Tuesday, May 04, 2004

Kyoto no Uta

Participating characters:
Christopher Green
Kikuji Hikari
Ryoga Hikari
Ryouko Hikari

Status: Incomplete/History

Last Post: Unknown






Christopher Green

Dear Vincent, my most cherished father;

There is joy in these lines I send you and there is danger, mystery and fear. I hate myself for lately fear is the only word that leaves my mouth and I hide under pillows and covers waiting for it to pass, to leave my door.
But not now.
You wouldn’t believe it (you will not I’m sure) from where I write you at this precise moment but my gladness resides that, by the time you get this letter, you’ll no longer ask yourself who is writing to you and embrace the paper and the ink and rejoice.
I am in the last country you once said you wanted to be, in the imperial land of Japan. The war was not the only thing to hurt the people of this land, many still suffer under rigorous tradition and old tyrannies.
I came to help two friends, I’ve spoken of them to you before haven’t I? They are my inner family, my growing happiness. How I wish one day for us all to meet and walk the London gardens hand in hand.
Would you take me and them to see the swans again?
I pray for such day to come with all my might and strength for grace befell upon me lately and sure all wrong will end and goodness shall prevail. Maybe fairy tales can come true after all.


Your son,
Christopher Dorian Green

Though the air was warm he trembled like a newborn leaf and his hands, as they would only get when he was nervous, were cold as ice.
He was here, now, at the skirts of beautiful Kyoto, watching the Kamo river go buy, bustling activity into the so many streets rushing at its shores.
This was the land of his dreams and it did feel like a dream to be here, but one he didn’t knew if good or bad.
One week had pasted since his last letter to the Hikari household.
It hadn't been him who wrote it however, but Thomas himself making it official and important as he could. The letter was even magically charmed by a translator to change when shaken from English to Japanese and back again if suffer another quiver.
What was written in it Christopher did not know but he did knew how Thomas’s mind work and the letter could only contain a pompous speech fit to impress a king.
And then today, just before midnight sounded, he was being dispatched, holding tight to a portkey, him and his bag.
Leviathan would be all alone and he feared for him. Thomas enjoyed killing animals after all.

Nothing prepared him to face the place he had landed. It was the garden of a beautiful Shinto temple with large white fox statues and sacred trees involving the area. No one was there to be seen.
And it was not today anymore but tomorrow for the sun was shinning high already and menacing a heat wave like he had never felt before.
He loosened his tie slightly and folded his dark coat hanging it on his left harm and paced silently around.
Anxiety sustained him now and he felt to be shivering more badly than before, his face growing warm and so did his body.
Soon enough an escort to take him to the Hikari’s house would appear and he was growing aware of many things.
He didn’t knew Japanese, he had forgotten what Ryoga instructed him about formal speech, he wasn’t sure if he had packed everything he would need, the heat was rising and people would think him strange…
And what if their plot failed in the end? What then?
Starting to feel queasy he sat on top of his valise and shook his head slightly, making his hair fall down over his neck. If only Ryoga was to come too and greet him…
“What madness are we starting?” he whispered into the warming air.

Kikuji Hikari

"Why did you follow me Hidesuke?"
The young boy's voice oozed with authority, and he wasn't afraid to use it.

The cunning secretary smiled his crafty smile in a pretense of a kindly one," Sumimasen Hikari-san, but surely you didn't think I'd let you off on your own did you?" he spoke softly as he bowed low.

"And you had to bring those two goons with with you?" he hissed, glaring at the two behemoths of bodyguards standing there with their arms folded, unshaven faces drawn in a frozen scowl which caused many to tremble in fear. But Kikuji didn't fear them, he knew that they worked for [i]him[/i],and they would obey him like 'good little doggies' if he wanted them to behave.

Immediately bowing again Hidesuke gave his explination," The streets of Kyoto aren't safe Hikari-san...please do~"
"Fine." replied Kikuji with a hand raised to call for silence," But I'm warning you Hidesuke, you'd better not meddle too much in my affairs...especially my family's..." he gave a small smug smirk, purely identical to his father's," You wouldn't want to end up on the streets of Kyoto either...it's not safe." and with that, he turned around and swiftly walked on as his party followed close behind. Hidesuke smiled, yes, he too would become like Tatsumi, and he would become very powerful indeed with the right 'training'.

Kikuji walked on with his heart beating wildly in his small chest, green eyes darting about the bustle of Gion until he came to the outskirts of the city, towards the temples. He had to find him, and the sooner the better. Kikuji had anticipated this day ever since his brother and sister got home... He knew what the arrival of Mr Green meant, it meant freedom...
Freedom for his sister...
Freedom for his mother...
and salvation for his brother...
Ryoga-chan, he had been weak..and he was getting weaker. Perhaps the presence of his father aggravated the wound further. But no matter, he had to meet this... Christopher... he was the only hope for his family now...

Just ahead, standing out from the few kimono and yukata clad people, was a figure in black. He seemed somewhat lost, yet not. But Kikuji's emerald eyes grew wider, he knew it had to be him, with hair of reddish copper and his eyes of the deepest amethyst, just as his brother had told him. So without waiting for Hidesuke, he rushed forward, forgetting the previous prideful stride from before.

"Sumimasen..." he whispered to him," Are you?...Christopher Green?"

Christopher Green

Why was it getting so hot?
Christopher’s brown was damp with sweat and if education didn’t tell how otherwise he would have taken his waistcoat and unbuttoned his chemise. For someone used only to English climate, the weather was making him wane and his head grow dizzier.
He noticed then a young kid looking at him and for some reason his whole self shivered. His eyes were green and blazing like embers and though so small he held such a stance that it could have made men twice as big as him stare back.
Defiantly the kid walked the first couple of steps towards him but then, something changed and Christopher thought he recognised that expression for it looked like the sparkle Ryouko’s eyes would get when she was happy about something.
But how was he then to know this was Kikuji, the twin’s younger brother?
He came over, looking up and murmuring in thick English marked by so many Japanese intonations that it made his name sound something like “Kuhristofer Gurennoh”
Christopher became even sicker for he now sweated of nervousness and he didn’t know hot to address to the child at all. He wasn’t a servant, he was far too well dressed to be one but who could he be?
Cleaning his brow he leaned slightly and replied.
“Yes, I am Christopher Green.” it was all he could say.

Kikuji Hikari

Kikuji couldn't contain his smile as soon as he heard those words emerge from those lips...
"Suggoi!" he whispered, still afraid that Hidesuke would hear him," I can't believe it's really you!...At last!"

He seemed rather hot and rightly so,unlike his own yukata which was as light as the wing of a dragonfly, Christopher's attire was unsuited for the warm summers of Kyoto. Kikuji watched him as he wiped his brow and gave a small smile," I do hope that's not the only attire you have with you... but worry not, surely we can lend you some...appropriate attire when we return to the Hikari dojo..." he then tilted his head slightly, just like his brother did, and studied Christopher with large eyes.

Noticing his confusion, Kikuji bowed low," Forgive my rudeness, I am Hikari Kikuji, son of Tatsumi Hikari..." he then added in a low voice," Ryoga and Ryouko Hikari are my brother and sister..." he gave an enigmatic smile before turning towards the two bodyguards and without a word, snapped his fingers and pointed to Christopher's bag. Immediately they picked up his belongings and slowly headed back towards the town.

"Hidesuke? Follow them, I will catch up later..."
The old secretary smiled and gave a low bow then followed the two giants, though he cursed silently for not being able to overhear anything.
Kikuji smiled again at Christopher and gestured towards the wooden bridge which led to Gion," Shall we? I hope you don't mind the walk, it's not very far..."

Ryoga Hikari

Back in the Hikari Mansion, someone waited anxiously...

Cold blue eyes peered out towards the gate where 'He' would be coming through... how he had longed for that moment, to finally have Chris-chan in Kyoto! With him!
But wait... he suddenly remembered, and a wet slap came across his face in sudden realisation... the plan...

