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tampered2007-08-20 05:39 am
roy-de-epee.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2007-08-20 05:39 am
log; complete
When; 18 August, evening.
Rating; PG-13.
Characters; Muraki Kazutaka (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
roy_de_epee), Miibu Oriya (kyotodollmaster).
Summary; Two old friends have some bonding time - boys will be boys.
Log;
The creation of the Koukakurou here was going swiftly. The location was perfect, close to the hot springs, but not too close- he had standards after all and since everyone and their mothers went there, it was in a quieter, but more elegant portion of the city. Still, the environment was relaxing, and of course, that was what was important. The place looked small from the outside, but inside, the labyrinth of corridoors revealed many doors into chambers, decorated traditionally for the use of entertaining their guests. And so far, all the people he had found to work there were not only familiar with their duties, but it was as though the employees were made for this very place here.
This City never failed to surprise him.
The Garden, in particular, his own private area with his personal resting chamber for himself and special guests if necessary, was a beautiful sight. Very zen, as some people would call it, and it had the look of a very peaceful, spiritual place. Oriya observed this from the platform outside his room, the smoke from his kiseru escaping through his lips almost absently as he looked ahead.
So far so good.. he thought to himself, folding an arm over his chest as he stood up to walk over the clear stone path through the grass. Where is that bastard? he wondered then, glancing over his shoulder. Muraki was late again.
His evening had been moving swiftly, so it seemed. Exploration of the underground areas went, for the most part, quite successfully. A few easy kills, really - with the right amount of money and the correct use of a blunt object, and one found it easy to end the life of a prostitute wandering the streets for prey. A sort of invincible feeling had overcome him, but it was subdued once he had realised the owner of the budding Koukakurou had requested his presence.
Luckily, Muraki was quick to ready himself, to shower off the blood from his face and hands - newly cleansed, a pure man once more as he had again dressed himself... in a different set of clothing, of course. And he found himself now within the elaborate passageways of the establishment his friend had created. Quite a deal similar to the one he had always known, and yet different. No wonder he seemed mildly surprised when he stumbled upon what seemed nothing else but the gardens.
And, of course, Oriya, moving along the path within, looking almost like a ghost from a Meiji era landmark.
He smiled a bit, looking almost sly as he approached the other man from behind with light steps. "There you are."
He'd turned to look back, beginning to light incense sticks in the garden guardian display near the little lake, in front of the garden temple, when he felt his best friend's presence. Even without his voice, the scent of blood on him that usually tinted the moon red when he came into his presence in the open gave Muraki away. Now, it had become a sort of second nature to him, and Oriya accepted it as he accepted everything else.
His greeting was met with a turned back, and he bent down to pick up his pipe once more, having left it down near the stone pedestal while lighting the incense, and his voice expressed a calm reprimand as he greeted Muraki with, "And now you're going to say you were late because you got lost, aren't you?"
He was daring him to, considering the layout, despite the slightly changed interiors, was still very much like home.
Muraki met his friend's challenge with a charming chuckle, following Oriya a bit like a dog who had come to present a frisbee to its master. "No, I merely was out on business when I remembered." Business, indeed - he still could smell the blood in his hair, but it would wash out within a few more showers. "I wasn't too late, though, was I?" he continued, a jaded sort of tone in his voice. He had dealt with this sort of situation more than once, honestly, and it was to the point where he was expecting an exact reaction from Oriya. Then again, sometimes even the master of the tea house surprised him with a curveball of his own.
"Of course, if you're so upset with me being late, perhaps I could make it up to you. A new obi, perhaps?" Considering he had burnt the previous one in an odd incident, Muraki only found it fitting to show apology that way. Though surely his friend wouldn't be that upset... at least, that was what Muraki was waiting to see.
The invitation was a good one. Muraki still owed him for messing up his own after all, and though that wasn't something he took seriously, it was still amusing in a way to have Muraki treat it with such importance. And in a somewhat childish way, it made him give him some attention, which was always welcome.
Sighing, almost dramatically, he stopped in his walk and turned to look over his shoulder, facing his best friend with a somewhat placid look, before shaking his head and turning to look back at the sky. It was strange, really, how the sky managed to tell him so much more about the people that wandered these grounds than the people themselves. The moon above him right now was full, and pale. Ghostly visits, perhaps? He smirked to himself, before snuffing out the kiseru and looking ahead of himself at the inner garden pond.
