[LWD] After Dark - part 1: now hiring
Title: After Dark - part 1: now hiring
Category: Kuroko no Basket
Pairing(s): Various, but primarily there will be some arrangement of Aomine/Kuroko/Kise
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 7,300
Summary: Vampire AU - It's tough finding a job to match one's unique schedule and dietary needs. Beggars can't be choosers, but maybe Kuroko should have read the fine print before he signed.
» Part of the Long Way Down Series
Every three days was a comfortable feeding schedule. It varied from person to person, and Kuroko had learned to be more frugal than most, but once every three days was adequate for him. He could stretch it to four without too much difficulty. Five was usually pushing it, especially now, since the last time he'd fed could barely count as a snack.
A luxuriously good snack, true; there was no comparison to fresh blood still warm from the body. Kuroko had just about forgotten that taste, so different from the kind that was diluted with chemicals to prevent it from congealing in storage. Most vampires nowadays contented themselves with such fare, and it was the safest option, least likely to draw the attention of the local authorities or worse.
Although considering the recent reminder, Kuroko could almost understand why some were willing to risk the notice of the guild to hunt. Aomine Daiki was young and healthy-no surprise that his blood was potent. Kuroko thought that would make up for how little of it he took, but maybe that had been wishful thinking on his part, born of the desperation to stop before he got carried away. More carried away, he had to amend, guilt-tripping himself into honesty. There had been that moment of shock when his tongue had chased the taste of skin rather than blood, and found it equally tantalizing.
As if one voracious appetite wasn't enough. Kuroko buried his face in his hands (mildly surprised to feel warmth under his skin and briefly wondered how his body could spare the blood for a physiological response to embarrassment), not for the first time regretting the fact he'd been turned at this stage in life. The adolescent inconveniences were never-ending.
He let out a small sigh, just audible enough to send the other person in the restaurant's break room reeling. "Wh-where did you come from?"
"I was here when you came in."
"Really? Wait, you work here?"
"Yes. Since three and a half weeks ago." The uniform was self-evident, he thought, but it couldn't hurt to clarify.
Finding a job had naturally been one of his first orders of business since arriving in Tokyo with what little savings he possessed. Waiting tables was far from ideal, but his options were limited when hiring managers took one look at him and saw a student-or somewhat more accurately, a dropout. Fortunately, Kuroko was an old hand at this. He made just enough to pay his rent, which was fine for the most part; as far as housing he didn't need more than a roof over his head and a bath now and then, but food was a completely different matter.
"You okay there? Not sick, are you?"
"I'm fine. My shift is over, anyway." Kuroko rose to his feet, taking it slow and still having to fight a wave of dizziness once he was upright. He swallowed, throat parched-or maybe he was imagining that. They said a vampire turned to dust when it starved, the same as if it had been staked. Kuroko was used to the pinch of hunger, could even ignore it for extended lengths of time until it became a gnawing ache, driven to desperation when presented with blood scent after a long fast. He remembered what it felt like to die, the life quite literally flowing out of him, and then the life flowing into him with the unmistakable lacing of magic that jolted and fused everything back together.
Kuroko's hand drifted to rest over his beating heart, cataloguing its steady thuds. His fingers dug into comfortingly solid flesh.
"Then do you have a death wish or something?"
A half-smile formed on Kuroko's face. After all these years it seemed he was still rather fond of living, even if it was an ageless, blood-bound existence in the shadows.
(Or maybe it was just that a vampire's end-ashes to ashes, dust to dust-was too inglorious, and too sad a thing to bear.)
#
A couple days ago, an unmarked envelope had found its way into Kuroko's hands. It seemed to have been dropped on the floor of the restaurant, paper wrinkled and stamped with the dirt-smudged imprint of someone's shoe. Picking it up and looking it over, Kuroko had naturally asked if it belonged to anyone.
"Eh? Was that thing always there?"
"What is it?"
"Where did it come from?"
Maybe it had been a pitiable sense of affinity that prompted Kuroko to open the envelope; more likely, though, it had been the faint whiff of magic clinging to the battered paper. The amount was negligible, but the subtlety of the spell was a piece of work-just enough enchantment to persuade the casual observer to overlook the ensorcelled object, discouraging interest even when it was brought to attention, all without raising alarm in the human subconscious. Such a spell wasn't the work of an amateur. Only those with certain... supernatural instincts would notice the presence of magic on the thing, crippling the effectiveness of the spell for those special few.
All that considered, it was an exorbitant amount of effort when simply mailing the envelope to Kuroko's apartment would have sufficed. Sorcerers were a hubristic sort, though, and frequently in some sort of competition with one another.
Unusual delivery method aside, the only thing inside the envelope had been a folded sheet of paper, plain office quality and un-magicked, bearing a name in elegant English script: After Dark Bar and Lounge. Underneath it was an address in the same refined handwriting.
As the nighttime crowd bumped and bustled around him, Kuroko took in the building's unlit sign and dark windows. Judging by its outward appearance, the bar was closed, and there were no hours listed on the door.
No doubt this was the right place, though. If blood scent went straight to Kuroko's stomach, then magic scent went immediately to his head. The air was charged with it, sharp and electric, the same spell that had obscured the envelope now blanketing the whole building. Most likely the same sorcerer, then, or at least from the same family boasting their specialty.
If that wasn't enough to confirm the bar's nature, there was also the matter of the werewolf standing guard outside the door. He was enfolded within the spell to escape any curious passerby's notice, but even without that there was nothing overtly suspicious, dangerous, or wolfish about the young man. Kuroko could identify him only thanks to past familiarity with the race and their subtle tells in body language; experiencing the world nose first resulted in certain habits, familiar stances or gestures, which gave away the wolf inside the human skin. This particular werewolf, aside from his above-average height, seemed to be as quiet and unobtrusive as Kuroko was himself. The direct line of his gaze simply acknowledged Kuroko's presence without inviting him in or threatening him away. It was unusual to find lone werewolves separated from their pack, though they did make for good bodyguards.
Kuroko reminded himself that there was no vampire-werewolf feud in Japan. Powers willing, it would stay that way, and he proceeded to venture nearer. The guard maintained his stoic vigil, pausing only to bend down when Kuroko was close enough to politely clock his scent. No growling or baring of teeth, just a mute nod that Kuroko returned for courtesy's sake before pushing the door open.
The inside of the After Dark Bar and Lounge was dimly lit, but lit all the same, contrary to what the windows outside would lead one to believe. Tables and chairs were arranged comfortably throughout, about half of them occupied, and a small crowd gathered around a couple of pool tables at the rear of the room. The clack of billiard balls and the low hum of conversation wove in and out through a backdrop of music that was at least a decade out of style. The decorations, too, were cozy rather than modern.
As for the clientele, they were a varied bunch. Demons of all kinds, some wearing a human face and others boasting scales, fur, claws, the whole works-a pack of them sat around a table playing cards with a pot consisting of local and foreign coins intermixed with raw gemstones, small bones, and teeth. What first appeared to be a drooping, dried-out plant in one corner was actually a gnarled old man who creaked whenever he shifted. A woman covered in swan feathers worked tirelessly by the window with piles of needlework overflowing in her lap. There were a few vampires, too, or some other relation judging by the drinks they were nursing.
Kuroko smelled the blood from clear across the room and suddenly it was all he could notice. Hunger cramped his belly and his throat ached for the viscous slide of liquid, heavier than water, laden with the pulse of life. Somehow he made his way to the bar and slumped gracelessly into a seat.
"What can I get you?" The bartender's uniform was rumpled as if recently slept in, but he was immaculate from the neck up, hair slicked back save for a strand hanging loose in front of the mole dotting his forehead. He peered closely at Kuroko before comprehension etched a smile on his mouth. "A fellow bloodsucker if I'm not mistaken." Vampires had their own tells, and he spoke with a voice of experience which left no room for doubt. Perhaps it was thanks to the job; one was sure to meet a lot of people at a place like this. "Type preference?"
"Just cheap, please."
"Don't tell me you're on a student allowance." Hard to tell if he was joking, but as he said it he reached for a red-filled bottle on the shelf. There were many more beside it, their contents varying in color, clarity, and consistency. A few included murky, unidentifiable objects floating around in the liquid, and others contained smoke or gas. None were labeled, but the bartender spoke with oft-repeated expertise as he poured, "Pig's blood is the most common around here. And since you're new, the first drink is on the house."
"Thank you." The glass was generously full, and Kuroko began by sipping from the top. It was room temperature, several degrees lower than ideal, and had the medicinal taste that came with all stored blood-but it slaked his clamoring thirst, and before long he had the glass thrown back, emptying it in a matter of heartbeats.
A low whistle undercut the air. "Refill?"
