eager to improve on it by any way possible. Much as he had protested his higher-ups’ intentions to capitalize on his generic good looks in advertisement campaigns, the man still saw nothing wrong in cultivating vanity in his spare time. Thankfully, after that spectacularly mishandled global lifestream in which he talked about his questionable heritage, hopes for a quick career for him as either the priest or the Vatican poster boy were put to rest with a resounding Amen.

 Still, the female staff of tourism branch office had unofficially crowned him Mister Vaticano three years and counting in internal email exchanges. During their work hours, of course. Another proof that this whole enterprise was a disaster. Lauren had been sorely tempted to interject upon finding the thread. He could have hijacked a superior’s account, to frame the most odious supporters of that man to look like they’d accidentally forwarded the exchange to the wrong people and to sternly tell them to knock it off in one move. He could have also replied using the defunct mail address of a previous temp worker to tell them that they were barking up the absolute wrong tree, for this was a man utterly disinterested in the fair sex (unless you were a female mystik of the 12th century and had written a particularly interesting and highly metaphoric text, in which case he would make an exception and spare you a moment of his precious time).

 On days when Hiraga paused their game sessions to go off on a tangent about how lovely a person and talented an investigator and brilliant a cook his Roberto was, Lauren bitterly regretted he hadn’t gone through with his ideas. 

 Now, Lauren wasn’t blind. It wasn’t hard to understand why a guy who looked as if he just stepped out of a high-end perfume advertisement or a Hollywood movie poster would have his own fan club of people content to swoon over superficial, generic handsomeness. How that could ever be enough for genuine attraction on more than the flightiest level, he didn’t understand, but he could begrudingly concede that much.

 On the upside, this bland type of good looks made it easy to smooth over the more irritating aspects of Roberto’s personality, and use him as a blank surface for projection.

 And Laurent needed to do something about this pent up energy. It came with his every attempt to undermine Hiraga’s immovable convictions, and remained clinging to his skin every time Hiraga left the room, like a charge of static electricity. Lauren let his eyes fall shut, and took a deep breath as he traced the restless energy pool in his stomach, then slowly further down, following it with his fingertips in a lazy motion. 

 Fight or flight or fornication, elementary human nature, he thought, not without a certain sense of smugness, considering he was literally beneath the seat of a power that so vehemently sought to deny this basic fact. 

 He thought back to a recent video call he had had with Hiraga on an investigation, the way the cold light from the computer screen had cast clear-cut shadows across the man’s beautiful face in the dimly lit room, his dark eyes sparking with intelligence. Aah, the pure thrill of watching him go through complex thought processes in the span of milliseconds. Lauren could never get sick of watching it, ever. Just the memory of it, amplified by Hiraga’s earlier delight from playing his three-dimensional Go variant, sent jolts of heat through Lauren’s system now that he consciously allowed it.

 Back in his memory, a hand had settled on Hiraga’s shoulder, half a casual touch between close friends, half a conceited matter-of-course display of affection that had made Lauren’s teeth clench. But not so now, no, because this scenario was Lauren’s alone. It was his hand on Hiraga’s shoulder, feeling the man’s solid flesh beneath the thick black fabric, sensing the tension of excitement brimming within him as he worked his own miracles–

 No, wait, the angle was wrong. If it was him standing behind Hiraga, he'd be closer to eye-level, not being as tall as Roberto. Unlike him, Laurent would not have to bend and lean in to feel the ends of Hiraga’s gleaming black hair brush against his cheek. 

 And those hands, their touch must have felt different against Hiraga’s shoulder, sliding up to his neck – Lauren's own hands were more delicate and pale, thin-boned with slender fingers, so unlike these broad, tanned hands that were dexterous enough to wield kitchen knives with precision and delicate enough to handle fragile papyri with the utmost care, and with strong fingers long enough that he could easily encompass his whole throat with just one hand, Lauren knew.

 And that scent – Laurent also needed to factor that out, too, this distinctive mixture of citrus, nutmeg, pepper and cedarwood. It was too familiar, that base note of musk that clung to Hiraga along with the acrid scent of frankincense, like an unspoken claim of the two forces in his life that outmatched Lauren at each turn, mixing into a strange and unique perfume that Hiraga brought to the cell on his every visit – one that lingered long after like an unbidden spectre of a man Lauren did not care to meet.

 He could taste it on the back of his tongue even now, bleeding into his imagination in spite of his best efforts to keep it out, like smoke seeping through the finest cracks. He could hear Roberto’s voice, that deep, slightly husky baritone that no transmission could do justice to. Up this close and personal, he would be able to feel the way it reverberated in Roberto’s broad chest, the rich complexity of the sound, the way he softened his inflections at the end of his sentences. 

 The huffs of breath against the back of his neck when Roberto chuckled in fond exasperation, unable to follow some complex scientific explanation. The gentle press of his fingers in affectionate reassurance that he didn’t mind being left out; the way his broad frame could envelope Lauren whole as he moved even closer; the sheer warmth he radiated, so different from the constant chill of this environment; and when he opened his mouth to speak –

 “So you’re Hiraga’s carissimo Lauren?”

 The words, dredged up from memory, came crashing down on Lauren’s slow-building excitement like a bucket of icy water, tearing him back from the promise of climax with whiplash-inducing force, leaving him disoriented for a second. 

 Fuck. God fucking dammit. Lauren suppressed the urge to punch something, either the wall or himself, to vent the searing mix of anger, self-betrayal and a sliver of embarrassment. Who would have thought he could still remember that emotion? The sheer absurdity of the situation did not trump the overwhelming dread at realising he had been this, this close to losing himself in a fantasy about Roberto Nicholas Puccini of all the godforsaken people on this planet.

 It should have been an easy projection, a substitution, a fantasy of the kind of closeness with Hiraga that he had to own up to wanting. How had things ended up this twisted? There was no single rational argument that could possibly explain why his imagination would go against every single one of his principles and let itself be charmed by the same base appeal, no better than all these other idiots. It should have known better, because Lauren knew better. 

 He clicked his tongue in annoyance at his own stupidity, and rolled over to glare at the wall, all excitement now thoroughly spoiled. He did his best to concentrate on nothing but the irregularities of the plastering, determined not to spare even a single neuron for further contemplation of this disaster.

 Lauren really did not care for Roberto Nicholas.

[regnumcaelorum]

homines mirabilis (2)

(crossposted on AO3)

We hold that these unnatural beings are contrary to the nature of all things; but they are not. How can something be contrary to nature when it happens by the will of God; when the will of the great creator is the very nature of every element in existence? (Augustinus, De civitate dei XXI 8)

Rating: G

For full fake authenticity, a 17th century style version* of the story can be found here.

*with modern spelling and typography

The peaty ground below his feet was springy and soft, swallowing the sound of his and Hannibal’s steps entirely as he led the animal down the path snaking across the heath. The summer sun had reared up again one more time in a futile attempt to stave off its inevitable upcoming defeat at the hands of winter, bathing everything in soft, golden autumnal light. Mist rose up in the black soil as it warmed up after days of cold rain, as steam would rise from the flanks of a horse during a night’s harsh ride.

The pathway they were following was just barely wide enough to permit a cart to pass, and shrubbery had begun to slowly creep into it from both sides already, due to its apparent lack of usage. But here and there, Roberto could spot the fresher tracks of wagon wheels and hooves where there had been a muddy puddle, the imprints now solidifying under the cresting sun’s heat. No doubt, the brothers had come through here.

Upon his chance encounter with the young lady a few days prior, he had followed her father’s tip and made his way to the neighbouring larger village to inquire about the strangers and the man they had treated. To both his relief and surprise, he had found the young man very much alive, if still bed ridden. Him and his wife had welcomed the itinerant preacher with open arms, telling him about how clearly blessed they had been recently in the face of such tragedy.

Nothing about the man had seemed off, except for the fact that his left leg was missing from just below the knee. A tree coming down suddenly at the wrong angle during the logging had squashed his calf, and while his comrades had quickly gotten him out of the precarious situation, the wound had become severely infected, poisoning of the blood threatening his life.

And then, the mysterious strangers had shown up, the elder brother inquiring if anyone in the village was in need of his surgical expertise.

“I don’t have clear memories of these days,” the man had told Roberto, his left hand gingerly rubbing over his thigh absentmindedly. “I was so feverish and miserable, constantly plagued by lucid nightmares, I was certain my end had come, Father, even hoping for the relief of it. I can only vaguely remember being made to drink something with an acrid taste, and then later waking up, still feverish but feeling much more clear-headed. Well, and looking like this.”

He had gestured to his missing leg a bit awkwardly. Roberto had nodded in sympathy, while still studying the man closely. The sickness still had been apparent in his somewhat sunken cheeks, but his overall colour was healthy, and his eyes clear and alert.

“They tell me that it was just the two brothers in the room at the time of surgery, and that they hardly seemed very strong. I’ve heard about the barbers and field surgeons and their grizzly work, and how usually to remove limbs they have to employ several helpers to keep the poor souls down by force, but no such thing happened to me. Whatever miracle that man wrought, it did save my body and soul, Father, of that I’m convinced.”

“He certainly seems to have saved your life, yes,” Roberto had agreed, trying for a benevolent smile. “Would you allow me to lead you in prayer to give thanks for your miraculous saving?”

Roberto stopped to take a swig of water and take off his cloak as the afternoon heat took its toll on him. The path had wound its way through the heath and the adjacent birch and fir tree groves for a good two hours, but he still could not make out the eventual destination. The brothers, he had been told, had taken up refuge from the coming winter months in an abandoned peat cutter’s hut a way out from the village. The last man to live there had been an old bachelor who had suffered from St. Vitus’ dance since childhood, kept to himself, and one day had simply vanished. The villagers assumed he probably had had a fit and fallen into the bog, but no-one knew for certain, and they avoided the place ever since. Not that the ominous aura of the place seemed to bother the strangers.

The elder brother had said he would periodically come to the villages to get supplies and offer his services as a surgeon, a deal which after his success with the young woodcutter was gladly accepted by the village folk. As Roberto resumed his walk, he thought about how long everyone’s euphoria would last. The man’s life might have been spared, but now his young family would soon have to face the trouble of how to come by money without him being able to resume his work. Roberto knew only too well that people’s compassion and willingness to come together and help someone unfortunate often didn’t end up lasting, but were mere brief spurts to assuage one’s own guilty conscience.

But when the young man had let Roberto take his hands and pray the rosary together, at least he had not flinched even the slightest bit. The true miracle was in this, Roberto thought, and it was his duty to make sure things remained this way.

Just when he thought he saw what could be the outlines of a sloping thatched roof in the distance and quickened his pace, he stepped onto something feeling like a root beneath his foot. From the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a movement so quick it was but a blur, then followed a searing pain shooting through his leg like liquid fire. He did not comprehend what was happening as he stumbled forwards, losing grip on Hannibal’s reins, and suddenly the horizon tilted as darkness swallowed him whole.

  Roberto came to slowly and comfortably, as one woke from a restful sleep. He was warm and cozy, lying on a plush straw mattress, wrapped in a heavy blanket. Everything felt dimmed, as it did after a few goblets of heavy wine too many, and with the soft sounds of a crackling fire and the lingering smell of rosemary and sage in the air, it was tempting to sink back into slumber. When had he last gotten such a peaceful rest?

Something stirred in his mind at that. Yes, when had he last gotten a rest? Not since being sent out on his current assignment in early spring, not during all the time he had travelled north, asking and searching, meeting nothing but dead ends and arriving at the eternally silent graves of those that could have spoken if he had not been to late. Even now, he was still on his search–

The sudden realisation had him snap wide awake in the blink of an eye, and he sat up in a start, his heart switching from its strangely calm, lulled pace to a frantic speed. His mind was still foggy, but he shook his head against the feeling, trying to take in his surroundings.

He was within a small house made of rough stone, barely big enough to fit the bed he was in and a table by the hearth in which burned a fire that clearly had been recently tended to. From the low beams, bundles of herbs were hanging to dry, and carelessly pushed against the back wall stood several crates and baskets. From the orange glow of the light streaming in through the narrow windows lacking glass inserts, Roberto could tell that it must be in the evening already, dreading the thought that he was missing several hours.

His hand shook as he lifted it up to his neck, tracing along the skin. He could feel how his blood was rushing in his veins, a quick rhythm under his fingertips, but there was no soreness or pain. And there, as he dropped his hand just a bit lower, was the smooth warm silver of his necklace, and he traced it all the way to where the pendant lay against his chest, undisturbed. He allowed himself a deep breath of relief, as panic was known to be the worst advisor to those that need to fight.

As he threw back the blanket he noted that someone had stripped him of his robes, leaving him in his undershirt and trousers. On his right leg, the fabric had been rolled up as best as possible, and his ankle was packed in a wet bandage that smelled strongly of vinegar. Now that he saw it, he felt a dull throbbing in his leg through the general fading haze that he couldn’t quite place. He was just about to reach out to rip the bandage off as he heard uneven footsteps approach the door.

