Satin Scorpion :: Shusu's Blog

Sunday, April 07, 2002

7:15 PM
Vorbeiflitzen

The fic string formerly known as the Aya/Omi Vignettes. There's only one new one, and I have omitted the two longer plot ones because of spoilers. Two more are planned and yet to be written. E-mail me if you want to see them, lots of you already have.

The new one is the "Comb" story; it's the first of Ran I've written for several months. And yes, these are actually meant to be perpetual teases. (Titles may change.)

Vorbeiflitzen is a special series of Weiß Kreuz fics. It's on a single timeline wherein Aya and Omi become seriously involved with each other. The series name literally means 'to flit by' or 'to flash past.' What makes Vorbeiflitzen so interesting is that it's stuck in perpetual tease mode. It's a bunch of unfinished vignettes in chronological order. Most of the series is completely planned out, but it's so long that I simply don't have time to flesh it out. The more you read, the more the previous teases are spoiled. However, I still have creative license to mess with the plot in between vignettes, so you'll still be surprised (and, hopefully, entertained) if you read it out of order.

Caught

Omi hadn't planned on being caught. It had been an accident borne out of the sheer chaos of the mission. Down one hallway were two posts of guards. Down another was a dead end. The last hallway was a clear exit... except for the charges Omi had set to go off in two minutes. Radio silence had been called three minutes ago, so there was no way of locating help. Just as Omi stopped to ponder his options, a pair of arms yanked him back and down, and all he saw was darkness.
He flailed for a panicked second as a glove pressed against his mouth. Then he recognized just whose glove it was.
"Tuck in," Aya whispered in his ear. Omi curled his legs up and leaned back, his crossbow resting on the other side of Aya's leg. The older assassin leaned against the wall, in a crouch, pulling Omi in so the two of them could be as small as possible. Their niche was tiny and shadowed by pipes. If they made a sound they'd be easily cornered. Omi had to be content with sitting for now, though a crouch would allow him to spring out faster.
Footsteps echoed down the hallway. Aya drew Omi closer so that he was nestled securely in the V of Aya's body. Together they listened to the group pass.
"Are we safe?" Again that deep, quiet whisper. Omi blinked at the question, so atypical of Aya, taking a moment to understand what he was asking. Quickly he calculated the distance from the charges, and their magnitude... relieved he nodded against Aya's chest. They would be safe as long as they were not discovered.
Staying motionless was an art in itself. First the breathing would have to be synchronized, an easy task with Aya's already steady heartrate. Then the muscles, tensed and relaxed to keep ready and fend off strain. Omi could feel them imperceptibly bunching and releasing beneath Aya's dark garments. They were quite similar in body type, the same wiry strength despite their size. In this position Omi's height barely mattered.
Like a dance of stillness, Omi thought, his bow-hand automatically tensing when he felt Aya's sword grip squeeze, the biceps moving against his shoulder. More men running past. Aya's sense of hearing was good. Or perhaps Omi's was drowned out by Aya's heartbeat.
Boom. The pipes rang like bells. Screams from that wrong hallway, and men fleeing. Omi tensed. A gloved hand covered his, reminding him not to, and at that moment Omi realized just how close he was to the swordsman. One of his arms steadied Omi's shoulder, while the other held the katana flat, just inches from Omi's bare leg. Aya's thighs were on either side of him, his chest at his back, the soft breaths rustling the top of his head.
Peppermint. Omi's senses had been dulled to the smell of blood for some time, so he caught a whiff of it. Aya chewed peppermint before missions? It seemed right for Aya, that no matter how warm and snug he felt, there was still a hint of coolness about him. Omi blinked. Snug? He almost shifted, confused with the feeling of comfort that Aya was exuding. His adrenaline should have been pumping in a situation like this.

~ ~ ~
(A little canon manip here. Ran's father was probably a small time banker.)

