Ficlet: with venomed tooth (the substance and symbols variation)
Original story: And Not Your Yellow Hair by p-zeitgeist
AN: A missing scene, of sorts. Many thanks to Phoebe for letting me play in her marvelous universe. (Unlocked here.) Series Index here.
with venomed tooth (the substance and symbols variation)
It was nearly midnight and he'd gotten lost again, but that was okay -- everyone expected him to be late.
The restaurant was dozens of stories up and didn't even have a sign, just a small gold plaque that said Private Room.
The first few times, the man in the white silk waistcoat who led him to Muraki's table had eyed his wrinkled suit with distaste; now he flickered between resigned and impatient, like he wanted to hand Tsuzuki a list of very good tailors and make him see reason. But the man never said anything: Tsuzuki wasn't coming here as himself but as a guest.
Muraki took it all in and smiled. "You could call out one of your pets, then he wouldn't care what you wore."
"They're not pets."
"Of course not. They're your friends."
Tsuzuki liked the idea of eating in expensive restaurants, except the meals took a long time and there wasn't much food. The table was set with fine linen, napkins precisely folded, the murmur of voices and soft music spinning faint arabesques in the air. No one gave him a menu -- Muraki always ordered for both of them. He fiddled with one of the small, odd forks, pressing his thumb against the intricate grooves as Muraki and a waiter discussed French wines.
The city, grids of lights arranged in broken rows, pressed up against the bank of windows that took the place of walls.
A plate of salad appeared, dark greens in vinegar and...
"Pomegranates," Muraki offered, a red seed balanced on the tines of his fork as he talked about some myth -- Hisoka would probably know. Eat them and you'll be trapped in hell was the message.
"What if you're already dead?" Tsuzuki asked, interrupting.
Muraki's visible eye widened faintly and he laughed. "Why, then, I suppose you can eat as many as you like. That should make you happy."
They were odd tasting, sour, so it didn't really. The next course came, large shrimp and segments of dark red fruit balanced carefully on a small plate. Below, in the distance, lines of headlights flowed like a magician pulling an endless piece of white silk from a dark hat.
NB: A drabble version is available here. The discussion behind why there are two versions is here.
AN: A missing scene, of sorts. Many thanks to Phoebe for letting me play in her marvelous universe. (Unlocked here.) Series Index here.
with venomed tooth (the substance and symbols variation)
It was nearly midnight and he'd gotten lost again, but that was okay -- everyone expected him to be late.
The restaurant was dozens of stories up and didn't even have a sign, just a small gold plaque that said Private Room.
The first few times, the man in the white silk waistcoat who led him to Muraki's table had eyed his wrinkled suit with distaste; now he flickered between resigned and impatient, like he wanted to hand Tsuzuki a list of very good tailors and make him see reason. But the man never said anything: Tsuzuki wasn't coming here as himself but as a guest.
Muraki took it all in and smiled. "You could call out one of your pets, then he wouldn't care what you wore."
"They're not pets."
"Of course not. They're your friends."
Tsuzuki liked the idea of eating in expensive restaurants, except the meals took a long time and there wasn't much food. The table was set with fine linen, napkins precisely folded, the murmur of voices and soft music spinning faint arabesques in the air. No one gave him a menu -- Muraki always ordered for both of them. He fiddled with one of the small, odd forks, pressing his thumb against the intricate grooves as Muraki and a waiter discussed French wines.
The city, grids of lights arranged in broken rows, pressed up against the bank of windows that took the place of walls.
A plate of salad appeared, dark greens in vinegar and...
"Pomegranates," Muraki offered, a red seed balanced on the tines of his fork as he talked about some myth -- Hisoka would probably know. Eat them and you'll be trapped in hell was the message.
"What if you're already dead?" Tsuzuki asked, interrupting.
Muraki's visible eye widened faintly and he laughed. "Why, then, I suppose you can eat as many as you like. That should make you happy."
They were odd tasting, sour, so it didn't really. The next course came, large shrimp and segments of dark red fruit balanced carefully on a small plate. Below, in the distance, lines of headlights flowed like a magician pulling an endless piece of white silk from a dark hat.
NB: A drabble version is available here. The discussion behind why there are two versions is here.