His hand grabbed at nothing next to his side on reflex as he cursed himself for being this careless, for his bags had been loaded onto the mule, and wherever Hannibal might have ended up, there had gone also his usual means of defence. Steeling himself for the worst, Roberto sat up straight, fixing his eyes on the door as it swung open, bringing with it a waft of marshy smell.

He had expected many things, but not a boy, barely outgrown child’s age, who limped in with heavy strides, supporting himself on a crutch with one hand while carrying an bowl in his other. The boy seemed as startled to see him as he was, and for a moment they just stared at each other in silence. He was so pale one could have mistaken him for a corpse, with almond shaped eyes that seemed pure black in the dim light of the hut, and hair to match. The only colour to his face were the purple-ish shadows beneath his eyes, as on someone struggling with illness and insufficient rest.

The overall impression was of someone sickly and frail, but that hardly meant anything at all, Roberto knew. Before he could settle on a definitive course of action, the boy smiled.

“Oh, you’ve woken up? How are you feeling?”

His German was coloured by the more southern inflection, but otherwise as of a native’s. The boy took the last few steps to put the bowl down on the table, before turning back towards him, still patiently awaiting an answer.

“Where am I?” Roberto asked rather than give a reply. He had a very good idea about the location, but maybe it would be better to pretend that he didn’t. “What happened?”

“My brother found you collapsed out in the heath a few hours ago and brought you here,” the box explained, pulling out one of the stools at the table and taking a seat with a sigh of exhaustion. “Here being where we’re currently staying, a peat cutter’s place out in the marshes.”

That hadn’t been a very enlightening answer to him, but before Roberto could press further, another pair of footsteps approached, and the both of them turned towards the door once more.

“Aniue, he’s awake,” the boy told the man who now stepped into the room. He was carrying an armful of firewood in front of him, but at the words, he unceremoniously dropped them right where he stood and made a sudden turn towards the bed.

The similarities between the brothers was invisible to miss – the same pitch black straight hair, the same unusually dark eyes, but while this man’s complexion, too, was on the pale side, there was a liveliness to it that was a far cry from his anaemic looking sibling. If anything, there was an etheral beauty to it, enhanced even more by the man's utter lack of put-on grandezza. The firewood had left saw dust and splinters all over the front of his black coat, but he didn’t seem to notice as he rushed over and without any warning grabbed Roberto’s face between his hands, turning his head this way and that.

“Excellent, although I had no doubt he would recover. How are you feeling? Any dizziness? Are you still in pain? Nauseous? Oh, I didn’t even think to ask, do you even understand me?”

Roberto caught the man’s wrists and pulled him away from his face with emphasis. The wrists were so slender that he could easily encompass them entirely with one hand. His skin was warm to the touch, Roberto realised with some surprise.

“He does understand,” the boy spoke up again, sounding amused. “Aniue, you’re just being too quick with asking too many questions at once.”

“Ah, you’re right.” The man smiled apologetically, and made no move to struggle against Roberto’s hold. “You must still be quite disoriented, after all, I apologise for crowding you like this.”

“Nevermind that, what happened to me? How did I end up here?”

“When we went outside earlier to try and find some late season blueberries on the heath, I spotted a saddled but ownerless mule milling about, which is never a good sign, so I went to catch it and see if its rider might have encountered some misfortune nearby. This isn’t a path that’s frequented a lot, so I doubted the animal had ended up there by pure chance. And sure enough, I found you collapsed nearby.”

He turned his hand slightly, still seemingly unconcerned with the hold Roberto had on him, and pointed towards his leg.

“You were bitten by a mountain viper.”

At this revelation, Roberto let go, instead pulling up his leg and pushing the bandage aside. Indeed, just above where his shoes ended were two distinct fang marks, the skin around them swollen and blueish in tone. He remembered the sudden intense flash of pain out on the heath, the dizziness that followed. He reached out near in a daze to touch, to ascertain himself of the reality of the injury, but now it was the other man who grabbed hold of his arm and yanked it back.

“You should not touch that, you’ll get it infected,” he scolded with a frown, and Roberto found himself complying on pure reflex. "Don't ever touch open wounds carelessly like this. Seminaria morbi might take to it and you might end up septic."

Roberto let the man readjust the vinegar soaked bandage slightly stunned by the scolding, which he did while continuing his explanation. “In any case, with not little difficulty I managed to get you up on that mules of yours, an extraordinarily patient animal I’ll say, and brought you here, treated the wound and gave you some laudanum against the pain.”

“Paracelsus’ tincture?” Roberto blurted out before he could think better of it, and the man blinked at him in open surprise.

“Not quite, an improved version of his concotion, based on the work of an English scholar. I find it to be much more effective in dulling pain and fever, although its potency is to be handled with care.”

Roberto could tell the man observed him with more scrutiny now, though he could not make out if it was appreciative or cautious, and he could have bitten his own tongue for not gatekeeping his curiosity better. It would be better to appear as a very simple person, because nothing was a better ally in his missions than being underestimated by the right people.

“I see,” he offered instead, somewhat lamely. “I do owe you my thanks, then.”

“You certainly were quite lucky Aniue found you,” the boy spoke up again. “Although severely unlucky in the first place to even get bitten at all.”

“Quite right. Mountain vipers are very shy creatures who only ever bite when threatened. You, my friend, seem to have had the unlikely misfortune of disturbing one that was trying to catch the last warm rays of the sun before going into hibernation. I’m sure the creature didn’t mean harm.”

“I may have stepped on it,” Roberto admitted, and got a disbelieving chuckle in response.

“Well, that would do the trick. Thankfully, their venom isn’t usually lethal, although it puts great strain on your heart in bad cases. The heat of the day made your body react quite strongly to it, though. You should rest here some more before you continue on your journey. Isn’t that right, Ryouta?”

The boy nodded in assent, and then, in the gracious insincerity of politeness asked: “In all this commotion, we forgot to ask - what’s your name?”

Things had certainly gone way different than intended, but if Roberto considered his situation truthfully, the end result wasn’t all that different. He had been looking for these brothers, and while he still had a sinking feeling of discomfort at being at their mercy in such a fashion as he was, he would have had to get close to fulfil his task in any scenario. So maybe, this, too, had been divine intervention to help him on his way.

He mustered up a smile and bowed his head slightly. “I apologise for my complete lack of manners, I’m afraid I was so startled waking up after this ordeal in unfamiliar surroundings that I forgot all common courtesy. My name is Roberto Nicholas, I’m an itinerant preacher who by chance heard about a priest who greatly helped a young man in a village I happened to pass through, and I wanted to meet this kind person. I would never have expected to be equally saved by him myself.”

“Oh!” The younger brother beamed. “Yes, that would have been Aniue. The man is doing well, then?”

“He was when I left him yesterday, yes.” Roberto’s eyes had not strayed from the older brother, who didn’t seem to fully share his sibling’s enthusiasm regarding Roberto’s reason for coming, but did smile faintly upon hearing these news.

“That’s good, then. The poor guy was on the verge of severe sepsis. If only I had arrived a bit earlier, more of his leg could probably have been saved.”

“The fact that he survived the amputation at all is remarkable enough and speaks to your skill. From what he said, I take it you administered him some of your revised laudanum as well?”

“Indeed,” the man agreed, tilting his head with some curiosity. “You do seem quite well versed in these matters yourself to know whose work this tincture is.”

“I have only the most passing knowledge of Paracelsus’ work,” Roberto lied smoothly, bringing up his hands in a gesture of polite refusal. “Nowhere near what you seem to possess” –he hesitated for a moment, trying to recall the exact word and inflection the boy had used– “Aniue.”

A beat of utter silence followed, with just the crackling of the fire audible as the man blinked, dumbfounded for a second. Then, his shoulders started shaking, and all of sudden he burst out into a bright, unrestrained and utterly delighted laughter. Roberto watched in stunned confusion as the man pressed a hand to his mouth, trying to stifle the outburst, even as his eyes shone with tears of mirth. In this moment, he was nothing short of radiantly beautiful, and Roberto felt a strange yearning. If only he could believe that this was all there was to this person, and wasn't aware what he most definitely really was.

“I'm sorry,“ the man finally managed to say, voice still wobbly with laughter. “You must think I'm laughing at you, and I assure you this is not my intention, it's just–” he took a steadying breath and smiled without a hint of maliciousness to it. “Aniue merely means ‘older brother’, you see.”

“Oh,” was all Roberto said, feeling somewhat embarrassed. The brother, too, was smiling, he noticed with a quick glance, but it was nothing against this pure outburst of amusement. Roberto did not usually mess up when it came to languages, but with an entirely foreign tongue, his guesswork had been risky, admittedly. But then again, seeing how the somewhat tense mood seemed to have dissolved in the laughter, his own vanity was a small price to pay for an easier playing field.

“My name is Josef Hiraga,” the man introduced himself, and no matter how common the Christian name was, it never failed to bring with it the tiniest needle prick of pain to Roberto’s heart, and he resisted the urge to reach for Joseph's keepsake round his neck. “And this is my younger brother, Ryouta.”

“I am honoured to meet you both,” Roberto said.

“Well then, seeing how we’ve made introductions finally, I think we should have something to eat.”

Josef turned towards his brother, who nodded and got up with apparently renewed energy, and began rummaging around the baskets to put some bread and cured meat on the table. Josef, meanwhile, went to gather up the firewood he had so carelessly discarded, and tended to the fire.

Roberto gratefully accepted what he was handed as he remained sitting on the bed, but waited until he saw the younger brother eat before he followed suit. Habits died hard.

The fact that Josef did not actively participate in the meal despite being the one one to say grace did not escape him.

After finishing their simple meal, capped off by the blueberries the brothers had collected earlier in the day, and which Roberto readily admitted were lovely and sweet, Josef leaned over to gently ruffle his brother’s hair.

“You should go to bed and rest, Ryouta.”

The shadows under the boy’s eyes had become more pronounced even in just the time Roberto had seen him, and he complied without arguing. It was all a touching display of brotherly love, or at least he would have liked to believe that. Roberto rose to make room on the bed he was occupying, waving dismissively as Josef made move to come to his aid.

“I’m fine,” he argued, proving his statement by walking towards the door. There was still a strange numbness in his leg, but it wasn’t too bad, be it thanks to tincture he had been given or due to his fast recuperation time. “I’d like to get some things from my bags, if possible.”

“Oh, of course. This way.”

  Night had fallen by now, the heat of the day still radiating off the dark ground but slowly bleeding into the cool, starry sky. It was bright enough out that Roberto had no difficulty following his host as he made his way to a wooden shed, adjacent to a roofed but open shelter that probably had been used to dry the peat back when the previous owner had lived here. Now, the siblings’ cart was parked there, along with some stored firewood.

Roberto could hear the animals before he stepped into the stable, and while Josef lit a lantern, he made his way straight to his mule, stroking his neck.

“Good job at getting me found, Hannibal,” he told him softly.

“He’s called Hannibal?” Josef asked, stepping closer, the light of the lantern falling on the dark mule along with his fox-coloured companion of a sturdy draught horse, which paid no attention to the new visitor, continuing to doze. “Oh, is it because he carried you across the alps?”

Roberto turned in surprise, finding the man smile at him.

“Yes,” he agreed. “I’m surprised you realised.”

“That you’re from the south?” Josef seemed as if the thought that one might not know about the Punic Wars didn’t even occur to him. “When I tried heaving you on good Hannibal over here, you were mumbling to yourself in feverish delirium, and while I don’t speak it, I could tell it was Italian.”

He held out the light and nodded towards a corner of the stable, where a workbench was fastened to the wall. On top of it sat the saddle bags taken from the mule, but also, and Roberto had to admit that it gave him more of a rush of excitement than knowing his own invaluable posessions safe and sound, several heavy books. He could tell even from this distance that some were vellum, not paper. Maybe he could have a look after things were settled.

“There’s the bags. I merely took everything off the animal, I didn’t go through them, since I knew you would soon be up on your feet again.”

Roberto went to check the contents. Indeed, everything seemed undisturbed, and he could feel palpable relief flood through him as his fingers hit the handle of solid metal beneath the wrappings of fabric. He took it out, folding it within his coat that he had discarded in the warmth of the day, easy to reach but out of view. All the while, he kept on their light conversation, seeing how the man had seemd unusually easy-going so far.

“You have a fine ear for languages, then, Josef.”

“It’s merely because it’s quite similar to Latin. I can't say I have the same kind of mastery of language that you seem to have. Apart from German, I can only flaunt those I learned in seminary.”

Roberto turned to look at him.

“You really are an ordained priest, then, with clerical education and all, and not a lay brother?”

“Is it that hard to believe?” He seemed more concerned than insulted at being questioned, Roberto noted. He was still wearing everyday attire, not surprising considering he had been working outside before Roberto intruded on him. It was his education that spoke to a clerical background, not his looks or overall bearing.