He would have to remain calm and collected around him, he would not be allowed to even glance at him, or touch him, or feel the softness of that cheek... No... because in their 'reality', Ryoga did not know Christopher Green very well... Christopher Green was going to marry his twin, he was to be his brother-in-law. A pang of sharp pain hit him in the gut at the thought that he would not be able to hold him in his arms and cry out how much he had missed him... that he was so close, yet so far away... Why did Kami wish for him to suffer so? Fingers grasped onto the wooden pillar as pain surged through his back... ah yes...that as well.

Ryoga straightened himself and neatened his yukata, he needed to look presentable, as any Hikari would do. The mask was slowly taking shape once more, covering the look of agony and wistfulness with that of an expressionless face. The coldness of those frosty blue eyes hardened as he steeled himself for what would be his final act...

The curtains were drawn, the stage was set...the show was about to begin...

Christopher Green

The temple fell back in the distance as they went down through a large stone staircase. He noticed soon enough that the whole shrine area occupied the surrounding mountain and here and there white fox statues were set next to great stone pillars and candles.
He had learned that this was a Shinto shrine dedicated to Inari, the God of harvests and prosperity what he didn’t know however was that there was another fox going by the name of Inari but nothing about him was holy… not much indeed.
Inari was the prince of the demon foxes and a shapeshifter. He would rob houses in search of rice and cloths; he would disguise himself as a holy man and drink sake among the monks and sometimes take the form of a lovely woman and seduce mortal men.
But it was just tales and part of the legends of the mysterious land he now walked side by side with little Kikuji who for his age, looked already like a small Lord. Noble blood should run in the Hikari family, he Christopher thought.
He had unruffled himself after the first minutes of conversation with the boy though they now walked steadily and quiet. The servants had disappeared and introversion was what kept him from talking rather than suspicion someone would overhear them. The were crossing a stone bridge, heading for the gates of the town where a bustling market took place and many people stood aside to let them pass, looking suspicious, looking intrigued.
He had dressed his coat back on though he cursed himself for doing it and to prevent the heat he was now tying his long hair in a reddish ponytail.
Kikuji’s pleasant words came back to him about his garments and he sighed. He had packed light clothes and short sleeved shirts but under such heat he was bond to suffer anyway.
As he finished re-arranging his hair he noticed that people stared even more and whispered to one another in a language he hardly comprehended.
With the twins he had learnt some words but here, where dialects ran deep and thick it was hard to grasp almost a single word. Still he caught two names and held them in his memory. “Gaijin” and “kitsune”. He would ask later what those meant.
The path proceeded through exotic streets and the further they went, further Christopher thought to be going back in time to feudal Japan. It was amazing how that part of town looked so ancient and fascinating, like going inside a legend’s book.
He looked around eagerly, forgetting the sweat and the heat momentarily only to gaze at the magnificent doll shops, with their hundreds of porcelain figures, at food shops, kimonos and tea parlours.
Even if he tried he could not have memorized the paths Kikuji guided him through. Every street looked like a similar version of the other; even the people looked equal, dressed in kimonos and yukatas.
And suddenly, out of nowhere, three large men were surrounding them.
You know them?” he asked in a low tone to Kikuji.
“Ne, ne… kawai kitsune chan!”
“Anata dare?”
Christopher blinked confused. They were not addressing the boy but himself.
He would have said “I don’t understand” but preferred to stay quiet. There was something strange about those men and the way they were looking at him as if…
He froze when one of them came close enough to touch his cheek. What was this about?

Kikuji Hikari

Kikuji walked silently alongside Christopher, his mind buzzing, his heart bursting with so many questions he wanted to ask. He wanted to ask him what it was like in England, away from the kimonos and yukatas, what was it like to be an English. Kikuji wanted to know so much about that world he had never seen before. But the laws of formality forbade him to do anymore or say anymore than what he was 'supposed' to. He also wanted to ask him about his brother and sister... but still, Kikuji stayed silent, trained to do so...
Just like Ryoga was...

A shadow suddenly loomed before him and he looked up to see three large men. At first he blinked his eyes in slight shock and fear. He saw no crest on their sleeve or any sign of belonging, what if they were ronin? Oh ni-chan... what was he to do?
But he remembered how Ryoga had told him never to fear anything, so he steeled himself and stepped in front of Christopher away from the men... he couldn't lose him now!

"Matte!"(Wait) he placed a hand on the hilt of a small sword he carried around with him," Yamete onegaishimasu..." (Please stop)though his voice was neutral and calm, there was an obvious tint of menace. Making it clear that he would fight to the death if it came down to that, and he wouldn't stand for their nonsense. His eyes had turned a darker shade of green as he spoke again,
"Demo Green-san so dewa Kitsune jai nai no." (But mr Green is no fox)

Where were those two goons when he really needed them?!

Christopher Green

“Now sir! I must ask you not to act this frivolous with me!” Christopher exclaimed finally stepping back.
Everything was catching him by surprise. The city, the sour and sweet scents, the karts rumbling in the street, those people he did not know to be wizards or common muggles.
For all he knew they could even be mountain trolls and sniffed out the magic in him.
Their faces were swollen and marked with red around the cheeks and they kept staring at him with intriguing expressions. He gulped. Many times he heard of slave selling men and… What if that was it?
Christopher reached slowly for his wand still not taking it out of his pocket. He couldn’t use magic by the orders of the Ministry but if it came to that he would protect Kikuji’s life and his of course.
It seemed however Kikuji thought the same for in no time he stepped forwards shielding him from those three disdainers and talking with them in a sound voice.
Christopher wished he could understand them…

The men blinked for a moment, as if finally realizing there was someone else there besides Christopher, and gazed down at Kikuji bewildered. This was it Christopher thought pressing his fingers harder on his wand. They were going to attack.
But no, they did not. They stared for a few more moments and then halted their guffaws as if recognizing something.
“Ah… Hikari san. Sumimasen.” the one who touched his face said and to Christopher’s astonishment bowed slowly to the boy while hissing for the others to do the same. “Demo, Hikari san… kore wa…”
Whatever he was about to say he never finished for one of his mates shook his shoulder and pointed at the english boy this time really looking taken aback.
“H-Hiro…. shoujo janai!!”

Shoujo janai. Now what in the name of all the existing house elves did that meant?
Whatever it was must have been some sort of joke for they all apart from Kikuji and he started laughing like someone had just told the funniest joke in the world. Christopher couldn’t help it any longer; his cheeks became tinted with red for he was pretty sure he was the joke.
“Masaka! Gomen nasai Green san!” they all said pretending to bow respectfully.
And finally, finally they started moving away but still the one who had seemed like their leader turned back and waved “Mata ne sumire hitomi no kire otoko!” they all roared with laughter.
“Interesting chaps.” Christopher muttered. “Please Kikuji, don’t explain what they said. I have a feeling I don’t want to know.”
The street was hot again, the sun sitting on his head and again he felt queasy.
“I’m sorry if I sound impatient, but will it take long to reach your home? I’m slightly sick with all this heat and…” he paused considering his words but he said them just the same. “… I miss your brother and sister very much. I’m eager to see them and meet the rest of your family of course.”
A shadowy figure dressed in dark robes came into his mind. Tatsumi Hikari.
What would be like to meet such a man? He knew nothing of him except that he hated him with all his might.

Kikuji Hikari

"Shinkan! Boku mankitsu anata wa no hisou no makeoshimi..."
(Silence! I've enough of your pathetic excuses...)

Kikuji was glad for once that he was a Hikari, the last thing he needed was bloodshed. "Saru!" (go!) he commanded as they retreated off..."Bunch of barbarians..."
Yes, though he had to admit, Christopher's features were no less than that of a girl's, delicate and refined. Ni-chan had always spoken of him as a beautiful person, and he was in a rather feministic way, so to speak. Even his eyes, they captivated him in their violet glow. He could see why Ni-chan spoke of him often.

The young Hikari was very glad he didn't want a translation, he surely didn't want Christopher to think that all japanese were like that..."I hope this won't dampen your spirits Green san, please try not to think of it..."
he bowed, smiling slightly before walking again.

“I’m sorry if I sound impatient, but will it take long to reach your home? I’m slightly sick with all this heat and…I miss your brother and sister very much. I’m eager to see them and meet the rest of your family of course.”

