Petshop of Horrors; Part I
Genre: Petshop of Horrors
Title: Sugar is a Drug
Words: varies by chapter
Summary: It's the usual case: A mysterious homicide shows up on Leon Orcot's desk. Heading off to Chinatown, Leon has a dangerous encounter at the Petshop. With a mystery of his own on his hands, D is set on finding out why Leon almost died because of tea.
"...Refined sugar, by some, is called a drug, because in the refining process everything of food value has been removed except the carbohydrates-pure calories, without vitamins, minerals, proteins, fats, enzymes or any of the other elements that make up food."
Chapter I
It was just supposed to be a normal day, but, then again, when all the cases he investigated led him to Chinatown, his days were anything but normal. The cop sighed in anger as he read through the file that had been waiting for him on his desk. Another homicide. The murder weapon wasn't found, but it seemed as if the victim had been slashed several times by a knife.
"You know," Jill said, "why don't you stop fighting yourself and go ask him." Everyone on the floor know who 'he' was. She paused briefly before adding, "you're tense."
Now why did she have to add that as an afterthought? Leon thought darkly to himself as he forced himself to relax...which wasn't very relaxed. And why the fuck did she have to say it out loud? Angry, Leon grabbed some chocolates out of his desk and stalked angrily out of the office. The other workers just ignored his mood; they were used to it.
And a question comes to mind as Leon stalks down the streets of LA to Chinatown. Why does a male police officer have a drawer full of expensive and exotic chocolates? The answer is simple: Jill emptied out his drawer of files (which now reside in a small filer on the corner of Leon's desk) and filled it with chocolate because she, and the rest of the workers on their floor, got tired of hearing Leon piss and moan, to borrow some of his own words.
His dark mood distracted him and before Leon knew it he found himself at the doors to Count D's petshop. Wary, Leon carefully entered the shop, a little bell announcing his presence. Sure enough, a growl and a blur launched itself at his person. Thinking quickly, something that suddenly struck Leon as it doesn't happen often, Leon sidestepped and the Totetsu, which Leon knows as "the goat thing" almost collided with a wall.
T-chan was about to make a second pass when a smooth voice said into the dim shop, "T-chan, the detective wins this one. Why don't you go tell Chris is brother is here?" The Totetsu just growled, D sending it an amused glance, as it slunk into the back of the shop with Leon's sastified glare, comeplete with matching smirk, following him.
Leon plopped himself down on one of the Count's many sitting couches while the Count busied himself with making tea. He thought he heard D say something about being low on cakes. Which reminded him...
"Hey D." The Count looked up. Leon fished through the many pockets on the inside of his jean jacket, trying to remember where he stashed the chocolates. Finding them just behind his arm, Leon fished out a decent sized package of Lindt assorted chocolate balls. Leon presented them to the Count with a "Here, these are for you."
Suddenly tired, the homicide detective leaned his head back, so he didn't catch the Count's delighted expression.
"Oh Detective!" Count D exclaimed as he clapped his hands and took the chocolate like a kid at Christmas. "This is very expensive Swiss chocolate! I'm surprised you knew about them! Most people don't know about these!" D glided into the kitchen and returned a moment later with the truffle spheres in a dish. "This will compliment the tea I made wonderfully! The scents even blend together nicely..."
The Count looked over at Leon as he made no comment about his actions and rambling like he usually did. The count saw that his detective was fast asleep. Odd, the Count thought. The Count wanted to look into Leon's dreams, just out of curiosity to see if there was anything interesting he could use at his shop, but just then Chris and Pon-chan came bouncing into the room. The noise Chris and the tanuki made effectively waking the slumbering detective.
"Chris!" Leon exclaimed happily as the boy clambered up onto the couch.
Brother! Chris exclaimed happily. I was in the back swimming with Phillip when T-chan came to tell me that you were here!
Leon noticed, after Chris had mentioned swimming, that his hair was wet. "Did you have fun?" Leon smiled as Chris nodded emphatically, effectively showering surprisingly salty water on him. "Good."
Chris blinked. He took a deep breath through his nose, something he often caught T-chan doing. His brain registered a delight that all children love to eat.
Chocolate! Chris exclaimed happily as he grabbed a couple of the truffle balls and fled the room. D smiled and Pon-chan scolded him as she chased after him.
“Don’t you eat those all at once!” Leon exclaimed, yawning. “And don’t feed any to that raccoon either!” Leon shook his head as he yawned again. "I hope you make sure he brushes his teeth well," Leon said seriously turning his attention on D. "What with you and your fucken sugar addiction."
"Yes, well," D said as his gaze studied the golden haired detective, "at least my drug isn't harmful."
Leon rubbed his eyes. Why was he so fucken tired?? He had gotten 8 hours of sleep the night before, and that was more than he usually got. "D, I need your help with a case." Leon jumped in. He was tired and he didn't want to beat around the bush. "There was a homicide yesterday." Instead of explaining, Leon produced the pictuers and tossed them at D. The man was intelligent enough to figure out the little details anyway. Picking up a white chocolate, Leon popped the ball into his mouth and then proceeded to sip his tea.
Meanwhile, D looked through the pictures. He was particularly caught on the picture of the victim's torso. Eight scratches, four one way, four the other, made an 'X' on his chest. What appeared to be a bite mark had rendered some flesh from the shoulder. D was studying the teath signature on to see if he could identify the animal, for even he couldn't deny that an animal had not done this, when the spluttering and coughing of his guest made him switch his attention. His eyes grew wide as he took in the situation.
Leon had dropped his cup of tea that had, luckily, landed on the tray (he would have hated getting the stain out of the rug if it had fallen on the floor). The detective clutched his throat as he coughed and spluttered. Leon's breathing was sporadic, harsh and heavy; as if he was having trouble breathing. His face was screwed up in pain and concentration.