“Well, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of one who doubles as a surgeon, dabbles in alchemic sciences, and roams the countryside with a family member.”

“Aren’t we all just following the way God’s paths play out for us in good faith, no matter how strange they might seem to us at first?”

The man’s voice was more somber now, the flickering light of the candle casting quick shadows over his face.

“You do seem to have a very interesting path behind you, then. What language was it I so thoughtlessly butchered earlier, anyway?”

That reminder of his blunder lightened up Josef’s face again. He was so fast in returning to good humour, Roberto thought, as if it was the nadir of his self and sobriety or anger were mere unwanted deviations.

“You didn’t butcher it at all, and in a way, you were right, too. Aren’t we all brothers in our faith?” He laughed, but again, it wasn’t with ill-intent. “As to your question, it’s Japanese. My brother and I only have a lacking grasp of the language, however.”

Now, Roberto’s inherent curiosity was piqued, and he was almost grateful his assignment had gotten him the chance to encounter an individual like this, no matter the circumstances. He knew of the island nation, of course, even though the missionary efforts had mainly been left to Portuguese Jesuit priests. However, he had also head that of recent, the country no longer admitted any foreigners, and had reportedly begun martyring its newly baptised Christian minority with Imperial Roman fervour.

“Really? How did you end up here, then? Via the Silk Road?”

“No, via the western sea route, actually. Our parents were Christian convert merchants and part of the expedition that Lord Masamune Date sent out in 1613 with the hope of establishing trade and political relations with the Pope.” He must have caught on to the way Roberto stared at him, because he added: “It must seem hard to believe with the state the country has fallen into since, but I assure you, I am telling the truth.”

“I did not mean to doubt you,” Roberto apologised, all the while burning with the want to ask a million questions that had nothing to do with why he was here. Something about the man made him want to believe his words inherently, even if he might have more than enough reasons to be untruthful. “So you and your brother were born in Europe, then?”

“Yes, and unfortunately, we lost our parents quite early on, hence my regrettable lack of mastery of our parents’ native tongue.” Josef shrugged as to make light of it, but Roberto caught the sincere flicker of regret in his eyes nonetheless. “However, we truly were lucky, since were were taken in by the church and treated to education and opportunities beyond what we could ever have hoped for.”

“And yet, you still roam about without a proper home to settle down in.”

“Like the fowls of the air, and yet our Heavenly Father has not yet forsaken us.” Josef paused for a moment, casting a glance over his shoulder to where the main house was in the darkness of the night, before walking over to where Roberto was still standing by the workbench. He placed the lantern on it and absentmindedly brushed some haydust off the cover off the heavy leatherbound book on the top. “Even though we go through trials and hardships, and even with all our failings, I firmly do believe we have not been forsaken. But my judgement might not be shared.”

It was something about the way his voice was still gentle, but his gaze unwavering, eyes sharp, as he turned to look at Roberto. Within the flickering light of the candle, their near blackness reflected the red of the flame, and Roberto knew, on a level that went deeper than a conscious understanding, that this man was aware of who he was.

He let the coat fall by his side, no use for hiding the silver blade now. He felt the reassuring weight in his hand, the inlay of bone, relics of Saint Wolfgang of Ratisbon, the blessings it was supposed to provide for its carrier and divine punishment for those at its mercy.

“When did you notice?”

“I had a suspicion the moment I saw you,” Josef said calmly, making no move to either run or attack. “As you no doubt realised, we were trying to hide in more remote areas, and yet, a stranger followed us here so soon. I knew for sure, however, when I saw that medallion of St. Dominicus.”

He lifted his hand, and Roberto saw now that there was a burn on the fingertip of his right index finger. Roberto suppressed once more the urge to reach for the necklace and its two pendants, overcome by the a rush of affection and gratitude for the protection Joseph had bestowed on him even after death.

“I have always known that at some point, I would have to confront the judges of the Inquisition, but I didn’t quite expect they would send one of the hounds of the Lord as an executioner straight away.”

Coming from someone as calm as this man, Roberto didn’t think the words were meant to sting, but they did, regardless.

“I am not a mere executioner,” he said, even as the sharp dagger in his hand seemed to betray his words as a lie. “I was sent to investigate the creature that left behind death and despair in its wake as it moved westward from Styria, and it led me to you. I am the one sent to investigate and dole out the appropriate retribution by the powers granted to me by the Dominican order.”

Josef still regarded him with no apparent anger or intimidation, a definitive change from all others Roberto had been sent to pass judgement on. And that really was the crux of the matter, wasn’t it.

“If you knew or suspected from the beginning on, then why did you help me at all? Shouldn’t you have taken the opportunity, thrown me into the bog and moved on, leaving none the wiser?”

“Why did the Samaritan show mercy to the stranger? It is in us showing mercy to even those that might be our enemies that we can show our gratitude towards the kindness God Himself shows to us.”

Josef took a step closer, but not, it seemed, to threaten him, but rather to implore him, drive his point home.

“You say you are someone sent to evaluate, not to simply execute. Then, if that is true, if I had done what you suggested, I would have prevented you from actually making your decision. I knew what you were likely here to do, but I could not be for certain, so how could I have left someone in need of assistance out in the open based on this flimsy a reasoning?”

Roberto knew his kind was said to have a way with words, but it wasn’t that Josef was merely trying to distract him with empty phrases. There was scholastic foundation to his words, his logic clear cut and easy to follow, and Roberto had to concede to him that a rash judgement was one that did not take into consideration circumstances. The justification of their usual quick action was that those he was sent out to judge had strayed too far from any possible path of redemption, forsaken by God and cast into sin, so no arguing would change the eventual verdict, and the faster the execution, the more victims might be spared.

“In the end, the judgement that awaits us all does not come to us by human hands,” Roberto said. “We of this order are merely meant to act in His name as to those actions that we can judge within the Earthly realm. I do not take this judgement lightly, but I also am aware that men are fallible, and if for whatever reason I judge wrongly, the Heavenly Father will see to my wrong calls being righted and my punishment being dealt accordingly.”

Josef took a deep breath, and nodded. "I understand. But I do believe I'm in my right to know what exactly it is you charge me with."

"You're one of the undead, a vampire feeding on human blood. Even though you may have shown kindness in my case, but I still cannot let you continue after what I’ve seen you’re doing to your brother, and no doubt have done to countless others to prolong your own existence.”

Josef blinked, confused.

“Wait, I do believe we’re at a misunderstanding here. What exactly are you talking about?”

“Feeding on your own kind–”

“You’re wrong.” He cut Roberto off with fierce energy, and for the first time since encountering this person, Roberto could actually fathom the strength and danger lurking behind the affable facade, the dark eyes now narrowed and shining with restrained anger. “I understand your bias, but you couldn’t be more wrong. I’ve never once even thought of doing such a thing to him, and I never will.”

"I've seen him," Roberto stood his ground. "You don't mean to tell me him appearing anemic and on the verge of succumbing to death soon is me imagining things."

His words had Josef flinch as if he had already made a cut, but still, there was no palpable aggression in his bearing, just a sadness that ran deep.

“Ryouta has been of frail health ever since he was a child. All I’ve done was in pursuit of trying to find a way to alleviate his suffering and cure his illness.” He brushed over the books again. "I was lucky to have a teacher during seminary who was willing to grant me unrestrained access to the old texts of the mystics and alchemists, the translations of Muslim scholars and Greek philosophers alike, and yet, I've not found a cure yet."

"Just the knowledge of these texts might have you tried as a heretic my the more worldly branches during these witchhunts of our time," Roberto said, although he could not muster much sincerety. If he had the chance to get his hands on all of these books, he would do it in a heartbeat. "These people's thirst for knowledge tends to be understood as forgetting their station as God's creations, trying to ursup his role as the one to understand the world truly."

"I don't believe that's the case. Thomas Aquinas said that everything about being human is imitatio dei, and I believe that in giving us the ability to reason and comprehend the world around us, He intended for us to strive for this knowledge so that we may use it to help our fellow brothers and sisters. It is in us understanding illness better that we can treat people effectively, and even restore them to health, and isn't that God's working through us? Deo concedente – only by the grace of God can anything come to pass, don't you agree, Father Roberto?"

It was the first time he adressed him by name, and along with his straightforward gaze, it had a piercing effect of disarming honesty. Roberto shook his head, trying to losen the spell this man's demeanour seemed to cast on him.

"I've followed not merely rumours, I've seen the dead you leave in your wake, and there is nothing you can say to that being part of God's plan that wouldn't be pure heresy."

"You may not have reason to believe me, but I swear by God, I have never killed a single person." There was an undercurrent of desperation to his voice now, and his eyes took on an almost pleading look. "I willingly took this path, because I see in it yet another way I might search in finding a method to save my brother, and I did so knowing the cost, but determined never to let it cause other people harm. I cannot say the same of my progenitor, but I made a conscious decision to leave him and carve out my own path in a way that I can with good conscience say I do not believe to go against the vows I took upon me and am determined to live by until the day I face God's judgement."

Roberto almost found himself wishing he could just take all these words without no further need of inquiry, if only for the fact that having someone who had taken up such a severe curse on himself display such strong faith and sincere hope was inspiring in ways he could never have imagined. Yet, there were practical issues impossible to overlook.

"You do not live on air and love for God alone, one presumes," he countered. "I doubt even the most venerable saints did, to be frank, and you surely aren't that."

"I don't, but I've also never taken blood of anyone who did not consent to it."

Apparently, Roberto's utter confusion was openly apparent, and he explained simply: "Bloodletting. I may have my gripes the the theory of humours, and am somewhat unhappy to see it remains such a prevalent understanding in the field of medicine when there are some very promising new approaches already existing, but it does come in handy for my own being, I will readily admit that. People often actively ask me for it when I offer my services, and I make sure never to take more than they can take, you have my word for it."

The explanation was so hilariously simple and convincing, Roberto almost wanted to burst into startled laughter. There was something strangley and grotesquely mundane and endearing in imagining this cursed person would go through such lengths to legitimise his acts, and he could see why remaining in this more rustic countryside that might not yet be penetrated by Renaissance understandings the same way larger cities were would come handy to the siblings in more ways than one.

"You surely are quite prepared to argue your case, aren't you."

“How about this,” Josef said, stretching out his right hand. “You stay with us for a while and make up your mind about whether or not I pose any danger. I promise I will accept your judgement without struggle, Father Roberto, as long as you promise to spare my brother.”

“Even if I decide to go through with the execution, you'll accept it just like that?”

“Why not?” Josef smiled, and just as his laugh before, it was piercingly honest to the point it made Roberto's heart ache. “I said it before, I believe that God is acting through us, and so I have to believe it is the same with you. I don't believe you'll make the wrong judgement, and I will acquiese accordingly. And I will freely admit that I think that I may convince you of my point of view if only you give me the chance. It is only by getting to know and understand each other that we can hope to live up to the ideal of caritas, is it not?”

Roberto found himself mirroring the expression as he reached out to shake the man’s hand. It was warm, so convincingly human, not at all what he had been told about cursed creatures, and in that moment, Roberto wanted to believe that yes, he could trust this person, letting him put his mind at ease and not dread making the wrong decision that would pool in a guilty conscience haunting his nightmares. For just a bit, he wanted to remain basking in this feeling, and he held on still to his hand.

“Very well, then. I’ll stay with you.”

[regnumcaelorum]

homines mirabilis (1)

(crossposted on AO3)

We hold that these unnatural beings are contrary to the nature of all things; but they are not. How can something be contrary to nature when it happens by the will of God; when the will of the great creator is the very nature of every element in existence? (Augustinus, De civitate dei XXI 8)

Rating: G

For full fake authenticity, a 17th century style version* of the story can be found here.

*with modern spelling and typography

        Bavaria, October 1639

Hush, now, no rash movements – quiet and patient like a cat, that was how she needed to be.

She held her breath as she focussed on her prey, and prepared for the attack. The rain was stinging in her eyes, but she suppressed the urge to wipe her face.

Any unnecessary motion right now would make her target notice her, and then she would have to start the entire hunt anew, tracking, and stalking, and hiding. It was her luck that her prey, too, had searched shelter from the downpour beneath some shrubbery, and that the prospect of a dry place had made them settle down rather than continue their escape.

She took one more deep breath and lunged forward with feline swiftness, diving into the undergrowth headfirst. She landed on something soft and feathery, and she immediately tightened her grip as the body of the animal beneath her tried to wrestle free, wings straining against her hold in vain, indignant shrieks ringing in her ears. Magda ignored the goose's protests as she scrambled to her feet as best as he could with her struggling captive hugged tightly to her chest.