Green eyes looked up at the taller boy and he smiled a little, of course he'd love to meet his family...with the exception of his father,but no need for that little detail," Well then, worry not, we are here..." he gestured towards the small path which led into the large Kamiyashiki, the front sprouting with large towering trees sprayed with pink and purple. It was majesty in the sense of any Japanese family. The air filled with the scent of summer and Kikuji took a deep breath. "Welcome Green-san, to the Hikari Mansion."

Just ahead, he saw the figure in blue, the blonde hair...the blue eyes," NI-CHAN!"
Once again the formalities were shed and Kikuji ran towards his older brother, laughing and giggling like the boy he was supposed to be, his face broke out into that of a sunny smile and his arms were out-stretched," NI-CHAN! Tadaima!" (I'm home)
And he leapt into Ryoga's arms, hugging him like any little brother would,"Christopher Green is here..."

Ryoga Hikari

"Where are they?..."

Ryoga began to worry, he hoped they hadn't met up with any trouble on the way...The anticipation was killing him!
Then he heard it, that little shout of pure joy ringing across the gardens...
," NI-CHAN!"

"Kiku-bon?" he leaned away from the pillar he was leaning on and walked towards the porch, his yukata flowing slightly in the summer breeze. "Kiku-bon!"

The little one ran straight into his open arms, and Ryoga allowed himself to laugh with mirth at the precious giggles of his younger brother... He only wanted this for Kikuji, happiness. And in his hug he wished he could protect him, and never let Tatsumi touch him ever again...

,"Christopher Green is here..."
"N...Nani?" he looked over from over Kikuji's shoulder and saw in the distance... Christopher...
"Chris-chan...." he whispered, a gentle smile on his face.

Christopher Green

J’aime et j’evoie au diable nos adieux et puis n’en déplaise à Dieu, ce n’est pas en lui que je crois, c’est ne pas en lui mais en toi. Je n’ai d’yeux que pour toi.
ZAZIE



The air was vacuum, colourless and he dwelt in it, a grey ash lost in a puddle of thoughts and instincts for how many times did he sit back, graced some light upon his being and considered his existence, that he did live, that he had hands and feet, and eyes to grasp everything?
He forgot that many times.
It was hard to be alive when he was marked by the devil and bargained a soul with him.
Yet, joy of joys, how everything changed when he saw Ryoga, just there almost reachable, just not a ghost in some weird dream or a string of hair left inside a book.
He stopped abruptly at the gates of that magnificent house diving deeper inside the fairy tale he felt to be in albeit feeling less and less like a prince, or a princess, whatever fitted him.
Lovable agony, that’s how it felt, to see his slender figure, hope him to always dress yukatas an no more heavy robes, just keep him under Summer, blue, heat.

Christopher couldn’t believe it, that it was really true, that this was it, this was the Hikari dojo and he was there eye in eye with his beloved.
And again, how silly his mind worked sometimes, he was thinking how he never said that word to him, that he never kissed his eyelids whispering those words, like kissing prayers into a god.
Kikuji took off, abandoning demureness at his side and plunged into his brother’s arms knowing not that he also carried Christopher’s embrace, his desire to hold him tight, feel his warmth and never bloody let go.
But he could not. He could not even smile a heart breaking smile, he couldn’t even stare too much at a boy supposedly just a colleague in the same House at Hogwarts.
In fact Ryoga was supposed to play the frowning brother part and dislike Christopher’s presence.
So he swallowed felicity and let indifference take control. It was just another ball, another stupid party and that was not his love, it was just another silly girl waiting to be greeted by him.
“Hikari kun…” he pronounced remembering somehow the right honorific “How nice to see you.”
His heart nearly broke, tears could have almost fallen, and wouldn’t it be nice, just like some other piece of glittery tragicomedy?
For of course this was not some idiotic girl, this was not someone he barely talked to. This was Ryoga, and he couldn’t even hug him.

Ryoga Hikari

Reality stung as hard as winter's frost as Ryoga suddenly remembered who he was supposed to be. The warm smile was slowly painted over with a look of neutrality," Hai... dozo yorushiku Green san..." he placed Kikuji down on the ground and gave a bow. How easy it was to slip back to an old habit, yet why did it hurt so much now? It pierced him deep in the heart like a dagger dipped in acid, agony...

"Allow me to show you to your room." he spoke with his frosty gaze down cast, afraid to look into those ever haunting amethysts...
"Ryoga Hikari... Afraid to look at someone in the eye? You coward!"
"This way, please."
He turned to his little brother and spoke softly," Go fetch your sister, and meet us in the dining hall." he ruffled his hair one last time before leading the way through copper corridors of cedar, all the time reminding himself that he was Hikari Ryoga, the heir of the Hikari household. The Ice-Prince.

Hidesuke had already placed Chris's luggage upon the smooth tatami flooring, as the walls of rich mahogany and paper beamed in simple lavishness. A soft futon of snowflake white lay invitingly ,neatly spread out with crisp sheets. The sweet fragrance of sakura filled the room in a natural perfume.
A simple yukata of lavender was hung upon a stone table in the corner of the room, complete with tabi and sandals.

"If you wish you may change your attire, I will wait for you outside then I will show you to the dining hall..." with those soft words, Ryoga gave a bow and left the room to wait in the corridor, closing the sliding door behind him.

Kikuji Hikari

It was amazing how one's appearence could change from that of a loving smile to that of a emotionless shogun. Kikuji's leaf-green eyes glimmered, this was the Ryoga that Tatsumi had raised... this was what father wanted him to be.
How he wished he could tell his brother to smile forever, that he loved his smile. But somehow, he couldn't. And Ryouko had always told him to be patient with Ryoga, because he had many burdens...
So why wouldn't he share them with him? After all, was he not his brother too? His kin?

A feeling of hollowness lumped in his throat as his brother set him down and told him to fetch his sister. Kikuji being but a young boy could only use a certain amount of logic to reason out his confusions. And from what he was seeing, the arrival of this Christopher had caused Ni-chan's smile to go away. But why? Had he not spoken so fondly of him? Had his older brother not spoken of him without such a peaceful smile? So why was Christopher treating him so... distantly?
He frowned a little ,but then he too took up the look of frozen neutrality and gave his brother a small bow," Hai, wakarimashita..." (yes, I understand)

Then casting a last look of accusation to Christopher, he went towards the opposite way, towards his sister's chambers. So many questions filled his little head as he shuffled down the hallway. He wanted answers, and he hoped that Ryouko could give them to him... if not, then it would be time for him to pay Green-san a visit...

*Knock* Knock*
"Ne-chan? Are you there? It's me, Kikuji..."

Christopher Green

To all he fell numb. Ryoga perceived the role he needed to act but still it made him feel guilty and regretful. Surely they didn’t need to act like this near small Kikuji but that house had many eyes and more than that; he hadn’t come to be loved and liked.
He had come to become Ryouko’s fiancée at any price and if that meant winning only the small child’s distrust so be it. He was just that after all, and it was hard to prevent children from speaking what their hearts cried. For now, it would be disastrous if Kikuji thought him someone good.
Silently he moved behind Ryoga, more awakened than ever though it should be about 4 am in England. A good hour indeed, a hour to forget.
He had mistaken the honorific after all, Christopher thought twisting the left corner of his lips while he gazed at Ryoga’s back. He became so cold that even he felt scared and doubtful if he was only roleplaying his detachment or if there was something else.
Like the Green Manor, it was hard to believe many servants passed the area for none could be seen, no noise no colour from their faces even. It was as if they were alone and soon they reached what was to be Christopher’s chamber. How peaceful and beautiful it looked but Christopher could only think how far apart he would be from Ryoga’s.
And, maybe because of this need to feel someone cherished closer to him or maybe because he was just a child himself, his tone was small and warm, a small whisper anyone could have mistaken for embarrassment towards a different culture.
“Hikari san thank you for showing my chamber but now I beg your forgiveness for I need your help right now.” his eyes glimmered something warm and bright “I do not know how to dress a yukata. Will you be too bothered if I ask you to help me?”

