mango #15: gathering evidence; malt
Author: Marika Kailaya
Title: The Author
'Verse: Nagekawashii; LD
Challenge: Mango: 15. gathering evidence
Counts for the Summer Challenge?: Yes.
Toppings/Extras: Malt: So don't look at me sideways / Don't even look me straight on / And don't look at my hands in my pockets, baby / I ain't done anything wrong
Wordcount: 961
Rating: PG
A/N: N/A
It wasn't exactly difficult to figure out who Lavender was, Ijirashii thought, curled up in Lavender's bathtub surrounded by Lavender's weird fruity bubble bath and water hot enough to scald him. (He liked Lavender's bubble stuff. It smelled like pie, almost. If Lav's water bill had gone up tremendously since Ijirashii started staying here, well that was Lav's problem. Ijirashii hadn't been the one who'd fucked a fifteen-year-old.)
No, see, there was evidence everywhere. You just had to have been a fan of the book when it came out, or perhaps have simply lived in Japan during that period. Granted, you also had to watch Lavender very closely to understand, gauging his reactions to things and often flipping through the pages of the book to find evidence of his own style of narration. You barely had to squint to see that the history text that'd nearly started a war was in the same voice, more or less, of Lavender.
But Lav was safe. Most people didn't remember the book. Fewer in the United States had read it. And no one ever got close enough to watch Lavender at all, and if they had it might not have mattered. He was damn near a professional liar.
And really, the only thing that'd cement it was if he saw you reading a copy of it. And Ijirashii owned one of three copies left in existence.
But no, Ijirashii decided as the pink bubbles swept over his scarred, ballet destroyed feet, it was all there.
The facts went like this: Lavender's name was Lavender. An uncommon name for a man. The author of that book had been named Lavender Perez. Ijirashii's Lavender was highly reluctant about giving a surname and didn't in fact appear to have one. The author of the book had a distinct way of telling stories that made you think his grocery lists were probably unusual. Lavender's grocery lists were ridiculous. The author of the book had spent his adolescence in Japan. So had Lavender. The fading biography picture on the back dust jacket flap resembled Lavender in the bitter, I-know-something-you-don't-and-by-the-way-I-fucked-both-your-parents expression both constantly held. The face shape was identical, though Lavender seemed malnourished. The differences were really that Lavender Perez had brown hair and glasses and Ijirashii's Lavender didn't.
And still, helpfully, Lavender looked vaguely Hispanic.
Not to mention when he'd seen a copy of the book in Ijirashii's bag he'd turned dead white, nearly stopped breathing, and excused himself for a walk only to return with no explanation.
And any conversation between Blair and Lavender that Ijirashii overheard, since Lav had seen the book, felt like it was in nervous code.
Ijirashii, wrinkling and red from the water, stood and drained the tub, drying himself with one of Lavender's stupid pink towels. Everything in Lav's apartment was pink and fluffy.
Honestly, Lavender was gayer than Coco Peru.
He dressed in the pajamas Lavender had bought him and headed into Lavender's living room. Lavender was sitting on the couch, drinking something that looked flammable and reading Ijirashii's battered, water-damaged copy of that god-forsaken book.
Ijirashii sat beside him, leaning over his shoulder. "You did good on this bit especially," he said, absently.
Lavender stood up abruptly, the book falling to the floor and landing spread-eagle with its pages crinkled. Ijirashii snatched it up indignantly. "Be careful with that!" he said. "There are only three copies in the world!"
"What did you say?" Lavender demanded, suddenly seeming frighteningly taller than Ijirashii, though why Ijirashii would be afraid of a guy in a short pink dress was beyond him.
"I said be careful with my book," Ijirashii repeated.
"Ijirashii," Lavender began, frozen and stinging as snow, "you do not know who I am. Not well enough to make accusations like that."
"It's not an accusation," Ijirashii insisted, smoothing out the pages. "I know who you are. You're Lavender Perez."
"Ijirashii, so help me-"
"You have a bullet lodged in your left shoulder," Ijirashii said, tilting his head. "If it's a crazed accusation then you wouldn't be that upset. But it isn't anyway. You have a bullet there. Somebody shot you on the street and reported to the police they'd killed you. A later news report found you to be alive, with a bullet wound in your left-"
Lavender punched him, very solidly, across the face, so hard Ijirashii fell to his side on the couch, releasing the book and holding his jaw. He was wiggling blood around his mouth, trying to figure out if his tooth was loose, when Lavender spoke.
"I have a bullet in my left shoulder and one more word and you'll have one in your left frontal lobe," he snapped. To his mild surprise, Ijirashii sat up, clutching his face, but didn't speak. "I've lived for years without even hearing that goddamned book mentioned and I can assure you it is no consolation to me whatsoever that I'm bad enough at hiding this that a stupid child could figure it out. But I'm very good at murder at this point. You can either forget this or you can die."
Ijirashii swallowed the blood, determined his teeth were intact and still, and looked up at Lavender thoughtfully. "You hate me," he said, finally, daring to speak. "That's one of your problems. But I'm not actually stupid at all."
Lavender remained standing.
"Anyway, what would you even care if anyone else found out?" Ijirashii asked mildly. "You've been trying to kill yourself since the book was finished, as far as I can tell," he said, glancing around the apartment distastefully.
Lavender was very quiet for a long moment. "I didn't do anything wrong," he said, finally, blackly, and took the book from Ijirashii and disappeared into his room.