Even utterly drenched and covered in mud from head to toe at this point, she nevertheless was filled with pure glee. She had managed to succeed where everyone in her family had failed for the past four days. Clearly, the capture of the most infamous rogue goose in the history of the entire village demanded someone as agile and sharp as her, and she contently struggled out from the undergrowth alongside the creek, and took off for the top of the sloping riverbank with giddy energy.

Slipping on the muddy wet grass near the top, she just barely avoided falling and stumbled onto the path. Her momentum came to an abrupt stop when she bumped face-first into a solid wall of warm flesh that had suddenly materialised in front of her out of nowhere. She almost let go of the goose out of shock as she took a step back with a scream of surprise, staring in wide-eyed amazement at the unusual sight in front of her.

The object she had bounced off of had to be the largest mule she had ever seen, its back levelling at almost twice her height. The animal seemed not in the slightest bothered by the accident, merely tilting its giant head towards her for a second, before shaking it vigorously to send a shower of rain and fur her way.

“Miss?”

Only now did she turn her attention from the beast to the person standing next to it, holding the reins. A giant, she thought, hugging the goose tighter to her chest, ignoring the indignant honk of protest it made in response. Yes, this had to be a giant – taller even than Hannes’ oldest brother who could pick the apples in the village orchard without a ladder. The hulking shape was further increased by the heavy and sodden black woollen cloak the figure was wrapped in, a hood obscuring most of his face.

Magda gulped and was ridiculously grateful for the warm body she held in front of her like a shield as she took an involuntary step backwards. Maybe it was for the best that she could not see the face. Giants were often man-eaters, every child knew that, no doubt their faces must be frightening, then, all giant mouths and sharp teeth. She should try to make a run for it, but shock was still paralysing her, and her eyes flickered from the giant to the mule and back again. There was no way she could outrun them.

“Miss?” the giant spoke again, and then he crouched down to her level before she could think of squeezing her eyes shut. It took a few heartbeats before she realised that she found herself face to face not with a monster, but a handsome man with bright blue eyes and a troubled expression. He looked about the age of her oldest cousin, and not at all like the dangerous beasts from fairytales.

“Are you unharmed?” he asked gently, and as she automatically shook her head, his concerned frown eased, and he was even smiling a little. “I’m very glad to hear that. But what are you doing out here in the rain? Are you perhaps lost?”

His way of speaking was strange, the melody to the syllables off and unfamiliar, but the words at least were understandable. Magda lifted up the goose a little, who at this point had given in to its fate and stopped struggling, to underline her explanation.

“Caught Martin,” she said. “He keeps running away.”

“I see. You did well to catch him, then. But you shouldn’t be in this rain, you’ll fall ill. Where do you live?”

Magda jerked her head to indicate down the path, although the outlines of their surroundings were so washed out by the continuous downpour that the houses of the village down the road, usually would be visible from this spot, remained hidden behind a foggy grey veil.

“Then we are headed in the same direction,” the strange man said. “I can take you there. Do you want to ride?”

Any caution she had had just moments earlier was instantly thrown out the window.

“Can I really?!”

The man laughed, and then without more elaboration scooped her up with no effort at all, Martin included, and lifted her onto the mule’s saddle. As he resumed his walk, giving the animal a gentle tug on the reins to prompt it into falling into step with him, Magda couldn’t hold back a squeal of delight as she could feel the animal move. No-one in the village had horses or mules, the best they had to offer was Old Peter’s donkey, and the children had learned to avoid that foul-tempered beast early on. But this, this almost made her feel regal. This was how it must feel like for the noblemen on heir noble thoroughbreds, and despite the rain, the cold, and the strangeness of this man and his animal, she was quite sad they reached the village that quickly.

The feeling grew into a full flung regret when upon knocking at the door of her house her mother stormed out, yelling at the top of her lungs. Nothing regal in that, at all.

  “Truly, I cannot thank you enough, Father, for saving this idiot child of ours.”

“Oh, but I barely did anything. If anything, I must thank you for offering me shelter like this.”

“Of course, it’s our pleasure and honour to host you, Father,” her father said, “even if I’m afraid we cannot offer you much.”

“Shelter and food for both me and my mule is more than plenty, and I am grateful for your hospitality.”

The man, who had introduced himself as Father Nicholas, an itinerant preacher from the south, smiled and lifted his hands in a universal gesture of polite rejection. There was nothing scary about him now, Magda thought, observing him from where she was huddled on the bed between her two younger siblings, wrapped in a blanket.

Having shed his coat and hood, he had emerged as a regular human being, even if he had to duck his head in the room to avoid hitting it against the beams. Within the confines of her familiar home, however, the effect was comical rather than unsettling the way his sudden appearance had been before. Her mother had made him sit down at the hearth in their cramped kitchen in order to dry faster, and in the warm glow of the flames stripped everything that had seemed so threatening before away.

That did not stop him from being a novelty to every member of the household, thought, and while her siblings were too shy to bother him with questions, Magda just barely managed to hold back, having to instead satisfy her curiosity by listening to what her parents and grandfather would ask him. She was already in enough trouble once the pleasant distraction left, anyway.

“It’s dreadful weather to be a traveler, and winter is just around the corner. What brought you to this area, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Father Nicholas seemed to hesitate for a moment, staring into the flames dancing on the logs in the fireplace. “I am looking for someone,” he finally said. “They might have come through this area on their way from Austria.”

“You’re searching for friend of yours?”

“A brother, rather, in a way. Although one I haven’t met yet.” He smiled, but something about the expression didn’t quite work, the effect was very different from the reassuring gentleness he exuded before. It seemed almost strained.

“A fellow priest?”

“Yes. One apparently blessed with remarkable fervour and unusual abilities.”

“Oh!” Grandfather exclaimed with such unexpected emphasis that everyone in the room started. “I’m not sure if that’s the one you’re talking about, but it might be about that oriental surgeon fellow, no?”

Father Nicholas leaned forward on his stool, expression eager but tense.

“Who are you talking about?”

“Well, we’ve only heard it from our neighbour who went to a village a bit further north to visit his son-in-law who was badly hurt during a logging accident a few days prior,” her father began explaining, “and just as he was there, two oriental brothers came passing through. The elder brother is a priest as well as a surgeon, apparently, and when he heard about the son-in-law, he offered to treat him. Our neighbour swears it was a miracle that his son-in-law survived and is doing better now. I’m not sure if tha-”

“How long ago was that?” Father Nicholas interrupted, looking as if he only barely managed to suppress the urge to jump up from his seat and leap into action.

“A few weeks ago?” Her father looked to Grandfather, clearly somewhat unsettled by the unprecedented intensity of their guest, who nodded in agreement. Upon seeing Father Nicholas deflate slightly when hearing this, her father added: “I’m not sure where they went, but I’m sure someone in that village will be able to tell you. I can give you directions.”

“Thank you very much,” Father Nicholas said. He glanced her way, and Magda startled, but he just smiled once more. “Meeting you truly must have been divine intervention. When we think we are lost, He will send us a sign how to proceed without fail.”

  Their strange guest made for leave before day had properly broken, and while Magda usually used every excuse to gain even just one more moment in bed, she followed him on his heels as he ducked into their stable. It was built for sheep and only accommodated his large animal companion if it kept its head low, the poor thing.

She watched as he saddled the mule, wondering what might be in his saddlebags. Her grandfather had told her that this man had come from very far, from even beyond the snowcapped mountains barely visible in the south on a clear day. That was also why he spoke in such a strange fashion, then. Magda caught herself wishing he would stay around longer, just so she could ask him a thousand questions, and so that she could get to ride the mule again, show off to Hannes, that brat.

But she had seen the expression in his eyes change the previous night, and knew better than to try. Even now, his movements betrayed an underlying urgency as he passed by her, about to lead the animal out onto the street. Before she could thing it over again, she burst out with a question she had been wondering about since last night, and now would be her last chance to ask before her parents could interfere again.

“Do you have an illness, Father?”

He stopped and turned around to face her so abruptly that he startled his own mule. Magda had expected confusion, now anger, but instead he looked – scared.

“I just meant, since you’re looking for a brother of yours that is also a surgeon,” Magda went on, a bit more careful this time, trying to gauge if it was risky to press on.

“Oh.” He laughed, and all traces of his strange reaction vanished as quickly as they had appeared. “No, I’m not in need of a surgeon, don’t worry. I simply want to get to know this person I’ve heard so much about.”

He reached out, and she felt his thumb gently tracing a cross on her forehead.

“May God be with you, young Miss. Please do not pursue further adventures in the pouring rain and worry your parents half to death, yes?” He smiled, and then, he walked out of their stable, and Magda watched as his mule and rider disappeared into the forrest beyond the village, wondering how it must be to have brothers that you have not yet met.

“I hope they get along,” she told her grandfather when they went back inside. “I really do."

[regnumcaelorum]

Chocolate Box 2020 letter

Dear chocolatier!

It’s my first time participating in this exchange, so I hope I’m doing this right and that this letter will help give you inspiration to work with! However, all these fandoms and characters are dear to me, so just you taking the time to do fanwork involving them makes me a happy bean! I’m already very much looking forward to reading whatever you come up with!

And if you should have a pressing question that you absolutely need answered regarding things I do/don’t like, you could ask my bro @meguri-aite​ (since chances are she can answer your questions just as well as I could without potentially spoiling the surprise for me.)

General Likes/Dislikes:

General no to:

overly explicit smut or gore

complete and utter crackfic

A/B/O Omegaverse, MPREG, Incest, Dub/Non-Con, BDSM, sexual/emotional abuse

AUs (e.g. highschool, soulmates, merfolk etc.)

Darkfic (i.e. one of the main characters dying, extensive focus on suffering etc.). That is not to say your fic can’t contain dark elements or have a somber tone overall, I’m just not really looking for too bleak a story or too depressing an ending!

General yes to:

Casefics! I love stories that are their own little unit, like a filler episode or chapter within the actual story. And, you know actual case solving is great. I was raised on crime fiction, what can I say!

Canon expansion! Looking at a scene from within the series from a different angle, outsider POV, or elaborating on a period of time or an event not covered in the original material is also something I like a lot.

Character interactions! Just, all the character interactions.

Any rating is fine with me, and I don’t have any elements that are a no-go (unless listed in the previous section).

Explict consent is a thing that should just be in more everything.

These prompts look like fun, if you’re someone who likes using prompts!

Alright, now for the actual specific series in alphabetical order, here we go:

文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs

Note: I’ve only seen the first two seasons of the anime, and not read the manga. I am familiar with the BEAST AU (a.k.a. bottled suffering), though, so that’s fair game!

Dazai Osamu/Oda Sakunosuke (Bungou Stray Dogs)

I knew fully well how things were going to play out when I started watching the Dark Era arc due to spoilers, but boy did it ever hit me with the speed and impact of a freight train. This mini arc caputured the noir aesthetic I had hoped for from a show set in this The Roaring 20s 2 - Electric Boogaloo-esque world, but that the main series never fully delves into because it goes for a more hopeful tone overall. So even knowing that all that was coming was just pain and suffering, I nevertheless ended up super invested in these doomed characters and their futile struggles for redemption/doing better while still caught up in their underworld lives.

Honestly, anything with them, I would love, as long as it involves both still alive (there’s no shortage of “Dazai grieving over Oda’s grave” fics already) - be it an episode in the canon setting of them hanging out at Lupin with/without Ango, or sent on a mission together (or just Dazai tagging along in order to ditch his actual work), or an AU. BEAST is just. More pain, but maybe there would have been another way out than just straight up suicide? :’) Also, I’m always weak to the AU idea of “Dazai kills Mori and takes over the Port Mafia with Oda as his right hand man trying to turn this organisation around”. Or them both joining the ADA, one out of conviction, Dazai more because Oda did so.

Really, anything that has these two strange people play of each other and bring out their buried best qualities would be lovely. Happy ending preferred, as much as that’s possible with these characters, anyhow :’)

Edogawa Ranpo/Edgar Allan Poe (Bungou Stray Dogs)

To lighten up the mood after this more depressing character duo, I also really like this two dumb detective duo. Poe’s canon “Senpai notice me!!” crush along with Ranpo’s casual obliviousness to anything that’s not a super complicated murder mystery sets up any premise for a hilarious romcom if you ask me. 

Be it actual case solving or more of Poe’s Black Cat in the Rue Morgue shenanigans, or even just a focus on Poe plotting out more and more complicated revenge schemes during his time at the Guild because he can’t distinguish between rival and crush - yes please.

These two are just very well suited a delightful romp with no big drama involved, and I’d love to read that.

幻月楼奇譚 | Gengetsurou Kitan | The Mysterious Stories of Ghost Moon Tower (Manga)

Tsurugi Shouichirou/Yosaburou (Gengetsurou Kitan)

First of, I cannot believe someone else out there is invested in this series and requested it - hmu I just want to talk

Gengetsurou Kitan is such a strangely wholesome blend of gentle characters managing to help and support each other, and murder and ghost shenanigans that often just serve to show how awful humans can be. Yosaburou is somewhere in between the two, very much always out for his own benefit after having experienced first hand how fickle circumstances can be, but also due to being dragged along by the lackadaisical young master more and more finds himself faced with genuinely good people doing nice things just because.