Ryoga Hikari

A small whisper drifted into his ear, calling him back like a sweet invitation.
“I do not know how to dress a yukata. Will you be too bothered if I ask you to help me?”

For the first time since before, Ryoga looked up into the eyes of Chris. And immediately, he regretted doing so. Those pure pools of amethyst, hypnotising him, pulling him deeper and deeper into an abyss he never wanted to escape from... all that was Christopher, his face, his personal scent and those beautiful locks of copper-red he wanted to run his fingers through and kiss. To worship his very being in his embrace ... perhaps...he could have just one embrace, noone was around after all...
"NO! Ryoga! You will not ruin this for anyone! Remember who you are supposed to be..."

"I... I would be glad to help you Green-san."
Ryoga glided over to the beloved but untouchable figure and held up the thin cotten yukata.He coughed a little ,"Perhaps Green-san would like to remove his other garments first?" He then proceeded to help Christopher to take off his front shirt, biting down hard on his tongue . He tore his blue gaze away and kept it down at the tatami floor, keeping his mind on just his work. With gentleness, he pulled the yukata sleeves over Chris's slim shoulders, making sure that there wasn't a single wrinkle anywhere. He bent down on his knees to tie the black sash around Chris's waist, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he tied it into a simple knot with deft fingers .

Ryoga stood up and with a tilted head studied his work. Ah yes, O'Toki sure knew how to choose the best yukatas. It was as light as a feather, yet gave its wearer the look of a confidant warrior. He nodded his head and tried his hardest not blush," Y...You look very good in our traditional dress Green-san." he murmured, a polite smile on his face.

"Shall we proceed to the dining hall?"

Ryouko Hikari

"While it is true that more and more young men and women are united in marriage on their own will through love, the practice of "Mi-ai" is still widely observed to end in a happy married life for many. "Mi-ai" is an interview for a man and woman with a view to marriage, as arranged by their parents or a third party acting as a go-between. It is proposed with due consideration to social backgrounds and other factors of the prospective bride, bridegroom and their families. It is not compulsory on either of the parties concerned to accept such "Mi-ai" as a promise for marriage."

Soft hands placed the 'Book of Marriage' upon the laquered table, and a sigh emerged from soft lips. Ryouko cast her azure gaze out the window, looking out at the rain of pink petals dancing towards the ground. A sad smile graced her now placcid features, she knew what was to happen soon. O'Toki had told her of Chris's arrival.

It was a good thing father wasn't going to be home until night. She didn't feel like seeing him ... It would only make her feel more depressed and , frightened. Yes, even now, she still feared Tatsumi Hikari. But she knew that now all she had to do was play her cards right, and she would be able to save her family.

Cian... how she missed him so.
His smile, his voice with the slight irish accent... and his warm embrace.

"Ne-chan? It's me Kikuji."

"Come in Kiku-bon." she called to him, quickly putting on a sweet smile for him.She didn't need for him to see a sad face, Kikuji deserved much better than this.
She waited until she saw the innocent pair of green eyes peer in," What can Ne-chan do for you ne?"

Christopher Green

In the meanwhile...

With light movements and a certain rush he found himself wrapped in the fine yukata marvelling immediately at its lightness and touch.
At least that’s what occupied his mind, (the pretty yukata, oh yes, how wonderful!) for unlike Ryoga he closed his eyes to the world and dove in the first sensation of comfort since he arrived. His hands, his heat so close... a guardian angel to which he was devoted.
He shuddered when his fingers moved around his waist and coughed when he felt the tight squeeze of the sash.
When Ryoga finished Christopher hardly believed his eyes. It was decided. He wanted this yukata forever. He would buy it if he had to.
Again the yukata… it was best if he kept his thoughts on material things, much, much better.
“You compliment me far too much. I hope I don’t disgrace your traditions by not knowing how to walk wearing them.”
And he made a small bow, his hair coming to rest at his shoulder. The yukata was still a little large, maybe they thought he was some big man from England, and has he bowed it slid slightly back revealing just a little too much neck, a space still marked with curious red and black shadows.
But it had been just a glimpse, no more.
“Lead the way Hikari san.”
Would it be now, Christopher thought. Would it be now that he would meet Tatsumi Hikari?

Kikuji Hikari

"Ne-chan!" Kikuji burst through the door as soon as his sister's voice could be heard. Then he bowed respectfully to her, "I...I..."

He looked up from the floor into those eyes of gentle sky, those eyes he knew ever since he was young and had grown to love. That smile she always gave him to reassure him, to tell him that it was alright for him to speak and say his mind. So in a business-like manner he had adopted from his father, Kikuji rose from the ground and began pacing the floor back and forth," Ni-chan says that we are to meet in the dining hall, Christopher Green is with him."

He paused to watch his sister's reaction to that name and he studied her facial features, but what was he looking for? Happiness? Disappointment? Relief?... Disgust?

"I am not so sure about how you see Green-san" he continued seriously," But, I don't trust him."

"How can we put the fate of everyone into the hands of just one foreigner? Father said.... I mean, I, suddenly don't feel that this is such a good idea..."
he sat down next to her and looked up at Ryouko, "Ne-chan, why was Ni-chan so sad when Green-san came? Why did he stop smiling?" he asked in whisper, his green eyes wide.

Ryouko Hikari

Ryouko smiled a soft smile as the young Hikari bowed to her, to think that even a child such as himself was already so atuned to the ways of formalities.

"I...I..."

"What is it Kiku-chan? You can tell me anything."
Then, as he always did when the matter was a serious one, Kikuji paced backwards and forwards. Ryouko struggled not to laugh, it was rather funny to see him act so buisness-like.

"Ni-chan says that we are to meet in the dining hall, Christopher Green is with him."

Ryouko looked down at the her trembling hands," Oh, I see..." she couldn't imagine how Ryoga was feeling now, how he must be hurting so. She could feel Kikuji's gaze on her, watching her, so she kept her traitorous eyes away from his. She didn't want him to know...

"I am not so sure about how you see Green-san"
"Eh?"
," But, I don't trust him."

Bright eyes of pale blue blinked in utter shock," K...Kikuji?"
This wasn't suppposed to happen, Kikuji had been so eager to meet Christopher... why the distrust?

"How can we put the fate of everyone into the hands of just one foreigner? Father said.... I mean, I, suddenly don't feel that this is such a good idea..."

"Demo, Kikuji-chan, Christopher-san is a very good friend, and he may not be like us, but we shouldn't judge others by just their mere appearence..."
Once again, he sat by her, his face returned to that of a lost child, how his lower lip trembled.

"Ne-chan, why was Ni-chan so sad when Green-san came? Why did he stop smiling?"

Immediately, Ryouko pulled the small one into her arms and held him tight," Ni-chan, is just very tired, remember how we have to be formal towards our guests? So he has to stick to tradition...that's all..." she hugged him close to her, it was all she could do to keep from crying.
"Oh Ryoga-chan..."

"Come Kiku-bon, let's go meet them in the dining hall..."

Ryoga Hikari

As Chris bent over, Ryoga thought his sharp eyes caught sight of something at Christopher's neck. But before he could even take a second glance, Christopher had already stood up again. What was that strange red mark?... It could have been anything. Perhaps it was just a rash? Or what if?....
Thoughts brought him back to the beginning of the year when Chris had torn his shirt open and let him look at the many scars he had on his body... The night of madness.

He shook his head slightly," The yukata is a gift from me Green-san, please accept it." he gave another short bow, then led the way out of the room and down the cedar hallway. They turned a few corners, passing many servants who either took quick peeks at them, or had their eyes glued to the floor, giving them timid bows as they went.
Finally, Ryoga came to a sliding door. With a single movement of his hand, it slid open smoothly, revealing a large room with a high ceiling, brightly lit by paper lanterns. A low long table of laquer stretched down the room as if meant for about 50 people, and in the place of chairs were cushions of green and blue, each one embroided with a curled up serpent of white, the Hikari crest.

"Please take a seat Green-san, my sister will arrive shortly."
Ryoga gestured towards the cushions on the floor, only sitting down when Christopher had taken his place at the table.