"Oh my," came unbidden from D's mouth as he leapt into action. Slinging the asphyxiating detective over his shoulders, D hurredly walked to his herb room where he made his teas. Setting Leon in a corner, D hurredly scanned the shelves, cutting boards, knives and pestals. When he found the pestal he usually made tea with, D stuck his finger in it before putting the digit in his mouth.
His eyes narrowed as he tasted an herb that shouldn't have had this effect on the detective; it only should have calmed him down. Looking at the shelves, the Count quickly grabbed the opposite herb, ground it in a clean mortar, and proceeded to shove it down the detective's mouth. Carrying the now unconscious detective back to the main room, the count placed him on a couch before making his way to the phone and pulling out a well loved piece of paper.
----------
Jill was arranging and alphabetizing files and filing them when the phone on her desk rang. Carefully setting down the stack of files, Jill rushed over and answered the phone. A smooth, cultured voice answered back. "Hello, this is Count D."
"Hello Count D," Jill happily replied. "Can I help with something?"
"No, but thank you," came D's voice. "I'm calling because Leon won't be able to come back to work today. I'm afraid he has had an allergic reaction to something in the shop."
"Oh dear," Jill said, a bit worried. "He will be okay, though, right, Count?"
A musical laugh came through the receiver. "Of course he will." Jill could hear the smile in his voice. "He's just sleeping off the antihistamine right now."
Jill assured the Count that she'd smooth everything over before she, reluctantly, made her way to the boss to update him on Leon's health. The employees on the floor below and above him heard his opinion on the matter.
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Count D replaced the antique phone on its receiver and puzzled over the Detective’s violent reaction. The minute amount of henbane that had been in the tea was intended to relax the drinker. The plant had sleeping and numbing effects. If the drought was too pure or too concentrated, the effects could be fatal. Antidotes were mustard seed or garlic with a sweet white wine. D had quickly mixed all these together before elegantly shoving them down the Detective’s throat.
He didn’t think that humans were violently allergic to henbane, Chris had had some in tea; even some high end customers, nervous about getting a pet, often drank the same drought. D knew that some animals were allergic to the plant. His mind immediately propagated a list. Pondering over his own detective work as Leon was blissfully unaware of the world, Count D glided into the depths of his shop with a vile of red liquid in his hands.
" '…white refined sugar-is not a food. It is a pure chemical extracted from plant sources, purer in fact than cocaine, which it resembles in many ways.
Its true name is sucrose and its chemical formula is C12H22O11. It has 12 carbon atoms, 22 hydrogen atoms, 11 oxygen atoms, and absolutely nothing else to offer.' ...The chemical formula for cocaine is C17H21NO4."
Chapter II
He was an old soul, both in the literal and figurative sense. He remembered. He remembered back to when the arid land they hunted had been covered in snow, back when they were quite large and the game larger, back when their now russet coats were greys and blacks and dull browns and white. He remembered how the land changed; the ice turned to water and they found themselves on rocky outcroppings and in a mountainous region. This was quite different than the endless snowy plains and sparse conifer groves they were used to.
He remembered when the snow stopped. The only hint that it had ever been were the minimal to hard frosts during the nights. Instead of snow, water came. Rain; it came slowly at first, then in an icy deluge. Sodden and dispirited they had taken shelter in the rocks that were to become their permanent home.
He remembered the heat; the scorching heat that took the moisture out of all but the most tenacious plants and shrubs. Their coats, much too thick for the weather, began to thin. They lost their soft undercoat first; it fell out in great hanks and tufts. It was in these early years that the wolves came to war with the great cats. Lions, with their huge incisors hunted them when they couldn’t find enough food. Their solution: elevation. Up the mountains they went, gradually losing their thick, lush coats and their monotone colouring. Instead, much like the rocks in the area, their fur turned a deep russet colour; a reddish brown. Their once long, bushy tails shortened a bit and the tips, much like how the red fox’s tail tip is white, were black, and white markings dappled the neck, belly and tail.
He remembered how there use to be many of them. He remembered the ways of the shamans and the primitive man. He remembered how they asked permission, how they sought their presence or guidance when they were in great need, how they strove to emulate certain aspects of their society in their own society. He remembered when some who wandered from the pack ended up fascinated by fire, as all their kind were, and how man seemed to control it. It was so different in its bed of rocks than the raging infernos that occasionally ravaged the land and belched oily black smoke into the skies, stinging their noses with the scents it carried. He remembered how those that left changed, how they became loyal to the man and learned to communicate with them. He remembered the beginnings of dogs and their uses to man. He remembered when man understood that he couldn’t take too many of their number, just as they couldn’t take much of the wild animals they were slowly domesticating; yet both populations needed them to survive, and both understood the consequences of over hunting this small, convenient population.
He remembered when Change came. He remembered when all that was forsaken. He remembered when a different man came and poisoned the ways of the others. He remembered watching, in his old age, as different dogs came, and their cruel masters and their flocks; how they came into their land and killed them, slaughtering them for hunting in their own territory. He remembered how they learned to hide their presence, more so then they ever had to before in the past. He remembered how the shamans of the old way lamented at the loss, how they cried how they had been forsaken. He remembered being forsaken first. He remembered the terrible thirsting disease; all he wanted was water, yet no matter how longingly he stared at a stream or spring, he couldn’t drink. Others shared the malady, and were very short tempered. Driven from their packs, he remembered dying alone, thirsty and hungry.
He remembered life but most of all, he remembered death. He remembered the need to hide. This ability had been his lifeline; his memory had been his saving grace when he led his pack.
Above all, he remembered the need to hide.
When death embraced him once more, as it had many times since his soul was born, he remembered. He remembered…
Leon groaned as he opened his eyes. His vision was blurry and his head was pounding. All he wanted to do was drink some water and sleep. He didn’t remember feeling this horrible in a while. His tongue felt like it was cotton and his mouth similarly felt like leather. His eyes were gritty as if sand had been dumped in them. Leon couldn’t even muster the energy to raise his arms and rub them! Muttering angrily to himself, and swearing blackly, Leon tried again and…success!