Homework

"Arigatou, Aya-kun! I never would have understood that otherwise. No one in class knows what the teacher is talking about."
"As long as you try your best, Omi." Aya breathed deeply to calm himself, but only succeeded in getting another whiff of Omi's baby powder scent.
"You're very good at math," remarked the boy as he piled his work together. "No wonder you're always stuck doing the Koneko's books."
"I was going to inherit the business."
Omi's wide blue eyes flew up to his, and Aya suppressed the urge to cover his mouth. It wouldn't bring the words back. In all the time he'd spent with his three teammates, he had never mentioned his life before.
"What was it? The business, I mean." Omi said, more cautious than curious.
"It was a bank. But there were a several facets to it. We'd acquired some other businesses. Shipping, inventory, tracking merchandise, managing bank accounts." Aya picked at a shred of notebook paper. "We were middlemen. Not a very glamorous job, but thanks to my grandfather's connections we had a long reach."
"It sounds interesting," said Omi. Aya glanced at him, searching for that glimmer of pity, but this was Omi. He was genuinely intrigued. It occurred to Aya that Omi had been born into the assassin business. Whatever past he'd had before the age of six, after that Kritiker had become his family, his life. In a twisted way, it didn't sound all that different from the inheritance Fujimiya Ran had been groomed for.
Aya forged on. "We had offices in every port town, and one in Taipei. I visited all of them, saw how they worked, met the people. It was overwhelming, at first. I was sure I wouldn't... do as well as my father." Discreetly Omi pulled closer to Aya, not touching him, only offering his presence. "But I memorized every shipping route, the bank accounts, the major investors. I made it a point to ask my father what his plans were for the week. I remember... business was bad, right before."
Aya paused, grasping at images he hadn't thought of in so long, the faceless men in suits who were either there to help his father or hurt him, and every one of them trying to figure out how to profit from the Fujimiyas' dilemma. It had been a slow slide. Had it been Aya-chan's fourteenth or fifteenth birthday when they'd mortgaged their vacation house? "...I sat down with him and told him I would get a job of my own and go to a community college before business school, so Aya-chan could go to a real university and study medicine like she wanted-"
Soft fingers on his cheek. Aya stopped, startled that those fingers were coming away damp. His mouth opened, and shut, his own hand reaching up to touch his tear-streaked face.
Before he could move to get up, Omi leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Aya's chest, resting his ear next to his heart. Aya found himself returning the embrace. Wanting to give Omi a safe place, even if it was close to himself, who didn't deserve the same.
He thought for a moment that Omi would start to cry, but both of them stayed dry-eyed. Reluctantly he dipped his head a little until his lips and nose were buried in Omi's soft hair. He expected something else. Sympathy. Sadness. Balm on a wound which could not heal. Instead there was the steady lull of Omi's breath, and the warmth of his body. No need to understand, the gesture said. No need to ask.
The minutes flew, and it was Omi who broke first, gently untangling himself from Aya's hold. The boy hovered for a moment, his hands lying flat on Aya's knees, staring up with kind eyes.
Aya leaned down and kissed his forehead. As Omi's eyes fluttered shut he pressed his lips to each long-lashed eyelid.
The redhead drew back suddenly, the spell broken. What was he doing? Omi was in the same position, his eyes still closed, the line of his lips neither surprised nor distressed. Just calm. The blue eyes opened a moment later. Aya was at a loss. What was he supposed to do now?
"I have to go to sleep now, Aya-kun," Omi said softly.
"H-hai."
"I'll see you tomorrow." Omi watched him get up to leave, neither smiling nor frowning, but with a sort of stillness in his eyes which Aya had never seen before in the cheerful, boisterous boy. "Aya-kun."
"Yes, Omi?"
"If you need to talk about anything, you can tell me."
Aya was about to say it wouldn't be necessary when he noticed Omi's posture - hands resting on the seat on either side of him, spine straight but not rigid, his face tilted upwards and rosy with a fresh blush. Open. Without agendas, or ulterior motives. 'I will not judge you,' it seemed to say. 'Only listen.'
"Arigatou, Omi-kun," Aya said softly. "Oyasumi."
It was only towards dawn, as Aya gave up on sleep, that he realized why the kiss had bothered him so. The night he had signed his life away to Kritiker, he had gone to Aya-chan's bedside and done the same thing. Kissed her forehead for good luck. And kissed her slumbering eyes, for hope.