I love the dynamic between the two so much - Shouichirou who could flex all his money and status, but is for the most part just happy to let himself dragged along, pulled in by Yosaburou’s orbit, and Yosaburou more and more having to come to terms with the fact that yes, this man’s interest in him is as sincere and simple as he says it is (and hopefully one day will believe that yes, it’s also longlasting).

While Shouichirou very much is the type to carry his heart on his sleeve (for better or worse, depending on the situation), Yosaburou is much more guarded in what he reveals to others, usually having multiple agendas on mind when doing anything. This contrast between the very straight-forward but patient investment of Shouichirou’s and the much more complex and hard to pin-point response to this courtship of Yosaburou’s makes this slowburn still engaging even 20 chapters in (to me, at least!). If you want to give insight into Yosaburou’s more calculated affection, that would be very interesting, for example.

Apart from that, I would love a case fic, of course, with Yosaburou and Shouichirou solving some (ghost? utterly mundane?) mystery, crashing another fancy party in the process or not. But I would equally enjoy just a quiet evening they spend together drinking while Yosaburou tells one of his ghost stories, or shenanigans with the entire Tsurugiya household involved. An outsider PoV on the characters would also work well, maybe Taro’s or Katsuko’s, observing Yosaburou becoming more and more just a fixed presence in all of their lives.

Basically, anything for this series would be lovely! And if it involves Yosaburou throwing poor Tsurugiya a bone, that’s just a bonus :’D

Tsurugi Shouichirou & Tarou (Gengetsurou Kitan)

What I said above regarding gentle character interactions and unwavering support is probably no more blatantly obvious than between these two, and I just have to say I love these cousins and I cannot lie. They both admire each other so sincerely for their respective qualities, and Shouichirou’s stubborn support to get Tarou the love of his life and casually insert himself as caretaker for their child (considering he doesn’t want to have children of his own) so they can keep working is so sweet, and so is Tarou fighting against being made the owner because he clearly worries about the optics (especially as this family has a backstory of ursuping, which Shouichirou isn’t even mad about because he’s such a good guy;;).

As mentioned above, I’d love a Tarou POV on Shouichirou and his strange male geisha love interest, but also just them hanging out together on a family picknick or something like that. Just, more of these wholesome vibes that show that true bonds are more important than family blood or lineages.

バチカン奇跡調査官 | Vatican Kiseki Chousakan | Vatican Miracle Examiner (Anime)

Note: I’ve only seen the anime adaptation, so please no explicit novel references beyond the point of the final adapted volume.

Hiraga Josef Kou & Roberto Nicholas (Vatican Miracle Examiner (Anime))

or

Hiraga Josef Kou/Roberto Nicholas (Vatican Miracle Examiner (Anime))

I listed both options here, because frankly, I’m fine with both a platonic or decidedly romantic take on their relationship - their in-canon connection is already that fundamental and unshakeable. I have no issue with them having a more secular relationship at all (look, I grew up in a predominantly Catholic region, don’t get me started on all the casual references to “The Catholic church pays alemony to the first three kids of Priests”), but I also think that their deep connection can be just platonic and lose none of its strength. This is honestly up to you!

Overall, his show was just one wild trip, but definitely never boring for a second. (Maybe it was cocaine.) Anyway, the cracky enjoyment of the break-neck-speed paced anime aside, I honestly grew sincerely attached to our investigator duo. Something about their mutual high respect, affection and adoration for each other is just genuinely touching. (The fact that afore mentioned respect doesn’t mean they won’t drag each other in public for the occasional shortcoming re: science or understanding human relationships only goes to show they are true friends imho). And seeing them stumble into utterly insane murder conspiracies every second Thursday and solving them with a mixture of whacky ideas, common sense and some liberally applied Catholicism was peak entertainment.

I would absolutely love a case fic for them! Go wild with conspiracies, red herrings and out-there motives, last minute twists, fake exorcisms and deus ex machina - if there’s one series where nothing is off-limits, it’s this one. If you have any local trivia to share by having them solve a case in your backyard, please do, because casefics set in the real world (or the heightened reality this show is set in, rather) are the ideal opportunity for that and I really enjoy reading about other places!

However, I would equally enjoy a fic about them hanging out together when off-assignment, in case you’re not up for murders and mayhem - just a nice day where neither of them is about to get murdered for once, you know what I mean. #letRobertohaveabreak2020

[regnumcaelorum]

Yuletide 2019 a.k.a. Dark Horse Brigade

Dearest Yulegoat!

I hope this letter can help give you an idea as to what I would love as a gift. But please rest assured that absolutely any story involving these characters will make me very happy, as all of these series are severely lacking in rightfully deserved fanworks and love. I’m already very much looking forward to reading whatever you come up with!

If you have a pressing question that you absolutely need answered, you could ask my bro @meguri-aite (since chances are she can answer your questions just as well as I could without potentially spoiling the surprise for me.) I wish you a happy Yuletide experience! (•̀ᴗ•́)و ̑̑

General no to:

overly explicit smut or gore

complete and utter crackfic

A/B/O Omegaverse, MPREG, Incest, Dub/Non-Con, BDSM, sexual/emotional abuse

AUs (e.g. highschool, soulmates, merfolk etc.)

Darkfic (i.e. one of the main characters dying, extensive focus on suffering etc.). That is not to say your fic can’t contain dark elements or have a somber tone overall, I’m just not really looking for too bleak a story or too depressing an ending during the holiday season!

General yes to:

Casefics! I love stories that are their own little unit, like a filler episode or chapter within the actual story. And, you know actual case solving is great. I was raised on crime fiction, what can I say!

Canon expansion! Looking at a scene from within the series from a different angle, outsider POV, or elaborating on a period of time or an event not covered in the original material is also something I like a lot.

Character interactions! Just, all the character interactions.

Any rating is fine with me, and I don’t have any elements that are a no-go (unless listed in the previous section).

Explict consent is a thing that should just be in more everything.

These prompts look like fun, if you’re someone who likes using prompts!

Thunderbolt Fantasy 東離劍遊紀 (TV)                        

Rin Setsu A | Lǐn Xuě Yā, Sho Fu Kan | Shāng Bù Huàn   

-> You can watch the entire series on Crunchyroll.

Urobutcher’s original wuxia fanfic as interpreted by Taiwanese glove puppetry is honestly the most enjoyable series I’ve come across in a while. It easily combines being a humurous parody of tropes at times with being a genuine love letter to the genre overall, not taking itself too seriously while still treating characters and storylines with care and thought put into them.

No small part of my enjoyment was the story following a protagonist who is so done with being one - even as of season two, where we only have vague hints as to what Shou was up to in his younger days, it’s clear that he’s been through all this circus before and would really prefer to be excluded from this narrative, thank you very much, and just have some peace and quiet, and not be roped into quests to gather up even more overpowered weapons. His weakspot towards helping people in trouble being ruthlessly exploited by Rin kickstarted the entire series, and their dynamic just never gets less funny. Rin himself is such a hilariously conceited narcissist - “Being a villain would be boring, so I’m at least technically not the worst person around,” he says, while still being the worst person around. He may have maxed out his stats in terms of illusions, swordplay and smugness, but has zero self-awareness, and the way his haugthy self snaps into the worst of hissyfits and tantrums if things do not go his way is never not satisfying.

I just would love more of their inevitable future (or past, set between the seasons) entanglements - Rin testing out just how far Shou is willing to let himself be pushed around, or maybe Shou’s own thoughts on why he puts up with the Enigmatic Gale again and again. Just their usual day to day adventures of plotting, starting and/or dodging trouble, sacred weapon shenanigans and more people with (misguided) vendettas directed at them than the day has hours, all that. In terms of the relationship, I leave you free rein as to whether you want to take it in any romantic direction or just keep it long-suffering/smug respectively. If you want to have Shou punch Rin in the face, that’s fine, too, and perfectly understandable. If you want to include Rou Fu You/Làng Wū Yáo as well, go ahead! Also, while I personally use the Hepburn-rendered Japanese names out of habit, if you prefer using the original Chinese names, please suit yourself!

バチカン奇跡調査官 | Vatican Miracle Examiner

Roberto Nicholas, Hiraga Josef Kou

-> You can watch the anime on Amazon Prime (within Germany, on animeondemand).

-> Note: I’m only familiar with the anime and have passing knowledge of the later novels at best, so I’d prefer stories to be within the general status quo setting of the anime timeline, please.

This show was one wild trip, but definitely never boring for a second. (Maybe it was cocaine.) Anyway, the cracky enjoyment of the break-neck-speed paced anime aside, I honestly grew very attached to our investigator duo. Something about their mutual high respect, affection and adoration for each other is just genuinely touching. (The fact that afore mentioned respect doesn’t mean they won’t drag each other in public for the occasional shortcoming re: science or understanding human relationships only goes to show they are true friends imho). And seeing them stumble into utterly insane murder conspiracies every second Thursday and solving them with a mixture of whacky ideas, common sense and some liberally applied Catholicism was peak entertainment. I would absolutely love a case fic for them! Go wild with conspiracies, red herrings and out-there motives, last minute twists, fake exorcisms and deus ex machina - if there’s one series where nothing is off-limits, it’s this one. If you have any local trivia to share by having them solve a case in your backyard, please do, because casefics set in the real world (or the heightened reality this show is set in, rather) are the ideal opportunity for that and I really enjoy reading about other places! However, I would equally enjoy a fic about them hanging out together when off-assignment, in case you’re not up for murders and mayhem - just a nice day where neither of them is about to get murdered for once, you know what I mean. #letRobertohaveabreak2k19 In terms of relationship, I like any take on it, from just their close relationship as is in canon to a more definitively romantic take, so please feel free to go with either. Also, I have no idea why Jewish James Bond Nazi Hunter McGee isn’t a more frequently recurring character in the series, since by God, he should be, so while he isn’t among the requestable characters, I’m all for a cameo of his if you feel up to it!

Barbarities (Manga)

Lord Justice Montague | Joel Letreux, Viscount Adam Canning

-> You can find the series so far translated here. This one has explicit scenes in it, jsyk.

You’d think my expectations directed towards BL series are reasonably common sense enough: no extreme age gaps where minors are involved, no abusive elements, explicit consent, the characters properly communicating, no villainification of women, no bi- or homophobic undertones. And yet. And yet!

One author who I’ve found manages to avoid most of these no-go elements for me is Suzuki Tsuta, and Barbarities is her currently ongoing historical fantasy series. It suberverts or pokes fun at many staple tropes of the genre, from slave auctions to mistaken double identities, while at the same time being a romp of other tropes played cheerfully straight (pun absolutely intended).

Adam easily could be a very punch-able character, but his extreme narcissism is so utterly naive and justified to him that it ends up being downright charming, and his complete confusion at someone not falling for him even though he tries so hard is quite endearing. A large part of his appeal is the extreme gap moe that comes with him being genre savvy when it comes to politics and social affairs, and a competent soldier and leader on top of that, while operating on literally one (1) braincell at any other moment in time. Joel really has to suffer through a lot with this sparkly disaster at his side, and yet, the two of them bring out the best qualities in each other - Adam gives Joel self-confidence and ease in social scenarios, and Joel reins in Adam’s lackadaisical nature, focussing that one braincell. It’s these soft moments where they manage to be on one wavelength for a while, pulling off stealth missions or political scheeming, that show that their relationship can be more than just a passing fancy (before Adam switches from 2nd to 5th gear abruptly and throws Joel off track, inevitably).

Unsurprisingly, for this series, too, I’d love me some case fic, especially undercover shenanigans. Infiltrating a private ball! Having to pull off having Lord Justice Montague and Joel Letreux at the same place at the same time! Trying to make Adam not stand out like a sparkly Adonis in order to achieve stealth! Or have it just them finally getting to have that picknick, or a quiet moment of Adam telling Joel about his homeland, or them trying to bond over people’s misguided impressions.

Or a Paul PoV. Paul is the MVP and for having managed to be Adam’s literal and figurative straight man for over a decade, he should get all the awards.

幻月楼奇譚 | Gengetsurou Kitan | The Mysterious Stories of Ghost Moon Tower (manga)

Tsurugi Shouichirou, Yosaburou | Sugiura Chikashi

-> You can find the series so far translated here.

This is probably the darkest horse of this letter’s line-up, but I really would love to see this series get more love and attention! There’s a handy post on elements that make the manga worth a read here, and it really is the gentle overall tone and the interactions between the characters that I enjoy so much about it.