"Is that an offering for good luck or a bribe?" he asked then, smirking to himself. "I don't remember being so materialistic that I'd need something like that to curb my temper, Muraki. What do you take me for, a woman?"
Muraki smirked a bit back to Oriya, turning to look back up at the sky in a slightly avoidant move. He wasn't really wanting to answer the question - no, he knew it was a bit of a loaded question. Oriya was good with those sometimes. But he had learned well enough to avoid them if at all possible. He shrugged to himself, choosing to remain silent as his gaze found the reddened moon above them. A sigil, as always, to his work.
"Of course, you can't be very angry with me for being late, can you?" he suddenly asked, looking once more to his friend with a challenging, jovial smile. He was hoping for a no, honestly - sometimes the brunet had such an astounding way of expressing rage, mainly through more physical channels. "After all, I did show up... that should give me some credit, Oriya."
The answer was just what he'd expected of the man, in all honesty. Not that he'd really wanted an answer (a memory came to mind, of braids and red ribbons and he quickly shook it off) and he sighed again, smirking to himself. "Decently enough to not get you an ear lashing, I suppose."
Pausing then, turning around to face the silver-haired man, Oriya folded his arms under the opposite sleeves, observing him for a while, before deciding to switch subjects. Any topics about themselves and they'd continue to go around in circles. "It appears the City has finally decided to make its residents work for their livelihood here. Coincidence or good timing, I wonder?" he asked, referring to the strange rains that had plagued the city earlier.
A small smirk appeared on his lips though. "Will you want to be paid for your services now, Muraki?"
He chuckled to himself, smiling in such a genial manner as to belie the engineering mind behind his eyes. "Now, now - consider it a free service for the time being," he replied casually, waving one hand dismissively at the topic before turning his sight to sweep over the garden. It did look rather familiar, almost eerily similar to the gardens Oriya had set up in his Kyoto base of operations. The fireflies that occasionally blinked in the farther corners of the garden only seemed to add to the nostalgic sort of feel. Funny, in a way - he didn't really care for it that much to begin with, but....
"Besides, I do have my own practise to maintain as well," he continued after a moment's pause. Quickly, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He was due now for one of these. "And Oriya-kun will be 'business as always', won't he?" Again, a chuckle escaped him - that alone would ensure him some opportunity to moonlight, considering the nature of the tea house. "I might hardly get to see you, if you rake in as many customers as before," Muraki noted off-handedly, lighting a cigarette afterwards in what seemed to be a nonchalant sort of way.
"Of course." Oriya's response to his practice was met with a casual acceptance, though considering their situations now, as Muraki further expressed, he knew what he was saying was true. He probably wouldn't get to see Muraki either, but there was the fact that they lived in the same place. All he had to do was find a good mediator, as it was, and the tasks would be delegated accordingly.
How he wished Tami-san would show her wrinkly old face here.
Walking up to him then, standing to his side, he frowned a bit at him smoking again and then, he moved his hand up to pluck the cancer stick from his mouth, looking at it for a while, before holding it between index and middle finger. "Don't forget that I'm selective about the people who hope for my company. You may see me more often than you think." And he raised the cigarette to his mouth, taking a short smoke. It was an act of curiosity on his own part, and while it certainly required a taste for it, nothing could compare to his for the tobacco he favored.
Muraki did look a little surprised when he suddenly found his cigarette confiscated, and he blinked a bit with confusion as Oriya inhaled it. He hadn't ever seen Oriya take tobacco in another form aside from that kiseru. It was a strange sight, but curiously fascinating, as well. Once his friend was finished, though, he took a look at the kiseru that Oriya still held. If it was to be a swap, well, Muraki had enough curiosity for the both of them at times.
"And are you always so selective with everyone?" he asked, using it as a distraction while he snatched the kiseru from his friend's grip. Quickly, he took a small drag of it, inhaling in an imitation of Oriya, in a way, before the smoke finally reached his lungs. The tobacco didn't have the exact smoky, dark texture he was used to - sweeter, almost a little heavier, too. Just as swiftly as he had inhaled, he let the smoke go. "Don't suppose you prefer a cigarette, do you?" he mused with a hint of mirth in his voice before he took one more puff on the kiseru. It was different, true, but not half-bad.