Opening bleary eyes on the world, Leon was surprised to still find himself in the petshop. “D?” Leon asked, slightly swaying as he hauled himself into a sitting position.
----------
Count D was most confused. He had sampled the blood, but found it similar to Chris’ blood, as it should be: it was human blood. But there was something about Leon’s blood that just didn’t sit right with D. Something was…off. Leon wasn’t allergic to plants; he himself had informed D of it.
“Count,” a female tanuki began, “Leon’s awake.”
D smiled. “Thank you, Pon-chan.” He left his herb room and glided down the short hallway to the sitting room where his guests and customers entered. Indeed, his detective was sitting up on the small sofa.
“Detective,” D said softly, so as not to startle the man into a temper. It was the last thing either of them needed. Slowly, the head of golden hair turned and D’s mismatched eyes met hazy blue ones.
“Mornin’ D,” Leon slurred. D frowned. He was still being affected by the plant? He looked closer at the detective. Even though his eyes were open, they were glassy and the pupils were too dilated; unfocused. His tanned skin was pale, but his face had a light blush. Did he have a fever? It was possible. D berated himself for, rudely, leaving him on the couch without a blanket.
“It’s late,” D said instead, face smooth; his gaze showing nothing, his thoughts hidden behind his Mona Lisa smile. “Would you like to sleep on my couch and catch a cold or can I offer you a bed?”
D waited patiently as Leon arduously considered the decision. Just by looking in his eyes, in his sickly, unguarded state, D could see his thoughts were like cottonwood in the wind. Eventually, they seemed to gain an iota of focus, and the attention, though it was slightly difficult to tell, went from inward to the material world.
“I think I want a bed,” Leon finally told him.
“Very well,” D said, standing up from his crouched position. As Leon had been thinking, D had been drawn towards those confused blue eyes. It was fascinating to actually be able to see Leon think in his eyes as they oh so subtly changed shades. “Follow me.”
Wobbling, Leon shakily stood and stumbled after D, cursing when he stubbed his toe on a table…then the wall. When D opened the door to the room he would be using, Leon didn’t even look around; as was his nature to wont to do. Like a horse with blinders, he walked straight to the bed and face planted on the coverlet; asleep again as soon as his head hit the delectably soft pillow. D, frustrated that he wasn’t under the covers, as this is what the whole point of what the bed was for, just threw the thin coverlet that was at the foot of the bed over the slumbering detective.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” D said. Leon never heard the softly spoken statement. He was lost in dreams; dreams where he hunted. His prey was never the same. He brought in criminals and he brought in food. Most of all, in his dreams, he remembered…
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D pondered the enigma that was Leon Orcot. He couldn’t put his finger on it, and it was one of the things that kept him curious and tolerant of the detective and his poor manners. And although Leon didn’t know it, it was the reason that he kept coming back to his shop; never mind the whole trafficking drugs he seemed convinced he was a part of. His kind needed no such substances when sugar was equally as addictive and less destructive.
Sugar was his drug, yes, but he was slowly fixating his curiosity on Detective Orcot. The blond was hiding something, he was positive about it now, the more he thought about it, and Count D was going to find out what it was.
"...Studies show that “sugar” is just as habit-forming as any narcotic; and its use, misuse, and abuse is our nation’s number one disaster.
...If you have any doubts as to the detriments of sugar (sucrose), try leaving it out of your diet for several weeks and see if it makes a difference! You may also notice you have acquired an addiction and experience some withdrawal symptoms. "
Chapter III
Leon opened his eyes. The room was decorated in reds and golds; rich warm hues darted between them and accented the complex tapestries and drapes. The plush carpet muffled the sound of his feet touching as he swung his legs over the side of his ridiculously comfortable bed of which was equally extravagant. There were figurines and sculptures that looked expensive on various table and desktops all over the room.
Leon had no idea where he was.
Stumbling out of bed, Leon made his way across the plush carpet to the door. Rubbing sleepy eyes, the Detective reached out and opened the door…
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Count D looked up. The sun had yet to crest the horizon, yet something was moving around in the shop. His nocturnal animals should be bedding down, and his diurnal animals had yet to wake up. Remembering the Detective, D wondered what he would be doing up at such an early hour; especially with the reaction that he had had to the tea. Sipping his morning brew, the Count waited for the shop to lead Leon Orcot to the front room. As he spread a particularly sweet jam on his toast, Leon entered the front room.
“D?” He asked a bit uncertain.
“Good morning, Detective,” the Count replied. “I had no idea that you were such an early riser.”
Leon plopped down in a sprawling heap on the chair at the head of the coffee table that was spread with all manner of toasts, breads, jams, jellies and marmalades; the ensemble was accompanied by two carafes of tea. Leon didn’t know what to make of all of it. He thought that D only ate sweets in the afternoon. He was, apparently, very wrong. He glared at the Chinese man as he daintily ate a piece of toast with what looked like jam. In the dim interior lighting of the shop, it looked like congealed blood.
“You’re addicted,” Leon said as he picked up a piece of toast and slathered it with something. He made a face. He didn’t know what to make of peach marmalade on rye toast. Nonetheless, the stubborn detective swallowed and chomped down on his breakfast.
D smiled. “At least my drug isn’t harmful.”
Leon paused in the vicious activity that was eating his breakfast and looked at D. The Count smiled secretively over the rim of his tea cup before sipping it and taking another bite of his not-really-blood-covered toast. The detective frowned. Just what did D know that put that look on his face?? It was most unnerving, especially this early in the morning; when someone looks at you as if they have known you all your life, knows ever little detail that you barely remember. Leon just scowled. It was too early for this shit! Grabbing another piece of toast, he slathered something else on it, and chomped down on it.
Hm…not bad. Raspberry on pumpernickel.
“Can I offer you some tea, Detective?” the Count’s smooth, cultured voice broke into his reverie. Leon’s thoughts never were too cohesive early in the morning. He definitely wasn’t a morning person.