"…Please." Kuroko thumbed a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth and licked it off, suppressing a shiver at acute peak in his senses. The fuzzy gauze he'd been living in thinned and gave way to sharp clarity, enabling him to discern between the assorted blood scents wafting throughout the room. The pig's blood he'd just consumed was most prominent, but there were others, too. Mostly more animals, some rather demonic in nature (which made him wrinkle his nose, but there was no accounting for some people's tastes). Nothing human from what he could tell, and that eased some of the last remaining tension from his shoulders. He was hyper aware of the slip of fangs through his gums despite having no prey to tear into, as well as the chemical aftertaste of anticoagulant coating his tongue (which, to his chagrin, still hadn't forgotten the body-warm and skin-salt taste of Aomine's blood).
Kuroko swallowed, and through sheer force of will bent his attention back to the refilled glass waiting for him. He drank this one more slowly, accustoming himself to the idea that he could fully sate his hunger, but held back once he hit a plateau to ensure he didn't binge himself sick.
The bartender continued to observe him with a quiet smile that was a shade on the creepy side, but when one had to feed on the blood of others to survive, a little bit of creepy was nothing to fret over. He was attentive to his other customers as well, taking orders as they came and cleaning up in between service. Drinks ranged from spring water to something that looked more than a little acidic in a thickly lined glass. The rows of bottles behind the counter were practically luminescent, and Kuroko found his gaze straying up to the top shelf. What was considered premium fare in a bar like this? He could only think of a few possibilities.
Glass clinked as a bottle was returned to its place, its contents black with an oily sheen. "Must be tough," the bartender commented, retrieving a rag to wipe down the counter. "I wouldn't want to be stuck with a face that young. For any number of reasons."
The bartender's face wasn't that much older, although he had a better chance at passing for an adult than Kuroko did. "It's somewhat inconvenient," he allowed.
"You aren't really a student, are you?"
"No."
"Hmm." He made a show of turning a thought over in his mind, but his eyes were already decided before they locked with Kuroko's. "Are you interested in a job?"
"…What kind of job?"
"Deliveries. Some folks find it difficult to make it here. Of course, others just make themselves at home." He nodded to the old man in the corner who, upon closer inspection, had roots dug firmly into the floorboards. The bartender turned back to Kuroko. "The hours would be after dark, naturally. Travel fare while on the clock would be covered. As for pay… free drinks or cash if you'd prefer."
Kuroko's fingers relaxed imperceptibly on his glass. He'd made similar deals with other people, in other places and other times. "Could that be split half and half?" He still had rent to pay, but securing a regular feeding schedule was too tempting to resist.
"No problem. Any other questions?"
"One more."
"Shoot."
"Do you always offer jobs to whoever walks through the door?" There hadn't been any hiring signs on the windows, but neither was there any other staff in sight. It was feasible that the place could use the extra help.
"Heh. Well, no," the bartender admitted, leaning on his elbows so his face was more on level with Kuroko's. "But we don't get that many starving vampires stumbling in, either."
"I see. So it's a pity offer."
He shrugged. "Doesn't seem to bother you, if you don't mind me saying."
Fair point; the longer Kuroko lived, the less use he had for pride.
"I really could use the help. You could also say I'm taking advantage of your circumstances."
Well, that sounded honest, and the arrangement was convenient for him as well. "As long as we understand each other, I have no complaints."
The bartender's smile deepened in satisfaction. "Good. How about a drink to seal the deal?" He reached for a bottle-top shelf-with a knowing look that said he'd noticed Kuroko's earlier observation.
The stopper came out and Kuroko took a deliberate, measured breath as the drink was poured. This scent… was different. Sparks of something distressingly familiar. A weight like a fist pounded inside his chest for attention, then went sullen and quiet when he raised the glass to his lips.
Confirmation struck like a lightning bolt: there was magic in the blood.
Another shock when he amended: in the plain, common pig's blood.
Kuroko nearly choked and ended up sputtering a little behind his hand.
The bartender offered him a napkin with a distinctly unpleasant air of smugness. "How is it? The taste isn't quite right, but pretty close, isn't it?"
Cautiously, carefully, Kuroko took another sip, prepared this time for the peculiar blend to hit his tongue. Warm-the blood was much warmer than it should have been, and it tasted fresh. It shouldn't taste like this after being bottled, after just a few minutes it cooled once free of the body. Kuroko raised his gaze to the bartender's amused smile, his dark, secretive eyes. "That's an unusual spell."
"Isn't it just?" He corked the bottle again, stroking the glass fondly before returning it to the shelf, and offered no hint as to what sorcerer he had in his pocket to do him such odd favors.
Kuroko's stare lingered on the top shelf for a moment before dropping, and the question was allowed to escape without pursuit. Stranger things had happened. One learned to take these things as they came.
#
Sicilian weather was warming up and drying out at this time of year, although the Mediterranean breeze helped as it filtered through the villa. Solitary whitewashed walls were built into a mass of volcanic cliff jutting out of the Tyrrhenian Sea, and steep stairs were carved into the rock leading down to a small cove where no boat had ever docked, though footprints occasionally dotted the stretch of sand. Despite being centuries old, the place had only ever been graced by a few privileged inhabitants; those who could claim ancestry to the distinguished crest painted over the arch of the door.
Midorima sighed, one hand cupped under the empty spiral of turbo shell that was his lucky item today while the other pushed his glasses up. Upon the bed-his bed, unfortunately-a half-curled figure rumpled and creased his Egyptian cotton sheets. Stray reddish-brown feathers floated to the polished hardwood floor as an immense wingspan twitched and shuddered to the tune of pained moans and whimpers, eliciting not one drop of sympathy from Midorima, who merely watched and said, "You realize you brought this upon yourself."
An unintelligible sound emanated from the pillow in which Takao had shoved his face. His wings drooped to either side of the bed, tips dragging along the floor in disgrace.
Midorima added, "I even warned you about the Sirocco."
"A strong wind, you said." Takao's face turned to the side, wearing a sour expression, his voice scratchy from inhaling too much dust blown in from the Sahara. "Strong wind-hah! That was a hurricane raining sand instead of water."
"Only because you flew too near the African coast. The winds weren't nearly as drastic up here."
"I just wanted to stretch my wings a bit, it's so boring here…" He shrugged his shoulders and winced as the abused muscles pulled, groaning extravagantly. "And now I'm grounded."
That, Midorima would admit, was a problem, if only because he wouldn't be able to get any work done with a bored, house-bound hawk spirit underfoot. Takao had specific uses, and those uses required him to be mobile. "Fine," he said, setting the shell aside to unwrap the binding tape from his left hand. The fingers underneath it were long and immaculately clean, maintaining their sensitivity throughout all manner of weather conditions so that the power channeled through them could be directed with fine-tuned, often deadly precision.
Takao's eyes went round. "I'm not so bad off I need to be put out of my misery, though!" He hunched his shoulders despite the obvious pain, wings trying to furl inward in alarmed protest.
"Quiet." Midorima cast him a baleful look. "I don't use this spell often. I'll need to concentrate or else you'll be more miserable than you can imagine."
"…Right. Well, warn a guy before you take off the kid gloves, sheesh." The wings relaxed again, leaving enough room for Midorima to sit on the bed and hover over Takao's exposed back. His feathers were ragged and sparse in places, his skin roughened from wind-whipped sand, and there was considerable swelling, but that was the extent of the visible injuries. He was sure to squawk about such things later when he could afford to worry about aesthetics, but none of it should affect his flying (which was a magic-aided feat to begin with). Honestly, he was fortunate to not have broken anything from being tossed around like that. Bad enough he'd nearly crashed into the cliff wall when wobbling in through the balcony.
Midorima stretched out the fingers of his hand and intoned, "Homo proponit, sed Deus disponit." The austere Latin syllables were a familiar weight on his tongue, but their release into the air was negligible compared to the resonance of the link to his magic. A connection was opened, and as always, his earnest proposition was answered. The power settled neatly into his hand, warm and pulsing with a steady heartbeat matched to his own, to do with as he willed.
He contemplated Takao's back again, picturing the damaged slope of muscle over bone. Healing was not his forte; he had only a grasp of the basics to serve in an emergency, and Takao's body tensed with this shared knowledge even while he remained still and compliant as a show of faith.
Feathers rustled when Midorima's hand touched upon the strip of flesh between stiff wing joints extending from beds of down. His magic sank through the skin and Takao squirmed with discomfort, though it wasn't as bad as it could have been thanks to their contract. Some of Midorima's power was tied to the hawk spirit, and compatibility always made things easier.
Nevertheless, there was no sense in taking unnecessary risks. Mending the torn muscle fibers was delicate work, and as much as he'd prefer to fix everything in one go, the slightest doubt could tempt fate. He left those injuries alone; they would heal well enough with time, so for now all Midorima did was cool the area and reduce the swelling. The lungs were a concern, and respiratory infection was an ugly possibility. Perhaps a natural remedy would be best for that. He smoothed the worst of the outer abrasions with a steady pass of his hand, and with that much Takao might be able to rest comfortably-even if it did have to be in Midorima's bed.
