It is some absurd time of the morning- that is to say, any time before 10 a.m.- and Shoichi is once again regretting his friendship with Byakuran.
He often regrets his friendship-slash-working relationship with Byakuran and, just as often, it's rarely serious. Like, it's usually because he's just learned his friend has been subsisting on nothing but marshmallows for the past two days, or because he lost his letter to him because he folded it into an airplane. (Reasons why Shoichi keeps aggressively pressing on email communication: that.)
Today- again, at an absurd time in the morning- it's because they had a conversation like this:
"Hey, Sho-chan, you should come to this gaming convention! I'll pay half for your booth and everything."
What Shoichi had wanted to say at the time had been, "Byakuran, that sounds great and everything, but I get stomach aches before, during, and after conventions because I am not and never will be a proper functioning human being. Also, this new mecha based MMO comes out around that week, and I had been hoping to communicate with my homosexual crush over it to deduce if we're just getting friendlier or explicitly gayer. So. You can see why this might be important to me."
Instead, rather than saying any of that, or even no, he'd gone, "Sure, I mean, if you're paying half, Byakuran-san."
This is because he is nothing short of a masochist, and Shoichi isn't entirely sure why he hasn't hit up his local BDSM community already if he's like this to start with.
Really, he loves these things on some level when he's not suffering. When he gets a moment, he loves going through all the latest games and consoles and ideas. He loves doing little events, blown away that anyone would love watching some nerd chattering away while he plays games let alone so many people. It's even a little bit of his income some days. He still can't believe it.
That's what his booth at this con is half going to be. Sure, he'll talk with people, maybe sell a little bit of merch (he actually has merch, what is this life), but probably half of his time at this con is going to be livestreaming both himself and gaming suggestions he's been compiling for the past few months. It'll be fun.
He tells himself that it'll be fun, but, like always, that's never enough to stop con jitters from destroying his stomach. So, here he is, at his booth earlier than most people because sleep is for non-masochists, setting up his computer and other general shit.
For the months leading up to this, he's been mostly keeping it a secret from his followers at Byakuran's bothering besides dropping a few hints about a "con surprise" and stuff. Still. As he fiddles with his laptop to make sure things are just right, he idly wonders if he should send a text to Spanner or something. Just... to let him know where he is and that he might not be up for any matches or raids for a few days.
He probably should.
And definitely not because he's wondering about romantic feelings or anything like that.
We need to come up with nerdy net handles for them both
[Spanner likes any kind of convention or expo where new games and tech are being shown off. He actually goes to them more regularly than Shoichi, so when his agent - he quietly marvels sometimes that he's become popular enough to have an agent - offers to pay half his way to a specific convention, Spanner jumps at the chance. He'd probably have ended up going entirely on his own dime otherwise.
(He doesn't consider the release of the mech MMO to be a schedule conflict. He'll play it one way or another, no matter where he is. If his sleep schedule becomes even worse than usual, so be it.)
He's been vaguely aware of Shoichi's plans to attend some con in the near future, and of his being secretive about it. He's been doing much the same thing himself in regards to this con, at Byakuran's urging. He hadn't actually considered the possibility that they were talking about the same con, though. After all, Byakuran managers both of them; surely he'd have mentioned it if his clients with a bankable rivalry would be attending the same convention. Surely he'd encourage them both to hype that up.
All this goes to show, really, is that Shoichi knows Byakuran better than Spanner does. And that Spanner considers things from a wholly logical standpoint, without taking into account that Byakuran might readily take a hit in both their profits to mess with them.
Calling himself and Shoichi rivals is a bit of a stretch these days, of course, although Byakuran is one of the few people outside the two of them to be aware of that. They started out as rivals, certainly, and they still play up that aspect of their relationship - not purely for the fans, either, but simply because they genuinely like competing and messing with each other. But it stopped being about just that awhile ago. Occasional cross-channel collaborations, banter when they run into each other in games while their cameras aren't rolling, the slow creep of discussing things with each other that aren't game-related...their rivalry's turned into a definite friendship. Although, honestly, friendship's not an accurate word either. The banter's become increasingly flirtatious, the teasing more openly suggestive and sexual, and while neither of them have come right out and acknowledged the shift...Spanner thinks, and hopes, that there's a serious mutual attraction happening there. It's not the kind of thing that usually interests him, but...something about Shoichi definitely gets him worked up. The way things have been developing has been kind of breathlessly exciting, and if he has any complaint about this convention it's that he's likely not going to have as much time to talk to or game with Shoichi as usual.
They've only interacted through computers up until now, although this isn't to say that Spanner doesn't know what Shoichi looks like. They both use webcams on their channels; they've seen plenty of each other's faces. So when Spanner approaches his booth, laptop under his arm and bag slung over his shoulder, and he sees someone with bright red hair setting up the booth across from his assigned area...he slows to a stop. Even without getting a decent profile glimpse of the guy's face, that specific vibrant red is a fairly rare color.
And then Shoichi turns his head and Spanner's suspicions are confirmed, and suddenly various hyperbolic expressions make sense to him because his stomach quite literally feels as though it's done a backflip inside him. He'd always thought people were just making that kind of thing up when they said it, not attempting to describe a real physical sensation.]
[His first thought is, oh hell, his amount of sleep is really atrocious right now, he's having auditory hallucinations.]
[His second thought comes after he looks up and sees that familiar face, and after that, for around two seconds, it's nothing but incoherent screeching echoing in his skull.]
[His third thought, the last before he remembers how to work his mouth and stop staring like a cat caught in the middle of falling off a ledge, is that marshmallow eating jerk off!]
[Talking is a concept his brain remembers, along with all the other usual bodily functions, and Shoichi is turning around to face his rival-turned-friend-turned-gay-crush right as he opens his mouth.]
Spanner!
[Because it can't be anyone else. Even from this distance and without the aid of a pricey camera right in his face, Shoichi can tell it's him. That blond swirl of hair, those sleepy green eyes- his eyes flicker down to his mouth, wondering if there's a stick of some sort of candy poking out, but that turns out to be a mistake. Looking at someone's mouth is acceptable when you're alone in your room watching old videos and having embarrassingly gay thoughts. However, that quickly gets creepy in real life, and he jolts his gaze upwards again hoping he's far away that it was't noticeable.]
This is the con you were talking about?
[Now that the shock is starting to wear off a little bit, there's a tinge of incredulous laughter coating Shoichi's words.]
Yeah. [Spanner smiles. He's fairly reserved most of the time and usually only smiles where tech or games are involved, but with Shoichi, somehow he always finds himself smiling a lot. (As if he didn't already know he's got it pretty bad.)] I figured Byakuran would've mentioned if you meant this one, but I guess we've been set up. [Because Spanner isn't as close or friendly with their agent as Shoichi is, but he knows Byakuran as a mischievous fucker. This has his fingerprints all over it.
He glances at what's obviously Shoichi's booth.] ...I'm actually right across from you.
[It's perfectly normal for Byakuran to watch Shoichi work. His visits to Japan tend to go that way; he's either lazing around or watching his precious Sho-chan do his thing. Either way, he's usually got a bag of marshmallows close at hand. How he's not either fat or diabetic, or both, is a mystery. The sugar does explain his occasionally hyperactive nature, at least, though not how his mind works.
Today is no exception to the rule, except Byakuran's also brought a brown paper bag with him, rolled shut. When asked what it contains, he simply smiles and teases Shoichi with a quipped "You'll see!" He's also being oddly well behaved. He's not touched anything yet. But that smile won't leave his face, that smile that means trouble every time it appears.
It's almost ten at night before Byakuran makes his move. He's been eating junk food all day, so he's still full of energy when he wanders up to Shoichi, leaning lightly against him so his chin is resting on the other man's shoulder, and speaks into his ear.]
Are you coming to bed or not?
[It really isn't that late, but Byakuran is officially bored. He's been good all day, he feels that he's owed this much. He hasn't so much as fidgeted, he's just watched Shoichi work on his large monitors with the ingenuity that is so incredibly attractive. Plus, Byakuran has planned this for weeks.
Creeping had led to cuddling. Cuddling led to kisses. Kisses led to the chastest sex imaginable (which had still made Shoichi red in the face, the poor adorable sod, but not satisfied his partner at all), and now it's time to introduce him to some new and intriguing ideas. Let's just say Byakuran's recent browser history doesn't just need to be cleared, it requires cleansing applied by an old priest and a young priest.
But he won't get that extreme yet. Don't want to make Shoichi too uncomfortable, after all.]
[When you know a guy for a few years, you start to pick up on things, after all. He doesn't keep his hands or his nose to himself. Not that Shoichi can really say it's something he minds, a lot of the time. He's been friends with Byakuran for a reason even before things got. Well. Anyway, maybe it's more like a few reasons. The charisma, the sharp mind people wouldn't expect from him, the conversations between them, the fact that for all his quirks is that Byakuran is incredibly attractive...]
[Anyway. The point is that he knows him. A calm and not-nosy Byakuran is a scheming Byakuran. If not for the fact that Shoichi really had to finish up this program, he'd be a lot more suspicious of the whole thing. However, his brain can only focus on so much before stress overwhelms it and collapses his stomach. Thus, he focuses on his work and not whatever strange idea is flicking through Byakuran's mind this time around.]
[He's not even aware of how late it is when that Byakuran presses against him, breath catching as he feels Byakuran's own flow against his ear. Well that's one way to stutter his brain off track.]
Right, sorry. I got caught up. Hold on-
[Finish up what he has, then save... Then backup save just in case... And a third, because paranoia is a nerd's best friend... and he shuts it all down, trying to pretend he's not extremely aware of Byakuran's weigh on his shoulder.]
[A quiet Byakuran is indeed a scheming Byakuran, and that's never a good sign with him. For now, he walks away and picks up his bag, which clinks ominously, before fiddling around within.
Finally, his smile takes a slightly wicked turn, and he makes his way back to Shoichi's side, bag pinched shut in one hand.]
Can I see your wrist?