A maid came in with a tray of tea and sweet meats for them, taking a quick bow before shuffling back out of the room, as if afraid that she would get eaten alive by either of the boys.

"Some tea Green-san?" Ryoga asked softly as he poured the steaming liquid into two cups, allowing the green tea leaves to settle before stirring each cup carefully, without spilling a single drop. He felt so defeated, as if resigned to a fate worse than Ryouko's. He wanted to commit 'Harikiri' right there on the dining room floor. But the thoughts of his family, of Chris, they prevented him from picking up his sword and plunging it into himself.
Offering the teacup with both hands, Ryoga kept his gaze down at his lap," Please be careful, it's a little hot."

Christopher Green

Ryoga’s stare became quite peculiar for a mere instant but enough to make him realise what he might have seen. Thomas’s leftovers.
He quickly adjusted the yukata and looked peacefully but he said nothing. Last year when lunacy and fear took control of his mouth and actions, he had shown Ryoga what he suffered at the hands of his so called dear Father. Not only he lost his mind that night he almost lost Ryoga so it was best not to give him any explanations but also shrug it off, make it seem like nothing much. Maybe it had been something that fell on top of him and left a bruise. It was best if Ryoga ended up thinking that for something had indeed fallen on his shoulders.
His Father’s hands.

Happily, Ryoga seemed just as eager to forget that little moment of cruel reality and spoke kindly, too kindly again.
He bowed politely, and tried with all his might not to blush but it was like asking him not to breathe well, maybe sustaining his breath was not such a bad idea.; at least prevented him from reaching out to touch his countenance.
So his light fingers only reached for the hem of one of the long sleeves of his lilac yukata and caressed the fabric.
“Your kindness and your family’s have no limits, Hikari san. I shall treasure it.” and wear it every time such chance is provided, Christopher thought grinning mentally though between Hogwarts and Green Manor he didn’t knew when would he have such opportunity.

With a formal bow of his own (so strange to see him do that), Ryoga gestured Christopher to follow him through the magnificent corridors of his home.
Nothing was heavy looking there, light came in through the many windows around yet, everything and everyone was gripped to the floor, shuffling quietly with eyes low as if binded by iron shackles.
Each servant that looked at him either looked horrified or wondrous and both made him uncomfortable, begging to get away. What did they expect from him? What if they knew their real plans?
“God forbid!”

It was all set for a big occasion and he was the reason for it all. Parties and festivities were very nice and dandy in his old England but here it had such reverence clinging to the walls, the ceilings, the table and seats themselves, that it choked him. And all under the pure milky light of a thousand paper lanterns while a gorgeous garden peered at them through one of the many windows in the room.
Frightening indeed, how all that sweetness could turn into the stinging bite of a snake if he didn’t get to play his cards well.
Still, today it wouldn’t be the “Omiai” or to put it simple, the Wedding’s interview.
Today he was just a normal guess, a friend from a distant land and it was all about “getting to know each other better”.
Ryoga stood motionless assuming his supposedly “bored” expression and asked him to sit down which, proved to be a very difficult matter when you were dressed with something that desperately seemed to want to show your legs.
There were no chairs, just cushions which now really made him feel intimidated as everything and everyone grew around him.
Still he smiled softly thinking of the first night Ryoga had been with him and how his kimono (which was his sister’s and gone into their room by mistake) also revealed his own legs so adoringly.
Now he marvelled how he kept it neat and pressed against them, showing not an inch of skin.
He tried to fold his own legs like his but he had no practice at it and only after some awkward adjustments he was proper at last.

A shy looking maid, resembling in her startled airs his maid in the Manor, brought them tea and some appetiser he did not recognise but as he was to say thank you she had shuffled away as if she had seen the devil.
And probably she did.
But it was really something seeing Ryoga’s moving hands pouring in the tea, silently, only the steam rising from the round cup and then his again too gentle words or perhaps it were just his longing and sentiments playing tricks on him.
Still, like a jolt of unwanted electricity he shuddered when their fingers met grasping the cup.
“T-thank you Hikari-san.” he said quickly bowing his head, not minding the heat burning his palms, his fingers.
Not one look! Not now or everything could be ruined!
He placed the cup on the table and staid still, like an ivory statue, looking faded when he should shine for Ryoga, for their plan to work.
Cursed it all be!

Ryouko Hikari

The door slid open once again as Ryouko shuffled into the room. "Hounto ni gomenasai, I did not mean to be tardy, please forgive me." she spoke softly, her eyes were downcast as well. She bowed, but this time ,she knelt down on her knees and bowed until her head touched the polished floor. Once to Ryoga and once to Chris.

Rising up slowly she took a quick peek to see if her younger brother had decided to join them. Then made her way to the table and sat herself across from Ryoga, her hands placed gently one over another on her lap.

Such strict forms of custom were compulsory for a girl her age, in fact she would have already been considered a woman. But whatever the case, she trained well, and did every single one with the grace of a lady, as was expected of her. She struggled to keep her eyes on her lap, resisting the urge to look into the blues of her twin to see if she could give him any form of comfort... but she couldn't.

"How bright the sun shines today..." she spoke casually," and yet somehow, one can't help but feel a chill ne? Even the branches of the sakura tree are getting flimsy and brittle in the cold.." she hinted to them both. "But as they say, time heals all. Perhaps if we are patient, the branches will become strong again and the blossoms will be more beautiful than any have ever seen... it just takes time, and patientce."
She stressed her last words before taking a sip of the green tea she had poured for herself.

"My father Hikari Tatsumi will be joining us for dinner tonight, until then, you may clear any doubts you have or ask any question about today's agenda." she stated, placing her cup carefully back on the table before smiling a small smile.

Christopher Green

“When in presence of a lady, especially one considered especial, a gentleman is to greet her delicately and express his satisfaction in having the chance to appreciate her company.”

He didn’t need to remember Marian’s words to understand this but as in so many other occasions, when the need to be courteous was higher, her shrill voice would echo inside his mind and act like some sort of hypnosis driving him to respond like a puppet.
This had been his education and his culture.
But here, so far away from home, culture was different and so was etiquette.
Christopher tried to get up but before he had managed it, Ryouko was kneeling down with such reverence towards her brother that he might just have been a Buda statue waiting worship.
Then, much to his dismay, she bowed to him also in that same incomprehensible way until some of her light blonde fringe touched the bright wooden floor.
What culture was this, Christopher thought, which considered women so low to have them prostrate themselves like that in front of men?
She was pale, and looked tired, her eyes dull somehow. Was this really Ryouko?
She looked like a bright canary whose tongue had been ripped off and now that he considered it, so did Ryoga and so did him.

It was strange then, when she opened her small lips and spoke breaking the discomfited ambience although keeping it sustained in a silver thread of warning.
He understood those words and nodded slowly.
“There is no cold for me.” what was he supposed to call her? Was “san” also for girls? “I’m consumed in the heat and I’m afraid I might grow ill from it unless I find some sort of solace.” his eyes turned slightly to Ryoga, not exactly meeting his granite blue, examining better perhaps the curve of his lips.
Once more he nodded gently when Ryouko spoke again and imitating her, he took the cup of tea into his hands and drank from it.
It was the strangest thing he had ever tasted. It was bitter, with such accentuated taste and yet almost no aroma. He putted the cup back on the table, swallowing silently, trying to decide if he liked it or not.
“What is the name of this beverage?” he asked out of curiosity.
When he heard Tatsumi Hikari’s name however, the small sparkle of casualness was put out and his eyes glinted, getting him ready for anything and everything.
“It would be rude of me to expose you or anyone of your household right now to any of my fancies. I nearly arrived Hikari… san.”
To say the truth he was not one bit used to the exoticness of Japan and a taste of its streets and people looking at him as if seeing a ghost made him falter and wish only to rest peacefully.
He preferred changing the subject right away.
“Your young brother grew so much. I’m glad I finally have a chance to meet him. He looks like a fine child.”

Kikuji Hikari

Just behind the sliding door, a small head leaned against the wooden frame. Kikuji's ears strained hard to try and listen out for any clue about his siblings's plans with this new-comer, but he heard nothing...