He was considering the merits of putting Takao under a sleep spell for the day to ensure peace and quiet when the faint vibration of the security system jolted him out of his concentration. There was a mass of invisible power threads webbing the villa which instantly alerted him to a stranger's presence. The tremor wasn't bad enough to disturb his work (if that was the case the whole villa would have crumbled into the sea ages ago), but it did make him pause to identify the intruder. The magical signature was a familiar one, bringing to mind a vague sense of irritation-oh.
Before he could tell her in no uncertain terms to go away, a voice caroled from the entryway: "Midorin~! You home?"
A snicker sounded from the pillow and Takao's eye glinted when he turned his head. "You know, you could just change the location of the portal."
"Its current location is ideal." Midorima's reply was spoken with the rapid ease of a familiar argument. "The energies involved for a transportation spell are sensitive and complex. Changing the location of the portal would increase the possibility of disruption, and at best the spell would fail to achieve the desired result. At worst…"
"Here you are! Why didn't you say-oh, dear." As soon as Momoi's face appeared in the doorway she went as pink as her hair and spun right around, hands locked innocently behind her back. "Ah, if this is a bad time I could come back later…?"
For some reason Takao was shaking, and judging by the short snatches of laughter being muffled into the pillow, it wasn't due to pain. Seeing how he wasn't going to get anything else done for time being, Midorima cut off the flow of power and withdrew his hand. "Whatever it is, you've already interrupted once. I'd rather not be interrupted again at a later date, so let's get this over with."
Momoi peeked over her shoulder, still blushing-and she should be embarrassed for inviting herself in just because she happened to know about the portal. Midorima hadn't offered her the use of it whenever she wanted. Impudently, she smiled. "All right, I'll wait in the study if you'd like to finish up first."
"Don't just go through other people's houses like-" But with a flick of her hair she was already gone, humming cheerfully. Midorima's hand clenched. "Of all the insolent…!"
"Take it easy, Shin-chan. Why don't you go see what's up?" Takao twitched his wings with less pain than he had before, and gave Momoi a run for her money in insolence as he snuggled happily into Midorima's bed. Grinning widely, he added, "Unless there's something you'd like to finish first…?"
Midorima rewrapped his left hand with smooth, unhurried motions despite the acidity in his tone. "I'm done with the healing, but don't move too much. You're not actually fixed yet."
"Geez, you don't have to talk like I'm broken." Takao pouted, kicking his feet. "As usual, Shin-chan is no fun."
"…If you really need a proper healing…"
"No, no, never mind that." He had the nerve to sigh gustily and roll his eyes, flapping a hand in a shooing motion. "Go see what Satsuki-chan needs. You can assure her that your virtue is still intact, if you want."
"What on earth are you talking about?"
Takao simply raised an eyebrow. His wings canted so he could roll on his side and prop a hand under his cheek, posing coquettishly under a sweep of red-brown feathers, and something finally clicked into place.
"You…!" Midorima began, then thought better of it and redirected his flame-hot outrage, flinging an arm towards the empty doorway with an incredulous finger pointed. "She…?!"
"Common misconception, I'm sure," Takao said with a dry chuckle that followed Midorima out the door.
He made his way down the hall to the study with starch indignity in every step. Momoi had already made herself at home, opening the window to let in a breeze that rustled the edges of the papers she was nosily bent over. Midorima cleared his throat. She didn't even look up. "Wow," she said instead, tucking her hair behind her ear while her avid eyes scanned the contents of his desk with far more comprehension than he was comfortable with. "Is this the case you're working on? I heard about it on the news but didn't think it was in your field."
"I'm not obliged to share the details of my work with you; in fact, that information is meant to be confidential." This time she lifted her face with a sheepish apology written across her features, and took a pointed step away from the desk. It hardly mollified him. "About before," he continued. "I'm afraid a misunderstanding occurred."
"Before?"
"Yes," he said with teeth-grinding composure. "That wasn't... what it looked like. You completely misread the situation."
She blinked, then smiled. "Oh, is that all? Sorry." Before Midorima could consider the matter safely closed she giggled behind her hand and added, "But you know, just in case, I'm not the type to judge!"
Midorima's hands slammed down on the desk. Momoi barely jumped, showing only mild concern when he leaned in and narrowed his eyes. "There is nothing like what you are assuming between Takao and I. That was merely a spell-casting procedure to heal him. You call yourself a witch and you weren't able to deduce that?"
"Eh? Is Kazu-kun all right?"
Of course the stupid hawk was the only part of that she cared about. Midorima allowed his shoulders to sag-minutely-in defeat. "...He's fine. That idiot flew into a sandstorm and pulled a few muscles, that's all."
Momoi 'ooh'-ed in sympathy. "I wish I could help, but it's not my area... Hey, speaking of which, I didn't know you could heal that way." She indicated "that way" with her hand splayed out, wiggling her fingers. Then her cheeks puffed, expression turning cross over the silliest of things. "Family magic really does make things easier. No fussing with rare commodities or memorizing incantations…"
"Of course it's a privilege for the elite, but it's not a shortcut as you seem to imply." He straightened so he could look down his nose at her, which only deepened her furrowed glare. For good measure, he added, "Haven't you learned anything?"
For a moment she looked ready to let fly with her fist. She spent far too much time around that hunter brute of hers, and together they made for an ill-mannered self-made pair, the like of which didn't fit into any circle of Midorima's world. Fortunately, the moment for violence passed, and Momoi heaved a deep sigh that did interesting things to her bosom which Midorima resolutely pretended not to notice. "Geez, Midorin is difficult as usual."
He twitched at the nickname. "Forgive me for being difficult. Is there something you actually needed, or are you imposing on me at your leisure?"
"…There is something." With those words Momoi's entire demeanor changed, becoming gentler and more subdued. Her gaze trailed enviously along the shelves and shelves of books lining the walls before coming to rest, business-like, on Midorima. She extended her hand with a slip of paper folded between her fingers. "Do you know this crest?"
He took the proffered sketch and could tell at a glance it was like Momoi's; recent and singular, lacking the depth and distinction of a family lineage. He could search all the family registries at his disposal and probably never find a match. Midorima let the picture fall. "Don't tell me you're wasting my time with something like this."
"It was worth a shot." Wearing a half smile, Momoi crossed her arms and leaned against the desk. "Then, what can you tell me about vampires that wield sorcery?"
…Ah, that was a much more suitable matter to bring to him. Midorima pushed his glasses up. "They're uncommon, for one thing. What have you already found out?"
"Just the bare minimum. They're usually not very powerful, but they can add to their strength by drinking a sorcerer's blood." She grimaced at this detail, then continued, "The texts were dodgy regarding their origins. Most said only the oldest vampires are capable of magic, but that's… not quite right, is it?"
Too smart for her own good sometimes, and far, far too inquisitive. Still, he didn't hate her meticulous efforts. "Go on."
"Age is just a number," Momoi said, very careful with her words as if sounding out her argument for the first time. "Magic will ripen whenever the seed is planted. Therefore, the primogenitor is the one with the sorcery potential. All vampiric traits lose their potency down the line, and that includes magic, the key component of their making. It thins with each generation so the descendents wouldn't be able to access it for use beyond reproducing. Theoretically."
"Powers willing, yes."
Momoi clapped her hands together once. "So I'm right?"
"Close enough," he hedged. Actually, her conclusion was incredibly astute, if a little dangerous. Best to steer the conversation in a different direction. "So you mean to say that this-" he tapped the paper with the crest drawn on it, "-belongs to a vampire?"
"Mm. Perhaps..."
"It doesn't help either of us if you withhold information, Momoi."
Her cheeks pinked, and her laugh had a surprised ring to it. "Right, sorry. Yes, I'm almost certain. It's embarrassing to admit, but at the time I didn't recognize the signs until too late. It was… oh, four or five years ago at the start of high school. He got Dai-chan into some mess, and then vanished once the guild caught onto his trail. We only learned he was a vampire from them." She noticed the narrow look he shot her way and shook her head. "They didn't know much else, and if they've learned anything new they're not sharing. You know how they are-almost as bad as you."
"A healthy amount of secrecy is a given in this world, Momoi. Even you must realize the potential chaos otherwise." His thoughts coalesced as he spoke; he might have more luck inquiring with the guild than she had. They owed him one or two personal favors.
"Well, yes, that would be awful, I'm not saying otherwise."
"It would be intolerable." He picked up the scrap paper to commit its details to memory. There was a certain elegance to the design, but also deliberate ruthlessness in the bold primary symbols. What these things lacked in history they made up for in personality. "I assume your mystery vampire has a name? Even an alias will do."