[He needs some kind of permission, after all. And at some point he needs to pick a safe word. But for now, he's gotta make sure that his plan will work at all.]
[This isn't new, not really. He's had to do a lot of despicable things while in the Millefiore, while going along with Byakuran's schemes. Things he'd never do before- like, on the minor scale of things, being in charge of hundreds of people- but he'd had to grit his teeth and bear it because... It was the only thing he could do.]
[The only tiny and minuscule chance of stopping disastrous futures from happening.]
[What had helped had been keeping himself distant. Don't make friends, don't be charmed by others, don't listen to shameless attempts at flirtation. Funnily enough, his position as one of Byakuran's- supposedly trusted inner circle and then a captain had been a benefit in that way. It was easier to keep everyone at bay when he had decent evidence to support the idea that they were all only interested in his existence as a way to Byakuran or more power.]
[Spanner had never cared about any of that. Spanner only ever seemed to know him through robotics, through sending emails talking about the latest tech and correcting his Japanese and exchanging ideas. Through robotics competitions in high school, where things were so much simpler.]
[He keeps thinking about that, even at some god awful time in the morning when everyone in the Vongola base is asleep and resting after the mess everything has been. Instead of in bed getting the rest he's so desperately longed for ever since he started his whole charade, he's out in the halls.]
[It's dumb. He knows it is. Tomorrow, everyone is going to start preparing for Choice from the fighters on the front lines to the engineers like himself building up something to protect everyone else.]
[Yet god... ]
[He thinks about college, and not remembering, and talking theory and games with Byakuran for hours upon hours until he had to go running off because he hadn't realized the time with his best friend's laughter at his back.]
[He thinks about high school, and playful competitive teasing, and So Mini-Mosca means I'm never seeing you come out again, huh?]
[He thinks about how he'd almost watched Spanner die.]
[In the halls, Shoichi stays curled up with his spine pressed against a wall and squeezes his eyes shut. He'd given the order for Spanner to die, had to watch it, had to-]
[I feel bad about what I'm doing to Shoichi.]
[Another pang ripples throughout Shoichi's stomach, and he curls tighter with his knees digging into his chest like the pressure can stop it. He'd given the order, he'd been watching the battle, Spanner had known... And yet, at the end of everything, he'd still been there to help him and be on his side explaining things to the Vongola. Like none of it had happened.]
[And they'd gone on to work through the time travel together, and, come morning, they're going to be building together like old times, and what is he supposed to say? Because he can't say nothing, can't pretend that didn't happen, but tomorrow they'll be wrapped up in work and there won't be any time to talk because they need to avoid dying, first.]
[So. Here he is. Curled up in a ball, stomach threatening to collapse and vacate via his mouth, halfway to the room he knows Spanner is staying in.]
[Spanner's always been a weird guy. He knows this; he's been told often enough, and gotten enough baffled looks from people that he probably could have guessed even without anyone explicitly laying it out for him. Sometimes he can even tell when he's being weird, when he's having a reaction directly contrary to what he's come to understand as normal.
Forgiving Shoichi - or, more accurately, never holding a grudge against him in the first place - doesn't feel weird to him, though. (Which doesn't mean it's normal, but he doesn't have enough frame of reference for what would be a normal reaction to such a weird and specific circumstance that he has no way of knowing.) To him, it made sense before he found out Shoichi was a double agent, and it was even more of a relief after the reveal. Spanner knew Shoichi was friends with Byakuran from way back, for longer than he and Shoichi had known each other, and even if he hadn't been close with Byakuran...well, Shoichi's always had more consciousness of consequences than Spanner. And the consequences for betraying Byakuran would be death, if you were lucky. Spanner expects Shoichi, as such a close friend of Byakuran, is in for a lot worse than death if the Vongola fail. When Spanner had thought Shoichi was truly Millefiore, he'd known his betrayal would force Shoichi to make a choice between two friends, with choosing Spanner coming with a probable side dish of torture and death. If any tiny, selfish part of him had hoped Shoichi would choose him, he'd logically never expected it. And he'd been aware that he'd essentially abandoned Shoichi to go running after the Vongola, just because Tsuna had an interesting technique Spanner wanted to tweak to its full potential. Spanner hadn't shown Shoichi much consideration there; it wasn't fair to expect a lot in return.
Even Shoichi greenlighting his death at Iris and Ginger's hands wasn't something he could resent much, even if it had stung. He didn't think Shoichi had wanted to, so much as he hadn't had a choice in the matter. Not even Shoichi could plead for leniency towards a traitor to Byakuran - at least not successfully. And forget talking Iris or Ginger into not killing somebody.
Shoichi's changed a lot since their high school days - or, at least, he'd appeared to. Spanner's starting to realize, seeing Shoichi with his walls down since he'd finally been able to divulge his plan to the Vongola(and Spanner, as a side bonus), just how much of the changes to the Shoichi he'd known had been faked. Everything he's seen of Shoichi since is so comfortably and completely familiar that it feels like its own form of time travel. There's no longer the dissonance between the Shoichi who'd hang out in his workshop, who'd laugh every single time Mini Mosca filled a bowl of popcorn for them, and the Shoichi everyone else sees. Now he's just Shoichi, all the time, and never the cold commander he'd pretended to be, and Spanner's just about as excited over that as he's ever been over anything. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed Shoichi, even with his always being there, until Shoichi fully came back.
But even that cold commander side of Shoichi couldn't have done anything differently than he had, couldn't have saved Spanner from the consequences of his decisions regardless of whether he'd wanted to or not. And Spanner had known that, all along. So it's never occurred to him that resenting Shoichi is something someone else might do. If he has any strong feelings about that time at all, they're about Mini Mosca, and it's a mixture of regret and guilt and some bitter thoughts about who, between himself and Iris, had created the better and more human facsimile of life. Iris' monsters had been destroyed; Mini Mosca, as far as Spanner is concerned, had died. There's a difference.
Spanner's already been drawing up plans and ideas for their work tomorrow; he knows he should sleep, but he's had too many ideas bouncing around in his head. The prospect of getting to work with Shoichi again - and to work together in designing something rather than in competition, to combine their talents and expertise in a way they've never had the chance to sit down and do before - is wildly exciting. Maybe once he gets the ideas out, he can pass out for a few hours. Until then, he knows it's hopeless.
He's actually on his way to make a new pot of coffee when he spots Shoichi, curled up against the wall. He doesn't even need to ask what's wrong; he knows Shoichi too well. And he can guess the why; it's not like, which Byakuran and Choice hanging over their heads, there isn't plenty to stress about. He trots over to him and crouches down beside him, resting a hand on his back.] Shoichi...want me to get you something to drink?
[There's really only one person who would be ridiculous enough to also be up this late and who would approach him so readily. That hand on his back and Spanner's voice only confirm it. Really, he can't be surprised. Like this sort of thing would go smoothly with his luck.]
[Shoichi nudges his face up, glasses a little smudged and off-balance on his face. Looking at Spanner properly draws out another pulse of pain, but not anymore serious than everything else already wrecking havoc in his stomach.]
As it turns out, taking down Hibari Kyoya requires a frankly grotesque amount of drugs.
Chikusa had already suspect it would be difficult, just because Hibari Kyoya is a frankly difficult person in most ways he can think of. When he'd heard, through Chrome, that the Cloud Guardian had once completely disregarded a poison so vicious that it had put everyone else on the floor from sheer pain, well... In a way, it hadn't been surprising.
There are three people in this world, Chikusa has learned, that it pays to expect the most ridiculous logic-defying things from: Mukuro-sama. Sawada Tsunayoshi. Hibari Kyoya.
With how unfavored their group is by that last party in particular, Chikusa has made sure to keep his best poisons on him just in case he's had to deal with the Namimori Disciplinary Committee head on his own. After all, there's absolutely no chance that he'll go up against him in a one-on-one battle. Those kinds of things are Chikusa's weakest area, and the absolute strength of Hibari's.
Frankly... He'd been hoping that sort of thing would never happen. Fighting Hibari is troublesome. However, it had almost been inevitable that he'd be proven wrong at that.
It probably doesn't help that Hibari is even more worked up than usual because of certain public displays of affection, either.
Initially, Chikusa had simply made a bolt for it, but when that had proven to be largely ineffective on account of the fact that Hibari Kyoya is patently ridiculous, he'd gone with... other measures. For all that he still doesn't like his loss against Gokudera Hayato, the battle had definitely been an educational one. The use of traps lying in wait combined with falling back on more assassination methods than outright fights- eventually he'd managed to land some poison on the menace. Enough, more than any regular human being could ever handle, and soon enough Hibari's movements had deteriorated to the point that Chikusa could take him out.
It sounds easy, when described, but it'd taken ages to actually accomplish.
Still. Here they are now.
When Hibari wakes up, it's to a familiar place: the dilapidated ruins which make up Kokuyo Funland. It's completely dim, not even hazy sunlight filtering through, and he'll eventually be able to make out the lanes of what appears to be the bowling alley. What's more pressing and immediately noticeable is that he's been completely bound: sturdy leather arm binders tugging him back to the point that his shoulders are likely aching, a spreader bar separating his folded legs that's wrapped around both thighs and calves, so much rope although that's more attached to his restraints and somewhere into the pin retrieval opening to keep him in place.... A collar around his throat....
Oh.
And the metal muzzle strapped around his face, the thin bars still allowing his mouth to be seen.
Can't forget that.
At least whatever injuries he sustained from repeated needle attacks have been tended to, if he can focus long enough to note the bandages that are under his clothing. What's probably more interesting to him, however, is Chikusa himself laying against a couch on the far wall, turning the Vongola Cloud Ring between his fingers as he hold sit up in the air.
Because of course he confiscated Hibari's boxes, ring, and tonfas. There's no such thing as "too paranoid" when it comes to Hibari Kyoya.
in which totally maybe didn't forget chikusas name
Hibari himself didn't remember much of what happened after he entered the trash heap the kgang called a home, which was something he'd rather not admit. A lot of his brainpower waking up was spent on figuring out who his opponent-oh right, it was that hat minion of Mukuro's-what had happened-a lot of needles and poison, his vision went very blurry at the end-and where he was.