He let out a small sigh, how did things become such a big mess?
"Kaa-san..." (mother)
he whispered, and curled his legs to his chest. His head was still flopped against the door, a ginger curtain fell across eyes of summer green. If only his mother was around, when she would be back from Osaka, he would never know. Satsu was so ill... so weak.. so tired...
Around his neck, Kikuji wore a small pendant of red glass in the shape of a fox. His mother told him that it was rumoured to contain the blood of the fox godess, and that it would protect him. The young Hikari held it to him and whispered a quick fervent prayer, his eyes shut tight in hope that everything would just go right...
Kami sama...

But when he had opened his eyes...
"O..O..Otousan..."

Fleurs balafrées

Participating characters:
Lisette Beaumont
Crewe Kastallo Montague

Status: Incomplete/History

Last Post: Unknown






Lisette Beaumont

She sat, posture ramrod straight, on a bench in the middle of the exquisite gardens. She had arrived to Hogwarts only the day before, and several weeks later than most of the other students. However, having no companionship was not something new to the young woman.

Her snow white hair glistened softly in the summer sun, a slight breeze stirring it around her face. Both hands were resting in her lap, atop a book and quill. The book was faded with age, and the cover worn down to a dull grey shade. The quill was remarkably similar in hue to the book, as if the two were long partners. Which they were.

Her lilac eyes took in the flowers, the shrubs and the various statuary without really seeing any of them. Her mind was elsewhere, contemplating everything and nothing.

A warm breeze rustled the flowers, causing the skirt of her dress to ruffle slightly, dancing in the wind. She reached down, absentmindedly smoothing the pale lavender silk rustling around her knees. As she did so, a tinkling sound met her ears, and, pulling herself from her reverie, she peered down at the ground to see the cause of the noise.

On the ground lay an ornate rosary, the beads black pearls. Reaching down, she clasped the relic in on small hand. “Pardonne moi, ma Mère” she murmured softly as she wrapped it around her wrist where it had been previously.

Settling back into the bench, she allowed her eyes to stray to the various flowers that decorated the intricate pathways. To her immediate right, a bed of silver roses, magical she was sure, grew thick, the air heady with their scent. She peered at the flowers, noting that they had no thorns on their slender stems. “Perfection a trouvé dans une fleur,” she breathed softly, a slight glimmer coming into her amythest eyes. A slight smile may have touched her lips, but it was fleeting, a brush and then gone.

She ran a finger along the filigree of scars on right cheek, the thought of thorns striking a chord somewhere within her soul. The design was beautiful, though would naturally be painful beauty for the one it was inflicted on. The symbols were intricate, representations of the angels of heaven. Her thorns had scarred her, forever marking her, a reminder.

Dropping her hand back into her lap, she flipped open the book, and began writing.
Crewe tread down the stoned pathway of the gardens. The branches reached out to the sides, toward him. Grappling his shoulders and occasionally grazing his bronzed arms, He had a feeling as if the plants here were more than just growing. They were practically alive. Crewe had yet to get used to this place he was to call a home for two more years. That was a long time to think about. Eight seasons had to come and past, four in actual, doubling.

Crewe Kastallo Montague

Crewe wore a black shirt with dark slacks. He hadn’t expected it to be so humid here. The sleeves were folded back to his fore arms. Over all, his appearance seemed ruffled and unkempt. His dark hair hung in tousled strands over his skin. His mouth was set in a stern expression. He wasn’t angry but he appeared to be. Unconsciously, he didn’t have control over his facial expressions. His thoughts were elsewhere. All thoughts had trailed off without ends. His pale eyes were hidden far from view. Hidden by something that always was the first thing to catch other’s eyes.

A black blindfold.

A cloth of various folds covered his eyes. It swept over his eyes and went completely around without a seam to tear it off at. He tried everything. Scissors, knives, anything that was able to cut. Crewe slipped the blade of the scissors under his blindfold but as he clapsed the cutter’s ends, he heard a sharp seriers of cracking. In result, the blindfold had not even a tear but the scissor blades had broken into pieces of useless metal on his lap. Hopeless. The blindfold was made of a rich cloth but it was unbreakable and.. He wasn’t able to take it off.

Crewe sighed and overheard a girl whisper to the silence The girl had his back to her.

“Perfection a trouvé dans une fleur.”

Walking silently along, he knew that perfection could never be found. Not in a human and not in a flower. Closing her hand over a flower he had sensed to his side, Crewe tore it from it’s fragile stem. He knew not of it’s color nor did he care. Crossing over to the bench, he stood at it’s back, leaning over.

“Rien n'est parfait.” Crewe’s hand was open with the gray rose in his hand.

His voice strongly pierced the air despite it’s form in a whisper. He closed his hand to form a palm. Opening his hand moments later, the rose petals fell graceful from his grip and scattered to the planks of the bench. The petals wilted where they lay. Perfection did not die. The girl still sat with her back to him but he hunched over the bench in which he leaned forward with his shoulders.

“Les fleurs ne sont pas même une exception.” Crewe spoke softly.

His accent was crisp. Though, he felt surprised to find someone else who could speak his native language here. Crewe wondered if he was just not being observant enough.
“Rien n'est parfait.”

Lisette Beaumont

“All Gods creations are perfect, Lisette. But you… I do not think God had a hand in you, child. No child of God would be capable of your acts. So we must work to make you perfect in the eyes of God. I do this for you.”

Another slice, another scar, red tears streaming down the face of a young girl, spilling onto the church floor. A whimper in the darkened narthex, only the glow of the candles lighting the room, blood reflecting black on the floor.


His breath tickled her ear, stirring her hair as he whispered into the quiet afternoon a response to her observation. She sighed, knowing that the speaker, whoever he was, was right. “Vrai,” she said simply, a slight defeated tone to her voice. A tone that was almost always present in her voice.

Her eyes followed the fall of silver to the bench, watching the graceful arch of the petals as they floated in the air, coming to rest next to her. She reached over, gently grabbing one of the petals and placed it on the open page of her book. Tucking the quill within the pages, she shut the journal, turning her face up to meet that of the young man who stood behind her.

He was stern looking, with handsome features and dark hair that lay tousled in an endearing manner. She made these observations with no change to her facial expression, nothing to give away what was going on beneath the surface. Not that he would have noticed, she amended to herself, for the young man wore what appeared to be a blindfold around his eyes.

He had surprised her with his coming, and perhaps he would have noticed that she jumped slightly when he spoke. But she made no notice of surprise to his appearance.

“Judge not, less ye be judged, Lisette” her fathers voiced roared in her ears, splitting her head.

“Then why do you judge me, Papa.” The little girl had asked, wincing away as he swatted at her, enraged by her insolence.

She wondered vaguely what the blindfold was for, and then dismissed the curiousity. After all, if he wished to discuss such things, then he would. She would not start off this new place, (finally… freedom) by offending the first person she met.

He appeared to be about her age, perhaps a year or so older, yet his stern manner made him seem much older. But then the same had often been said of Lisette, so she dismissed the thought.

“And who are you, cela parle la vérité si hardiment?” she questioned, her voice neither cold nor warm, not necessarily inviting, but not intimidating either. Lisette was a somber young woman, and while others might look around and note the beauty of the world, she noted how her presence detracted from that beauty. A mar on the masterpiece of God, as her father had called her.

She brushed the pale strands of hair from her eyes before tucking the book beneath the bench on which she sat. Reaching over she brushed the petals of the crushed rose into one small palm, their fragrance still strong despite their untimely death. The petals felt like satin in her fingertips, and she shifted her position on the bench, leaving room for the young man, should he opt to take a seat. Spreading her fingers, she allowed the petals to run through them, like silver water spilling onto the courtyard.
“And who are you, cela parle la vérité si hardiment?”

Crewe Kastallo Montague

A spark of amusement played on his face. He set a layback tone of response.

”Un jeune philosophe.”