~ ~ ~
(This might be the beginning of the Reading vignette, it might be something completely different. We'll see.)

Reading ?

Omi watched him on the wooden floor, dancing with his sword, the rhythms of control and release going by too quickly for him to see. Lover. His lover. It still seemed alien to him to use that word with Aya. Aya had so much power, was so vital, was so filled with cold coiled passion. Omi thought he might burst if he felt half the things Aya did. He spent most of his time expelling energy, lest it overwhelm him. All Aya had to do was look at him and he could sense all that roiling emotion held in check.
Was he the cold one, and Aya the hot? Omi smiled at the thought. They weren't that different when it came down to it. It was simply that his emotions could come in unbearable bursts which came and went like shots. Only in the dark of night, or in rare quiet moments, Omi could relive them and was really able to feel them under his skin. It was operating by instinct more than anything else.
And as for Aya... if anything he wasn't walled off enough. People sensed those waves of emotion slipping through his shields and kept their distance. Aya could be so curt and unforgiving with others, but instead of contempt what he got in return was pity or avoidance, and that just made him angrier. Aya did not like people presuming things about his internal thoughts. It was no wonder Ken hardly knew how to talk to the redhead. Yohji could barely start a conversation around him, and if he did it was one-sided and sarcastic.
Omi felt a swell of warmth in his chest. How funny that they fit together so well. How strange that he enveloped himself in Aya's raging heat, and Aya clung to him for sanctuary.
Aya was finished. He stood there a moment, catching his breath. Just long enough for Omi to lick his lips at that toned chest pinked with the exertion. The redhead turned, showing no surprise that Omi had been watching. The boy caught a flash in those violet eyes which made his stomach wobble. Omi gave him a mini-wave with his fingertips. Aya returned a curt nod, then began to put the gym back in order.
The blond sighed in sheer contentment. If so small an exchange could be so intimate, it was no wonder the rest of the world didn't see what was going on between them. Only alone did they do things other lovers did.
Aya came up the stairs, carrying his shirt and his regular katana. Without missing a step his warm hand slid over Omi's cheek and mussed his hair. His lips came tantalizingly close to his ear. "Do your homework, Chibi." Instead of watching me.
Omi smiled and pushed off from the railing. "We have mission specs to look through tonight. I'll print them out and we'll do them downstairs."
Aya nodded. In either of their bedrooms none of it would get done. "I'm taking a shower."
Omi padded after him, his mouth gone dry. He didn't need to touch him. He didn't even need to smell his sweat so close. Aya needed no confirmation that Omi's whole body had prickled with the image of him naked in the shower. If not for the brief glance over his shoulder as he slipped into the bathroom, it might have been a perfectly ordinary exchange.
Omi was finishing his homework so quickly these days.