That was when his still somewhat drug addled brain snapped into focus, and without another twitch of his body, his eyes flew open. It probably would've been impressive, really, had the sudden influx of light not caused him to almost immediately squint and close his eyes again.
That's when Hibari decided to test out the other parts of his body, only to find that the impossible had happened. The bothersome ache in his shoulders became unignorable, and the Cloud Guardian tried to rotate them, only to find he couldn't. Any pull of the muscle resulted in an equal pull on the leather that bound his arms behind him.
A jerk sent a jolt of pain up his spine that finally woke his foggy brain up, eyes opening once again and starting to blink in horror of what his situation had become.
He couldn't move. Hibari's school uniform was still mostly on, just torn loose in some areas and he could feel the restraints biting against him as he shifted in place, giving an experimental yank. He was forced to kneel thanks to the metal bar that sat between his legs, and the ropes that wrapped all of that held him in place like he was just some sort of toy.
Hibari had never felt more vulnerable and humiliated in his life. And to top it off, a metal muzzle was covering his mouth and even a collar around his neck. He was trussed up like a fucking dog.
Thankfully, he didn't have to look very far for the culprit, as hat-guy held Hibari's ring between his fingers. The Cloud Guardian gave one more huge yank at his bindings, not getting far since all his limbs were held down in awkward angles, before he growled out through the metal cage in front of his teeth.
For the past few moments, Chikusa has been aware of Hibari’s awakening. That was the benefit to so many restraints: his immediate attempts to move were noticeable with the creak of leather and the shifting of rope and metal. However, he stays quiet until he’s actually spoken to.
“If I didn’t restrain you… Then you’d only come after me again.” Letting his hand drop again, Chikusa does the bare minimum head turn in order to look over at Hibari. “It’s really troublesome… So I had to stop you somehow.”
It's not the same college obviously; Shoichi isn't exactly superstitious as a general rule but it had felt distasteful to go to the same school that he sees sometimes in his dreams or during very off days. Anyway, it'd just be even more confusing. For most of his other life, things have already felt too similar. People he knows but doesn't, places he knows but doesn't, not really- it makes his head pound and everything worse.
He wonders if he could even call something like that deja vu, and if it counted if it was the memories of an entirely different life implanted to a younger self.
In a twist of irony, the very things which help keep him steady and centered are the very things he'd once tried to run away from: the mafia and all the strange bizarre things which come with it. After all, Irie Shoichi, age fifteen, hadn't been involved in the mafia. Irie Shoichi, a normal teenage student, hadn't yet met Byakuran, or Spanner in reference to the mafia. Honestly, with them in particular, a part of him thinks he could manage just fine with only the latter in his life. Spanner is as reassuring as the memories sigh he's always been, as relieving as the earth beneath his feet and always so blessedly straightforward. He could do with just him. He could be smart, and stay away from the person who his memories- who he thinks of and-
It'd be easier, he thinks, if his memories could settle on enemy, lover, or friend.
And yet even with those memories, of feeling his heart pounding in his mouth or bleeding out from his side in the street, he's found himself drifting towards him again anyway. Part of it, at least, is sensible: if there's anyone who can understand what it's like to imagine completely different lives that haven't happened, well...
Despite all of that, however, when the time had come for him to graduate, Shoichi had run away from it all. Perhaps that's a little cruel to say of himself, or at least so Tsunayoshi-kun had said. More like it's a break, he guesses, an attempt to truly differentiate this life from the one whose memories he'd inherited. Not an American university guided by another version of himself, but somewhere Japanese: no culture shock, no almost familiar faces, no too-close similarities. Shoichi has to admit that it's been helping so far. Sure, it's a little early to say, with how his first year has just started, but...
It's enough.
However, there's one problem, and it's what's got him in the campus library late at night dangerously near closing time. Far away from Namimori, he's in somewhere completely different, and not the kind of guy who parties or participates in the local club scenes or anything like that. While it'd be nice to find the classes challenging, well, his mind still offers bleary memories of twisting time and space like a toy, and checking in on the status of alternate universes like a child pressing his face against the floor to peer into a room. He has the sneaking suspicion he's going to be bored instead of challenged, which is why, on the laptop in front of him, he's working on the blueprints and date for a unique Sun box all his own.
Which is interesting and fascinating work, by all means! He's not complaining about that. Being able to converse and learn a little from Verde, of all people, has really been a learning experience, and he's positive that he's right on the verge of breaking through something neither animal nor item as a box weapon.... But it's just...
Leaning back and letting his head fall against the back of his chair, Shoichi quietly groans and nudges his fingers beneath his glasses to pinch at the bridge of his nose. He's not really thinking about the possibility of being overheard, or anyone coming over to investigate what's on his screen. It's the college library at this time of night, right? Who's going to care what a nerd is groaning about?
"I need to get a hobby..." Or friends. Or at least acquaintances who attend the same college as him, who are completely unfamiliar and who he can relax around and hopefully aren't the literal antichrist this time around.
Kurama was more then bored. He was restless. Were it not for Mother he would never have returned to human world at all. Yet, he was here he was and worse, neither Hiei nor Yusuke had joined him. That raked. They at least may have made the restriction of human life more interesting. Yusuke would of course return....in time...but it would be for his human mate.
He let that thought fade off, careful not to allow his temper to show on his face. There would be time for Yusuke later. A life time was nothing to him. He needed to remember this.
At the same time.... He smiled wryly as he flipped through the book in his lap. Time seemed to drag. To make Mother happy he had moved from home and had begun his life as a well adjusted honor student and had gained entry into one of the top universities in the country. He dutifully wrote and phoned home often and continued his course of study. And quietly began to go mad.
His true form itched to be warn, instincts he'd been able to ignore while well and truly trapped by his human body screamed at him now. He wanted to play. He tapped his book with a finger thoughtfully. He needed an outlet....
A soft groan in the otherwise silent library caught his attention and green eyes, glinting gold zeroed in on the boy. He tilt his head as he heard the whine and he hummed softly. A Hobby indeed.
He studied the young man and his smile widened in soft amusement. His coloring was a match to his own. Rare and curious. He'd felt him before, a human with a heart of colored flame. Such people were hard to miss. Had Yusuke not died he may have gained such of his own, no doubt Kuwabara would have, no matter that he could sense ghosts.
He stood gracefully and moved over leaning over the other eyes and smile gentle. " I find gardening a fair distraction. " he informed him soft and friendly.
Nearby, someone moves, and Shoichi still has to stifle the instinctive feelings of danger, careful, keep your guard up. The years have passed, so it's no longer so strong a reaction, but old habits die hard, he supposes. While he's busy wrangling those, he's honestly not expecting a voice to suddenly speak up right by him. Blinking in wide eyed surprise, his fingers drop from his face and he looks over to the other student.
Oh. He doesn't know him- or, well, he doesn't think he does or that they share classes- but he's seen him around. It's hard not to, with bright red hair like that, a shade to outdo his own and so much longer, too. Pretty, if Shoichi is honest with himself, and the other man is much prettier this close.
At least this is college and not the mafia. He doesn't have to worry about a pretty person potentially wanting to either murder him or try to curry favor- no, no, that was the other Shoichi for that one. And still doesn't apply to college anyway.
Before he can stop himself, a quiet laugh fumbles out of his mouth, and he reaches up with one hand to cover it even as his other goes to discretely rest against the keyboard (and a single finger tucks away the file he'd had up). "Ah- sorry. Just.... gardening." Captain Shoichi Irie, of the Rosa Squad, present and accounted for. Now let's move on with today's agenda- "It just... reminds me of something. Someone I kind of know, you could say." Glancing away from his fellow redhead, he lets fingers flutter against hard plastic. Yeah... Someone he kind of knows.
"He's always been really into flowers too... I never really found out why."
[Unlike some of his other angel brethren who had never set foot on earth and preferred to watch it from above, Yamamoto was more than happy to descend from heaven to do Her will. Mostly it was things like helping a few lost souls, play with dogs in need, and occasionally to smite the few non-believers who would prove to be disastrous to the human race as a whole. Though he was one of Her strongest, they had strict orders not to fight demons if they could help it, and while he could understand Her reasoning behind that policy, it didn't mean he agreed with it, necessarily. Sometimes a fight was the only way to protect what you believed in, but the days where they led crusades and butchered demons by the thousands was long behind them. They left the demons alone, and for the most part, the demons extended the same courtesy.
Except when it concerned one.
So She couldn't really be too mad at him when he went to visit the current messiah and stopped off to see the priest that had captured Mukuro's attention, especially when he had no real plans to interfere.]
Yo!
[He raised a hand as he approached the priest in church, all harmless smiles and dressed in casual clothing.]
I'm here to volunteer for the soup kitchen and I was told to sign up with you. You're Father Kakimoto, right?
[Yes, he'd gone on a road trip with a demon that might have gotten a bit more.... intimate than he had planned. Yes, he now technically has a Satanist who occasionally crashes in his apartment when not taking up Mukuro's bed. Yes, he's pretty sure that the demon has made a spare key to his apartment and he's sort of surrendered to that.]
[Still. Chikusa is, at the end of the day, a priest. With his exorcism duties done with for the time being, he's come back home and taken up his duties at the church instead of merely directed at it. That means it's just in time to get swept up in the regular soup kitchen that the church organizes for the needy, which he lets himself be pushed into without complaint. The demon may sulk about it, but Chikusa will still throw himself into such things instead of.... whatever the demon thinks he'll do just because they got a little. handsy. again. No orgies or whatever he imagines.]
[The dick wasn't that bomb.]
[He's just finished pushing some of the pews to the side for tomorrow, his cassock draped over one, when someone comes through the doors of the church. Chikusa pauses from wiping some sweat off his jaw, biting back the grimace he wants to make, and instead nods over to the stranger.]
That's right... It's a pleasure to meet you. [He's apathetic, actually, as he often is, but he's been taught good manners and he's not about to let go of them now.] If you'll follow me- we only need your name, address, and phone number.