Crewe jumped the bench and sat down beside the girl. She spoke with a sense of ill interest that intrigued him. It was as if her voice were promoting monotones. He could sense no sense of warmth or emotion embedded in her words. The voice told a lot of things about someone’s personality. First off, Crewe could tell this girl was secretive. A lock that was complicated. No key could easily undo her. Mystery was an intrigue.

Ironic. Crewe had enough mystery in himself to amuse people for years of story unravelings. It was a shame he chose to reserve himself instead. Information was a powerful thing. Even death could be provoked. It was a play with fire. Crewe wouldn’t let off and finish personal ideas of himself. Sentences would often go unfinished. Often, more than not, he would end up trailing most sentences leading to possible threats.

The truth. He kidded about being a philosopher. The only ideas he came with was from his own reasoning. Crewe did not want to compare the truth with his knowledge. He knew he would easily lose. Though, his opinion stood as his own opinion. No information could stare him down to defeat.

“Ce n'est pas la vérité. C’est mon avis.” Crewe continued.

He reached swiftly out and caught a petal in his palm before it fell from the girl’s open fingers onto the stony ground of the courtyard. It was delicate. A fragile wit of withering silk. How could it be perfect?

Lisette Beaumont

She took a gentle breathe, the intoxicating scent of the flowers causing her to feel slightly lightheaded in the warmth of the afternoon. She felt so out of place here, and yet not. There was such beauty around, so much she was trying to learn to appreciate. It seemed bitterly ironic that she would have to teach herself to appreciate the beauty of her surroundings. It should come naturally to one.

”Un jeune philosophe.”

She watched as he cleared the bench, her interest increasing with every moment that the young man continued in her company. The blindfold seemed to do little to thwart him in his actions, as he seemed to operate as though he had full function of his sight. What was once a mere idle question, now was forming into something more. Lisette rarely, if ever, found herself questioning into the nature of other individuals, especially individuals that would be considered her peers. She'd been given only the most fleeting of contact with children her age, and even then it had been heavily supervised. Furthermore, that contact had been forced, most individuals her age balking at her physical appearance. The pale snowy hair, the lavendar eyes.

And of course, the scars.

“Ce n'est pas la vérité. C’est mon avis.”

"Ah, oui," She replied softly, a full smile brushing the pale pink lips for the first time in ages, reaching up to her eyes and lighting them with an inner glow. With it, a certain warmth came to her voice. "Il n'y a pas de vérité, seulement la perception, n'est pas? " She turned her face up toward his, the pale silken hair whispering on her bare shoulders in the slight breeze that constantly kissed the courtyard they were in. She relaxed visibly, the ramrod posture becoming less strict and more comfortable, and she leaned a pale arm on the back of the bench, resting her head in the palm of one small hand.

Reaching up with her right hand, she brushed the tendrils of hair back, tucking them behind her ear, revealing her scar with ease. The rosary, still wound loosely around her wrist, tinkled against itself, the dark beads catching the rays of the sun, and seeming to ignite with a myriad of oil-like colors on their surface. Such action and blatant display was uncharacteristic of Lisette, who often did her best to hide the injured skin behind a curtain of white locks. But with this young man, she was different. Such relaxation came from the knowledge that he was not silently judging her, viewing her as an abnormality before giving her a chance to be herself. Lisette had become what everyone expected her to be, and this situation offered her a chance to let go of societies enforced stipulations on her personality. Few would give her a chance to prove herself different than their percieved notions.

People like her father, who disliked her for being different from the moment he saw her.

This young man was a welcome change.

She peered at him from beneath thick lashes, watching as he agilely caught a petal, again noting this "second" sight he seemed to operate with. She wondered if he himself had suffered much ridicule, and for what purpose. She doubted the blindfold was self inflicted, but why keep it on beyond the reach of the one who had placed it.

Unless it had magical qualities.

She had to get used to thinking that way now, now that she herself was beyond the reach of her father. Her thoughts were her own in this new world, and she was still much like a babe, learning to walk on it's own.

Turning her gaze back up to his face, idly brushing another rogue strand of hair out of her eyes, she asked simply "Quel est votre nom?"

It was almost as if she were a different person from the young woman who had been seated on the bench moments before. Her voice was still soft, but the monotonous tone was altered to one of innocent curiousity, of a young woman who was painfully shy, but was making an effort.

Of who she really was, the Lisette that could not be seen from the surface.

De Profundis

An orginal work by -Christopher Green-

You couldn’t expect much from British summers in fact it had been raining for the whole week, inconsequential little drops that could have you drenched in minutes and face itching all over.
Humidity was bad for business, it could spoil everything.
“It’s here.” Ellington called, his figure only a few shadows away. He was a short funny man, always smoking an intoxicating pipe of Gnomish root, which turned his tongue orange and his breath filthy like a sewer duct.
“How many containers are there?”
Damned it. He sounded like he had a frog on his throat.
“Well look at you, chocked chicken and no water hot!” Ellington snorted sarcastically.
“Spare me. I’ll take some Ore Burn when I get back.”
“Glad to see someone worrying. Okay… there’s six ready to go.” he said patting the lid of one of the wooden boxes right in front of them.
Six… six was a good number. They could make some profit.
“We’re going to make some real cash with this, Green. Who would have thought those Asians would pay so much for diced and minced mermaid flesh?” Ellington laughed opening one of the lids ever so careful. “Argh, just the smell of it!”
“You know what they say… if you eat the flesh of a mermaid, you will become an immortal…”
Ellington smiled, a painful kind of smile. He fell to the wet ground, pipe drooling out of his orange mouth, and more spit and yellowish liquids followed.
“But you can also die from it… it’s both dream and poison.”
No response, just the rain, and quick footsteps. Four, five persons. If they were human or not, he didn’t know, he didn’t care. He had been paid, he was happy.
“I’m going now.” he announced, hands high in the air so they could see he wasn’t holding his wand and like so, he Dissaparated.
His eyes snapped open. Something called to him, scratching at the windowpane, a shrilling sound like a baby moaning.
He almost felt his heart ready to pump right out of his mouth and so, he secured it between his warm hands, breathing in and out, letting dreams dissipate and reality sink in.
The baby’s moan came again, a demanding plea.
“Honestly Christopher…” he groaned “It’s only your cat.”
So it was, Leviathan, the beautiful bluish grey tabby, a faithful companion, a comforting shadow. Still, when dwelling in a house where clocks appeared out of nowhere to check on you and walls more than having ears had eyes; a small friend like Levi would always frighten him this much.
“How was the hunt?” Christopher smiled, patting the cat’s head.
Leviathan only leaned closer to the fingers caressing his fur and purred his content away.

Almost two months had passed since he had arrived home. Time was flying fast, but not fast enough.
He had managed to keep a steady routine. Mornings and afternoons were spent in the company of Marian which involved visiting her lady friend’s houses, other times helping taking care of her rose gardens and at supper time, when Thomas arrived, he would simply eat and retire to bed.
School had given him a really bad time and he needed to recover for all the late night study he had. That’s what he would say, pretending to yawn or simply going up the stairs.
It didn’t matter if they believed him or not, as long as he didn’t have to stand in the same room with Thomas alone.

This evening however, matters had been slightly different as he had yet again to attend to another party given by Madam Mimi. Since Lady Chantey’s recreation of a golden era spectacle, all of those who were eccentric and flamboyant as she was were trying to surpass the phenomenal event with better dinners, better dancing halls, better surprises. It was just silly.
Now, his feet still hurt from all that dancing and Marian killed his ears when they were on their way home. She had involved herself in an argument with Mrs. Welwitschia, the wife of Thomas’s superior and when in need to complain, she made him her crying pillow.

Suddenly, Leviathan mewled and before Christopher could prevent it, he was moving down the bed sheets to curl near the boy’s feet.
“Wait! Levi, you’re wet!” Christopher called out but the only reply was a contented purr. “Fine, have it your way.”
He kept rubbing his hands, squeezing them, feeling their strength. His fingers were very long, like stems of a flower or spider feet. That’s what Ellington called him before wasn’t it? “Old spider hands”.
Thomas breathed in deeply, the scent of his home, his private quarters, acid, smoke and perhaps a small hint of death.
He took off his jacket, hung it close to all his other “practise” attires and looked at them with an uninterested look. There were all types of clothes in that cabinet, clothes no one in the Manor except the Manor itself, knew to exist.
A priest’s suit, a gentleman’s tuxedo, a long red robe, a shapeless woman’s dress, and much, much more.
He looked at them all, his brown eyes resting on the black leather coat he had wore during the evening, at the humidity still clinging in its texture.