"My mystery sorcerer," she emphasized, and Midorima could not hold back his scowl at the insult to his heritage, something an undistinguished witch who came late into her power would never understand, "was called Akashi Seijuurou."
The surname might have been familiar, which was promising. There was no more need for prompting; Momoi rattled off an impressive list of statistics and descriptors that reminded Midorima why he tolerated her. When she put her mind to it she could be very capable for a mere witch. It was almost a shame that her magic was negligible.
(Although, a contrary part of him couldn't help but point out, when it came to either a bludgeon or a scalpel he knew which one he would pick, and Momoi used her few talents with calculated aplomb.)
He found only one fault in her detailed summary, and though he could guess why, he asked anyway to make sure: "True age? Round to the nearest century if you have to."
A frown creased her brow. "I would if I could. He gave very little away, even in retrospect. I would guess relatively young, modern-age, except… if he can use magic, he's first generation."
"Which is possible," Midorima conceded, but with no small amount of unhappiness. "A recently-made primogenitor would be the worst case scenario, though. And don't," he added sternly when Momoi started to open her mouth, "ask questions you know have classified answers."
"Hmph. Can't blame a girl for trying. I bet the answer's 'no,' anyway." She stuck her tongue out, cheeky to the point of ridiculous. "If there was a rogue sorcerer breaking the law to create new vampires, Midorin would look more pleased with himself after hearing out my wealth of information."
"Untrue."
"So true."
"Anyway," Midorima said, leaning away from the impertinent finger attempting to poke his face. "If that's all you have for me, I will see what I can do in my spare time-of which, I might add, is precious little lately."
If anything, that only perked Momoi up more. "Ooh, because of the case? Can you tell me anything about it? Just a teensy little hint?"
"No, and it's none of your business." He steadfastly ignored her and walked to one of his bookshelves.
"Stingy~"
The tip of his finger skimmed across a row of spines, many of them in flawless condition despite their tremendous age and having survived earthquakes, fire, and flood. He pulled free one such book and opened to its index, double-checking the relevant pages before closing it and thumping Momoi's forehead with the cover. "You may entertain yourself with this in the meantime. I imagine the chapters on sorcery inheritance and non-human sorcery will be of particular interest to you."
Momoi reached for the book with the same sparkling awe as a child reaching for a present. Her eyes were wide and… disturbingly wet when she blinked, moisture collecting on her lashes. "Midorin…"
He turned so he wouldn't have to look at her. "It's to keep you out of my way. Now, go. I'll contact you if I find something worthwhile. Perhaps by then Takao will be capable of relaying messages."
There was a suspicious sniffling noise from behind him, and then Momoi saying, "But couldn't I just check in from time to time? I might have questions about the text-"
"No," he said flatly, and repeated for good measure, "no, you may not. Let me be clear: you are not welcome to barge in at your convenience. This is not to become a habit."
"…It's not like I'd come just to play…"
"Good. Keep that in mind going forward."
There was a brief gap of silence, and then Momoi moved into his field of vision, book clutched to her chest and her expression so solemn he had no choice but to pay attention. "One favor, though. If you do find something, I would prefer to discuss it in a safe place, just in case." Her straightforward gaze was stripped of airy cheer, her lightheartedness weighed down, revealing… not fear so much as the strength to bear it.
One searching look was all he needed to nod his consent. "Reasonable enough. I'll take precautions."
"Okay." Her eyes closed for a peaceful moment with a volume of contentment that was at odds with such a simple agreement on his part. If you really need… But before he could get a single word out she flipped right back to her usual self, sunny smile and all. "Good! I'll be out of your hair then-don't worry, I'll see myself out. And thanks for this!" She twirled in a circle, book held high, and just about danced her way out, gracefully sidestepping Takao's gangly form that appeared curiously in the doorway. "Bye, Midorin, Kazu-kun!"
Midorima was left staring and feeling a twinge of empathy for Takao. Momoi was nothing if not a pink, persistent whirlwind blowing him every which way.
"Hmm, that didn't look like it went too badly." Takao leaned against the doorframe, wings folded at his back.
"I told you not to move," Midorima said absently, coming out of his stunned daze.
"I didn't hear you yelling, so I figured things were really bad… or maybe really good." Some mysteries, like Takao's smile right now, were never meant to be unraveled, so Midorima didn't even try.
He went about straightening up his desk, arranging papers in their proper order and putting the sketch away in a drawer for safekeeping. "Go lie back down before you injure yourself further. I'm only willing to heal so much of your own stupidity."
"Your concern is so touching." Nonetheless, he did wince when he shrugged his wings, not quite managing to bring them in enough to fit through the door. "Ah, poor Satsuki-chan. You could have warned her."
"Eavesdropping is a despicable habit, Takao. And I've no idea what you're talking about."
Takao gave a pronounced eye roll. "I'm talking about that precious work of yours that's been keeping you up all night, Mr. Crankypants. Or is there some other reason you're obsessing over sorcerer disappearances in the Tokyo area?"
"It's my job, Takao. And the details are classified." He went to the bookshelf again, selected a volume and searched for the desired page. Moderate healing; internal; strains and sprains. His stores of components were always well-stocked with nothing but the best, so he only glanced at the list to ensure that all the requirements were met. Midorima marked the page and flung a pointed finger at Takao. "Go lie down, I'm fixing you after all. There's work I need you to do."
Takao's answer was a mighty groan, but he turned around and trudged obediently down the hall while complaining about slave drivers and other choice slanders. In between, he reiterated his lament of, "Poor Satsuki-chan."
That concern-that fixation, more like, was unfounded as far as Midorima could tell. The culprit hadn't yet bothered with witches of meager power; the main reason the case had been brought to his attention in the first place was due to the high profile victims from powerful families. That it was an important matter which required a great deal of dedication and effort went without saying. Furthermore, Momoi wasn't the only acquaintance he knew in the affected area, so he was hardly being biased.
If the book he'd lent her (which she was certain to study from cover to cover) also happened to contain a section on minimum-preparation field-use defensive spells, that was entirely coincidence.
#
Rousing himself before evening had set in was a rare feat, though today it was made easier by the weather. Tokyo had been relentlessly gray from the ground up all week, the sun a distant, forgotten dream. The air was thick with humidity that wreaked havoc on Kuroko's already intractable bedhead, which he didn't even bother fixing before going out and mingling with the late afternoon crowd. Regardless of presentation, he passed unnoticed through the increasingly familiar streets, all the way until he reached After Dark's doorstep. No wolf at the door this time; no need when it was hours yet before the bar properly opened.
His knuckles tapped on the glass, and after a moment the door swung open with a bleary-eyed Seto on the other side. The state of his hair was just about on par with Kuroko's, and half of his uniform's buttons hadn't been done up yet. "Oh, good," he said, and then was interrupted by a jaw-cracking yawn. "…Thanks for coming in so early."
The inside of the bar was the same no matter what time of day, perpetually shadowed, and never entirely empty. Kuroko inclined his head in greeting to the old man wood spirit nestled in his corner, giving the place a faint pine scent-at least until Seto plunked a glass down and filled it with breakfast, chugging the blood with the appetite of a vampire used to eating well.
"Here," he said, pouring a second glass and sliding it into Kuroko's hands. Kuroko was more sedate with his drinking which in itself was an uncommon luxury, or had been for a while. Doubtless it would be so again, but he'd long since become accustomed to the wax and wane of the times.
Neither of them was up this early to chat. Seto disappeared into the back and returned with a cellophane-wrapped lump oozing red and smelling raw. He hefted its weight, eyeballing it critically, and scribbled down a price based on his mental calculations. The merchandise went into an insulated bag that he passed to Kuroko, along with the hand-written receipt and an address. It was farther than usual-a small town out in the countryside-hence the early start.
"That should do it," Seto said.
Kuroko finished his drink, and feeling marginally more prepared to face what was left of the day, he shouldered the bag and politely excused himself.
Exiting the pleasantly air-conditioned bar was like stepping into a dense wall of sticky, smothering heat. Kuroko faltered, for even behind a blanket of towering clouds the sun's presence was too close for comfort, though it was less of a physical pain and more of a drain on his strength. Under the full impact of the sun's rays, even the simple act of moving required concentrated effort.
Taking a deep breath, Kuroko willed one foot in front of the other and steadily made his way to the train station, bag held tight under his arm and self-conscious of the very weak blood scent emanating from within. Of course, it was nothing that would attract the attention of an average human passerby, but twice now he'd felt the vague off-kilter sensation of being noticed in a crowd while making a delivery for Seto. The feeling never lasted, and didn't follow him along his route, so he hadn't yet acted upon it. He rather hoped it was pure coincidence, but in his experience so few things were ever that happenstance.
"Akashi-kun, do you believe in fate?"
"What a strange question coming from you, Tetsuya. About that… well, I wonder."