Not really surprised, enjoying the anachronism of the moment, Oriya motioned to Muraki to move on ahead as he began to walk once more. The fireflies had begun to emerge, and it gave the garden a sort of mystical feel to it in an odd way. It reminded him a bit of when they were younger, much younger, hardly aware of how they would come together in the future, many summers ago. Catching fireflies and putting them in their lamp covers, walking through the extensive gardens of his family's estate, long before his father and him had bickered enough to never want to come face to face with each other again.
Continuing to smoke on his friend's cigarette, Oriya blew out a thin trail of white smoke and made a face. "I don't know how you can stand this taste. It feels like someone painting your lungs with city smoke." Oriya had never liked the big city, finding it too artificial for his tastes, and he kept it that way. Perhaps that's what made his upkeep of the Koukakurou much more authentic, in a way. It wasn't made with the wants of city dwellers in mind, but the wants of those who respected the old world and wanted to come back to it.
Finally, when they stopped in front of the pond, Oriya glanced down at it, and the moon's reflection in the water. It was clear and perfect, serene in a way. "... it's frightening in a way, to think we're integrating with this madness."
Again, he chuckled at his friend, moving along the path that Oriya had designed accordingly. Oriya was far more used to finer, older things, and he had always been teased in the way of that - mainly by Muraki himself. With an unpredictable movement, he stope back his cigarette, inhaling and letting the smoke settle into his lungs while he tossed a haughty look to Oriya. "One man's madness is another's sanity, Oriya," he answered, exhaling the smoke. Madness was a subjective term anyway... and he had agreed to that, even with the scientific evidence he had seen regarding insanity. Then again, insanity and madness were two different things.
"But one has to make do, isn't that right?" He shot Oriya a contemplative look, lingering there before he took to examining the kiseru he still held with mild fascination. He had seen it before, but never in such detail or so close. And certainly Oriya wanted it back soon.... A small smirk played at his mouth, and without warning, he sprinted ahead a bit and stopped in front of his friend. "You want this back, yes?" he teased his friend while waving the pipe in the air. Maybe it was the serenity of the place that activated his capriciousness, or maybe it was the fireflies. Either way, he wasn't feeling very sombre.
He blinked when the cigarette was stolen, before shrugging a shoulder and looking to a side. Madness, insanity, arrogance, it seemed all the same to him, all things considered. As they continued to walk, he turned back to catch Muraki eyeing the kiseru pipe with interest, and blinked when he was suddenly in front of him. What was he...
Oh, that twat, he thought with mild amusement and giving him the lead for now, he raised an eyebrow at him.
"I'm sure anyone who claims possession over their belongings would want them in their presence?" he replied calmly, but not moving forward to take the pipe from his hand. Oriya always waited patiently to strike, after all.
He didn't realise he was so dangerously clse to the edge of the pool in the middle of the gardens. Nor did he realise just how much Oriya was willing to fight for his kiseru... or maybe he did. After all, it had been his for a long time. But, hell, Muraki was feeling ready to play a bit. A gamble, perhaps he would call it. And he had a slight weakness for a good gamble at times. "Well, then," he started, stepping up onto a promontory rock at the edge of the pond. "How far will you go to get it back?"
And while Muraki smiled, looking to his friend, he took another inhalation from that pipe. The whole thing was a taunt, even if the tobacco tasted pretty decent, anyway. "What will you do, Oriya-kun, to get it back?" he asked, in an almost sing-song voice. "Hmn?"
Oh he was playing with fire, in more ways than one, wasn't he. Oriya masked the fondness of the situation threatening to spread on his face with one of feigned annoyance, and moved his hands down to his sides* "That's mine, Muraki. Hand it over."
However, at the next taunt, Oriya found himself smirking. How far, he asked? Dangerous thing to ask a swordsman, wasn't it? He didn't approach Muraki then, watching him with a predatorial gaze. "Be careful when playing with other people's things. They might break you!" and in a flash, Oriya had moved, swiftly enough as he would when slicing out with a sword, but he only made a movement towards Muraki. He wasn't aiming to get the kiseru, far from it, he had already taken note of Muraki's position, and calculated the step he'd have to take to get away from his swing--
He hadn't really thought about how Oriya would strike or lash out - although he had known, perhaps in the back of his mind, that he would have possibly resorted to his variety of violence. But he hadn't accounted for just how soon Oriya would have done it. Which was why, in the swiftness of the attack, Muraki took to lean back away from the slash - his reflexes, perhaps a bit slower than usual, were still in good shape. His balance, on the other hand, was not.