There could have been a million different ways of dispatching Ellington from life. If he had wore the red wizard robe and applied some make up and putted on a wig, he could have been another dealer, awaiting to make business and then, with one swish of a wand, everything would be over.
Or he could have been a not so simple bystander, coming in for the rush… there was even one opportunity of saving Ellington instead of snuffing him out.
It wasn’t his style though.
The orders he received were clear and plain. Ellington was out of the deal.

His long fingers moved away, feeling their way into a crystal oval bottle. It was smooth, cold, like all things proper should be. The liquid inside was even better. It bit his tongue, and burned the throat. It was like tasting sin.
“Cheers to you, my poor, poor Ellington.” Thomas murmured in that criminal room, where plots were made, people undone and where he kept all of his true self separated from society.
“At least you know the face of your killer. Your death was not a shameless one.”
Aconitum Napellus and Atropa Belladona. Just a small quantity of mermaid flesh added to the mixture and there wouldn’t be time to call for salvation.
He knew this much as he was an expert in poisons.

The best thing about using poison instead of a wand for a kill was that there would be no traces, no Prior Incantaten an auror or any other authority figure could cast that would trace a curse spell to him. Hell, the best thing was that he, Thomas, was an authority figure too.
Chief Secretary of England’s Department of Law Enforcement. What a joke.
“And perhaps the only good thing you left me, old man.” he smiled raising a glass to an empty dirty frame. It was his father’s painting.
“Mad at me again? Am I not following your steps as you wished me to do? Am I still not good enough for you?”
Something shattered.
Brown reflected red, red wine, red blood. He had pulverized the glass in his hand.

It was the best of things that colour, it reminded him of something, or someone with a characteristic so alluring as that redness. But it also reminded him that he was still not free from suspicions. He needed an alibi, a place where he would have been doing something nice, something pleasant. Something like a family evening listening to W.W.N. and talking trivialities. Wasn’t his idiotic spouse queen of the futile and two miles long dialogues?
He licked the blood sucking it out, satisfied to see that it was only a small cut and moved to a small black armoire which opened as soon as he came closer.
Out of it Thomas produced a silver Time Turner, and calculated how many turns he would have to give to go back to nine o’clock.
“It’s not the first and it certainly won’t be the last time your father acts this way.” Marian grumbled. “And right after telling me he would be coming for dinner. I made his favourite.”
Christopher doubted two things at that moment. The first being of course Marian ever picking up a pan to cook a meal and the second, if that was really Thomas’s favourite food. Gourmet meals or a simple steak and potatoes, he would always find something to complain about and shout at the maids.
The ones currently serving at the Manor were particularly jumpy and often let things fall as if afraid of their own shadows.
This was in part due to all the bad news swaying around Thomas’s head about him being the son of a “refined assassin”.
Poor girls, living in a mad haunted house, with a unusual mistress, a supposed dark Wizard and not having one ounce of magic in their bloods should be scaring them to unconsciousness.
But wouldn’t they be even more scared if they found out that their fears were all true?

Christopher shifted his legs, sitting properly in the small divan, book in his hand. It was almost nine o’clock now. They had been waiting for Thomas to start dinner but he had just Apparated a few minutes ago telling that he needed to work overtime at the office.
Marian couldn’t care less, in fact most of the time she was happy about not having her dear husband around but, as she was raised into perfection, she liked to suppose to have a perfect relationship thus; she would fool herself into believing that she was indeed upset with Thomas’s absence.
As for him, it was always great news and when Thomas Dissaparated his lilac irises gave a small glint of satisfaction.
The evening unfortunately, wouldn’t be a calm one, as they had been invited to a late party by Marian’s close friend, Madame Mimi. It seemed to be some sort of “Masquerade Ball” party where everybody would come dressed as a muggle.
How nice…

“Let’s eat then, Chrissie. I promise we would arrive at eleven sharp.” Marian sighed while ringing a small bell.
In came the maids with casseroles and saucers and in came, Thomas slightly flustered.
“Forgot something dear?” Marian blinked, her hands moving towards her chair, a tired look on her face.
Turn by turn, Thomas made the small hourglass move in five perfect circles. One… two… three… four… five… here! Stop!
Slowly, he opened his eyes and glanced around. Somewhere upstairs, very faintly he could hear his wife detestable voice, the footsteps of the maids, their quick nervous whimpers and between that mass of noise, a low emotionless tone was also heard. His own chilling voice.
Cold sweat formed on his forehead. It wasn’t a pleasant experience to know you were in two places at the same time. What if he was to come down to this secret room and find himself there? He knew too well what could happen. He had read a good deal of reports about such accidents.

Five more minutes.
That all he needed really, to compose his dark blue suit, to look neutral, uncaring. The voices up there were hushing into silence now, except of course, Marian’s annoying cacophony of words accompanied by a shrilling bell.
Well, might just as well be a sign for him to make his entrance, Thomas mused.

The room was hidden, behind a fake wall. More than hidden, it changed location quite often, when the Manor thought it was needed. Old wizard houses are weird things and Thomas’s acted like a bodyguard, a secret keeper.
He edged away, behind a column, watching the maids rushing by with plates of food and followed them when suddenly his throat gave in and he started to cough hard.
Needless to say one of those senseless maids shrieked and almost let the plate in her hand fall.
“Don’t be foolish, girl!” he shouted reaching to grab the plate in time.
“I-I’m so sorry Mr. Green… f-forgive me.”
“Enough with the excuses and get going.”
She was still looking at him nervously but on she went and soon enough he was in the dinner’s room, his wife already pulling a chair to sit down, Christopher still sitting on the divan.

“Forgot something dear?”
He adjusted his tie.
“My plans were cancelled. I’m staying.” he replied shortly. “Let’s eat.”
Marian however kept looking at him with a puzzled expression. It was almost has if she was his mother. She was not. She was perhaps, a landlady, a really niggling one.
“You sound terrible darling. Are you constipated by any chances?”
He didn’t even need to think for a good excuse. It was utterly ordinary for him to lie.
“Caught a little breeze outside. Thank you for asking.”
She snorted.
“You’re in a good mood today.”
“Am I?”
For some reason, he saw her blush, and turn away to pick her knife and fork. Women. All crazier than a barn owl. Christopher on the other hand, looked just like he always looked, composed, stoic. Annoying.
When those damned Hikari had been around he was all laughter and smile but now, he was dead, nothing. It made him sad, and it made him loathe him so much.
“Well, if you’re here now, maybe you can accompany us to Mimi’s party.” Marian spoke suddenly.

He looked straight at her.
“You’re going out?”
“Oh forget that I mentioned it. You detest my little parties anyway… *sigh* and it would be so wonderful to have you around. Christopher and I always look so out of place without.”
That was too much. He couldn’t permit it. He needed his alibi.
“You won’t go. We haven’t spent a night together, a real night together since ever.”
“Honestly Thomas.” her lip was trembling. “I dislike talking such matters in the presence of our son but our agreement was that I wouldn’t meddle in your affairs and you wouldn’t meddle in mine. We’ve been happy that way, haven’t we?”
They haven’t.
“Fine.” he growled. “You go, but Christopher stays.”
Almost as if enchanted, Christopher’s fork fell with a loud clang.
Marian’s eyebrows arched.
“You’re saying for me to go alone to the party? Impossible! A lady should always be accompanied…”
“He’s always either going to your parties or getting so tired that by ten thirty he’s in bed. I haven’t had a chance to sit down with my son and chat.
He smiled.
He smiled because he was nervous.
Because Marian could ruin everything, the stupid buor, because Christopher was looking so frightened, like something small, something precious you could squeeze between your fingers and free, free from worries, free from flesh…
He winced. His hand was hurting, becoming rosy. A threadbare sign of dear sin.