Kuroko shook his head, shaking out the thoughts as well. Whatever happened, happened. He had a job to do and a life to live, regardless of what it had in store for him.
to be continued
Category: Kuroko no Basket
Pairing(s): Various, but primarily there will be some arrangement of Aomine/Kuroko/Kise
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 7,300
Summary: Vampire AU - It's tough finding a job to match one's unique schedule and dietary needs. Beggars can't be choosers, but maybe Kuroko should have read the fine print before he signed.
» Part of the Long Way Down Series
Every three days was a comfortable feeding schedule. It varied from person to person, and Kuroko had learned to be more frugal than most, but once every three days was adequate for him. He could stretch it to four without too much difficulty. Five was usually pushing it, especially now, since the last time he'd fed could barely count as a snack.
A luxuriously good snack, true; there was no comparison to fresh blood still warm from the body. Kuroko had just about forgotten that taste, so different from the kind that was diluted with chemicals to prevent it from congealing in storage. Most vampires nowadays contented themselves with such fare, and it was the safest option, least likely to draw the attention of the local authorities or worse.
Although considering the recent reminder, Kuroko could almost understand why some were willing to risk the notice of the guild to hunt. Aomine Daiki was young and healthy-no surprise that his blood was potent. Kuroko thought that would make up for how little of it he took, but maybe that had been wishful thinking on his part, born of the desperation to stop before he got carried away. More carried away, he had to amend, guilt-tripping himself into honesty. There had been that moment of shock when his tongue had chased the taste of skin rather than blood, and found it equally tantalizing.
As if one voracious appetite wasn't enough. Kuroko buried his face in his hands (mildly surprised to feel warmth under his skin and briefly wondered how his body could spare the blood for a physiological response to embarrassment), not for the first time regretting the fact he'd been turned at this stage in life. The adolescent inconveniences were never-ending.
He let out a small sigh, just audible enough to send the other person in the restaurant's break room reeling. "Wh-where did you come from?"
"I was here when you came in."
"Really? Wait, you work here?"
"Yes. Since three and a half weeks ago." The uniform was self-evident, he thought, but it couldn't hurt to clarify.
Finding a job had naturally been one of his first orders of business since arriving in Tokyo with what little savings he possessed. Waiting tables was far from ideal, but his options were limited when hiring managers took one look at him and saw a student-or somewhat more accurately, a dropout. Fortunately, Kuroko was an old hand at this. He made just enough to pay his rent, which was fine for the most part; as far as housing he didn't need more than a roof over his head and a bath now and then, but food was a completely different matter.
"You okay there? Not sick, are you?"
"I'm fine. My shift is over, anyway." Kuroko rose to his feet, taking it slow and still having to fight a wave of dizziness once he was upright. He swallowed, throat parched-or maybe he was imagining that. They said a vampire turned to dust when it starved, the same as if it had been staked. Kuroko was used to the pinch of hunger, could even ignore it for extended lengths of time until it became a gnawing ache, driven to desperation when presented with blood scent after a long fast. He remembered what it felt like to die, the life quite literally flowing out of him, and then the life flowing into him with the unmistakable lacing of magic that jolted and fused everything back together.
Kuroko's hand drifted to rest over his beating heart, cataloguing its steady thuds. His fingers dug into comfortingly solid flesh.
"Then do you have a death wish or something?"
A half-smile formed on Kuroko's face. After all these years it seemed he was still rather fond of living, even if it was an ageless, blood-bound existence in the shadows.
(Or maybe it was just that a vampire's end-ashes to ashes, dust to dust-was too inglorious, and too sad a thing to bear.)
#
A couple days ago, an unmarked envelope had found its way into Kuroko's hands. It seemed to have been dropped on the floor of the restaurant, paper wrinkled and stamped with the dirt-smudged imprint of someone's shoe. Picking it up and looking it over, Kuroko had naturally asked if it belonged to anyone.
"Eh? Was that thing always there?"
"What is it?"
"Where did it come from?"
Maybe it had been a pitiable sense of affinity that prompted Kuroko to open the envelope; more likely, though, it had been the faint whiff of magic clinging to the battered paper. The amount was negligible, but the subtlety of the spell was a piece of work-just enough enchantment to persuade the casual observer to overlook the ensorcelled object, discouraging interest even when it was brought to attention, all without raising alarm in the human subconscious. Such a spell wasn't the work of an amateur. Only those with certain... supernatural instincts would notice the presence of magic on the thing, crippling the effectiveness of the spell for those special few.
All that considered, it was an exorbitant amount of effort when simply mailing the envelope to Kuroko's apartment would have sufficed. Sorcerers were a hubristic sort, though, and frequently in some sort of competition with one another.
Unusual delivery method aside, the only thing inside the envelope had been a folded sheet of paper, plain office quality and un-magicked, bearing a name in elegant English script: After Dark Bar and Lounge. Underneath it was an address in the same refined handwriting.
As the nighttime crowd bumped and bustled around him, Kuroko took in the building's unlit sign and dark windows. Judging by its outward appearance, the bar was closed, and there were no hours listed on the door.
No doubt this was the right place, though. If blood scent went straight to Kuroko's stomach, then magic scent went immediately to his head. The air was charged with it, sharp and electric, the same spell that had obscured the envelope now blanketing the whole building. Most likely the same sorcerer, then, or at least from the same family boasting their specialty.
If that wasn't enough to confirm the bar's nature, there was also the matter of the werewolf standing guard outside the door. He was enfolded within the spell to escape any curious passerby's notice, but even without that there was nothing overtly suspicious, dangerous, or wolfish about the young man. Kuroko could identify him only thanks to past familiarity with the race and their subtle tells in body language; experiencing the world nose first resulted in certain habits, familiar stances or gestures, which gave away the wolf inside the human skin. This particular werewolf, aside from his above-average height, seemed to be as quiet and unobtrusive as Kuroko was himself. The direct line of his gaze simply acknowledged Kuroko's presence without inviting him in or threatening him away. It was unusual to find lone werewolves separated from their pack, though they did make for good bodyguards.
Kuroko reminded himself that there was no vampire-werewolf feud in Japan. Powers willing, it would stay that way, and he proceeded to venture nearer. The guard maintained his stoic vigil, pausing only to bend down when Kuroko was close enough to politely clock his scent. No growling or baring of teeth, just a mute nod that Kuroko returned for courtesy's sake before pushing the door open.
The inside of the After Dark Bar and Lounge was dimly lit, but lit all the same, contrary to what the windows outside would lead one to believe. Tables and chairs were arranged comfortably throughout, about half of them occupied, and a small crowd gathered around a couple of pool tables at the rear of the room. The clack of billiard balls and the low hum of conversation wove in and out through a backdrop of music that was at least a decade out of style. The decorations, too, were cozy rather than modern.
As for the clientele, they were a varied bunch. Demons of all kinds, some wearing a human face and others boasting scales, fur, claws, the whole works-a pack of them sat around a table playing cards with a pot consisting of local and foreign coins intermixed with raw gemstones, small bones, and teeth. What first appeared to be a drooping, dried-out plant in one corner was actually a gnarled old man who creaked whenever he shifted. A woman covered in swan feathers worked tirelessly by the window with piles of needlework overflowing in her lap. There were a few vampires, too, or some other relation judging by the drinks they were nursing.
Kuroko smelled the blood from clear across the room and suddenly it was all he could notice. Hunger cramped his belly and his throat ached for the viscous slide of liquid, heavier than water, laden with the pulse of life. Somehow he made his way to the bar and slumped gracelessly into a seat.
"What can I get you?" The bartender's uniform was rumpled as if recently slept in, but he was immaculate from the neck up, hair slicked back save for a strand hanging loose in front of the mole dotting his forehead. He peered closely at Kuroko before comprehension etched a smile on his mouth. "A fellow bloodsucker if I'm not mistaken." Vampires had their own tells, and he spoke with a voice of experience which left no room for doubt. Perhaps it was thanks to the job; one was sure to meet a lot of people at a place like this. "Type preference?"
"Just cheap, please."
"Don't tell me you're on a student allowance." Hard to tell if he was joking, but as he said it he reached for a red-filled bottle on the shelf. There were many more beside it, their contents varying in color, clarity, and consistency. A few included murky, unidentifiable objects floating around in the liquid, and others contained smoke or gas. None were labeled, but the bartender spoke with oft-repeated expertise as he poured, "Pig's blood is the most common around here. And since you're new, the first drink is on the house."
"Thank you." The glass was generously full, and Kuroko began by sipping from the top. It was room temperature, several degrees lower than ideal, and had the medicinal taste that came with all stored blood-but it slaked his clamoring thirst, and before long he had the glass thrown back, emptying it in a matter of heartbeats.
A low whistle undercut the air. "Refill?"