And a loud splash that followed as Muraki fell over certainly indicated such.
The pool was deep enough to completely saturate him with water the moment he fell in, and as he rose to stand to his proper height once more, he spat out a bit of water. Even though he was terribly amused, he gave the impression of a mild glare. "Oriya... this is 'dry-clean only'." And just as swiftly as Oriya had launched that attack upon him, so, too, did he reach for the sleeve of his friend's kimono and tug sharply upon it. If he were going down, Oriya was coming with him.
Ah yes, the sweet splash of success. He had counted on that to happen, and climbed onto the rock with a calm grace and balance, though his laughter was hardly able to be contained any longer. Seeing Muraki's plight, he moved a hand to his chest, laughing at the silver-haired man. How many people would have the fortune of seeing the composed and calm doctor in a state such as this?
The glare did nothing to put him off-- he didn't fear Shinigami, what did he have to fear from his childhood friend who was, by all means, a cunning killer who could take him down anytime he wanted and didn't?
Of course, after what Muraki did next, it would be HIS luck that Oriya didn't kill HIM-- and at the tug which he had foreseen pretty much, Oriya (caught up in his laughter) pulled away a moment too late and then ended up falling back into the pool as well, the loud splash indicating not only his fall, but Muraki's because Oriya moved his hand up to grab the doctor by his tie and forced him down as he fell. When he came back up, sputtering, he paused, before staring at Muraki and then splashing him as well. "And this is made of silk, you jerk!" he snapped, before the situation caught up with him once more and his expression changed into one of childish mirth as he began to laugh again.
"Bastard..." he laughed. "You were asking for this!"
He had to spit out even more water when he rose back to the surface, this time looking more like a water fountain than anything else as he did so. He had been lucky that his glasses had remained on his nose when he had been pulled down - his outfit, however, had taken the brunt of the damage. He smirked, however, when he heard Oriya snap back at him about his kimono... serves him right. It wasn't too long before Muraki found himself also chuckling, mainly at the sight of Oriya looking far less than dignified, as he tended to look. Success, definitely.
"You look like a drowned rat," he returned in a sarcastically complimenting tone while a hand moved to push back his now soaked silver hair from the side of his face. "It's a good look on you - don't be offended," added Muraki with a playful grin before his hand reached up to the top of Oriya's head... this time to push him back underneath the water's surface.
Why that no good--! Oriya was about to retort to the drowned rat comment before he found himself making friends with the pond water again, flailing almost comically. His long hair contrasting with the color of the blue pond completely took on more damage than normal, and he shot an arm out, his hand pressing against the man's face, glasses et all, and tugged him down as well, backwards, using the shock of his action to pull free and inhaling deeply.
"And you--" he spat water out of his mouth, "Look like the ghost of a dead woman!" he grinned evilly, letting go of Muraki's face, but tugging his glasses off. Kiseru for glasses, it was a fair trade, and he let it drop into one of the smaller rock pools behind him discreetly, before splashing a wave of water over Muraki's face.
"Hmph. At least now you smell like something remotely pleasant compared to a corpse!"
Luckily, Muraki only needed those glasses for reading. Otherwise, Oriya would have been in for it, and he was certain his friend knew such. But he had been given a damn compelling reason to keep the kiseru in his tight grip. Even though he was playing around, he still kept a manner of intense competition in the sport - it wasn't fun without it, really. "I just bathed, you know - you're paying for my dry-cleaning, too, by the way," he sputtered out, tossing some water Oriya's way in much the same way his friend had done to him earlier.
Muraki was rather tempted to pull a fast one over his friend. He had a good opportunity to do so, especially since it would be unexpected. But, well, he could save the disastrous ammunition for another time when he'd really need it. And he expected that it would be needed sometime soon. "Fork over the glasses, or the kiseru is mine," he declared in his best imitation of a stereotypical villain. If Oriya wasn't going to take this seriously, then neither would he.
He honestly didn't care- after that shower of coins- oh look, there were still some in the pond- he had enough to start fifty Koukakurous if he wanted. He wasn't planning on taking this seriously at all, although the thrill of the challenge was from letting Muraki win. Moving his hand behind him to hold the glasses where he'd left them off, Oriya gave him a semblance of a glare, before he turned his nose up haughtily at him.