[He's already sort of exhausted from working, so he doesn't want to deal with people but... Chikusa leads the way to the side where some paperwork is.]
When Lancia had returned from the airport, he'd gone straight to Faustino's room only to find it completely barren.
Well, perhaps that's not the right word to say. It'd been trashed, a disaster zone that could only have been hidden for so long through the work of an illusionist making sure no sounds of destruction could be overheard. All that had been untouched, no trace of anything on it, had been the bed. None of the Family could have really said it was a shock, in the end. Faustino had been aggravated at being not only caught from his antics, but also being cared for because it had, quite plainly, gotten fucked up. In the past, similar moods could only be weathered by a select few people. Wit two of them having left, completely of their own will and without any input from Faustino himself...
Faintly, Lancia had wondered if they were lucky that the entire estate hadn't been burned down in a fit of rage.
There'd been only so much that could be done, in the end. If Faustino didn't want to be found, then he wouldn't be. Certainly, the Boss made sure to keep all ears and eyes out for any hint of the young mafioso, but that was all that could be done. Privately, to himself, Lancia thought that perhaps it would do him good. Faustino could work out his anger in private, with little property destruction the Family would have to pay for, and maybe... Just maybe... He'd absorb what Ciro had probably tried to tell him. Maybe then he'd return on his own.
Until then, Lancia goes through his days as normal. There's only one exception to his schedule: the folded up piece of paper that resides in his pocket. Every morning, he always double checks that it's there, safe and sound. It's more than a piece of paper. It's a promise, entrusted to him, and Lancia doesn't intend on going back on it.
Things carry on... Until, one day, someone makes a call directly to him, and there's a girl's voice hissing through the phone, "You have to come get him out of my apartment."
Which is how he meets Faustino's pen pal, M.M. Coincidentally, it's also how he now finds himself stepping into, of all places, Paris. As he makes his way through the foreign streets, Lancia eyes the buildings wearily. Somehow, he can't be surprised that Mukuro has made his way to here of all places. Relatively speaking, it's not that far from Italy and, more importantly, it suits his personality. Mukuro isn't exactly decadent, but melodramatic? Absolutely. It's an impression that only intensifies once he steps into the lobby of the Prince de Galles and, for once, Lancia feels mildly uncomfortable.
He has no illusions about himself. Every day for most of his life, he's had to look into the mirror every morning. Even dressed up in a decent enough crisp black suit (mafia tradition stays eternal), he knows his face is a bit too rough, and the inked scars curving up from his jaw into his cheek don't exactly inspire a feeling of "wealth" or "not about to rob the place". Hell, even his suit probably isn't expensive enough for most of this place. His Family is doing well for itself, sure... But it's not like it's on part with the Cavallone or anything. This sort of place, Art Deco in the most blatant and rich manner...
For a second, he wonders if he's really found the right place. M.M. is a teenage girl, so a place like this- but even as he's wondering, a voice suddenly calls out to him. It bounces off of the white walls and crisp lines of the lobby, bypassing the few other people who are there. "Bonsoir~! Monsieur Lancia, oui?" The idea of having to puzzle is way through even more of a foreign language must show on his face, because the redhead striding towards him snickers perhaps a little cruelly. While he knows that M.M. was still a teenager, much like Faustino, she doesn't carry herself like one. It's in the way she walks to her sharp smile to the clothes she wears- a black top that cut from her shoulders and neck over a long red skirt with thick black blocks arranged in a solid pattern. "I knew it was you. At least that pineapple egomaniac has good taste." Taking him by the arm, she grins with her eyes sparkling in a way he knows all too well, unfortunately. "Come on, he's been too annoying for me to stomach any longer."
There's just a bit of small talk as she walks along with him up to the suite, nothing "dark", all clean. Perfectly normal chatter. Yet it doesn't escape Lancia's notice that, for all her arms on his one are held on "daintily", there's muscles underneath that cloth.
When they finally come to a stop outside the suite door, M.M. shoves him to the side so that he's not immediately in sight from the doorway. "Hold on," she orders him before unlocking the door and tossing it open. "Faustino! I have a surprise for you." Her smile is even more wicked than it had been down in the lobby, a crimson slash underneath glittering eyes.
Even if Faustino won't admit it to others, a good illusionist can at least admit to themselves their own weaknesses and faults. To blind oneself to such things doesn't mean an enemy would be half as charitable, and Faustino had seen more than one illusionist defeated on the sole grounds that they had been too stubborn to physically train as well as mentally. A laughable error, he had thought then, but in the face of the fact he had refused to promise such a simple thing to Ciro had resulted in this, well. Perhaps he should take comfort in the fact that he was more human-like than previously believed.
He hadn't been interested in staying with the Family who had supported Ciro and Al leaving, and perhaps truthfully, he couldn't stay. There were too many memories to haunt him there, the Don's gaze was too knowing, and his bed was too empty. Faustino enjoyed his space, yes, but only at his discretion.
Going to France had seemed like a feasible decision, since he had a few loose ends he had been putting off on taking care of. M.M., while a brat and mouthier than he preferred, was capable and it only took a quick instance of impersonating a very rich mafioso well known for his taste in jailbait and fooling a few credit card machines to get them a room at the Prince de Galles. Despite the price tag, the luxuries were paper thin, and more than once, Faustino had to wonder if Ciro was eating enough or if Al was sleeping. No matter how busy he kept himself, there was always a stray moment where it caught up with him still, and he was enraged all over again. Or as M.M. might put it, 'moping'.
He had just been getting comfortable to sit down and eat some of M.M.'s hideously expensive ice cream when he heard her calling out for him, and suspiciously, he peered over the sofa. She had been complaining at him nonstop over the smallest things, and the only surprise he could see her giving him was exploding the ice cream carton in his hand again.
"What is it?" If he sounded uninterested or wary, he definitely had cause.
One would think that puzzling out French by knowing Italian would be manageable. Romance languages, after all, share a common ancestor, and the borders of the modern day didn't mean quite as much in centuries past. Yet as what is unmistakably Faustino's voice trails out from within the hotel room, he finds that it's completely alien to him.
It really isn't that surprising. Even within Italy, there are all sorts of dialects and slang which can throw even brothers of the same counter off if one is from the north and another has grown up in the south. The farther one goes, even in a place as relatively small as Europe, and the more it changes. There's just too much that's different.
So he's completely oblivious to the returning French which leaves M.M.'s mouth, although he can guess from the way she bats her eyelashes and cocks her hip that she can't be particularly sweet. "What's that tone for? Do you think I'm going to attack you or something? Come on, I've been pretty good this week." If only because she's had something to look forward to, anyway. "Since you're obviously still in a rut, I thought really long and hard about a way to get you out of it. You should be glad. I don't usually waste my time with people like that when they're not paying me. Still, you are my favorite employer, so.... consider this a favor. One time special offer!"
However, then there's a dramatic sigh, and she reaches up to flip her short and brilliant red hair. "But you're such a pain to figure out a gift for. All the good things in life, and you hardly pay them any mind, unless you're stealing them from me." Her eyes narrow. Whatcha got in your hand there, you asshole? "But then I thought of the perfect thing."
That's around the time she reaches over to grab Lancia by the hand, startling the large mafioso, and he allows himself to be pulled into view. What he's not as fine with is the way M.M. immediately snakes her arm around his, slipping her hand into place. There's no denying the smugness in her smirk as she pointedly leans right against Lancia's arm, ignoring the way he leans a little away.
God dammit, he hopes all of Faustino's pen pals aren't like this.
Trying to ignore the redhead now attached to his arm, Lancia looks over to the couch. "Faustino," he says quietly, trying to gauge his charge's mood before anything else.
Japan, all things considered, has been a fairly decent homebase for all the years that they've stayed there... which is surprising, considering Chikusa is fairly certain that they've never had anything close to such a place in all of his memories. Italy never offered any location where they were guaranteed a measure of safety while they stayed there. That was knowledge Chikusa can remember learning young, curled up in an alley and listening to gunshots shortly followed by the thud of a small body hitting the floor. As Estraneo, anywhere outside had been a death zone.
But, then again, the Estraneo labs had barely been any better.
After they'd all broken free, well, killing Family after Family hadn't exactly made them many friends either. Too long in one territory would make it noticeable where they were, eventually, and they'd just be hunted down again.
Yet Japan didn't have that sort of problem... At least, not to such a degree. It's the yakuza who rule there, not the mafia, and they'd had no interest in them as long as they weren't touched. Or, rather, the most notorious yakuza family in the Namimori area was headed by a certain family by the name of Hibari, and, well, that explained more than enough. So they've been able to stay in Japan for quite some time, with mostly Mukuro drifting back to Italy for his own machinations.
This time, however... This time, they're all permitted to come, including someone who's never seen Italy, besides perhaps in Mukuro's illusions. They've all mostly split up on differing flights, at different times, with M.M. on babysitting duty of Ken and Fran...
Which leaves Chikusa, of course, with Chrome.
He doesn't mind much, he guesses. Certainly, the flight over had been simple enough, with him putting on his headphones and zoning out for the most part. Yet that's behind them, and he glances over his shoulder as he steps off of the plane. "Stick close," he mutters, which threatens to get drowned in the hustle and bustle of the the airport. "Fiumicino is busy..." One of the busiest airports around, honestly, but, then, that's only to be expected when it's one of two international ports into the country. It'll be handy to wander around the large place alone, honestly, just to harass- oops, quiz her on various things. Shops, restaurants... All manner of assorted bullshit.
Besides, he's hungry, and he has a credit card that's not in his name. They might drop by somewhere anyway, before they start getting to business.
It felt like a stretch to call this a 'vacation', heading to Italy on some cryptic instructions from Mukuro-sama. But as Chrome had clutched onto her dufflebag, twisting the straps nervously as they made their way through airport security, it hadn't felt urgent or life threatening. Anytime she had tried to reach out for him, Mukuro-sama was turned away from her, but there was no darkness, just the soft suggestion of laughter and the feeling of sunshine. Chrome's happiness had always been distilled to her in small doses: her mother praising her for helping her with her lines, Mukuro-sama saying that he needed her, Ken and Chikusa offering her up gum with increasing willingness, or the girls' carefree laughter.