Title: The Author
'Verse: Nagekawashii; LD
Challenge: Mango: 15. gathering evidence
Counts for the Summer Challenge?: Yes.
Toppings/Extras: Malt: So don't look at me sideways / Don't even look me straight on / And don't look at my hands in my pockets, baby / I ain't done anything wrong
Wordcount: 961
Rating: PG
A/N: N/A
It wasn't exactly difficult to figure out who Lavender was, Ijirashii thought, curled up in Lavender's bathtub surrounded by Lavender's weird fruity bubble bath and water hot enough to scald him. (He liked Lavender's bubble stuff. It smelled like pie, almost. If Lav's water bill had gone up tremendously since Ijirashii started staying here, well that was Lav's problem. Ijirashii hadn't been the one who'd fucked a fifteen-year-old.)
No, see, there was evidence everywhere. You just had to have been a fan of the book when it came out, or perhaps have simply lived in Japan during that period. Granted, you also had to watch Lavender very closely to understand, gauging his reactions to things and often flipping through the pages of the book to find evidence of his own style of narration. You barely had to squint to see that the history text that'd nearly started a war was in the same voice, more or less, of Lavender.
But Lav was safe. Most people didn't remember the book. Fewer in the United States had read it. And no one ever got close enough to watch Lavender at all, and if they had it might not have mattered. He was damn near a professional liar.
And really, the only thing that'd cement it was if he saw you reading a copy of it. And Ijirashii owned one of three copies left in existence.
But no, Ijirashii decided as the pink bubbles swept over his scarred, ballet destroyed feet, it was all there.
The facts went like this: Lavender's name was Lavender. An uncommon name for a man. The author of that book had been named Lavender Perez. Ijirashii's Lavender was highly reluctant about giving a surname and didn't in fact appear to have one. The author of the book had a distinct way of telling stories that made you think his grocery lists were probably unusual. Lavender's grocery lists were ridiculous. The author of the book had spent his adolescence in Japan. So had Lavender. The fading biography picture on the back dust jacket flap resembled Lavender in the bitter, I-know-something-you-don't-and-by-the-way-I-fucked-both-your-parents expression both constantly held. The face shape was identical, though Lavender seemed malnourished. The differences were really that Lavender Perez had brown hair and glasses and Ijirashii's Lavender didn't.
And still, helpfully, Lavender looked vaguely Hispanic.
Not to mention when he'd seen a copy of the book in Ijirashii's bag he'd turned dead white, nearly stopped breathing, and excused himself for a walk only to return with no explanation.
And any conversation between Blair and Lavender that Ijirashii overheard, since Lav had seen the book, felt like it was in nervous code.
Ijirashii, wrinkling and red from the water, stood and drained the tub, drying himself with one of Lavender's stupid pink towels. Everything in Lav's apartment was pink and fluffy.
Honestly, Lavender was gayer than Coco Peru.
He dressed in the pajamas Lavender had bought him and headed into Lavender's living room. Lavender was sitting on the couch, drinking something that looked flammable and reading Ijirashii's battered, water-damaged copy of that god-forsaken book.
Ijirashii sat beside him, leaning over his shoulder. "You did good on this bit especially," he said, absently.
Lavender stood up abruptly, the book falling to the floor and landing spread-eagle with its pages crinkled. Ijirashii snatched it up indignantly. "Be careful with that!" he said. "There are only three copies in the world!"
"What did you say?" Lavender demanded, suddenly seeming frighteningly taller than Ijirashii, though why Ijirashii would be afraid of a guy in a short pink dress was beyond him.
"I said be careful with my book," Ijirashii repeated.
"Ijirashii," Lavender began, frozen and stinging as snow, "you do not know who I am. Not well enough to make accusations like that."
"It's not an accusation," Ijirashii insisted, smoothing out the pages. "I know who you are. You're Lavender Perez."
"Ijirashii, so help me-"
"You have a bullet lodged in your left shoulder," Ijirashii said, tilting his head. "If it's a crazed accusation then you wouldn't be that upset. But it isn't anyway. You have a bullet there. Somebody shot you on the street and reported to the police they'd killed you. A later news report found you to be alive, with a bullet wound in your left-"
Lavender punched him, very solidly, across the face, so hard Ijirashii fell to his side on the couch, releasing the book and holding his jaw. He was wiggling blood around his mouth, trying to figure out if his tooth was loose, when Lavender spoke.
"I have a bullet in my left shoulder and one more word and you'll have one in your left frontal lobe," he snapped. To his mild surprise, Ijirashii sat up, clutching his face, but didn't speak. "I've lived for years without even hearing that goddamned book mentioned and I can assure you it is no consolation to me whatsoever that I'm bad enough at hiding this that a stupid child could figure it out. But I'm very good at murder at this point. You can either forget this or you can die."
Ijirashii swallowed the blood, determined his teeth were intact and still, and looked up at Lavender thoughtfully. "You hate me," he said, finally, daring to speak. "That's one of your problems. But I'm not actually stupid at all."
Lavender remained standing.
"Anyway, what would you even care if anyone else found out?" Ijirashii asked mildly. "You've been trying to kill yourself since the book was finished, as far as I can tell," he said, glancing around the apartment distastefully.
Lavender was very quiet for a long moment. "I didn't do anything wrong," he said, finally, blackly, and took the book from Ijirashii and disappeared into his room.