“It’s not that shit that I had yesterday, was it?” Leon asked as he looked at the tea carafe distrustfully. He didn’t eve know if he should take D up on the offer, rusty manners or not.
“No,” D said, that smile back on his face. “it’s normal, black tea; full of natural antioxidants and a wonderful, exorbitant amount of caffeine.”
Leon just looked at him. After a moment or two where his brain translated what D said, he finally held out the tea cup that was in front of him. “Sure, I guess.”
D’s smile this time was his normal, cracked out smile; not the ‘I know something you don’t know’ secretive smile. Then again, his cracked out smile might just be because of the abnormal amount of sugar he ate daily.
“Would you like it sweetened at all?” D asked. The question broke Leon from his thoughts and he saw D poised with a jar of what looked like honey next to his cup.
“No!” Leon almost shouted. He yanked his arm back and almost spilled his hot tea all over his arm. “I’m already eating enough sugar to mummify me; I don’t need to drink it as well.”
D’s laugh was music.
“My dear detective!” He said, wiping tears from his mismatched eyes. “You’re quite funny!”
Leon grumbled as he drank his tea. He didn’t realize that salt mummified things, not sugar. D understood the misspoken sentence, yet, for humors sake, decided not to correct the Detective. It made the smile he gave him all the more secretive and, for Leon, irritating and grating.
“I looked at these after your reaction,” D’s voice cut through the lightening morning gloom. The deep, dulcet tones were anything but what expected. D seemed sad.
“…And?” Leon wanted to know what the Count thought.
“It is obviously done by an animal; I can’t refute that,” the pale man said. “By the size of the teeth marks in the man’s neck, and the way the injuries are inflicted, I would assume this animal to be a large cat; a lion perhaps.” D handed the file back to Leon who took it and tucked it somewhere in his coat.
It was then that the sun rose, morning sunshine piercing through the gloom of the petshop. Leon heard D sigh. There was something to it, and the sunshine likewise made something in him settle. He found that he enjoyed his next piece of toast much more than his previous two. Finishing his tea, Leon grabbed another piece of toast before leaving the petshop.
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D’s smile turned into a frown almost immediately as the bell rang, signaling Leon’s departure. He was most frustrated. He set up the elaborate spread, not that he wouldn’t have if Leon hadn’t been eating breakfast with him, to see if he could deduce what Leon was through what he ate. It was obvious to D that he hadn’t liked his first piece of toast; the Count didn’t really like peach marmalade on rye toast either. But pumpernickel and raspberry? Honey oat and blackberry? Those definitely weren’t typical of the detective he knew.
Leon had once staggered into the petshop at an ungodly hour when he had been eating breakfast. That time, he had slathered peanut butter on an English muffin (several English muffins) before finishing with some vanilla milk (the only milk D drank outside of occasionally putting it in his tea) and a piece of dry toast. After that, he had promptly fallen asleep on the chair he was sprawled in, and nothing that D did short of the supernatural would wake him. He gave up in a huff and just cast a glamour that made Leon look like a sleeping cat. That had been trouble because a little girl had wanted him so bad. He remembered that his knowing smile had so angered the detective when he had woken up that he had stormed out without sharing afternoon tea with him.
Back on his original train of thought, D didn’t know what to make of it all. It frustrated him to no end and the Chinese deity was almost to the point where he was sure he had to use his magic when an idea suddenly struck him. It was so powerful in its clarity that the Count paused, mid bite. Setting his toast down on the tray, the dark haired man mulled it over as he sipped his tea.
Yes, it could work. It might work. Might was better than not at all and it was better than nothing to go by. Deciding that this course of action would be best, D finished his tea, cleaned up breakfast, and readied the shop to be open. Today was going to be eventful.
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Leon and various others branches of the LAPD and animal control had a house surrounded. They had tracked down complaints and mysterious disappearances to this house. It looked terrible; not the house, but the yard. The front yard was getting long and in need of a cut. The back yard, what they could see of it, was horribly overgrown. The grass was easily up to any of their waists and the trees, shrubs and gardens were all overgrown.
Leon instantly hated the place and didn’t know why. There was something…threatening about it, and something deep in his soul didn’t want anything to do with it. His instincts were hardly ever wrong; it’s what made him a good cop and kept him alive.
“All right boys,” the Chief was saying. “Let’s do this.”
The owner of the house had declined all attempts at a peaceful surrender. With a person from animal control in each group with a tranquilizer gun, the teams entered the house and grounds.
“Clear.”
“Clear.”
“This room’s clear too,” another voice called.
“Jungle room’s clear.”
“Jungle room?” a voice asked.
“It’s full of plants,” the cop explained. “You can barely see the walls.”
One team found a number of animals in the basement, all of them terrified and skittish. It appeared as if they were being bred for something. Once the house was dubbed clear, they moved on to the backyard. It was, indeed, overgrown and very jungle like. It looked like Mr. Alexander O. Hamilton wasn’t a horticulturist or cared about what his yard looked like.
The groups that had left the house and were observing the backyard paused; some on the back deck while others several feet into the long grass. Something wasn’t right. Something wasn’t right at all. Even though humans hadn’t been in a situation like the ones from the LAPD were in in thousands of years, instinct still flared strong, warning the cops of the impending danger.
It was Leon who heard it first. His head turned sharply at a slight rustle of grass. “There’s something fucking out there, guys,” the blonde officer quietly said.
Another rustle.
A gun cocked.
All at once, mayhem ensued. With a roar, a pride of lionesses launched themselves at the group of police officers.
“Aw fucking hell,” Leon cursed as he jumped off the deck and ran for cover in the trees. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw a few tawny bodies break off from the main group and chase him. His instinct was screaming at him. Something in him demanded to be let loose, to stop hiding, otherwise death was sure to follow.
Something deep within Leon growled and rose to the surface.
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“Oh my,” D exclaimed as one of the teacups he had cracked. The deity frowned. Something wasn’t right. Setting the tea cup in its usual place at the head of the coffee table where Leon usually sat, D poured his own cup of tea and waited for his detective to show up and share tea with him.