So this strange light feeling sat heavily with her, as she watched Namimori fade into the distance, as Chikusa studiously ignored her on the flight, as she flicked through horror movies curiously. She had tried to keep her interest in learning Italian confined to when she wasn't under Mukuro-sama's scrutiny, but not telling Chikusa and Ken, who were native speakers who were constantly around, had seemed silly.
Since they had boarded the plane she had been mentally practicing her Italian, which Bianchi-san had kindly called 'perfection'. Though, speaking it with Bianchi-san and trying to keep it all straight as she trailed after Chikusa in a busy airport was something altogether.
She nodded when Chikusa spoke, keeping as close as she dared, eye wide as she took in all the activity and the signs.
"Do you want to eat?" Though Chikusa was still difficult to read, there were some telltale signs his crankiness was not because of her or circumstances or about cleanliness.
It's a little... peculiar, to have someone read him well. Mukuro and Ken are only to be expected. In a lot of ways, Mukuro knows him better than he knows himself, even if Chikusa knows there are still plenty of things even his leader isn't aware of. (The pineapple nickname will never truly die, and even a steadfast loyal dog like Chikusa has it on constant sometimes.) Ken has an animals instincts, and has been with him since they were children; of course he knows when to read Chikusa's subtle moods.
But this Japanese girl, picked up on convenience from their leader...
Listen. It's a weird feeling, alright? A really god damn weird feeling.
Chikusa demonstrates his feelings on this whole matter by staring blankly down at Chrome with all the emotion of a particularly lively pet rock who has been relocated to a new spot on the window sill. When he finally speaks, he's switched back into Italian with perfect ease. "Yes." He can't imagine that Chrome isn't, either, frankly, although he doesn't bother to say that. Just about any flight from inbetween their two particular countries takes hours upon hours, with connecting flights and stops more often than not. They've had airplane food, and things from any other places... but that's not really the same as a full proper meal. Chikusa can manage it, having been on stranger meal times in worse situations, but that doesn't mean he has to put up with it if he doesn't have to. A rare occasion, sure, but...
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badliifechoiice22016-09-14 09:12 am
LPer AU v1
He often regrets his friendship-slash-working relationship with Byakuran and, just as often, it's rarely serious. Like, it's usually because he's just learned his friend has been subsisting on nothing but marshmallows for the past two days, or because he lost his letter to him because he folded it into an airplane. (Reasons why Shoichi keeps aggressively pressing on email communication: that.)
Today- again, at an absurd time in the morning- it's because they had a conversation like this:
"Hey, Sho-chan, you should come to this gaming convention! I'll pay half for your booth and everything."
What Shoichi had wanted to say at the time had been, "Byakuran, that sounds great and everything, but I get stomach aches before, during, and after conventions because I am not and never will be a proper functioning human being. Also, this new mecha based MMO comes out around that week, and I had been hoping to communicate with my homosexual crush over it to deduce if we're just getting friendlier or explicitly gayer. So. You can see why this might be important to me."
Instead, rather than saying any of that, or even no, he'd gone, "Sure, I mean, if you're paying half, Byakuran-san."
This is because he is nothing short of a masochist, and Shoichi isn't entirely sure why he hasn't hit up his local BDSM community already if he's like this to start with.
Really, he loves these things on some level when he's not suffering. When he gets a moment, he loves going through all the latest games and consoles and ideas. He loves doing little events, blown away that anyone would love watching some nerd chattering away while he plays games let alone so many people. It's even a little bit of his income some days. He still can't believe it.
That's what his booth at this con is half going to be. Sure, he'll talk with people, maybe sell a little bit of merch (he actually has merch, what is this life), but probably half of his time at this con is going to be livestreaming both himself and gaming suggestions he's been compiling for the past few months. It'll be fun.
He tells himself that it'll be fun, but, like always, that's never enough to stop con jitters from destroying his stomach. So, here he is, at his booth earlier than most people because sleep is for non-masochists, setting up his computer and other general shit.
For the months leading up to this, he's been mostly keeping it a secret from his followers at Byakuran's bothering besides dropping a few hints about a "con surprise" and stuff. Still. As he fiddles with his laptop to make sure things are just right, he idly wonders if he should send a text to Spanner or something. Just... to let him know where he is and that he might not be up for any matches or raids for a few days.
He probably should.
And definitely not because he's wondering about romantic feelings or anything like that.
We need to come up with nerdy net handles for them both
(He doesn't consider the release of the mech MMO to be a schedule conflict. He'll play it one way or another, no matter where he is. If his sleep schedule becomes even worse than usual, so be it.)
He's been vaguely aware of Shoichi's plans to attend some con in the near future, and of his being secretive about it. He's been doing much the same thing himself in regards to this con, at Byakuran's urging. He hadn't actually considered the possibility that they were talking about the same con, though. After all, Byakuran managers both of them; surely he'd have mentioned it if his clients with a bankable rivalry would be attending the same convention. Surely he'd encourage them both to hype that up.
All this goes to show, really, is that Shoichi knows Byakuran better than Spanner does. And that Spanner considers things from a wholly logical standpoint, without taking into account that Byakuran might readily take a hit in both their profits to mess with them.
Calling himself and Shoichi rivals is a bit of a stretch these days, of course, although Byakuran is one of the few people outside the two of them to be aware of that. They started out as rivals, certainly, and they still play up that aspect of their relationship - not purely for the fans, either, but simply because they genuinely like competing and messing with each other. But it stopped being about just that awhile ago. Occasional cross-channel collaborations, banter when they run into each other in games while their cameras aren't rolling, the slow creep of discussing things with each other that aren't game-related...their rivalry's turned into a definite friendship. Although, honestly, friendship's not an accurate word either. The banter's become increasingly flirtatious, the teasing more openly suggestive and sexual, and while neither of them have come right out and acknowledged the shift...Spanner thinks, and hopes, that there's a serious mutual attraction happening there. It's not the kind of thing that usually interests him, but...something about Shoichi definitely gets him worked up. The way things have been developing has been kind of breathlessly exciting, and if he has any complaint about this convention it's that he's likely not going to have as much time to talk to or game with Shoichi as usual.
They've only interacted through computers up until now, although this isn't to say that Spanner doesn't know what Shoichi looks like. They both use webcams on their channels; they've seen plenty of each other's faces. So when Spanner approaches his booth, laptop under his arm and bag slung over his shoulder, and he sees someone with bright red hair setting up the booth across from his assigned area...he slows to a stop. Even without getting a decent profile glimpse of the guy's face, that specific vibrant red is a fairly rare color.
And then Shoichi turns his head and Spanner's suspicions are confirmed, and suddenly various hyperbolic expressions make sense to him because his stomach quite literally feels as though it's done a backflip inside him. He'd always thought people were just making that kind of thing up when they said it, not attempting to describe a real physical sensation.]
Shoichi?
dibs on iri3
[His second thought comes after he looks up and sees that familiar face, and after that, for around two seconds, it's nothing but incoherent screeching echoing in his skull.]
[His third thought, the last before he remembers how to work his mouth and stop staring like a cat caught in the middle of falling off a ledge, is that marshmallow eating jerk off!]
[Talking is a concept his brain remembers, along with all the other usual bodily functions, and Shoichi is turning around to face his rival-turned-friend-turned-gay-crush right as he opens his mouth.]
Spanner!
[Because it can't be anyone else. Even from this distance and without the aid of a pricey camera right in his face, Shoichi can tell it's him. That blond swirl of hair, those sleepy green eyes- his eyes flicker down to his mouth, wondering if there's a stick of some sort of candy poking out, but that turns out to be a mistake. Looking at someone's mouth is acceptable when you're alone in your room watching old videos and having embarrassingly gay thoughts. However, that quickly gets creepy in real life, and he jolts his gaze upwards again hoping he's far away that it was't noticeable.]
This is the con you were talking about?
[Now that the shock is starting to wear off a little bit, there's a tinge of incredulous laughter coating Shoichi's words.]
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He glances at what's obviously Shoichi's booth.] ...I'm actually right across from you.
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PornPornPornPornPornPorn (universe optional)
Today is no exception to the rule, except Byakuran's also brought a brown paper bag with him, rolled shut. When asked what it contains, he simply smiles and teases Shoichi with a quipped "You'll see!" He's also being oddly well behaved. He's not touched anything yet. But that smile won't leave his face, that smile that means trouble every time it appears.
It's almost ten at night before Byakuran makes his move. He's been eating junk food all day, so he's still full of energy when he wanders up to Shoichi, leaning lightly against him so his chin is resting on the other man's shoulder, and speaks into his ear.]
Are you coming to bed or not?
[It really isn't that late, but Byakuran is officially bored. He's been good all day, he feels that he's owed this much. He hasn't so much as fidgeted, he's just watched Shoichi work on his large monitors with the ingenuity that is so incredibly attractive. Plus, Byakuran has planned this for weeks.
Creeping had led to cuddling. Cuddling led to kisses. Kisses led to the chastest sex imaginable (which had still made Shoichi red in the face, the poor adorable sod, but not satisfied his partner at all), and now it's time to introduce him to some new and intriguing ideas. Let's just say Byakuran's recent browser history doesn't just need to be cleared, it requires cleansing applied by an old priest and a young priest.
But he won't get that extreme yet. Don't want to make Shoichi too uncomfortable, after all.]
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[When you know a guy for a few years, you start to pick up on things, after all. He doesn't keep his hands or his nose to himself. Not that Shoichi can really say it's something he minds, a lot of the time. He's been friends with Byakuran for a reason even before things got. Well. Anyway, maybe it's more like a few reasons. The charisma, the sharp mind people wouldn't expect from him, the conversations between them, the fact that for all his quirks is that Byakuran is incredibly attractive...]