While Shouichirou very much is the type to carry his heart on his sleeve (for better or worse, depending on the situation), Yosaburou is much more guarded in what he reveals to others, usually having multiple agendas on mind when doing anything. This contrast between the very straight-forward but patient investment of Shouichirou’s and the much more complex and hard to pin-point response to this courtship of Yosaburou’s makes this slowburn still engaging even 20 chapters in (to me, at least!). If you want to give insight into Yosaburou’s more calculated affection, that would be very interesting, for example.

Apart from that, I would love a case fic, of course, with Yosaburou and Shouichirou solving some (ghost? utterly mundane?) mystery, crashing another fancy party in the process or not. But I would equally enjoy just a quiet evening they spend together drinking while Yosaburou tells one of his ghost stories, or shenanigans with the entire Tsurugiya household involved. An outsider PoV on the characters would also work well, maybe Taro’s or Katsuko’s, observing Yosaburou becoming more and more just a fixed presence in all of their lives.

Basically, anything for this series would be lovely!

ロード・エルメロイⅡ世の事件簿 - 三田誠 | Lord El-Melloi II Case Files - Sanda Makoto

Waver Velvet (Lord El-Melloi II Case Files), Melvin Waynez (Lord El-Melloi II Case Files)          

-> You can watch the series on Crunchyroll (within Germany, on wakanim).

Okay, so here’s the thing: The only Fate franchise installments I’ve watched are Fate/Zero and this anime adaptation of Lord El-Melloi II Case Files. I am vaguely aware of the entire Fate/Stay Night background of course, but not very invested in any other part of the catalogue. I was drawn in by the complex motivations and agendas of the (almost exclusively) adult cast of Fate/Zero, and while I found Rider incredibly charming, I was too busy being IS THAT EVEN ALLOWED?! at the entire Gilgamesh -> Kirei -> Kiritsugu -> Irisviel congaline of obsession, betrayal and seduction (I still can’t believe this was a thing) and the gut-punching ending to really appreciate Waver’s character arc. 

Watching Case Files was one bittersweet reminder of the severe impact the grail war had on him as pretty much the only survivor, and how his growth as a person is rooted in loosing something he hadn’t understood to appreciate until it was gone. His hero worship of Iskander and deep desire to see him again, no matter if he would remember or not, and his inversion of master and servant role is just /vague handmotions

Adult Waver is a strange mixture of his old earnesty and trigger temper and the much more mellowed out, humble and protective person he became after Fuyuki, and the only person who knows both sides and knows how to handle them individually and as one is Melvin. Now, Melvin first seemed to me to be the designated supportive childhood friend, but he comes with his own duality, being quite bitter and cynical, partly because as a mage he is limited by his frail body, partly because he’s aware that people approach and exploit him for his wealth and influence, while masking it all with exuberance and extravagant behaviour. For all his talk about having a sadistic interest in seeing Waver in danger as long as it’s entertaining, he also is profoundly concerned for him, and his conversation with Grey in the last episode about how he thinks it’s important that someone remembers the Waver from before the grail war, and reminds him that he’s still his own person, aah. Waver needs more love, but also, so does Melvin, to be honest. Melvin having to compete with someone who’s dead multiple times over and almost speaking of Waver as a heroic spirit (regarding the idea that the name may not get lost if the person has to live on) is harsh, and it would be nice if they could find a less harmful balance.

When retelling (reyelling, more like) my friend all this and asking whether she got the bit about “Melvin is the keeper of Waver’s magic seal which is the most important and intimate thing a mage has” she dryly replied “from across entire the English channel” and I’m not really ashamed of it.

I just really was into this storyline so much that I felt like requesting these characters. Make it a case fic in true Case File tradition, if you want! Or give insight into Melvin’s point of view, either during their student days, or during the present day. I’d also enjoy an outsider PoV on the two of them.

In terms of relationship, I’m favouring a decidedly romantic take, but also would enjoy platonic friendship.

 (TL;DR: I barely know shit about the fate verse at large but I want it your honour)

[regnumcaelorum]

Ripple Effect

(crossposted on AO3)

alternate working title: two bros, chilling in the hot tub, five feet apart bc shō needs a break 🎵🎵🎵

Rating: T

The successful usage of ki required one's ability to focus one's body and mind, access a state of dead calm even in the midst of a typhoon of raging emotions. Like any other skill, it had to be honed over time, practiced again and again until it became second nature, until one could execute it even under the must contrary of circumstances, could forgo getting trapped in the all too human weakness of losing control to one's feelings.

Shō took another deep breath, tracing the path the airflow took through his body, feeling the vibrant energy spread into every last corner of his body. As he exhaled, he could feel it evening out any accumulated unrest like the stilling surface of a lake after the rainstorm had passed.

“It truly is a lovely night, isn’t it, Sir Shō?"

And that was the end to this exercise. Shō opened his eyes in order to glare at the man sitting a mere arm's length across from him, arms casually stretched along the the stone enclosure of their private outdoor bath. As usual, Rin was regarding him with that constant smug, self-satisfied expression.

"It would be, if you could just shut your trap for half an hour," Shō grumbled. “You’re a major pain in the neck, you do know that, right.”

"Oh? And what exactly prompted this train of thought in this moment? I'd be as bold as to say I haven't done anything to incur your anger" –there was a short pause-"today, that is."

Ah, he was pretending to have grown more self-aware around him now, Shō thought. Not that this was giving him any hope that the man would actually learn from things he did in the past. Consequences to him were probably a concept that exclusively affected people that weren’t him.

Since he didn't deign the statement worthy of a reply, Rin tilted his head slightly, one hand coming up to lazily indicate the area around them, water dripping from his fingers like dew drops.

"If anything, I thought I for once got into your good graces by offering to pay for your lodgings. Sleeping out in forests and barns can't be all that comfortable all the time, or am I mistaken?"

Shō couldn't help doging the straight-forward gaze at that. Technically, he was right. Being a full-time carrier of mystic blades wasn't exactly a paying profession, and while he could invoke Tan Hi's name in order to find shelter with people reverent of the Gōinshi, it felt somewhat exploitative. The last thing that young lady needed right now was people questioning why a vagrant swordsman of dubious origin made a living off her name. No, if that was the option, sleeping outdoors was preferable, sadly.

"It's not not like it's your own hard-earned money you're spending here, is it."

"I'll have you know I did work for a lot of it." Rin sounded amused rather than insulted. "I told you that the things I steal usually aren't of material value, but sometimes getting them involves a longer time of me holding certain positions and doing some actual work there."

When Shō threw him a doubting look from the corner of his eyes, Rin laughed.

"Fine, fine - some more of it was made in less honourable ways. But you've never rejected my hospitality before."

"Only because I know that the guys you take it from probably didn't deserve having it, either."

"Such a man of principles you are, noble Sir Shō."

"Shut up already, will you."

The retort was weak and almost childish, and Shō was very much aware of that, could see the way Rin's smile grew wider, even more smug.

"As you wish."

As if this guy would be able to shut up for more than a few minutes at a time, Shō thought. He was way too much in love with the sound of his own voice. His glare remained utterly ineffective as Rin stretched with a content hum before draping himself again along the edge of the bath.

For show, undoubtedly, as were most of his gestures – always executed with an extra flourish as if he thought himself a constant stage performer. On second thought, wasn’t that exactly what he was?

Rin was undeniably unusually handsome, that much Shō could fairly admit, and Rin was equally aware of this trait of his. People were quicker to trust beautiful, well spoken people, no matter what lurked behind their facade, and Shō had little doubt Rin capitalised on this for many of his schemes. But he was also undoubtedly quite vain for his own sake. He was already self-enamoured with his ability to manipulate people, his fighting skills and magical tricks, so it probably was no surprise he also loved his own appearance. Narcissistic bastard.

It would have been fine if Shō could simply dismiss him as such and move on. It would have been even better if the moment he had spotted that damn bird under that tree, he had listened to all the alarm bells within his brain that had told him to get the hell out of dodge right away and not let the man engage him in any way or form.

But then and now, he found himself unable to escape the pull Rin Setsu A seemed to exert on him, like goddamn gravity. He was annoying, insincere, incredibly arrogant, hypocritical, one couldn't trust him for even a second without regretting it later – in short, he was just about everything Shō resented in other people. And yet, he was also one of the most fascinating people he had ever encountered, and it was so frustratingly hard to scrub him from his mind entirely.

Rin kept getting under his skin the way no-one else did. Each time he thought he had successfully shook him on his travels, when he thought he had finally gotten over this weird, constant irritation for good, they inevitably crossed paths again, because of course they always did, because Touri was Rin's homeland and he had no difficulty tracking him down. Uninvited, unwelcome, and honestly, exhauting to deal with, but also never boring, no matter how tiring dealing with him was.

Maybe it was like a sickness, a really bad fever, Shō thought, leaning his head back to rest against the edge of the bath, frowning at the night sky. You needed to get it out of your system by enduring the worst bout of it once, and then you could get over it and would be unaffected the next time.

Perhaps he should fight the man in earnest once, then. Make sure he was prepared for all the trickeries and illusions that might be thrown his way, press on and draw out Rin's true abilities as a warrior. They said that a man's blade spoke more truly of his character than any of his words, and if true, that should help with clarifying why the hell Rin had him wrapped around his little finger the way he did, getting a morsel of sincerity out of a man who seemed perpetually trading in honey-coated flattery and serpent-venomous lies.

Shō involuntarily felt his nerves flare with positive anticipation, bloodlust for combat of long forgotten days rearing its ugly head, from before he had taken up an edgeless blade to remain aware of the consequences of his actions on the battlefield at all times. He had only caught glimpses of Rin's duel with Betsu Ten Gai, but there was no doubting that the man was a supremely strong fighter when he wanted to be. It wouldn't be an easy duel by any means. No, it would be a challenge unlike any other, because Rin was unlike any other.

In his sudden rush of adrenalin caused by following a track of thought too far up the garden path, it took Shō by surprise to feel Rin move closer, lean forward in their small space, the water he disturbed hitting against Shō's chest in quick ripples as Rin’s arms now effectively trapped him against the enclosure.

He snapped his attention back to what was in front of him in this moment rather than getting lost in old memories and misplaced excitements for fights that would never happen,  Should never happen, really, for the good of everyone involved. He suddenly found himself only a hand's breadth away from Rin's face, his red eyes even more eerie in the relative dark of their surroundings, the little light refracted from the brilliant white of his hair.

"What now," he mumbled, thrown off by the sudden proximity, but not flinching back, either. He felt the long familiar warmth of ki concentrated to the degree of being able to cut through steel gather at his fingertips, a pure reflex at this point. Rin could no doubt sense it, see the shimmer of it in his eyes. The thought of skipping the whole duel part and just taking that vexing man down by brute force surfaced just as quickly as he suppressed it.

"You had a truly interesting look on your face just now," Rin said lightly, but his expression was more serious than usual. "I wonder what you are thinking about."

"You."

He said it before even thinking twice, and wanted to bite his own tongue the second after. Well, it surely was too late now, and he would be damned if he picked up that bastard's habit of constantly lying. Rin blinked, his eyebrows drawing up in exaggerated surprise.

"Now, that is an unexpected reply, Sir Shō."

"I doubt anything surprises you, really."

"I'll have you know, no matter how flattering I find your assumption regarding my capabilities to be, I do not possess the ability to read minds."

"That's good to know, I guess."

Not as if Shō had ever worried that this damn bird might be capable of this feat, no, it was just his freakingly good intuition and ability to read people's intentions at work. However, it was nice to know that he had no idea about what kind of directions his thoughts had taken just a few moments earlier.

"That is not to say that wouldn't very much like to be able to do it, especially in moments like these."

Shō clicked his tongue impatiently. Rin had not backed off from crowding his space yet, and it didn’t exactly help making him feel comfortable.

“What for? I told you.”

“You did,” Rin agreed. “But barely. What do you think of me, Sir Shō?”

He was leaning in close enough now that Shō could feel the water dripping from the uneven strands framing his face hit the skin of his shoulders, and he had to suppress a shiver.

“I told you, you’re a pain in the neck, that’s it.”

Even he could tell that it came out even more half-hearted as usual, weakened still by the fact that he did not make any move away as Rin’s right hand came to rest against his jaw. It was a light touch, and yet it was unprecedented and strange. For all his impertinent familiarity, Rin usually kept a certain amount of distance, and the absence of his usual teasing expression made it unlikely that this was a mere joke. This was new territory, and Shō remained still, unsure of what was going through the damn bird’s head in this moment.

Rin let out a pensive hum after a few seconds, his head tilting to the side as he trailed his fingers across Shō’s cheek until they rested against the corners of his mouth.

"You truly are an extraordinarily long-suffering man, Sir Shō, aren’t you? I wonder, how far you'll let me push you?”

"Who says I'm letting you push me anywhere?" Shō replied, not yielding a hair's breadth of ground in this new confrontation. He could feel the man’s fingertips brush against his lips with every syllable, and it was irritating in a whole new way. "Maybe I'm just goading you into doing what I want, and letting you think you're in control while I'm doing it."