"…Please." Kuroko thumbed a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth and licked it off, suppressing a shiver at acute peak in his senses. The fuzzy gauze he'd been living in thinned and gave way to sharp clarity, enabling him to discern between the assorted blood scents wafting throughout the room. The pig's blood he'd just consumed was most prominent, but there were others, too. Mostly more animals, some rather demonic in nature (which made him wrinkle his nose, but there was no accounting for some people's tastes). Nothing human from what he could tell, and that eased some of the last remaining tension from his shoulders. He was hyper aware of the slip of fangs through his gums despite having no prey to tear into, as well as the chemical aftertaste of anticoagulant coating his tongue (which, to his chagrin, still hadn't forgotten the body-warm and skin-salt taste of Aomine's blood).
Kuroko swallowed, and through sheer force of will bent his attention back to the refilled glass waiting for him. He drank this one more slowly, accustoming himself to the idea that he could fully sate his hunger, but held back once he hit a plateau to ensure he didn't binge himself sick.
The bartender continued to observe him with a quiet smile that was a shade on the creepy side, but when one had to feed on the blood of others to survive, a little bit of creepy was nothing to fret over. He was attentive to his other customers as well, taking orders as they came and cleaning up in between service. Drinks ranged from spring water to something that looked more than a little acidic in a thickly lined glass. The rows of bottles behind the counter were practically luminescent, and Kuroko found his gaze straying up to the top shelf. What was considered premium fare in a bar like this? He could only think of a few possibilities.
Glass clinked as a bottle was returned to its place, its contents black with an oily sheen. "Must be tough," the bartender commented, retrieving a rag to wipe down the counter. "I wouldn't want to be stuck with a face that young. For any number of reasons."
The bartender's face wasn't that much older, although he had a better chance at passing for an adult than Kuroko did. "It's somewhat inconvenient," he allowed.
"You aren't really a student, are you?"
"No."
"Hmm." He made a show of turning a thought over in his mind, but his eyes were already decided before they locked with Kuroko's. "Are you interested in a job?"
"…What kind of job?"
"Deliveries. Some folks find it difficult to make it here. Of course, others just make themselves at home." He nodded to the old man in the corner who, upon closer inspection, had roots dug firmly into the floorboards. The bartender turned back to Kuroko. "The hours would be after dark, naturally. Travel fare while on the clock would be covered. As for pay… free drinks or cash if you'd prefer."
Kuroko's fingers relaxed imperceptibly on his glass. He'd made similar deals with other people, in other places and other times. "Could that be split half and half?" He still had rent to pay, but securing a regular feeding schedule was too tempting to resist.
"No problem. Any other questions?"
"One more."
"Shoot."
"Do you always offer jobs to whoever walks through the door?" There hadn't been any hiring signs on the windows, but neither was there any other staff in sight. It was feasible that the place could use the extra help.
"Heh. Well, no," the bartender admitted, leaning on his elbows so his face was more on level with Kuroko's. "But we don't get that many starving vampires stumbling in, either."
"I see. So it's a pity offer."
He shrugged. "Doesn't seem to bother you, if you don't mind me saying."
Fair point; the longer Kuroko lived, the less use he had for pride.
"I really could use the help. You could also say I'm taking advantage of your circumstances."
Well, that sounded honest, and the arrangement was convenient for him as well. "As long as we understand each other, I have no complaints."
The bartender's smile deepened in satisfaction. "Good. How about a drink to seal the deal?" He reached for a bottle-top shelf-with a knowing look that said he'd noticed Kuroko's earlier observation.
The stopper came out and Kuroko took a deliberate, measured breath as the drink was poured. This scent… was different. Sparks of something distressingly familiar. A weight like a fist pounded inside his chest for attention, then went sullen and quiet when he raised the glass to his lips.
Confirmation struck like a lightning bolt: there was magic in the blood.
Another shock when he amended: in the plain, common pig's blood.
Kuroko nearly choked and ended up sputtering a little behind his hand.
The bartender offered him a napkin with a distinctly unpleasant air of smugness. "How is it? The taste isn't quite right, but pretty close, isn't it?"
Cautiously, carefully, Kuroko took another sip, prepared this time for the peculiar blend to hit his tongue. Warm-the blood was much warmer than it should have been, and it tasted fresh. It shouldn't taste like this after being bottled, after just a few minutes it cooled once free of the body. Kuroko raised his gaze to the bartender's amused smile, his dark, secretive eyes. "That's an unusual spell."
"Isn't it just?" He corked the bottle again, stroking the glass fondly before returning it to the shelf, and offered no hint as to what sorcerer he had in his pocket to do him such odd favors.
Kuroko's stare lingered on the top shelf for a moment before dropping, and the question was allowed to escape without pursuit. Stranger things had happened. One learned to take these things as they came.
#
Sicilian weather was warming up and drying out at this time of year, although the Mediterranean breeze helped as it filtered through the villa. Solitary whitewashed walls were built into a mass of volcanic cliff jutting out of the Tyrrhenian Sea, and steep stairs were carved into the rock leading down to a small cove where no boat had ever docked, though footprints occasionally dotted the stretch of sand. Despite being centuries old, the place had only ever been graced by a few privileged inhabitants; those who could claim ancestry to the distinguished crest painted over the arch of the door.
Midorima sighed, one hand cupped under the empty spiral of turbo shell that was his lucky item today while the other pushed his glasses up. Upon the bed-his bed, unfortunately-a half-curled figure rumpled and creased his Egyptian cotton sheets. Stray reddish-brown feathers floated to the polished hardwood floor as an immense wingspan twitched and shuddered to the tune of pained moans and whimpers, eliciting not one drop of sympathy from Midorima, who merely watched and said, "You realize you brought this upon yourself."
An unintelligible sound emanated from the pillow in which Takao had shoved his face. His wings drooped to either side of the bed, tips dragging along the floor in disgrace.
Midorima added, "I even warned you about the Sirocco."
"A strong wind, you said." Takao's face turned to the side, wearing a sour expression, his voice scratchy from inhaling too much dust blown in from the Sahara. "Strong wind-hah! That was a hurricane raining sand instead of water."
"Only because you flew too near the African coast. The winds weren't nearly as drastic up here."
"I just wanted to stretch my wings a bit, it's so boring here…" He shrugged his shoulders and winced as the abused muscles pulled, groaning extravagantly. "And now I'm grounded."
That, Midorima would admit, was a problem, if only because he wouldn't be able to get any work done with a bored, house-bound hawk spirit underfoot. Takao had specific uses, and those uses required him to be mobile. "Fine," he said, setting the shell aside to unwrap the binding tape from his left hand. The fingers underneath it were long and immaculately clean, maintaining their sensitivity throughout all manner of weather conditions so that the power channeled through them could be directed with fine-tuned, often deadly precision.
Takao's eyes went round. "I'm not so bad off I need to be put out of my misery, though!" He hunched his shoulders despite the obvious pain, wings trying to furl inward in alarmed protest.
"Quiet." Midorima cast him a baleful look. "I don't use this spell often. I'll need to concentrate or else you'll be more miserable than you can imagine."
"…Right. Well, warn a guy before you take off the kid gloves, sheesh." The wings relaxed again, leaving enough room for Midorima to sit on the bed and hover over Takao's exposed back. His feathers were ragged and sparse in places, his skin roughened from wind-whipped sand, and there was considerable swelling, but that was the extent of the visible injuries. He was sure to squawk about such things later when he could afford to worry about aesthetics, but none of it should affect his flying (which was a magic-aided feat to begin with). Honestly, he was fortunate to not have broken anything from being tossed around like that. Bad enough he'd nearly crashed into the cliff wall when wobbling in through the balcony.
Midorima stretched out the fingers of his hand and intoned, "Homo proponit, sed Deus disponit." The austere Latin syllables were a familiar weight on his tongue, but their release into the air was negligible compared to the resonance of the link to his magic. A connection was opened, and as always, his earnest proposition was answered. The power settled neatly into his hand, warm and pulsing with a steady heartbeat matched to his own, to do with as he willed.
He contemplated Takao's back again, picturing the damaged slope of muscle over bone. Healing was not his forte; he had only a grasp of the basics to serve in an emergency, and Takao's body tensed with this shared knowledge even while he remained still and compliant as a show of faith.
Feathers rustled when Midorima's hand touched upon the strip of flesh between stiff wing joints extending from beds of down. His magic sank through the skin and Takao squirmed with discomfort, though it wasn't as bad as it could have been thanks to their contract. Some of Midorima's power was tied to the hawk spirit, and compatibility always made things easier.
Nevertheless, there was no sense in taking unnecessary risks. Mending the torn muscle fibers was delicate work, and as much as he'd prefer to fix everything in one go, the slightest doubt could tempt fate. He left those injuries alone; they would heal well enough with time, so for now all Midorima did was cool the area and reduce the swelling. The lungs were a concern, and respiratory infection was an ugly possibility. Perhaps a natural remedy would be best for that. He smoothed the worst of the outer abrasions with a steady pass of his hand, and with that much Takao might be able to rest comfortably-even if it did have to be in Midorima's bed.