[Anyway. The point is that he knows him. A calm and not-nosy Byakuran is a scheming Byakuran. If not for the fact that Shoichi really had to finish up this program, he'd be a lot more suspicious of the whole thing. However, his brain can only focus on so much before stress overwhelms it and collapses his stomach. Thus, he focuses on his work and not whatever strange idea is flicking through Byakuran's mind this time around.]
[He's not even aware of how late it is when that Byakuran presses against him, breath catching as he feels Byakuran's own flow against his ear. Well that's one way to stutter his brain off track.]
Right, sorry. I got caught up. Hold on-
[Finish up what he has, then save... Then backup save just in case... And a third, because paranoia is a nerd's best friend... and he shuts it all down, trying to pretend he's not extremely aware of Byakuran's weigh on his shoulder.]
Byakuran-san, you've been pretty quiet today...
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Finally, his smile takes a slightly wicked turn, and he makes his way back to Shoichi's side, bag pinched shut in one hand.]
Can I see your wrist?
[He needs some kind of permission, after all. And at some point he needs to pick a safe word. But for now, he's gotta make sure that his plan will work at all.]
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Tell me if this is too weird at any point!
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Google, what do I do if I killed my gay crush's robobutler?
[This isn't new, not really. He's had to do a lot of despicable things while in the Millefiore, while going along with Byakuran's schemes. Things he'd never do before- like, on the minor scale of things, being in charge of hundreds of people- but he'd had to grit his teeth and bear it because... It was the only thing he could do.]
[The only tiny and minuscule chance of stopping disastrous futures from happening.]
[What had helped had been keeping himself distant. Don't make friends, don't be charmed by others, don't listen to shameless attempts at flirtation. Funnily enough, his position as one of Byakuran's- supposedly trusted inner circle and then a captain had been a benefit in that way. It was easier to keep everyone at bay when he had decent evidence to support the idea that they were all only interested in his existence as a way to Byakuran or more power.]
[Spanner had never cared about any of that. Spanner only ever seemed to know him through robotics, through sending emails talking about the latest tech and correcting his Japanese and exchanging ideas. Through robotics competitions in high school, where things were so much simpler.]
[He keeps thinking about that, even at some god awful time in the morning when everyone in the Vongola base is asleep and resting after the mess everything has been. Instead of in bed getting the rest he's so desperately longed for ever since he started his whole charade, he's out in the halls.]
[It's dumb. He knows it is. Tomorrow, everyone is going to start preparing for Choice from the fighters on the front lines to the engineers like himself building up something to protect everyone else.]
[Yet god... ]
[He thinks about college, and not remembering, and talking theory and games with Byakuran for hours upon hours until he had to go running off because he hadn't realized the time with his best friend's laughter at his back.]
[He thinks about high school, and playful competitive teasing, and So Mini-Mosca means I'm never seeing you come out again, huh?]
[He thinks about how he'd almost watched Spanner die.]
[In the halls, Shoichi stays curled up with his spine pressed against a wall and squeezes his eyes shut. He'd given the order for Spanner to die, had to watch it, had to-]
[I feel bad about what I'm doing to Shoichi.]
[Another pang ripples throughout Shoichi's stomach, and he curls tighter with his knees digging into his chest like the pressure can stop it. He'd given the order, he'd been watching the battle, Spanner had known... And yet, at the end of everything, he'd still been there to help him and be on his side explaining things to the Vongola. Like none of it had happened.]
[And they'd gone on to work through the time travel together, and, come morning, they're going to be building together like old times, and what is he supposed to say? Because he can't say nothing, can't pretend that didn't happen, but tomorrow they'll be wrapped up in work and there won't be any time to talk because they need to avoid dying, first.]
[So. Here he is. Curled up in a ball, stomach threatening to collapse and vacate via his mouth, halfway to the room he knows Spanner is staying in.]
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Forgiving Shoichi - or, more accurately, never holding a grudge against him in the first place - doesn't feel weird to him, though. (Which doesn't mean it's normal, but he doesn't have enough frame of reference for what would be a normal reaction to such a weird and specific circumstance that he has no way of knowing.) To him, it made sense before he found out Shoichi was a double agent, and it was even more of a relief after the reveal. Spanner knew Shoichi was friends with Byakuran from way back, for longer than he and Shoichi had known each other, and even if he hadn't been close with Byakuran...well, Shoichi's always had more consciousness of consequences than Spanner. And the consequences for betraying Byakuran would be death, if you were lucky. Spanner expects Shoichi, as such a close friend of Byakuran, is in for a lot worse than death if the Vongola fail. When Spanner had thought Shoichi was truly Millefiore, he'd known his betrayal would force Shoichi to make a choice between two friends, with choosing Spanner coming with a probable side dish of torture and death. If any tiny, selfish part of him had hoped Shoichi would choose him, he'd logically never expected it. And he'd been aware that he'd essentially abandoned Shoichi to go running after the Vongola, just because Tsuna had an interesting technique Spanner wanted to tweak to its full potential. Spanner hadn't shown Shoichi much consideration there; it wasn't fair to expect a lot in return.
Even Shoichi greenlighting his death at Iris and Ginger's hands wasn't something he could resent much, even if it had stung. He didn't think Shoichi had wanted to, so much as he hadn't had a choice in the matter. Not even Shoichi could plead for leniency towards a traitor to Byakuran - at least not successfully. And forget talking Iris or Ginger into not killing somebody.
Shoichi's changed a lot since their high school days - or, at least, he'd appeared to. Spanner's starting to realize, seeing Shoichi with his walls down since he'd finally been able to divulge his plan to the Vongola(and Spanner, as a side bonus), just how much of the changes to the Shoichi he'd known had been faked. Everything he's seen of Shoichi since is so comfortably and completely familiar that it feels like its own form of time travel. There's no longer the dissonance between the Shoichi who'd hang out in his workshop, who'd laugh every single time Mini Mosca filled a bowl of popcorn for them, and the Shoichi everyone else sees. Now he's just Shoichi, all the time, and never the cold commander he'd pretended to be, and Spanner's just about as excited over that as he's ever been over anything. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed Shoichi, even with his always being there, until Shoichi fully came back.
But even that cold commander side of Shoichi couldn't have done anything differently than he had, couldn't have saved Spanner from the consequences of his decisions regardless of whether he'd wanted to or not. And Spanner had known that, all along. So it's never occurred to him that resenting Shoichi is something someone else might do. If he has any strong feelings about that time at all, they're about Mini Mosca, and it's a mixture of regret and guilt and some bitter thoughts about who, between himself and Iris, had created the better and more human facsimile of life. Iris' monsters had been destroyed; Mini Mosca, as far as Spanner is concerned, had died. There's a difference.
Spanner's already been drawing up plans and ideas for their work tomorrow; he knows he should sleep, but he's had too many ideas bouncing around in his head. The prospect of getting to work with Shoichi again - and to work together in designing something rather than in competition, to combine their talents and expertise in a way they've never had the chance to sit down and do before - is wildly exciting. Maybe once he gets the ideas out, he can pass out for a few hours. Until then, he knows it's hopeless.
He's actually on his way to make a new pot of coffee when he spots Shoichi, curled up against the wall. He doesn't even need to ask what's wrong; he knows Shoichi too well. And he can guess the why; it's not like, which Byakuran and Choice hanging over their heads, there isn't plenty to stress about. He trots over to him and crouches down beside him, resting a hand on his back.] Shoichi...want me to get you something to drink?
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[Shoichi nudges his face up, glasses a little smudged and off-balance on his face. Looking at Spanner properly draws out another pulse of pain, but not anymore serious than everything else already wrecking havoc in his stomach.]
Hey, Spanner... I'm... fine. Probably.
[He's not.]
Let me guess: coffee?
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in which hibari kyoya finally stops biting people (because he gets muzzled)
Chikusa had already suspect it would be difficult, just because Hibari Kyoya is a frankly difficult person in most ways he can think of. When he'd heard, through Chrome, that the Cloud Guardian had once completely disregarded a poison so vicious that it had put everyone else on the floor from sheer pain, well... In a way, it hadn't been surprising.
There are three people in this world, Chikusa has learned, that it pays to expect the most ridiculous logic-defying things from: Mukuro-sama. Sawada Tsunayoshi. Hibari Kyoya.
With how unfavored their group is by that last party in particular, Chikusa has made sure to keep his best poisons on him just in case he's had to deal with the Namimori Disciplinary Committee head on his own. After all, there's absolutely no chance that he'll go up against him in a one-on-one battle. Those kinds of things are Chikusa's weakest area, and the absolute strength of Hibari's.
Frankly... He'd been hoping that sort of thing would never happen. Fighting Hibari is troublesome. However, it had almost been inevitable that he'd be proven wrong at that.
It probably doesn't help that Hibari is even more worked up than usual because of certain public displays of affection, either.
Initially, Chikusa had simply made a bolt for it, but when that had proven to be largely ineffective on account of the fact that Hibari Kyoya is patently ridiculous, he'd gone with... other measures. For all that he still doesn't like his loss against Gokudera Hayato, the battle had definitely been an educational one. The use of traps lying in wait combined with falling back on more assassination methods than outright fights- eventually he'd managed to land some poison on the menace. Enough, more than any regular human being could ever handle, and soon enough Hibari's movements had deteriorated to the point that Chikusa could take him out.
It sounds easy, when described, but it'd taken ages to actually accomplish.
Still. Here they are now.
When Hibari wakes up, it's to a familiar place: the dilapidated ruins which make up Kokuyo Funland. It's completely dim, not even hazy sunlight filtering through, and he'll eventually be able to make out the lanes of what appears to be the bowling alley. What's more pressing and immediately noticeable is that he's been completely bound: sturdy leather arm binders tugging him back to the point that his shoulders are likely aching, a spreader bar separating his folded legs that's wrapped around both thighs and calves, so much rope although that's more attached to his restraints and somewhere into the pin retrieval opening to keep him in place.... A collar around his throat....
Oh.
And the metal muzzle strapped around his face, the thin bars still allowing his mouth to be seen.