It would have been a nonsensical comeback in any situation, considering that if there was anyone who knew that this was a blatant lie, it was the man who had managed to manipulate him so easily before. The sardonic grin returned to Rin’s face, and Shō instantly was on edge.

“Well, let’s see about that, then.”

And then, he closed the distance between them and kissed Shō without even a hint of reservation. Shō caught Rin’s eyes being equally open, glinting with challenge as he pressed closer, leaving them pressed chest to chest.

Aah, it had been this kind of attraction, then. Like a fever, you had to submit and suffer through the worst of it once before you got it out of your system, that was what he had thought the solution to be before. Right, he should have seen it coming; He didn’t have to fight Rin in order to end this, no. Maybe, this would do.

He could tell Rin tensed when Shō started moving, probably prepared to duck out of reach of a potential punch with a laugh, as always, but instead, Shō only placed his own hand along Rin’s jaw to gain more control of the kiss, because there was no way he would just let Rin do whatever he wanted. The quickest glimpse of surprise on the man’s face at the reaction he did not predict was a sweet and rare triumph, and Shō couldn’t help grinning as he returned the kiss.

He had never actively thought about it, but he found that he wasn’t the least surprised to find out that Rin was an excellent kisser. His silver tongue wasn’t merely able to constantly needle him throughout the day, no, and if this was what it could do as well, maybe it made up for some of Rin’s exhausting constant chatter.

It was Rin who pulled back first, looking as usual barely ruffled by anything that happened, but there was a delighted predatory gleam to his eyes that should have given any normal person the desire to run for the hills. Shō bemoaned his own lack of any sense of self-preservation. He let his hand slide further down, coming to rest against Rin’s arm, feeling the solid muscle of a swordsman right beneath that pretty boy alabaster skin. Yes, any remnant of his common sense must have dissolved in the hot spring water at some point, there was no other explanation.

“You really are a most interesting person, Sir Shō Fu Kan,” Rin finally broke the silence, tone unmistakably appreciative.

“And you put the moves on everyone you find interesting?”

“I’m not that easy, no.” Rin brushed back a strand of Shō’s hair that had fallen into his face at some point during their kiss, smiling. “I only ever do what I feel like, and only sleep with whom I like.”

“Being liked by you sounds like a great way to die young.”

He didn’t really want to think of Setsu Mu Shō now, or Kei Gai, or all the doubtlessly numerous pitiful people who once had been utterly smitten with this beautiful liar, but it was also hard not to, sometimes. No matter how sincere your love and respect for the Enigmatic Gale might be, if he decided to ruin you, he would. Shō was fairly sure that Rin liked each of his targets in his own strange way, so this announcement wasn’t exactly reassuring.

Rin must have guessed the direction of his thoughts, because he gave him a bit more space in inching back with a theatrical sigh.

“Ah, right, right, I shouldn’t be presupposing you being interested as well. I'm sure a fine man such as you is able to find a partner you consider less suspicious for the night easily, so putting up with me isn’t something you would be too enticed to do.”

“And what good would that do? Going by the sum of my experiences in your country, forgive for being cautious as to the trustworthiness of any new acquaintances,” Shō snorted. Not to mention, considering Rin’s shape-shifting shenanigans, even an unknown face wouldn’t confirm that a new acquaintance wasn’t tangled up in his ploys already. “No, in this case it’s taking it up with the devil you know versus the one you don’t, thank you very much.”

“So you finally trust me?” Rin trailed his fingertips along his neck, now, and Shō involuntarily felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up in response. “I'm touched to hear that.”

“Absolutely not.”

Shō grabbed hold of Rin’s wrist, pulling his hand away from his throat. He knew Rin didn’t want to kill him in earnest, nor steal anything from him as of his moment. He didn’t yet consider Shō a villain in need of being utterly humiliated, thankfully. And even if Shō had the sinking suspicion that in terms of handling magic seals, Rin outclassed him by leagues, he doubted that the man would ever try and steal the Sorcerous Sword Index from him in the dead of night. No, he would enjoy it much more to spread the word of its existence among those consumed by greed for mystical blades and send them after him, let him do the gruelling dirty work. He really should have at least punched him once before kissing him.

Instead, he tugged on Rin’s arm to pull him close again to kiss him once more, this time allowing his eyes to slide shut, letting himself just concentrate on the sensation of the kiss, of Rin’s fingers tangling in his hair and the feeling of his body against his own.

“We should probably go and continue this inside,” Rin suggested in a murmur as he kissed along Shō’s jawline.

“We need to properly dry off first,” Shō said, although trying to remember the proper order of things seemed like such a distant priority at this point that it required active effort, “or we’ll get the futon wet.”

And they did, but it was hard to care about that, hard to care about anything, really, when he was shrouded in a curtain of pearl white hair, cutting them off from the surrounding world. The only things that mattered were the way Rin’s fingertips mapped out his body, the feeling of his lips and tongue on his skin, his quiet laughter, the solid warmth of his frame.

How strange it was that a man mainly drawing on cold ki could be so warm, how someone who was all cool calculating edge could still be soft to the touch, Shō thought hazily, before he decided to not think anything at all.

The storm had caught up with him once again, and this time he let it rage on without putting up resistance. He would have to assess the damage afterwards, but for now, he would give in and enjoy the force of it sweeping everything aside that wasn’t Rin Setsu A.

[regnumcaelorum]

fifteen minutes seven secrets (2)

(crossposted on AO3)

Yuki has the hardest job.

Rating: M

seven secrets

“You haven’t been listening to a word I’ve said, have you.” Yuki slams the old thermos down on the wobbly table with excessive orce, causing some coffee to spill over the edge of her mug. She miscalculated the milk-coffee-ratio-surface-tension-limit as per usual. Inaho could probably give her the exact formula rundown of her mistake. Grabbing the handle of the second cup, content pitch black and utterly unappealing, she turns around with a frown, trying to stare down her conversation partner into an apology. Her effort is entirely wasted, as she has to realise, considering Marito isn’t looking in her direction at all. He’s sitting behind the command center of the command tower, feet hooked under the edge of the dashboard and chair tipped back to balance on its hind legs, seemingly lost in thought. Although as per usual, he looks as if everything regarding his appearance had come as an afterthought, shirt collar rumpled and hair messy and overgrown, for the early hour of the day he is unusually awake, and more importantly, going by Yuki’s keen sense of smell, sober. She grits her teeth as she crosses over to him with a few measured strides. The urge to kick against the legs of his chair just to see if either his reaction speed really is as top-notch as he says it is or witness him m lose all his smug nonchalant composure for a change, flares in her for a second, but passes just a quickly. No matter how laissez-fair he might appear, he was still her superior officer, after all. So instead, she simply extends the cup of coffee towards him with a huff. He turns to look at her at that, seeming almost surprised, as if he had only just noticed her presence. “You wound me, Kaizuka,” he then says quite unexpectedly as he carefully takes the mug from her hands, tone as often too cynical in melody to sound anything close to genuine. “I’m always listening when my favourite subordinate talks to me.” He gives her a lopsided grin and toasts to her. "Thanks." “Oh really,” she drawls, catching herself as she crosses her arms in front of her chest. She drops them to her side again. No use in looking like a pouting kid, not when Marito hardly ever gives her the impression he was taking her seriously in the first place. “Hmhm.” He blows against the steam rising from the coffee, then takes a long, deliberate sip, in order to let her wait or try skimming through his vague memory to come up with a reply, she isn’t sure which. Then: “You were talking about your little brother starting school here last week. Class 1-B or whatever.” Apparently he wasn’t as inattentive to her casual conversation then as she had assumed from his lack of responsiveness. Yuki coughs against the rising embarrassment and turns to lean against the dashboard herself, facing him as he watches her with an expression of distant amusement. At least he wasn’t mean-spirited enough to gloat about her misjudgement. “My apologies for the libel, Lieutenant.” He shrugs light-heartedly, tipping his chair slightly further back. “Hardly the worst ever directed at me, Kaizuka. Don’t worry.” There’s a beat of silence as she can’t help but think of all the things her fellow cadets had whispered to her in hushed tones once they had received notifications of their post-graduation assignments. How could they ever have appointed Marito Kouichirou as an instructor to a young female recruit, they had wondered. The man was a paranoid compulsory liar, a coward who deserted his unit, an irresponsible and incompetent alcoholic, a man way too casual with regards to personal space - all around an utter disgrace of a soldier. “In any case,” she brushes the unwanted memories aside, focussing on the man in front of her now. He might be some of these things, but she also knows him to be the most diligent with the safety of his students during live-fire practices, no matter how much he had had to drink. “Nao-kun told me about the rumours that spread among the first years during the orientation week. It’s funny, considering I attended the same school not that long ago, but it seems some of the seven school mysteries now are completely different.” “Kids still have these going in this day and age?” Marito raises his eyebrows at her. “And here I thought that surely died out with the smartphone generation.” “Nah, they’re still at it. Let’s see, there’s the skeleton in the biology prep room that sometimes moves out of it’s own accord-” “A classic.” “Isn’t it? There’s also the secret lunch menu, an alleged passageway between the student council office and the cafeteria, the fact that the seventh step of the west stairway is cursed in some form, and that if you manage to sit in the window seat in the back of classroom 3-A, you are almost guaranteed to pass your exams. All those I remember from attending the school as well. But the last two were new to me - number six says that if you want to confess to someone outside, you may not stand close to the east wall windows, or else it’s going to go wrong.” “That sounds oddly specific and like it involved falling objects at some point,” Marito chimes in, smiling as he lifts his cup back to his lips, halting just to ask: “And number seven?” “That one definitely wasn’t around during my time. It says that sometimes in the afternoon, if you walk past the corridor connecting to the barracks where the infirmary is, you can hear the moaning of a patient in pain, even though the complex is deserted.” Marito chokes on his coffee, his instant coughing tipping the delicate balance of the chair over, and for the blink of a moment Yuki watches with a mixture of amazement and horror as the unstable equilibrium threatens to topple backwards and send her boss on collision course with the concrete floor. Then, his alleged quick reflexes do seem to kick in, and he jerks forward, bringing the chair down again with him as he leans forward and tries to regain his breath. It’s hard to tell in the relatively dim light of the booth and with the length of his hair, but Yuki thinks his neck looks suspiciously red. “Are you okay, Lieutenant?” she asks once she overcomes her state of frozen shock, itching but reluctant to give in to her natural inclination to give him a hearty pat on the back. “Fine,” she gets back in turn, in a very raspy voice. He gets to his feet in a sudden motion, putting the half-emptied cup down on the dash and making for the door fast without really looking at her. “Kids these days surely have quite an overactive imagination. Anyway, gotta go and get the Sleipnir units combat ready, you handle the group assignment today, Kaizuka.” And with that, he has already slipped away, leaving Yuki to blink in bewilderment at his unusual burst of work enthusiasm. “I’m pretty sure all of these so called mysteries have very easy and practical explanations,” Inaho said over dinner yesterday. “I surely can think of some, at least. Some don’t require much of an imagination.” She can’t help wondering why the last one in particular seems to have spooked her superior. As far as she knows, he has little to do with the school faculties outside the combat practice areas, and nothing at all with the medical facilities. Well, he is friends with the doctor, Yuki knows as much from occasionally seeing them together during lunch breaks and she thinks she remembers Marito mentioning going out for drinks with him every so often, too. Something like the vague shadow of understanding begins to dawn on her as she watches the door fall shut, and she feels the heat of embarrassment crawl up its way to her neck. “Oh.”

[regnumcaelorum]

fifteen minutes seven secrets (1)

(crossposted on AO3)

Things happening in the doctor's office stay in the doc's office, etc.

Rating: M

A/N: First published on 02/15/18 as part of the Yuletide NYR challenge for a lovely person requesting Marito/Yagarai, because that’s a ship I’m very invested in myself. I've put this on anon back when I first posted both because it was part of the Yuletide Challenge thing and also because I'm self-conscious as heck, but I also always felt bad for brushing these favourites of mine under the rug. I'm de-anoning it now, so @dear-deer, don't @ me over this or SO HELP me.