"Hmph, you'll never have the glasses unless you give me what is MINE." he retaliated, and began to shift back so he could gain a distance from his friend, or risk getting caught again. The dark magenta robes were already soaked and clinging to his form, and while he wasn't afraid of catching a chill, being more disciplined than that, he didn't want to risk Muraki taking advantage of any openings he might find to throw him off, which he normally would use. Unless, of course, he could turn the tables....
Just as Oriya retreated, so, too, did Muraki approach him, matching him move for move. It was a game - a jocular one, but a game nonetheless. And the realisation made him feel a burning of competitive spirit rise within him, giving way to a scheming smirk while he attempted to corner his friend within the small pond. He liked winning, truly, and, somehow, he had a feeling he would. "Is that so?" he replied in a cocky tone, lifting a brow as he again slicked back his sopping wet hair. "Don't make me force you, Oriya-kun."
Sometimes, playing the villain was more fun than it really shoud have been. There were no true villains in the real world - he knew that fact far too well - but it was still fun to pretend sometimes that those overinflated ideas in television shows were real. "I can get downright nasty if you let me, you know," he hissed through a triumphant smirk. It was unclear in his voice whether or not he really was adhering to the stereotype, but he considered himself doing a good job as he reached for the front of Oriya's soaked kimono to tug him closer.
The water shifting under them in soft splashes every time they moved, the clothing they wore adding to the weight, Oriya recognized Muraki's advace move-by-move and wanted to roll his eyes at him, but at the same time he was caught in the mirth of the moment. Still keeping his glasses in his fist, he blinked when Muraki tugged him closer, and glad for the moonlight and darkness around them, the heat of his cheeks was probably invisible to the naked eye. Well. This wasn't exactly what he'd had in mind, but treating it like a game as much as Muraki was, Oriya took on the role of the defiant prey.
Which wasn't really too far from reality if one thought about it.
Bringing on a somewhat rebellious look onto his features, bronze eyes glared challengingly back as he brought his free hand to clamp down on Muraki's wrist and whispered in defiance, "If... I let you. I'd like to see you -try-. You'll never have me, Kazutaka." He smirked challengingly at his best friend, ready to use the hold on his hand to push him away and stand to make a run for it.
Oriya was starting to get into the playful little act, and it was motivation enough to incite that competition that drove every move Muraki made. It was more the thrill of it than anything else, the competition to see who would crack first. And he was generally the winner at such things, even if it was more of a slight split down the middle. His grip on Oriya's kimono fabric tightened as he jerked the other even closer, making sure they were at least no longer separated by a vast expanse of water. He was also probably getting into the act a little well. But it was surprisingly easy.
"Sounds like a challenge to me, Oriya," he muttered, smirking as wickedly as a villain on the verge of seeing his nemesis taken down. "Is that what it is?" Now seemed as good a time as any to start using some of the heavier artillery against his friend - he didn't hesitate at all in letting his lips brush at Oriya's year while he moved in to whisper. "Because I'll win, if that's the case...."
For the briefest moment, Oriya could have sworn that Muraki was taking this seriously and had every intention of going through with the villain role, but knowing his friend as he did, there was nothing he had that Muraki could gain from him. Startled by the action, it was easier to get into the role of the defiant warrior not intending to submit, and as the water splashed when he was jerked forward, he maintained his expression of rebelliousness and stiffened defiantly when Muraki's lips came by his ear.
"You're being too overconfident. That will be your downfall." he replied calmly, before reaching out and clutching Muraki's shirt, the influence of his own madly pounding heart making him hold him a little more forcefully than normal. At the very least, the game would look realistic...
He wondered how far Muraki would take it, and smirked to himself, turning to face him directly, bronze eyes looking into platinum ones squarely. "You have no control over me and I won't let you win."
When he pulled back, Muraki stared at his friend with a calm, calculating sort of smile. It took a while before a grin developed on his face, but he soon looked placidly happy, although a hint of cunning still remained. He could see those glasses in Oriya's grasp, and he had a plan. It was all in the execution, though. "No control over you, is that it?" he echoed, smiling almost rakishly while he moved in closer. If he could stun the other with an action for enough time, he would win.
With little prelude to his action, he moved in and brushed his lips against Oriya's, all the while supervising as his hand crept around to the glasses in Oriya's grip. "You say you won't let me...," he continued in a low voice, a finger hooking onto the hinge of the earpiece. Smirking into Oriya's mouth, he then pulled the glasses up from that loosened grip. That was easier than he had thought.