Part II
Title: Sugar is a Drug
Words: varies by chapter
Summary: It's the usual case: A mysterious homicide shows up on Leon Orcot's desk. Heading off to Chinatown, Leon has a dangerous encounter at the Petshop. With a mystery of his own on his hands, D is set on finding out why Leon almost died because of tea.
"...Refined sugar, by some, is called a drug, because in the refining process everything of food value has been removed except the carbohydrates-pure calories, without vitamins, minerals, proteins, fats, enzymes or any of the other elements that make up food."
Chapter I
It was just supposed to be a normal day, but, then again, when all the cases he investigated led him to Chinatown, his days were anything but normal. The cop sighed in anger as he read through the file that had been waiting for him on his desk. Another homicide. The murder weapon wasn't found, but it seemed as if the victim had been slashed several times by a knife.
"You know," Jill said, "why don't you stop fighting yourself and go ask him." Everyone on the floor know who 'he' was. She paused briefly before adding, "you're tense."
Now why did she have to add that as an afterthought? Leon thought darkly to himself as he forced himself to relax...which wasn't very relaxed. And why the fuck did she have to say it out loud? Angry, Leon grabbed some chocolates out of his desk and stalked angrily out of the office. The other workers just ignored his mood; they were used to it.
And a question comes to mind as Leon stalks down the streets of LA to Chinatown. Why does a male police officer have a drawer full of expensive and exotic chocolates? The answer is simple: Jill emptied out his drawer of files (which now reside in a small filer on the corner of Leon's desk) and filled it with chocolate because she, and the rest of the workers on their floor, got tired of hearing Leon piss and moan, to borrow some of his own words.
His dark mood distracted him and before Leon knew it he found himself at the doors to Count D's petshop. Wary, Leon carefully entered the shop, a little bell announcing his presence. Sure enough, a growl and a blur launched itself at his person. Thinking quickly, something that suddenly struck Leon as it doesn't happen often, Leon sidestepped and the Totetsu, which Leon knows as "the goat thing" almost collided with a wall.
T-chan was about to make a second pass when a smooth voice said into the dim shop, "T-chan, the detective wins this one. Why don't you go tell Chris is brother is here?" The Totetsu just growled, D sending it an amused glance, as it slunk into the back of the shop with Leon's sastified glare, comeplete with matching smirk, following him.
Leon plopped himself down on one of the Count's many sitting couches while the Count busied himself with making tea. He thought he heard D say something about being low on cakes. Which reminded him...
"Hey D." The Count looked up. Leon fished through the many pockets on the inside of his jean jacket, trying to remember where he stashed the chocolates. Finding them just behind his arm, Leon fished out a decent sized package of Lindt assorted chocolate balls. Leon presented them to the Count with a "Here, these are for you."
Suddenly tired, the homicide detective leaned his head back, so he didn't catch the Count's delighted expression.
"Oh Detective!" Count D exclaimed as he clapped his hands and took the chocolate like a kid at Christmas. "This is very expensive Swiss chocolate! I'm surprised you knew about them! Most people don't know about these!" D glided into the kitchen and returned a moment later with the truffle spheres in a dish. "This will compliment the tea I made wonderfully! The scents even blend together nicely..."
The Count looked over at Leon as he made no comment about his actions and rambling like he usually did. The count saw that his detective was fast asleep. Odd, the Count thought. The Count wanted to look into Leon's dreams, just out of curiosity to see if there was anything interesting he could use at his shop, but just then Chris and Pon-chan came bouncing into the room. The noise Chris and the tanuki made effectively waking the slumbering detective.
"Chris!" Leon exclaimed happily as the boy clambered up onto the couch.
Brother! Chris exclaimed happily. I was in the back swimming with Phillip when T-chan came to tell me that you were here!
Leon noticed, after Chris had mentioned swimming, that his hair was wet. "Did you have fun?" Leon smiled as Chris nodded emphatically, effectively showering surprisingly salty water on him. "Good."
Chris blinked. He took a deep breath through his nose, something he often caught T-chan doing. His brain registered a delight that all children love to eat.
Chocolate! Chris exclaimed happily as he grabbed a couple of the truffle balls and fled the room. D smiled and Pon-chan scolded him as she chased after him.
“Don’t you eat those all at once!” Leon exclaimed, yawning. “And don’t feed any to that raccoon either!” Leon shook his head as he yawned again. "I hope you make sure he brushes his teeth well," Leon said seriously turning his attention on D. "What with you and your fucken sugar addiction."
"Yes, well," D said as his gaze studied the golden haired detective, "at least my drug isn't harmful."
Leon rubbed his eyes. Why was he so fucken tired?? He had gotten 8 hours of sleep the night before, and that was more than he usually got. "D, I need your help with a case." Leon jumped in. He was tired and he didn't want to beat around the bush. "There was a homicide yesterday." Instead of explaining, Leon produced the pictuers and tossed them at D. The man was intelligent enough to figure out the little details anyway. Picking up a white chocolate, Leon popped the ball into his mouth and then proceeded to sip his tea.
Meanwhile, D looked through the pictures. He was particularly caught on the picture of the victim's torso. Eight scratches, four one way, four the other, made an 'X' on his chest. What appeared to be a bite mark had rendered some flesh from the shoulder. D was studying the teath signature on to see if he could identify the animal, for even he couldn't deny that an animal had not done this, when the spluttering and coughing of his guest made him switch his attention. His eyes grew wide as he took in the situation.
Leon had dropped his cup of tea that had, luckily, landed on the tray (he would have hated getting the stain out of the rug if it had fallen on the floor). The detective clutched his throat as he coughed and spluttered. Leon's breathing was sporadic, harsh and heavy; as if he was having trouble breathing. His face was screwed up in pain and concentration.
"Oh my," came unbidden from D's mouth as he leapt into action. Slinging the asphyxiating detective over his shoulders, D hurredly walked to his herb room where he made his teas. Setting Leon in a corner, D hurredly scanned the shelves, cutting boards, knives and pestals. When he found the pestal he usually made tea with, D stuck his finger in it before putting the digit in his mouth.