~ ~ ~

Comb

He likes to comb my hair.
Brushes are too harsh, he says, for hair like mine. Every evening he pats his side of the bed, his thin arm winding around me in a loose circle. He takes off the hair tie and his fingers disappear beneath the strands, gentle on my scalp. I remember when those fingers were smaller.
When I am relaxed against him he takes the comb and untangles the ends. All the time his other hand massages my scalp. He does not want me to hurt as he pulls the comb through.
When the dimness of the room presses on my eyes he begins to talk. I don't know how he knows when this happens. The only mirror in the room is behind him, above his computer desk. It is placed so he can see anyone entering the room. Old habits are sometimes the best. Sometimes.
He always speaks Japanese. It was difficult to learn our adopted language, so many consonants strung together to form worthless syllables. Yet we speak it in the privacy of our flat. Our Japanese accents cannot wrap around the European nouns in our vocabulary.
Making love, and combing my hair, we speak Nihongo. Or in the latter, Omi speaks.
"Hair like a rose in full bloom. Did you know I saw the sunset behind the clocktower? This is more beautiful."
In his mind's eye I know he holds the image. I can imagine it, sunfire and shadow racing over the rain-polished shingles. His voice ellides one word into another, his breath presses our heartbeats together. Without knowing it, he talks in rhythm, mostly iambic but sometimes sliding into dactylic and trochaic. He would laugh at me if I told him it is poetry. So as his words apprehend the images in his head, I stay silent and memorize his words.
"I love how it falls below your shoulders, how strands escape and frame your skin. I could bury myself in it."
We have lived here for seven months. I have not written down a single word. When dawn finds us and he is still asleep, I recite the newest stanza to myself. Some days a half forgotten line from days or months ago will recall itself to me and I will repeat it. Each soft, careless word of his is another bead in my rosary.
He kisses each lock when he is finished. Another stanza begins. They are already as innumerable as stars, or strands of hair.
The moment I forget them all, my love for him will be gone. I will never forget. We may pass from this earth, his hands and my hair turned to ashes, our souls reduced to whispering shadows, but I will never forget.
"So beautiful, rose-red, so beautiful that I think of touching it all day, Aya."
I close my eyes, willing myself not to tense.
It is an old habit of his, to call me that. His habits are good sometimes.
But now, again, his gentle voice has beaded my days with her name.

~ ~ ~
(And, 'cause I'm mean, a favorite snippet from one of the two long plotted ones.)

"Painting, Yohji-kun?"
"Old girlfriend taught me. I'm not half bad; all those years doing photography, I guess. There's still something screwy about my technique, though, and I'm too mobile to sign up for an art class. I should probably try sculpture, 'cause I have a good eye but better hands." To demonstrate, Yohji's fingers danced in the air, unconsciously weaving the invisible wires of his chosen weapon. Omi felt a chill.

12:24 PM
a little this, a little that

Hot Cream Casserole

1 cup of onion, chopped
half an apple, sliced thin -- sweeter is better than tart
about 3 Tbs butter (ouch, but you need it for the sauce)
1/2 cup shredded cheese (or more, according to your gooeyness)
2 Tbs flour
1 1/2 cups chopped mushrooms
some garlic
2 cups milk
1/3 cup whipped cream
pan lined with bread, or actual crust

Proportions are probably way off. I just added till there wasn't any space in the pan.
Saute the onions in the butter. Add however much garlic you want. Add the flour and mix well, careful not to burn it. Add milk and cream. Stir a lot. When it boils up again, add the cheese. Stir a lot. Gradually add the apple slivers, and add the mushrooms last. The stuff should thicken and reduce to a gloppy bubbly sound. I added leftover salmon... really, add whatever you want. Pour your hot mixture into the pan, and layer it with bread. I topped with liberal sprinklings of Tabasco.