First chapter partly based on this sketch by the offical character designer.

fifteen minutes

“There you are. I thought as much. You know, you can’t just come in to nap here whenever you want, Lieutenant. This is an infirmary.” All he gets in response is pointed silence, and Yagarai leans against the doorframe with a sigh, taking in the sight of his one particular regular sprawled out on the examination couch before him. He has one arm thrown across his face to block out the golden afternoon sun filtering in through the half-closed blinds, casting stripes of shadows across the long stretch of his limbs, the width of his chest. If there’s one thing Yagarai has in abundance, it’s patience, and it pays off as usual. The seconds tick by, but eventually, Marito moves his arm ever so slightly out of the way, shooting him a quizzical glance. In this lighting, his eyes are the colour of molten brass. “And here I thought it was better to at least sleep here where chances are none of the brats will drop by unannounced. Should I go to the hangar next time, then?” “A teacher shouldn’t be sleeping on school grounds, period,” Yagarai replies in the best class rep tone he can dredge up from memory, pushing off the doorway to make his way over to the subject of his lecture. “Let alone in a place reserved for medical emergencies. Lieutenant. It’s an on-principle kind of thing. You should be setting a good example.” “Why, aren’t you an inspiration to us all, sensei.” Marito peers up at him as he comes to a stand right next to the examination couch. Even as outwardly relaxed as he looks now, Yagarai can see the dark shadows below his eyes, the underlying tension in his shoulders. His smile gets the familiar sardonic edge as he continues: “Though I doubt there’s anything I could do at this point to salvage me being an all-around bad example. I guess there’s merit in becoming a cautionary tale instead.” “Lieutenant,” Yagarai chides with a frown, as if he could wipe away years of ingrained self-loathing with just a drop of disapproval. “Don’t.” “Apologies,” Marito says, cheerfully insincere, sitting up in a sudden motion. He’s tall enough to be still almost on eye-level with Yagarai, and he can feel his pulse pick up slightly at the sudden proximity, close enough that he can count the flecks of dark brown in Marito’s iris, but moving back is the furthest thing from his mind. “I’m an incorrigible man, I fear.” He leans in just a fraction more, his hands coming up to take hold of the lapels of Yagarai’s lab coat, tugging him closer. It’s like being drawn in by a magnet, and Yagarai feels his eyes slide shut as he lets himself be kissed. Marito tastes of the long familiar combination of caffeine and nicotine, with the barely detectible warm flavor of brandy lingering beneath, and Yagarai knows he should reprimand him for all three of these three vices. A good doctor would. A proper doctor would. He, instead, lets himself be anchored in place by the Lieutenant's hands, returning the kiss in kind, occasionally dragging his teeth over his bottom lip. The pleased hum he gets in return each time reverberates under the palm he has pressed against Marito’s chest, fingertips against the strong beat of his heart. When he pulls back, he can feel that Marito leans forward to follow his movement in the push against his hand. Even with the small amount of distance he put between them, the man tries to close it instantly, before letting go of Yagarai's coat with a sigh and letting himself fall back on the couch, eyes closed as if he intended to go back to sleep out of pure spite. “Someone could come in at any minute,” Yagarai points out. Marito doesn’t even bother to look at him, tone utterly matter-of-fact. “Liar. I heard you lock the door when you came in.” And yet there are still some on the base who truly think the Lieutenant a dense, unobservant person, Yagarai thinks, unable to stall the pleased smile from stealing onto his face. What pitiful fools, the lot of them. “Have I now,” he muses out loud, even as he already bends down, bracing himself on his hands planted to each side of Marito’s head. “You’re not going to successfully feign innocence to me, sensei. It’s a bit late for that, you know.” Marito opens his eyes and looks Yagarai over with something akin to amused fondness. Then, he reaches out to pull the glasses of Yagarai’s face with great care, folding them and putting them onto the roll tray behind him. The world goes hazy at the edges, but Yagarai can’t say he minds as he feels Marito’s hands slide into his hair, keeping him at arms length for a few seconds as he takes in the changed view. He lets out a sound of approval, then tugs Yagarai down for another kiss, slow and soft. It’s easy and familiar, the gentleness and the sincere sense of desire lurking just behind it as he lets Marito set the pace, stopping to think and simply giving in to the pure enjoyment of this moment, regardless of their circumstances. It was better to not think about what it would mean for their respective teaching, medical and military careers if the nature of their relationship became common knowledge. Yagarai was prepared to burn these bridges when he got to them, but he isn’t sure about Marito’s stance on the matter. It’s not as if they ever talk about it. He’s not sure if they can. This time, it’s the Lieutenant who pulls back first, one hand sliding from his grip on Yagarai’s hair to lie warm and broad against the back of his neck. His expression is on that verge of tenderness that makes Yagarai’s chest feel tight each of the rare times he is treated to a glimpse of it. “That was nice,” Marito then murmurs, and Yagarai snorts, the tense moment dissolving into easy proximity once more as Marito grins back at him. “Thanks, I guess.” Yagarai shifts his weight to one hand and brushes his thumb against the thin, soft skin below Marito’s eyes, tracing the shadows above the defined ridge of bone beneath. “More nightmares?” he asks, even though they both know the answer to that question. He can see it in the Lieutenants look, now, his countenance softening behind his usual veneer of casual nonchalance and biting cynicism. When he does reply after some moments, it’s so quiet that Yagarai isn’t entirely sure he meant to say it out loud at all. “Make me forget.” Yagarai doesn’t need him to specify.

Make me forget about the sickening stench of blood and ash, the reverberating echo of screams followed by the terrifying stretch of dead silence, the burning heat of the flames and the icy cold of dread. Make me forget about Tanegashima. Make me forget about John Humeray. He keeps smiling in the face of the impossible, even if he feels his throat constrict with empathic sadness. “That’s quite tall an order, Lieutenant.” “I’m a selfish man, shamelessly taking advantage of the misguided kindness of my junior, sensei.” His tone is blithely sarcastic again, but the hold of his fingers in Yagarai’s hair tightens for just a second, and he catches as Marito’s gaze flickers aside and breaks eye contact ever so briefly. This, too, is long familiar. “If anything,” he replies softly, leaning in to brush a kiss against the corner of his mouth, “I’m the one taking advantage of you, Lieutenant, my trusting patient in a vulnerable state.” “Guess that makes the both of us despicable and unprofessional people, then.” There’s grim amusement in his voice, but Yagarai doesn’t argue the playing-out of their same old spiel, instead moving to slowly slide his free hand up beneath Marito's shirt where it was only haphazardly tucked into his trousers, taking in the warmth of the skin and the shiver of solid muscle just beneath. Marito’s breath hitches, but he doesn’t look away this time. “I can try,” Yagarai says quietly. “Even if it’s just for a moment.” Even if all it could be right now was superficial distraction at best. “You don’t have to do anything.” Yagarai tries to read between the apparent contradiction of the man’s words uttered and those unspoken, merely conveyed through the way Marito’s hands haven’t strayed from their position, the minimal tilt of his hips as he presses up against his hand still splayed against the skin of his stomach, the flick of his tongue over his lips. “I want to,” he decides, swiftly changing position from standing leaning awkwardly over Marito to climbing on the couch himself, effectively straddling him, his knees framing the man’s hips. He leaves no room for more arguing, intent to bring his point across nonverbally for now. As per usual, the top two buttons of the Lieutenant’s shirt are unbuttoned, his tie lose, and while Yagarai can’t help occasionally thinking that it’s a crying shame he never gets to see the man in full proper parade uniform, it is a convenience now as he can simply lean in to leave a trail of kisses, starting from the edge of his jaw down the column of his throat. As always, the skin of his neck smells of aftershave and burnt gunpowder, a mixture that seems to have followed him from the battlefields to the training grounds. He can feel the hums of appreciation reverberate against his lips as he lets his tongue sweep over a spot just above Marito’s collarbone, and notes with a rush of affection how the man’s fingers against his own neck have started threading through the hair at his nape gently, a soothing motion of kindness. He takes it as proof that Lieutenant relaxed enough that he can move on. He withdraws his hand from where he had been drawing meaningless patterns against the pane of Marito’s stomach, instead putting it to work on his belt and trousers. He casts a quick glance up at Marito’s face, just to make sure, and the way his eyes have darkened now, molten brass to tarnished copper, is as much as an affirmation as the way he lifts his hips slightly, helping him push down his clothing enough to give him easy access. Yagarai derails himself again by leaning back up to kiss him once more, too drawn in by the look of actual longing written over his face. He chases after the taste of tobacco and alcohol on Marito’s tongue, and thinks with a dark sense of satisfaction that this man truly had a knack for making him crave all the things a proper medical professional should never get to know, let alone desire. When he pushes back up, breath coming short and laboured, Yagarai finds Marito staring at him positively dazed, and he feels the sudden urge to push him further, truly make a mess of him to the point where he really might forget everything on his mind, even for just a second. Marito blinks in confusion as he abruptly sits up, only for his expression to shift to the closest to bashfulness it ever gets on him as Yagarai moves his knees further down, following up with his full body until his hands come to rest on the dips of the other man’s hips. “You really don’t have to–” “Just try to enjoy this and relax, Lieutenant,” Yagarai tells him with gentle insistence as he tries to find a more comfortable position before he gets started. “Doctor’s orders,” he then adds jokingly, after the fraction of a pause, and is answered by a startled laugh. “When did you get so cocky, med student?” Yagarai just smiles, but then shifts his focus away from enjoying the genuine amusement in Marito’s voice to the task he had set for himself. When he had first fantasized about this, back when he had been little more than a teenager who, with the unparalleled arrogance of youth, had thought graduating high school was already equivalent with being a true adult, he had imagined this to be quite different, with a clear imbalance in power and command. It had been the thrill of falling for a near-stranger back then, a combat-experienced officer, a man almost ten years his senior, and a patient of his uncle’s just to round up the list of reasons why it had been a horrible idea to try and enter any kind of relationship with him. And while he had been mostly satisfied with the friendship they had going by the time Marito was discharged, sometimes the vague ideas came back uninvited, anyway. Something about Marito’s low, rough voice and casual disregard for any orders by doctors and nurses alike left Yagarai’s young mind flooded with half-formed images of the man’s fingers tugging sharply at his hair and encouragements slipping into the register of military commands. Now, he knows that reality is vastly different, but no less pleasurable. The hands in his hair are unfalteringly gentle, a warm weight against his scalp but never any pressure, the sounds spilling from Marito’s lips a melody of soft moans, rough only on the edge. What remains unchanged is the unpleasant bitter taste and the strain of his muscles locked in the unfamiliar position, but it’s a small price to pay for the tremors he can feel rippling through Marito’s entire body, the push of his hips against the hold he refuses to relinquish, the incoherence of his utterances. Let yourself fall, he thinks, half-delirious himself, and I will show you that I’m there to catch you, no matter what. Trust me, let me help you, leave some of your burdens for me to deal with. When Marito comes, it’s with a groan that almost sounds pained in how unrestrained it is. Still braced over his legs, Yagarai watches as Marito’s breathing evens out, evident the way the rise and fall of his chest turns from frantic to slow and regular, and he notes with pleasure that the tightness in the Lieutenant’s shoulders has subsided somewhat. In these moments, he always wonders if this is the closest he’ll ever get to seeing a genuine glimpse of the man Marito Kouichirou had been before the heavens fell. It’s both a thrilling and terrifying thought. “Come home with me,” is what he blurts out before he can think about whether the timing for the offer is right or not. Marito’s head snaps up, and he stares at him with something that looks like genuine confusion. Yagarai manages not to laugh when faced with this bewildering disconnect between them. At this point, at least, it seems Marito trusts him enough to believe that he’s not only indulging this attraction out of mere pity and a saviour complex, which had taken long enough to get him to understand, but he still considers himself an unbearable burden when it comes to Yagarai keeping him company for more than an hour. We sure have this intimacy thing all backwards, Yagarai thinks. He’s comfortable enough with me to share his innermost secrets, to let me do these kinds of things to him in the backroom of our workplace, but not to let me stay overnight at his apartment. “You seem to sleep better when I’m there,” he explains with a nonchalant shrug to show he wasn’t going to insist on the assessment in case Marito disagreed. It’s not as if he could force this process of trusting to go any faster, unless he wanted to betray the last remnants of the ethics of his profession. “And you sleep the worse for it,” Marito cuts him off dismissively. “You have work tomorrow, so I’m not going to keep you up all night by waking up from nightmares screaming bloody murder every twenty minutes.” “I went through med school,” Yagarai counters with wry amusement. “I’m used to get by on less than four hours of sleep, you know.” Marito looks like he wants to keep arguing, but Yagarai shuts him up effectively by moving back up swiftly, until he once more has his hands framing both sides of the Lieutenant’s head, looking down at him. Whatever he wanted to say has died on his tongue apparently as he stares up at him, that hint of rare vulnerability again barely showing through at the edges of his composure. “I didn’t mind then because I thought the thing I was sacrificing sleep for was worth it and because it was something I really wanted from the bottom of my heart.” Yagarai lets a moment pass, drinking in the way Marito’s focus is solely fixed on him. “And the same applies now, Lieutenant.” Marito’s eyes narrow, and for a split second Yagarai fears he overstayed his welcome, overstepped some of their indistinct, unspoken boundaries. The way that Marito tilts his head to the side slightly, a shadow of former utterly self-assured cockiness resurfacing, doesn’t so much put him at ease as it sends a shiver down his spine. “Well, well, well, aren’t you a silver-tongued beast, sensei.” The way his voice drips over the title should be illegal, Yagarai thinks. “Take me home, then, if you think you can deal with me.”