His eyes narrowed as he tasted an herb that shouldn't have had this effect on the detective; it only should have calmed him down. Looking at the shelves, the Count quickly grabbed the opposite herb, ground it in a clean mortar, and proceeded to shove it down the detective's mouth. Carrying the now unconscious detective back to the main room, the count placed him on a couch before making his way to the phone and pulling out a well loved piece of paper.
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Jill was arranging and alphabetizing files and filing them when the phone on her desk rang. Carefully setting down the stack of files, Jill rushed over and answered the phone. A smooth, cultured voice answered back. "Hello, this is Count D."
"Hello Count D," Jill happily replied. "Can I help with something?"
"No, but thank you," came D's voice. "I'm calling because Leon won't be able to come back to work today. I'm afraid he has had an allergic reaction to something in the shop."
"Oh dear," Jill said, a bit worried. "He will be okay, though, right, Count?"
A musical laugh came through the receiver. "Of course he will." Jill could hear the smile in his voice. "He's just sleeping off the antihistamine right now."
Jill assured the Count that she'd smooth everything over before she, reluctantly, made her way to the boss to update him on Leon's health. The employees on the floor below and above him heard his opinion on the matter.
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Count D replaced the antique phone on its receiver and puzzled over the Detective’s violent reaction. The minute amount of henbane that had been in the tea was intended to relax the drinker. The plant had sleeping and numbing effects. If the drought was too pure or too concentrated, the effects could be fatal. Antidotes were mustard seed or garlic with a sweet white wine. D had quickly mixed all these together before elegantly shoving them down the Detective’s throat.
He didn’t think that humans were violently allergic to henbane, Chris had had some in tea; even some high end customers, nervous about getting a pet, often drank the same drought. D knew that some animals were allergic to the plant. His mind immediately propagated a list. Pondering over his own detective work as Leon was blissfully unaware of the world, Count D glided into the depths of his shop with a vile of red liquid in his hands.
" '…white refined sugar-is not a food. It is a pure chemical extracted from plant sources, purer in fact than cocaine, which it resembles in many ways.
Its true name is sucrose and its chemical formula is C12H22O11. It has 12 carbon atoms, 22 hydrogen atoms, 11 oxygen atoms, and absolutely nothing else to offer.' ...The chemical formula for cocaine is C17H21NO4."
Chapter II
He was an old soul, both in the literal and figurative sense. He remembered. He remembered back to when the arid land they hunted had been covered in snow, back when they were quite large and the game larger, back when their now russet coats were greys and blacks and dull browns and white. He remembered how the land changed; the ice turned to water and they found themselves on rocky outcroppings and in a mountainous region. This was quite different than the endless snowy plains and sparse conifer groves they were used to.
He remembered when the snow stopped. The only hint that it had ever been were the minimal to hard frosts during the nights. Instead of snow, water came. Rain; it came slowly at first, then in an icy deluge. Sodden and dispirited they had taken shelter in the rocks that were to become their permanent home.
He remembered the heat; the scorching heat that took the moisture out of all but the most tenacious plants and shrubs. Their coats, much too thick for the weather, began to thin. They lost their soft undercoat first; it fell out in great hanks and tufts. It was in these early years that the wolves came to war with the great cats. Lions, with their huge incisors hunted them when they couldn’t find enough food. Their solution: elevation. Up the mountains they went, gradually losing their thick, lush coats and their monotone colouring. Instead, much like the rocks in the area, their fur turned a deep russet colour; a reddish brown. Their once long, bushy tails shortened a bit and the tips, much like how the red fox’s tail tip is white, were black, and white markings dappled the neck, belly and tail.
He remembered how there use to be many of them. He remembered the ways of the shamans and the primitive man. He remembered how they asked permission, how they sought their presence or guidance when they were in great need, how they strove to emulate certain aspects of their society in their own society. He remembered when some who wandered from the pack ended up fascinated by fire, as all their kind were, and how man seemed to control it. It was so different in its bed of rocks than the raging infernos that occasionally ravaged the land and belched oily black smoke into the skies, stinging their noses with the scents it carried. He remembered how those that left changed, how they became loyal to the man and learned to communicate with them. He remembered the beginnings of dogs and their uses to man. He remembered when man understood that he couldn’t take too many of their number, just as they couldn’t take much of the wild animals they were slowly domesticating; yet both populations needed them to survive, and both understood the consequences of over hunting this small, convenient population.
He remembered when Change came. He remembered when all that was forsaken. He remembered when a different man came and poisoned the ways of the others. He remembered watching, in his old age, as different dogs came, and their cruel masters and their flocks; how they came into their land and killed them, slaughtering them for hunting in their own territory. He remembered how they learned to hide their presence, more so then they ever had to before in the past. He remembered how the shamans of the old way lamented at the loss, how they cried how they had been forsaken. He remembered being forsaken first. He remembered the terrible thirsting disease; all he wanted was water, yet no matter how longingly he stared at a stream or spring, he couldn’t drink. Others shared the malady, and were very short tempered. Driven from their packs, he remembered dying alone, thirsty and hungry.
He remembered life but most of all, he remembered death. He remembered the need to hide. This ability had been his lifeline; his memory had been his saving grace when he led his pack.
Above all, he remembered the need to hide.
When death embraced him once more, as it had many times since his soul was born, he remembered. He remembered…
Leon groaned as he opened his eyes. His vision was blurry and his head was pounding. All he wanted to do was drink some water and sleep. He didn’t remember feeling this horrible in a while. His tongue felt like it was cotton and his mouth similarly felt like leather. His eyes were gritty as if sand had been dumped in them. Leon couldn’t even muster the energy to raise his arms and rub them! Muttering angrily to himself, and swearing blackly, Leon tried again and…success!
Opening bleary eyes on the world, Leon was surprised to still find himself in the petshop. “D?” Leon asked, slightly swaying as he hauled himself into a sitting position.