Can't forget that.
At least whatever injuries he sustained from repeated needle attacks have been tended to, if he can focus long enough to note the bandages that are under his clothing. What's probably more interesting to him, however, is Chikusa himself laying against a couch on the far wall, turning the Vongola Cloud Ring between his fingers as he hold sit up in the air.
Because of course he confiscated Hibari's boxes, ring, and tonfas. There's no such thing as "too paranoid" when it comes to Hibari Kyoya.
in which totally maybe didn't forget chikusas name
That was when his still somewhat drug addled brain snapped into focus, and without another twitch of his body, his eyes flew open. It probably would've been impressive, really, had the sudden influx of light not caused him to almost immediately squint and close his eyes again.
That's when Hibari decided to test out the other parts of his body, only to find that the impossible had happened. The bothersome ache in his shoulders became unignorable, and the Cloud Guardian tried to rotate them, only to find he couldn't. Any pull of the muscle resulted in an equal pull on the leather that bound his arms behind him.
A jerk sent a jolt of pain up his spine that finally woke his foggy brain up, eyes opening once again and starting to blink in horror of what his situation had become.
He couldn't move. Hibari's school uniform was still mostly on, just torn loose in some areas and he could feel the restraints biting against him as he shifted in place, giving an experimental yank. He was forced to kneel thanks to the metal bar that sat between his legs, and the ropes that wrapped all of that held him in place like he was just some sort of toy.
Hibari had never felt more vulnerable and humiliated in his life. And to top it off, a metal muzzle was covering his mouth and even a collar around his neck. He was trussed up like a fucking dog.
Thankfully, he didn't have to look very far for the culprit, as hat-guy held Hibari's ring between his fingers. The Cloud Guardian gave one more huge yank at his bindings, not getting far since all his limbs were held down in awkward angles, before he growled out through the metal cage in front of his teeth.
"What the fuck sort of sick joke is this?"
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“If I didn’t restrain you… Then you’d only come after me again.” Letting his hand drop again, Chikusa does the bare minimum head turn in order to look over at Hibari. “It’s really troublesome… So I had to stop you somehow.”
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rest in crypts, wake in gardens
It's not the same college obviously; Shoichi isn't exactly superstitious as a general rule but it had felt distasteful to go to the same school that he sees sometimes in his dreams or during very off days. Anyway, it'd just be even more confusing. For most of his other life, things have already felt too similar. People he knows but doesn't, places he knows but doesn't, not really- it makes his head pound and everything worse.
He wonders if he could even call something like that deja vu, and if it counted if it was the memories of an entirely different life implanted to a younger self.
In a twist of irony, the very things which help keep him steady and centered are the very things he'd once tried to run away from: the mafia and all the strange bizarre things which come with it. After all, Irie Shoichi, age fifteen, hadn't been involved in the mafia. Irie Shoichi, a normal teenage student, hadn't yet met Byakuran, or Spanner in reference to the mafia. Honestly, with them in particular, a part of him thinks he could manage just fine with only the latter in his life. Spanner is as reassuring as the memories sigh he's always been, as relieving as the earth beneath his feet and always so blessedly straightforward. He could do with just him. He could be smart, and stay away from the person who his memories- who he thinks of and-
It'd be easier, he thinks, if his memories could settle on enemy, lover, or friend.
And yet even with those memories, of feeling his heart pounding in his mouth or bleeding out from his side in the street, he's found himself drifting towards him again anyway. Part of it, at least, is sensible: if there's anyone who can understand what it's like to imagine completely different lives that haven't happened, well...
Despite all of that, however, when the time had come for him to graduate, Shoichi had run away from it all. Perhaps that's a little cruel to say of himself, or at least so Tsunayoshi-kun had said. More like it's a break, he guesses, an attempt to truly differentiate this life from the one whose memories he'd inherited. Not an American university guided by another version of himself, but somewhere Japanese: no culture shock, no almost familiar faces, no too-close similarities. Shoichi has to admit that it's been helping so far. Sure, it's a little early to say, with how his first year has just started, but...
It's enough.
However, there's one problem, and it's what's got him in the campus library late at night dangerously near closing time. Far away from Namimori, he's in somewhere completely different, and not the kind of guy who parties or participates in the local club scenes or anything like that. While it'd be nice to find the classes challenging, well, his mind still offers bleary memories of twisting time and space like a toy, and checking in on the status of alternate universes like a child pressing his face against the floor to peer into a room. He has the sneaking suspicion he's going to be bored instead of challenged, which is why, on the laptop in front of him, he's working on the blueprints and date for a unique Sun box all his own.
Which is interesting and fascinating work, by all means! He's not complaining about that. Being able to converse and learn a little from Verde, of all people, has really been a learning experience, and he's positive that he's right on the verge of breaking through something neither animal nor item as a box weapon.... But it's just...
Leaning back and letting his head fall against the back of his chair, Shoichi quietly groans and nudges his fingers beneath his glasses to pinch at the bridge of his nose. He's not really thinking about the possibility of being overheard, or anyone coming over to investigate what's on his screen. It's the college library at this time of night, right? Who's going to care what a nerd is groaning about?
"I need to get a hobby..." Or friends. Or at least acquaintances who attend the same college as him, who are completely unfamiliar and who he can relax around and hopefully aren't the literal antichrist this time around.
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He let that thought fade off, careful not to allow his temper to show on his face. There would be time for Yusuke later. A life time was nothing to him. He needed to remember this.
At the same time.... He smiled wryly as he flipped through the book in his lap. Time seemed to drag. To make Mother happy he had moved from home and had begun his life as a well adjusted honor student and had gained entry into one of the top universities in the country. He dutifully wrote and phoned home often and continued his course of study. And quietly began to go mad.
His true form itched to be warn, instincts he'd been able to ignore while well and truly trapped by his human body screamed at him now. He wanted to play. He tapped his book with a finger thoughtfully. He needed an outlet....
A soft groan in the otherwise silent library caught his attention and green eyes, glinting gold zeroed in on the boy. He tilt his head as he heard the whine and he hummed softly. A Hobby indeed.
He studied the young man and his smile widened in soft amusement. His coloring was a match to his own. Rare and curious. He'd felt him before, a human with a heart of colored flame. Such people were hard to miss. Had Yusuke not died he may have gained such of his own, no doubt Kuwabara would have, no matter that he could sense ghosts.
He stood gracefully and moved over leaning over the other eyes and smile gentle. " I find gardening a fair distraction. " he informed him soft and friendly.
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Oh. He doesn't know him- or, well, he doesn't think he does or that they share classes- but he's seen him around. It's hard not to, with bright red hair like that, a shade to outdo his own and so much longer, too. Pretty, if Shoichi is honest with himself, and the other man is much prettier this close.
At least this is college and not the mafia. He doesn't have to worry about a pretty person potentially wanting to either murder him or try to curry favor- no, no, that was the other Shoichi for that one. And still doesn't apply to college anyway.
Before he can stop himself, a quiet laugh fumbles out of his mouth, and he reaches up with one hand to cover it even as his other goes to discretely rest against the keyboard (and a single finger tucks away the file he'd had up). "Ah- sorry. Just.... gardening." Captain Shoichi Irie, of the Rosa Squad, present and accounted for. Now let's move on with today's agenda- "It just... reminds me of something. Someone I kind of know, you could say." Glancing away from his fellow redhead, he lets fingers flutter against hard plastic. Yeah... Someone he kind of knows.
"He's always been really into flowers too... I never really found out why."
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Eternal Cute Sin AU - Homewrecking Edition
Except when it concerned one.
So She couldn't really be too mad at him when he went to visit the current messiah and stopped off to see the priest that had captured Mukuro's attention, especially when he had no real plans to interfere.]
Yo!
[He raised a hand as he approached the priest in church, all harmless smiles and dressed in casual clothing.]
I'm here to volunteer for the soup kitchen and I was told to sign up with you. You're Father Kakimoto, right?
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[Still. Chikusa is, at the end of the day, a priest. With his exorcism duties done with for the time being, he's come back home and taken up his duties at the church instead of merely directed at it. That means it's just in time to get swept up in the regular soup kitchen that the church organizes for the needy, which he lets himself be pushed into without complaint. The demon may sulk about it, but Chikusa will still throw himself into such things instead of.... whatever the demon thinks he'll do just because they got a little. handsy. again. No orgies or whatever he imagines.]
[The dick wasn't that bomb.]
[He's just finished pushing some of the pews to the side for tomorrow, his cassock draped over one, when someone comes through the doors of the church. Chikusa pauses from wiping some sweat off his jaw, biting back the grimace he wants to make, and instead nods over to the stranger.]
That's right... It's a pleasure to meet you. [He's apathetic, actually, as he often is, but he's been taught good manners and he's not about to let go of them now.] If you'll follow me- we only need your name, address, and phone number.
[He's already sort of exhausted from working, so he doesn't want to deal with people but... Chikusa leads the way to the side where some paperwork is.]
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In another thread, Mukuro was calling the priest fucking rude, calling his dick not that bomb.For a man of the cloth, Father Kakimoto seemed properly imposing and aloof, and Yamamoto followed along as he gave the mortal a quick grin.]
Should I come back another time? You seem pretty tired Father, and it's not like I can't call in the information.
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omg i apologize... i must have deleted this notif
lmao it's fine
bless you pineapple goblin
mimi why must you tarnish my name like this
you did it yourself and you know it
i am an innocent soul who only seeks to spread love
what are lies and slander for 1000
this is why Enrique won't come off the protection program
i'm pretty sure i'm not the reason
Mimi it was your thirst that put them in the protection program
are you sure it wasn't your thirst
i!! was helpful!!! good and pure!!!!!
you were one out of three james don't lie to yourself
*two* out of three
not even close
i am good, mimi!!! for a very select definition of that!!!
maybe by the devil's definition
says the person playing at least three different varieties of him
excuse... only one now i have repented
sounds fake
fight me james
don't blame me for your sins mimi
you're 85% responsible for them so...
the seed was always in you, mimi
that just sounds wrong
that's just your filthy mind at work
your mind is just as filthy. you don't get to throw bricks, james.