He was considering the merits of putting Takao under a sleep spell for the day to ensure peace and quiet when the faint vibration of the security system jolted him out of his concentration. There was a mass of invisible power threads webbing the villa which instantly alerted him to a stranger's presence. The tremor wasn't bad enough to disturb his work (if that was the case the whole villa would have crumbled into the sea ages ago), but it did make him pause to identify the intruder. The magical signature was a familiar one, bringing to mind a vague sense of irritation-oh.
Before he could tell her in no uncertain terms to go away, a voice caroled from the entryway: "Midorin~! You home?"
A snicker sounded from the pillow and Takao's eye glinted when he turned his head. "You know, you could just change the location of the portal."
"Its current location is ideal." Midorima's reply was spoken with the rapid ease of a familiar argument. "The energies involved for a transportation spell are sensitive and complex. Changing the location of the portal would increase the possibility of disruption, and at best the spell would fail to achieve the desired result. At worst…"
"Here you are! Why didn't you say-oh, dear." As soon as Momoi's face appeared in the doorway she went as pink as her hair and spun right around, hands locked innocently behind her back. "Ah, if this is a bad time I could come back later…?"
For some reason Takao was shaking, and judging by the short snatches of laughter being muffled into the pillow, it wasn't due to pain. Seeing how he wasn't going to get anything else done for time being, Midorima cut off the flow of power and withdrew his hand. "Whatever it is, you've already interrupted once. I'd rather not be interrupted again at a later date, so let's get this over with."
Momoi peeked over her shoulder, still blushing-and she should be embarrassed for inviting herself in just because she happened to know about the portal. Midorima hadn't offered her the use of it whenever she wanted. Impudently, she smiled. "All right, I'll wait in the study if you'd like to finish up first."
"Don't just go through other people's houses like-" But with a flick of her hair she was already gone, humming cheerfully. Midorima's hand clenched. "Of all the insolent…!"
"Take it easy, Shin-chan. Why don't you go see what's up?" Takao twitched his wings with less pain than he had before, and gave Momoi a run for her money in insolence as he snuggled happily into Midorima's bed. Grinning widely, he added, "Unless there's something you'd like to finish first…?"
Midorima rewrapped his left hand with smooth, unhurried motions despite the acidity in his tone. "I'm done with the healing, but don't move too much. You're not actually fixed yet."
"Geez, you don't have to talk like I'm broken." Takao pouted, kicking his feet. "As usual, Shin-chan is no fun."
"…If you really need a proper healing…"
"No, no, never mind that." He had the nerve to sigh gustily and roll his eyes, flapping a hand in a shooing motion. "Go see what Satsuki-chan needs. You can assure her that your virtue is still intact, if you want."
"What on earth are you talking about?"
Takao simply raised an eyebrow. His wings canted so he could roll on his side and prop a hand under his cheek, posing coquettishly under a sweep of red-brown feathers, and something finally clicked into place.
"You…!" Midorima began, then thought better of it and redirected his flame-hot outrage, flinging an arm towards the empty doorway with an incredulous finger pointed. "She…?!"
"Common misconception, I'm sure," Takao said with a dry chuckle that followed Midorima out the door.
He made his way down the hall to the study with starch indignity in every step. Momoi had already made herself at home, opening the window to let in a breeze that rustled the edges of the papers she was nosily bent over. Midorima cleared his throat. She didn't even look up. "Wow," she said instead, tucking her hair behind her ear while her avid eyes scanned the contents of his desk with far more comprehension than he was comfortable with. "Is this the case you're working on? I heard about it on the news but didn't think it was in your field."
"I'm not obliged to share the details of my work with you; in fact, that information is meant to be confidential." This time she lifted her face with a sheepish apology written across her features, and took a pointed step away from the desk. It hardly mollified him. "About before," he continued. "I'm afraid a misunderstanding occurred."
"Before?"
"Yes," he said with teeth-grinding composure. "That wasn't... what it looked like. You completely misread the situation."
She blinked, then smiled. "Oh, is that all? Sorry." Before Midorima could consider the matter safely closed she giggled behind her hand and added, "But you know, just in case, I'm not the type to judge!"
Midorima's hands slammed down on the desk. Momoi barely jumped, showing only mild concern when he leaned in and narrowed his eyes. "There is nothing like what you are assuming between Takao and I. That was merely a spell-casting procedure to heal him. You call yourself a witch and you weren't able to deduce that?"
"Eh? Is Kazu-kun all right?"
Of course the stupid hawk was the only part of that she cared about. Midorima allowed his shoulders to sag-minutely-in defeat. "...He's fine. That idiot flew into a sandstorm and pulled a few muscles, that's all."
Momoi 'ooh'-ed in sympathy. "I wish I could help, but it's not my area... Hey, speaking of which, I didn't know you could heal that way." She indicated "that way" with her hand splayed out, wiggling her fingers. Then her cheeks puffed, expression turning cross over the silliest of things. "Family magic really does make things easier. No fussing with rare commodities or memorizing incantations…"
"Of course it's a privilege for the elite, but it's not a shortcut as you seem to imply." He straightened so he could look down his nose at her, which only deepened her furrowed glare. For good measure, he added, "Haven't you learned anything?"
For a moment she looked ready to let fly with her fist. She spent far too much time around that hunter brute of hers, and together they made for an ill-mannered self-made pair, the like of which didn't fit into any circle of Midorima's world. Fortunately, the moment for violence passed, and Momoi heaved a deep sigh that did interesting things to her bosom which Midorima resolutely pretended not to notice. "Geez, Midorin is difficult as usual."
He twitched at the nickname. "Forgive me for being difficult. Is there something you actually needed, or are you imposing on me at your leisure?"
"…There is something." With those words Momoi's entire demeanor changed, becoming gentler and more subdued. Her gaze trailed enviously along the shelves and shelves of books lining the walls before coming to rest, business-like, on Midorima. She extended her hand with a slip of paper folded between her fingers. "Do you know this crest?"
He took the proffered sketch and could tell at a glance it was like Momoi's; recent and singular, lacking the depth and distinction of a family lineage. He could search all the family registries at his disposal and probably never find a match. Midorima let the picture fall. "Don't tell me you're wasting my time with something like this."
"It was worth a shot." Wearing a half smile, Momoi crossed her arms and leaned against the desk. "Then, what can you tell me about vampires that wield sorcery?"
…Ah, that was a much more suitable matter to bring to him. Midorima pushed his glasses up. "They're uncommon, for one thing. What have you already found out?"
"Just the bare minimum. They're usually not very powerful, but they can add to their strength by drinking a sorcerer's blood." She grimaced at this detail, then continued, "The texts were dodgy regarding their origins. Most said only the oldest vampires are capable of magic, but that's… not quite right, is it?"
Too smart for her own good sometimes, and far, far too inquisitive. Still, he didn't hate her meticulous efforts. "Go on."
"Age is just a number," Momoi said, very careful with her words as if sounding out her argument for the first time. "Magic will ripen whenever the seed is planted. Therefore, the primogenitor is the one with the sorcery potential. All vampiric traits lose their potency down the line, and that includes magic, the key component of their making. It thins with each generation so the descendents wouldn't be able to access it for use beyond reproducing. Theoretically."
"Powers willing, yes."
Momoi clapped her hands together once. "So I'm right?"
"Close enough," he hedged. Actually, her conclusion was incredibly astute, if a little dangerous. Best to steer the conversation in a different direction. "So you mean to say that this-" he tapped the paper with the crest drawn on it, "-belongs to a vampire?"
"Mm. Perhaps..."
"It doesn't help either of us if you withhold information, Momoi."
Her cheeks pinked, and her laugh had a surprised ring to it. "Right, sorry. Yes, I'm almost certain. It's embarrassing to admit, but at the time I didn't recognize the signs until too late. It was… oh, four or five years ago at the start of high school. He got Dai-chan into some mess, and then vanished once the guild caught onto his trail. We only learned he was a vampire from them." She noticed the narrow look he shot her way and shook her head. "They didn't know much else, and if they've learned anything new they're not sharing. You know how they are-almost as bad as you."
"A healthy amount of secrecy is a given in this world, Momoi. Even you must realize the potential chaos otherwise." His thoughts coalesced as he spoke; he might have more luck inquiring with the guild than she had. They owed him one or two personal favors.
"Well, yes, that would be awful, I'm not saying otherwise."
"It would be intolerable." He picked up the scrap paper to commit its details to memory. There was a certain elegance to the design, but also deliberate ruthlessness in the bold primary symbols. What these things lacked in history they made up for in personality. "I assume your mystery vampire has a name? Even an alias will do."
"My mystery sorcerer," she emphasized, and Midorima could not hold back his scowl at the insult to his heritage, something an undistinguished witch who came late into her power would never understand, "was called Akashi Seijuurou."