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Count D was most confused. He had sampled the blood, but found it similar to Chris’ blood, as it should be: it was human blood. But there was something about Leon’s blood that just didn’t sit right with D. Something was…off. Leon wasn’t allergic to plants; he himself had informed D of it.
“Count,” a female tanuki began, “Leon’s awake.”
D smiled. “Thank you, Pon-chan.” He left his herb room and glided down the short hallway to the sitting room where his guests and customers entered. Indeed, his detective was sitting up on the small sofa.
“Detective,” D said softly, so as not to startle the man into a temper. It was the last thing either of them needed. Slowly, the head of golden hair turned and D’s mismatched eyes met hazy blue ones.
“Mornin’ D,” Leon slurred. D frowned. He was still being affected by the plant? He looked closer at the detective. Even though his eyes were open, they were glassy and the pupils were too dilated; unfocused. His tanned skin was pale, but his face had a light blush. Did he have a fever? It was possible. D berated himself for, rudely, leaving him on the couch without a blanket.
“It’s late,” D said instead, face smooth; his gaze showing nothing, his thoughts hidden behind his Mona Lisa smile. “Would you like to sleep on my couch and catch a cold or can I offer you a bed?”
D waited patiently as Leon arduously considered the decision. Just by looking in his eyes, in his sickly, unguarded state, D could see his thoughts were like cottonwood in the wind. Eventually, they seemed to gain an iota of focus, and the attention, though it was slightly difficult to tell, went from inward to the material world.
“I think I want a bed,” Leon finally told him.
“Very well,” D said, standing up from his crouched position. As Leon had been thinking, D had been drawn towards those confused blue eyes. It was fascinating to actually be able to see Leon think in his eyes as they oh so subtly changed shades. “Follow me.”
Wobbling, Leon shakily stood and stumbled after D, cursing when he stubbed his toe on a table…then the wall. When D opened the door to the room he would be using, Leon didn’t even look around; as was his nature to wont to do. Like a horse with blinders, he walked straight to the bed and face planted on the coverlet; asleep again as soon as his head hit the delectably soft pillow. D, frustrated that he wasn’t under the covers, as this is what the whole point of what the bed was for, just threw the thin coverlet that was at the foot of the bed over the slumbering detective.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” D said. Leon never heard the softly spoken statement. He was lost in dreams; dreams where he hunted. His prey was never the same. He brought in criminals and he brought in food. Most of all, in his dreams, he remembered…
----------
D pondered the enigma that was Leon Orcot. He couldn’t put his finger on it, and it was one of the things that kept him curious and tolerant of the detective and his poor manners. And although Leon didn’t know it, it was the reason that he kept coming back to his shop; never mind the whole trafficking drugs he seemed convinced he was a part of. His kind needed no such substances when sugar was equally as addictive and less destructive.
Sugar was his drug, yes, but he was slowly fixating his curiosity on Detective Orcot. The blond was hiding something, he was positive about it now, the more he thought about it, and Count D was going to find out what it was.
"...Studies show that “sugar” is just as habit-forming as any narcotic; and its use, misuse, and abuse is our nation’s number one disaster.
...If you have any doubts as to the detriments of sugar (sucrose), try leaving it out of your diet for several weeks and see if it makes a difference! You may also notice you have acquired an addiction and experience some withdrawal symptoms. "
Chapter III
Leon opened his eyes. The room was decorated in reds and golds; rich warm hues darted between them and accented the complex tapestries and drapes. The plush carpet muffled the sound of his feet touching as he swung his legs over the side of his ridiculously comfortable bed of which was equally extravagant. There were figurines and sculptures that looked expensive on various table and desktops all over the room.
Leon had no idea where he was.
Stumbling out of bed, Leon made his way across the plush carpet to the door. Rubbing sleepy eyes, the Detective reached out and opened the door…
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Count D looked up. The sun had yet to crest the horizon, yet something was moving around in the shop. His nocturnal animals should be bedding down, and his diurnal animals had yet to wake up. Remembering the Detective, D wondered what he would be doing up at such an early hour; especially with the reaction that he had had to the tea. Sipping his morning brew, the Count waited for the shop to lead Leon Orcot to the front room. As he spread a particularly sweet jam on his toast, Leon entered the front room.
“D?” He asked a bit uncertain.
“Good morning, Detective,” the Count replied. “I had no idea that you were such an early riser.”
Leon plopped down in a sprawling heap on the chair at the head of the coffee table that was spread with all manner of toasts, breads, jams, jellies and marmalades; the ensemble was accompanied by two carafes of tea. Leon didn’t know what to make of all of it. He thought that D only ate sweets in the afternoon. He was, apparently, very wrong. He glared at the Chinese man as he daintily ate a piece of toast with what looked like jam. In the dim interior lighting of the shop, it looked like congealed blood.
“You’re addicted,” Leon said as he picked up a piece of toast and slathered it with something. He made a face. He didn’t know what to make of peach marmalade on rye toast. Nonetheless, the stubborn detective swallowed and chomped down on his breakfast.
D smiled. “At least my drug isn’t harmful.”
Leon paused in the vicious activity that was eating his breakfast and looked at D. The Count smiled secretively over the rim of his tea cup before sipping it and taking another bite of his not-really-blood-covered toast. The detective frowned. Just what did D know that put that look on his face?? It was most unnerving, especially this early in the morning; when someone looks at you as if they have known you all your life, knows ever little detail that you barely remember. Leon just scowled. It was too early for this shit! Grabbing another piece of toast, he slathered something else on it, and chomped down on it.
Hm…not bad. Raspberry on pumpernickel.
“Can I offer you some tea, Detective?” the Count’s smooth, cultured voice broke into his reverie. Leon’s thoughts never were too cohesive early in the morning. He definitely wasn’t a morning person.
“It’s not that shit that I had yesterday, was it?” Leon asked as he looked at the tea carafe distrustfully. He didn’t eve know if he should take D up on the offer, rusty manners or not.