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Good End AU: time to pick up some dramatic toddler
Well, perhaps that's not the right word to say. It'd been trashed, a disaster zone that could only have been hidden for so long through the work of an illusionist making sure no sounds of destruction could be overheard. All that had been untouched, no trace of anything on it, had been the bed. None of the Family could have really said it was a shock, in the end. Faustino had been aggravated at being not only caught from his antics, but also being cared for because it had, quite plainly, gotten fucked up. In the past, similar moods could only be weathered by a select few people. Wit two of them having left, completely of their own will and without any input from Faustino himself...
Faintly, Lancia had wondered if they were lucky that the entire estate hadn't been burned down in a fit of rage.
There'd been only so much that could be done, in the end. If Faustino didn't want to be found, then he wouldn't be. Certainly, the Boss made sure to keep all ears and eyes out for any hint of the young mafioso, but that was all that could be done. Privately, to himself, Lancia thought that perhaps it would do him good. Faustino could work out his anger in private, with little property destruction the Family would have to pay for, and maybe... Just maybe... He'd absorb what Ciro had probably tried to tell him. Maybe then he'd return on his own.
Until then, Lancia goes through his days as normal. There's only one exception to his schedule: the folded up piece of paper that resides in his pocket. Every morning, he always double checks that it's there, safe and sound. It's more than a piece of paper. It's a promise, entrusted to him, and Lancia doesn't intend on going back on it.
Things carry on... Until, one day, someone makes a call directly to him, and there's a girl's voice hissing through the phone, "You have to come get him out of my apartment."
Which is how he meets Faustino's pen pal, M.M. Coincidentally, it's also how he now finds himself stepping into, of all places, Paris. As he makes his way through the foreign streets, Lancia eyes the buildings wearily. Somehow, he can't be surprised that Mukuro has made his way to here of all places. Relatively speaking, it's not that far from Italy and, more importantly, it suits his personality. Mukuro isn't exactly decadent, but melodramatic? Absolutely. It's an impression that only intensifies once he steps into the lobby of the Prince de Galles and, for once, Lancia feels mildly uncomfortable.
He has no illusions about himself. Every day for most of his life, he's had to look into the mirror every morning. Even dressed up in a decent enough crisp black suit (mafia tradition stays eternal), he knows his face is a bit too rough, and the inked scars curving up from his jaw into his cheek don't exactly inspire a feeling of "wealth" or "not about to rob the place". Hell, even his suit probably isn't expensive enough for most of this place. His Family is doing well for itself, sure... But it's not like it's on part with the Cavallone or anything. This sort of place, Art Deco in the most blatant and rich manner...
For a second, he wonders if he's really found the right place. M.M. is a teenage girl, so a place like this- but even as he's wondering, a voice suddenly calls out to him. It bounces off of the white walls and crisp lines of the lobby, bypassing the few other people who are there. "Bonsoir~! Monsieur Lancia, oui?" The idea of having to puzzle is way through even more of a foreign language must show on his face, because the redhead striding towards him snickers perhaps a little cruelly. While he knows that M.M. was still a teenager, much like Faustino, she doesn't carry herself like one. It's in the way she walks to her sharp smile to the clothes she wears- a black top that cut from her shoulders and neck over a long red skirt with thick black blocks arranged in a solid pattern. "I knew it was you. At least that pineapple egomaniac has good taste." Taking him by the arm, she grins with her eyes sparkling in a way he knows all too well, unfortunately. "Come on, he's been too annoying for me to stomach any longer."
There's just a bit of small talk as she walks along with him up to the suite, nothing "dark", all clean. Perfectly normal chatter. Yet it doesn't escape Lancia's notice that, for all her arms on his one are held on "daintily", there's muscles underneath that cloth.
When they finally come to a stop outside the suite door, M.M. shoves him to the side so that he's not immediately in sight from the doorway. "Hold on," she orders him before unlocking the door and tossing it open. "Faustino! I have a surprise for you." Her smile is even more wicked than it had been down in the lobby, a crimson slash underneath glittering eyes.
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He hadn't been interested in staying with the Family who had supported Ciro and Al leaving, and perhaps truthfully, he couldn't stay. There were too many memories to haunt him there, the Don's gaze was too knowing, and his bed was too empty. Faustino enjoyed his space, yes, but only at his discretion.
Going to France had seemed like a feasible decision, since he had a few loose ends he had been putting off on taking care of. M.M., while a brat and mouthier than he preferred, was capable and it only took a quick instance of impersonating a very rich mafioso well known for his taste in jailbait and fooling a few credit card machines to get them a room at the Prince de Galles. Despite the price tag, the luxuries were paper thin, and more than once, Faustino had to wonder if Ciro was eating enough or if Al was sleeping. No matter how busy he kept himself, there was always a stray moment where it caught up with him still, and he was enraged all over again. Or as M.M. might put it, 'moping'.
He had just been getting comfortable to sit down and eat some of M.M.'s hideously expensive ice cream when he heard her calling out for him, and suspiciously, he peered over the sofa. She had been complaining at him nonstop over the smallest things, and the only surprise he could see her giving him was exploding the ice cream carton in his hand again.
"What is it?" If he sounded uninterested or wary, he definitely had cause.
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It really isn't that surprising. Even within Italy, there are all sorts of dialects and slang which can throw even brothers of the same counter off if one is from the north and another has grown up in the south. The farther one goes, even in a place as relatively small as Europe, and the more it changes. There's just too much that's different.
So he's completely oblivious to the returning French which leaves M.M.'s mouth, although he can guess from the way she bats her eyelashes and cocks her hip that she can't be particularly sweet. "What's that tone for? Do you think I'm going to attack you or something? Come on, I've been pretty good this week." If only because she's had something to look forward to, anyway. "Since you're obviously still in a rut, I thought really long and hard about a way to get you out of it. You should be glad. I don't usually waste my time with people like that when they're not paying me. Still, you are my favorite employer, so.... consider this a favor. One time special offer!"
However, then there's a dramatic sigh, and she reaches up to flip her short and brilliant red hair. "But you're such a pain to figure out a gift for. All the good things in life, and you hardly pay them any mind, unless you're stealing them from me." Her eyes narrow. Whatcha got in your hand there, you asshole? "But then I thought of the perfect thing."
That's around the time she reaches over to grab Lancia by the hand, startling the large mafioso, and he allows himself to be pulled into view. What he's not as fine with is the way M.M. immediately snakes her arm around his, slipping her hand into place. There's no denying the smugness in her smirk as she pointedly leans right against Lancia's arm, ignoring the way he leans a little away.
God dammit, he hopes all of Faustino's pen pals aren't like this.
Trying to ignore the redhead now attached to his arm, Lancia looks over to the couch. "Faustino," he says quietly, trying to gauge his charge's mood before anything else.
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Double C ROADTRIP
But, then again, the Estraneo labs had barely been any better.
After they'd all broken free, well, killing Family after Family hadn't exactly made them many friends either. Too long in one territory would make it noticeable where they were, eventually, and they'd just be hunted down again.
Yet Japan didn't have that sort of problem... At least, not to such a degree. It's the yakuza who rule there, not the mafia, and they'd had no interest in them as long as they weren't touched. Or, rather, the most notorious yakuza family in the Namimori area was headed by a certain family by the name of Hibari, and, well, that explained more than enough. So they've been able to stay in Japan for quite some time, with mostly Mukuro drifting back to Italy for his own machinations.
This time, however... This time, they're all permitted to come, including someone who's never seen Italy, besides perhaps in Mukuro's illusions. They've all mostly split up on differing flights, at different times, with M.M. on babysitting duty of Ken and Fran...
Which leaves Chikusa, of course, with Chrome.
He doesn't mind much, he guesses. Certainly, the flight over had been simple enough, with him putting on his headphones and zoning out for the most part. Yet that's behind them, and he glances over his shoulder as he steps off of the plane. "Stick close," he mutters, which threatens to get drowned in the hustle and bustle of the the airport. "Fiumicino is busy..." One of the busiest airports around, honestly, but, then, that's only to be expected when it's one of two international ports into the country. It'll be handy to wander around the large place alone, honestly, just to harass- oops, quiz her on various things. Shops, restaurants... All manner of assorted bullshit.
Besides, he's hungry, and he has a credit card that's not in his name. They might drop by somewhere anyway, before they start getting to business.
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So this strange light feeling sat heavily with her, as she watched Namimori fade into the distance, as Chikusa studiously ignored her on the flight, as she flicked through horror movies curiously. She had tried to keep her interest in learning Italian confined to when she wasn't under Mukuro-sama's scrutiny, but not telling Chikusa and Ken, who were native speakers who were constantly around, had seemed silly.
Since they had boarded the plane she had been mentally practicing her Italian, which Bianchi-san had kindly called 'perfection'. Though, speaking it with Bianchi-san and trying to keep it all straight as she trailed after Chikusa in a busy airport was something altogether.
She nodded when Chikusa spoke, keeping as close as she dared, eye wide as she took in all the activity and the signs.
"Do you want to eat?" Though Chikusa was still difficult to read, there were some telltale signs his crankiness was not because of her or circumstances or about cleanliness.
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But this Japanese girl, picked up on convenience from their leader...
Listen. It's a weird feeling, alright? A really god damn weird feeling.
Chikusa demonstrates his feelings on this whole matter by staring blankly down at Chrome with all the emotion of a particularly lively pet rock who has been relocated to a new spot on the window sill. When he finally speaks, he's switched back into Italian with perfect ease. "Yes." He can't imagine that Chrome isn't, either, frankly, although he doesn't bother to say that. Just about any flight from inbetween their two particular countries takes hours upon hours, with connecting flights and stops more often than not. They've had airplane food, and things from any other places... but that's not really the same as a full proper meal. Chikusa can manage it, having been on stranger meal times in worse situations, but that doesn't mean he has to put up with it if he doesn't have to. A rare occasion, sure, but...
"But you're making the orders."
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