The whole thing lies with the butter, onions, and flour, with milk and cream and cheese as the base. It doesn't matter what else you put in there, it'll taste good. One way to cut down on the richness of it is add more chopped things like mushrooms and spread it out over more pans, for a thinner coating. Me, I'm practically eating it straight.

~~~

Me:

I taste like Beef. I taste like beef. I'm probably made of beef. You are what you eat, they say, and if the title didn't mean something else, I would be a beefeater. I think red meat is good for you. Puts hair on your chest. If I weren't that, I'd be Tea. What Flavour Are You?

Goodness, I'm English!

Seiji:

Buzz buzz, I am Coffee flavoured. I am popular in the workplace, even though I am often bitter. I am energetic to the point of being frenetic; buzz buzz, out of my way. I tend to overwork myself and need periods of recovery time. If I weren't that, I'd be Almond. What Flavour Are You?

Yohji:

Buzz buzz, I am Coffee flavoured. I am popular in the workplace, even though I am often bitter. I am energetic to the point of being frenetic; buzz buzz, out of my way. I tend to overwork myself and need periods of recovery time. If I weren't that, I'd be Chocolate. What Flavour Are You?

One answer away from being Alcohol. Hah! I messed up on the stray animal question.

Touma:

I am Chocolate Flavoured. I am sweet and a little bit naughty. I am one of the few clinically proven aphrodisiacs. Sometimes I can seem a little hard, but show warmth and I soon melt. If I weren't that, I'd be Lemon. What Flavour Are You?

That's my boy!!
Messed up on the superpower part... redundant, y'know? I keep getting Peanut Butter for a lot of them.

Kujuurou:

Warning: I taste like Gasoline. I may not taste good, but I'm handy to have around if you want to breathe fire. I'm expensive, and sometimes cause disputes. I'm inflammatory, you see. Ha ha. If I weren't that, I'd be Curry. What Flavour Are You?

Perfect ^^

Naotoki:

I taste of Death. Doesn't everyone want a taste of death? Well they should. Most people deserve death. Keep away from me unless you think you're better than that. I probably won't like you. If I weren't that, I'd be Lemon. What Flavour Are You?

Guess he hasn't lost his touch.....

Koma:

Tomato is what I taste like. I taste like nothing, except a tomato. I'm sometimes sweet and sometimes tart; sometimes juicy, sometimes crisp. The roles of a tomato are many and varied. I am an exception to all the rules. If I weren't that, I'd be Tea. What Flavour Are You?

Omi:

Cor blimey, I taste like Tea. I am a subtle flavour, quiet and polite, gentle, almost ambient. My presence in crowds will often go unnoticed. Best not to spill me on your clothes though, I can leave a nasty stain. If I weren't that, I'd be Vanilla. What Flavour Are You?

Kayura:

I taste like Beef. I taste like beef. I'm probably made of beef. You are what you eat, they say, and if the title didn't mean something else, I would be a beefeater. I think red meat is good for you. Puts hair on your chest. If I weren't that, I'd be Chocolate. What Flavour Are You?

Ken:

I am Vanilla Flavoured. I am one of the most popular flavours in the world. Subtle and smooth, I go reasonably with anyone, and rarely do anything to offend. I can be expected to be blending in in society. If I weren't that, I'd be Lemon. What Flavour Are You?

~~~
Thought of Koma.
Who is still furious at me.

wondering where the lions are
Copyright Bruce Cockburn

Sun's up, uh huh, looks okay
The world survives into another day
And I'm thinking about eternity
Some kind of ecstasy got a hold on me
I had another dream about lions at the door
They weren't half as frightening as they were before
But I'm thinking about eternity
Some kind of ecstasy got a hold on me
Walls windows trees, waves coming through
You be in me and I'll be in you
Together in eternity
Some kind of ecstasy got a hold on me
Up among the firs where it smells so sweet
Or down in the valley where the river used to be
I got my mind on eternity
Some kind of ecstasy got a hold on me

And I'm wondering where the lions are...
I'm wondering where the lions are...

Huge orange flying boat rises off a lake
Thousand-year-old petroglyphs doing a double take
Pointing a finger at eternity
I'm sitting in the middle of this ecstasy
Young men marching, helmets shining in the sun,
Polished as precise like the brain behind the gun
(Should be!) they got me thinking about eternity
Some kind of ecstasy got a hold on me

And I'm wondering where the lions are...
I'm wondering where the lions are...

Freighters on the nod on the surface of the bay
One of these days we're going to sail away,
going to sail into eternity
some kind of ecstasy got a hold on me

And I'm wondering where the lions are...
I'm wondering where the lions are...

~~~
This morning I woke with a vision of drawing kitties.

Half finished in my sketchbook is Touma kitty looking back at Seiji kitty... who's about to lick his butt.

I am a sick, sick tomato.

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