“No,” D said, that smile back on his face. “it’s normal, black tea; full of natural antioxidants and a wonderful, exorbitant amount of caffeine.”
Leon just looked at him. After a moment or two where his brain translated what D said, he finally held out the tea cup that was in front of him. “Sure, I guess.”
D’s smile this time was his normal, cracked out smile; not the ‘I know something you don’t know’ secretive smile. Then again, his cracked out smile might just be because of the abnormal amount of sugar he ate daily.
“Would you like it sweetened at all?” D asked. The question broke Leon from his thoughts and he saw D poised with a jar of what looked like honey next to his cup.
“No!” Leon almost shouted. He yanked his arm back and almost spilled his hot tea all over his arm. “I’m already eating enough sugar to mummify me; I don’t need to drink it as well.”
D’s laugh was music.
“My dear detective!” He said, wiping tears from his mismatched eyes. “You’re quite funny!”
Leon grumbled as he drank his tea. He didn’t realize that salt mummified things, not sugar. D understood the misspoken sentence, yet, for humors sake, decided not to correct the Detective. It made the smile he gave him all the more secretive and, for Leon, irritating and grating.
“I looked at these after your reaction,” D’s voice cut through the lightening morning gloom. The deep, dulcet tones were anything but what expected. D seemed sad.
“…And?” Leon wanted to know what the Count thought.
“It is obviously done by an animal; I can’t refute that,” the pale man said. “By the size of the teeth marks in the man’s neck, and the way the injuries are inflicted, I would assume this animal to be a large cat; a lion perhaps.” D handed the file back to Leon who took it and tucked it somewhere in his coat.
It was then that the sun rose, morning sunshine piercing through the gloom of the petshop. Leon heard D sigh. There was something to it, and the sunshine likewise made something in him settle. He found that he enjoyed his next piece of toast much more than his previous two. Finishing his tea, Leon grabbed another piece of toast before leaving the petshop.
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D’s smile turned into a frown almost immediately as the bell rang, signaling Leon’s departure. He was most frustrated. He set up the elaborate spread, not that he wouldn’t have if Leon hadn’t been eating breakfast with him, to see if he could deduce what Leon was through what he ate. It was obvious to D that he hadn’t liked his first piece of toast; the Count didn’t really like peach marmalade on rye toast either. But pumpernickel and raspberry? Honey oat and blackberry? Those definitely weren’t typical of the detective he knew.
Leon had once staggered into the petshop at an ungodly hour when he had been eating breakfast. That time, he had slathered peanut butter on an English muffin (several English muffins) before finishing with some vanilla milk (the only milk D drank outside of occasionally putting it in his tea) and a piece of dry toast. After that, he had promptly fallen asleep on the chair he was sprawled in, and nothing that D did short of the supernatural would wake him. He gave up in a huff and just cast a glamour that made Leon look like a sleeping cat. That had been trouble because a little girl had wanted him so bad. He remembered that his knowing smile had so angered the detective when he had woken up that he had stormed out without sharing afternoon tea with him.
Back on his original train of thought, D didn’t know what to make of it all. It frustrated him to no end and the Chinese deity was almost to the point where he was sure he had to use his magic when an idea suddenly struck him. It was so powerful in its clarity that the Count paused, mid bite. Setting his toast down on the tray, the dark haired man mulled it over as he sipped his tea.
Yes, it could work. It might work. Might was better than not at all and it was better than nothing to go by. Deciding that this course of action would be best, D finished his tea, cleaned up breakfast, and readied the shop to be open. Today was going to be eventful.
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Leon and various others branches of the LAPD and animal control had a house surrounded. They had tracked down complaints and mysterious disappearances to this house. It looked terrible; not the house, but the yard. The front yard was getting long and in need of a cut. The back yard, what they could see of it, was horribly overgrown. The grass was easily up to any of their waists and the trees, shrubs and gardens were all overgrown.
Leon instantly hated the place and didn’t know why. There was something…threatening about it, and something deep in his soul didn’t want anything to do with it. His instincts were hardly ever wrong; it’s what made him a good cop and kept him alive.
“All right boys,” the Chief was saying. “Let’s do this.”
The owner of the house had declined all attempts at a peaceful surrender. With a person from animal control in each group with a tranquilizer gun, the teams entered the house and grounds.
“Clear.”
“Clear.”
“This room’s clear too,” another voice called.
“Jungle room’s clear.”
“Jungle room?” a voice asked.
“It’s full of plants,” the cop explained. “You can barely see the walls.”
One team found a number of animals in the basement, all of them terrified and skittish. It appeared as if they were being bred for something. Once the house was dubbed clear, they moved on to the backyard. It was, indeed, overgrown and very jungle like. It looked like Mr. Alexander O. Hamilton wasn’t a horticulturist or cared about what his yard looked like.
The groups that had left the house and were observing the backyard paused; some on the back deck while others several feet into the long grass. Something wasn’t right. Something wasn’t right at all. Even though humans hadn’t been in a situation like the ones from the LAPD were in in thousands of years, instinct still flared strong, warning the cops of the impending danger.
It was Leon who heard it first. His head turned sharply at a slight rustle of grass. “There’s something fucking out there, guys,” the blonde officer quietly said.
Another rustle.
A gun cocked.
All at once, mayhem ensued. With a roar, a pride of lionesses launched themselves at the group of police officers.
“Aw fucking hell,” Leon cursed as he jumped off the deck and ran for cover in the trees. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw a few tawny bodies break off from the main group and chase him. His instinct was screaming at him. Something in him demanded to be let loose, to stop hiding, otherwise death was sure to follow.
Something deep within Leon growled and rose to the surface.
----------
“Oh my,” D exclaimed as one of the teacups he had cracked. The deity frowned. Something wasn’t right. Setting the tea cup in its usual place at the head of the coffee table where Leon usually sat, D poured his own cup of tea and waited for his detective to show up and share tea with him.
Part II