The surname might have been familiar, which was promising. There was no more need for prompting; Momoi rattled off an impressive list of statistics and descriptors that reminded Midorima why he tolerated her. When she put her mind to it she could be very capable for a mere witch. It was almost a shame that her magic was negligible.
(Although, a contrary part of him couldn't help but point out, when it came to either a bludgeon or a scalpel he knew which one he would pick, and Momoi used her few talents with calculated aplomb.)
He found only one fault in her detailed summary, and though he could guess why, he asked anyway to make sure: "True age? Round to the nearest century if you have to."
A frown creased her brow. "I would if I could. He gave very little away, even in retrospect. I would guess relatively young, modern-age, except… if he can use magic, he's first generation."
"Which is possible," Midorima conceded, but with no small amount of unhappiness. "A recently-made primogenitor would be the worst case scenario, though. And don't," he added sternly when Momoi started to open her mouth, "ask questions you know have classified answers."
"Hmph. Can't blame a girl for trying. I bet the answer's 'no,' anyway." She stuck her tongue out, cheeky to the point of ridiculous. "If there was a rogue sorcerer breaking the law to create new vampires, Midorin would look more pleased with himself after hearing out my wealth of information."
"Untrue."
"So true."
"Anyway," Midorima said, leaning away from the impertinent finger attempting to poke his face. "If that's all you have for me, I will see what I can do in my spare time-of which, I might add, is precious little lately."
If anything, that only perked Momoi up more. "Ooh, because of the case? Can you tell me anything about it? Just a teensy little hint?"
"No, and it's none of your business." He steadfastly ignored her and walked to one of his bookshelves.
"Stingy~"
The tip of his finger skimmed across a row of spines, many of them in flawless condition despite their tremendous age and having survived earthquakes, fire, and flood. He pulled free one such book and opened to its index, double-checking the relevant pages before closing it and thumping Momoi's forehead with the cover. "You may entertain yourself with this in the meantime. I imagine the chapters on sorcery inheritance and non-human sorcery will be of particular interest to you."
Momoi reached for the book with the same sparkling awe as a child reaching for a present. Her eyes were wide and… disturbingly wet when she blinked, moisture collecting on her lashes. "Midorin…"
He turned so he wouldn't have to look at her. "It's to keep you out of my way. Now, go. I'll contact you if I find something worthwhile. Perhaps by then Takao will be capable of relaying messages."
There was a suspicious sniffling noise from behind him, and then Momoi saying, "But couldn't I just check in from time to time? I might have questions about the text-"
"No," he said flatly, and repeated for good measure, "no, you may not. Let me be clear: you are not welcome to barge in at your convenience. This is not to become a habit."
"…It's not like I'd come just to play…"
"Good. Keep that in mind going forward."
There was a brief gap of silence, and then Momoi moved into his field of vision, book clutched to her chest and her expression so solemn he had no choice but to pay attention. "One favor, though. If you do find something, I would prefer to discuss it in a safe place, just in case." Her straightforward gaze was stripped of airy cheer, her lightheartedness weighed down, revealing… not fear so much as the strength to bear it.
One searching look was all he needed to nod his consent. "Reasonable enough. I'll take precautions."
"Okay." Her eyes closed for a peaceful moment with a volume of contentment that was at odds with such a simple agreement on his part. If you really need… But before he could get a single word out she flipped right back to her usual self, sunny smile and all. "Good! I'll be out of your hair then-don't worry, I'll see myself out. And thanks for this!" She twirled in a circle, book held high, and just about danced her way out, gracefully sidestepping Takao's gangly form that appeared curiously in the doorway. "Bye, Midorin, Kazu-kun!"
Midorima was left staring and feeling a twinge of empathy for Takao. Momoi was nothing if not a pink, persistent whirlwind blowing him every which way.
"Hmm, that didn't look like it went too badly." Takao leaned against the doorframe, wings folded at his back.
"I told you not to move," Midorima said absently, coming out of his stunned daze.
"I didn't hear you yelling, so I figured things were really bad… or maybe really good." Some mysteries, like Takao's smile right now, were never meant to be unraveled, so Midorima didn't even try.
He went about straightening up his desk, arranging papers in their proper order and putting the sketch away in a drawer for safekeeping. "Go lie back down before you injure yourself further. I'm only willing to heal so much of your own stupidity."
"Your concern is so touching." Nonetheless, he did wince when he shrugged his wings, not quite managing to bring them in enough to fit through the door. "Ah, poor Satsuki-chan. You could have warned her."
"Eavesdropping is a despicable habit, Takao. And I've no idea what you're talking about."
Takao gave a pronounced eye roll. "I'm talking about that precious work of yours that's been keeping you up all night, Mr. Crankypants. Or is there some other reason you're obsessing over sorcerer disappearances in the Tokyo area?"
"It's my job, Takao. And the details are classified." He went to the bookshelf again, selected a volume and searched for the desired page. Moderate healing; internal; strains and sprains. His stores of components were always well-stocked with nothing but the best, so he only glanced at the list to ensure that all the requirements were met. Midorima marked the page and flung a pointed finger at Takao. "Go lie down, I'm fixing you after all. There's work I need you to do."
Takao's answer was a mighty groan, but he turned around and trudged obediently down the hall while complaining about slave drivers and other choice slanders. In between, he reiterated his lament of, "Poor Satsuki-chan."
That concern-that fixation, more like, was unfounded as far as Midorima could tell. The culprit hadn't yet bothered with witches of meager power; the main reason the case had been brought to his attention in the first place was due to the high profile victims from powerful families. That it was an important matter which required a great deal of dedication and effort went without saying. Furthermore, Momoi wasn't the only acquaintance he knew in the affected area, so he was hardly being biased.
If the book he'd lent her (which she was certain to study from cover to cover) also happened to contain a section on minimum-preparation field-use defensive spells, that was entirely coincidence.
#
Rousing himself before evening had set in was a rare feat, though today it was made easier by the weather. Tokyo had been relentlessly gray from the ground up all week, the sun a distant, forgotten dream. The air was thick with humidity that wreaked havoc on Kuroko's already intractable bedhead, which he didn't even bother fixing before going out and mingling with the late afternoon crowd. Regardless of presentation, he passed unnoticed through the increasingly familiar streets, all the way until he reached After Dark's doorstep. No wolf at the door this time; no need when it was hours yet before the bar properly opened.
His knuckles tapped on the glass, and after a moment the door swung open with a bleary-eyed Seto on the other side. The state of his hair was just about on par with Kuroko's, and half of his uniform's buttons hadn't been done up yet. "Oh, good," he said, and then was interrupted by a jaw-cracking yawn. "…Thanks for coming in so early."
The inside of the bar was the same no matter what time of day, perpetually shadowed, and never entirely empty. Kuroko inclined his head in greeting to the old man wood spirit nestled in his corner, giving the place a faint pine scent-at least until Seto plunked a glass down and filled it with breakfast, chugging the blood with the appetite of a vampire used to eating well.
"Here," he said, pouring a second glass and sliding it into Kuroko's hands. Kuroko was more sedate with his drinking which in itself was an uncommon luxury, or had been for a while. Doubtless it would be so again, but he'd long since become accustomed to the wax and wane of the times.
Neither of them was up this early to chat. Seto disappeared into the back and returned with a cellophane-wrapped lump oozing red and smelling raw. He hefted its weight, eyeballing it critically, and scribbled down a price based on his mental calculations. The merchandise went into an insulated bag that he passed to Kuroko, along with the hand-written receipt and an address. It was farther than usual-a small town out in the countryside-hence the early start.
"That should do it," Seto said.
Kuroko finished his drink, and feeling marginally more prepared to face what was left of the day, he shouldered the bag and politely excused himself.
Exiting the pleasantly air-conditioned bar was like stepping into a dense wall of sticky, smothering heat. Kuroko faltered, for even behind a blanket of towering clouds the sun's presence was too close for comfort, though it was less of a physical pain and more of a drain on his strength. Under the full impact of the sun's rays, even the simple act of moving required concentrated effort.
Taking a deep breath, Kuroko willed one foot in front of the other and steadily made his way to the train station, bag held tight under his arm and self-conscious of the very weak blood scent emanating from within. Of course, it was nothing that would attract the attention of an average human passerby, but twice now he'd felt the vague off-kilter sensation of being noticed in a crowd while making a delivery for Seto. The feeling never lasted, and didn't follow him along his route, so he hadn't yet acted upon it. He rather hoped it was pure coincidence, but in his experience so few things were ever that happenstance.
"Akashi-kun, do you believe in fate?"
"What a strange question coming from you, Tetsuya. About that… well, I wonder."
Kuroko shook his head, shaking out the thoughts as well. Whatever happened, happened. He had a job to do and a life to live, regardless of what it had in store for him.
to be continued