Fortunately for him, this time around, Oriya was prepared for the action. Mentally reprimanding Muraki for becoming predictable, he let his friend lean close and giving him the benefit of the doubt for the while, he loosened his grip on the glasses, and allowed himself to get distracted by the brush of Muraki's lips against his.
So close really... so close that a repeat of the other night could have happened, but Oriya was careful, his expression almost poker-faced when Muraki smirked at him in triumph. "No control over me or my actions." And revealing what those words meant, he smirked, holding up the kiseru, having stolen it as swiftly as the wind and gazed back with a look of mild triumph.
"Tied." he then said, and with that very hand holding the pipe between his fingers, he grabbed Muraki by the collar and tugged him forward, capturing his mouth in a thorough, no-nonsense kiss, letting his eyelids drop shut as he did, continuing to kiss him while sliding the other hand into his wet hair, clutching it between his fingers, and breaking it only to whisper, "And tiebreaker. I win."
Once Oriya had pulled back, it wasn't very clear whether or not Muraki had decided upon a reaction to such a sudden advance. Honestly, he hadn't ever has Oriya kiss him like that... or at all, in well over a decade at least. If the other man were going for shock value, he went with a good choice, indeed. A blank look on his face soon turned into an enigmatic smile, and Muraki didn't dare budge an inch further from Oriya - perhaps he was paralysed with mild shock. His friend certainly had pulled a fast one over him. But, there was a difference between a battle and a war.
The onset of paralysis brought on by shock was ruled out the moment Muraki pushed the other back - almost a little forcefully, as though it were a show of dominance in some way. The water around them both shifted and sloshed around them both as he approached his target, still keeping the hard-to-read smile upon his face as he did so. No, he wasn't going to let Oriya get away so easily. The tightened grip upon Oriya's silk kimono certainly indicated such. He had a sly look in his eye, even as he initiated that sharp contrast of a kiss - not rough or matter-of-fact like Oriya's at all.
He had control, and he kept it that way once he broke off the kiss at will. The smile took a while to contort into a small, cocky smirk while he kept a steady gaze into Oriya's coppery eyes. "Doesn't matter...," he breathed out, making a sound of triumph as he suddenly pushed Oriya's head once more under the water. That was a good enough payback, he decided as he took his time in climbing back out of the pool, again slicking back his mussed, wet hair once he was back at his full height.
Part of him had expected Muraki to respond with the kiss that came next, and for that moment, due to the fact that he had gone so far as to initiate it, and was getting one returned. However, his own triumph had lain in the fact that he'd been able to throw his best friend off that devilish composure of his, and for the seconds that his expression had gone blank, everything had been worth it. So when Muraki had kissed him, attempting to dominate him, he knew one thing for certain-- even Muraki would really know who won this.
It might have been either of them, or it might have been a tie-- either way, the pleasure that came from going in for this kill had been more than worth it.
And that fucking tease-- Before he could stop him, he found all of the heat building up in the moment of their kiss destroyed as the cold pond water came around his head once again and he had the good fortune of inhaling air and holding it in when he went down. But no sooner had that happened that Muraki's hand left him, and he re-emerged, his long auburn locks now covering his face in wet, dark strands over his eyes and he looked like a comical sight.
As Muraki climbed out, Oriya composed himself, slowly standing and resembling something out of the monstrosity of O-iwa's tale emerging from the river, until he tossed his head back, sending his wet strands flying back with droplets flying, intended to splash towards Muraki, before he waded out, nonchalance in his stride and a triumphant smirk on his lips.
There were no snide words tonight, and as he tucked the kiseru into his belt, he stopped a short distance away from the silver-haired doctor before looking over his shoulder at him.
"Tonight, Kazu... I think it does." he smirked, closing his eyes and looking towards the entrance to his inner room. "Now get inside before I hang you out to dry myself."
Rating; PG-13.
Characters; Muraki Kazutaka (
roy_de_epee), Miibu Oriya (kyotodollmaster).Summary; Two old friends have some bonding time - boys will be boys.
Log;
The creation of the Koukakurou here was going swiftly. The location was perfect, close to the hot springs, but not too close- he had standards after all and since everyone and their mothers went there, it was in a quieter, but more elegant portion of the city. Still, the environment was relaxing, and of course, that was what was important. The place looked small from the outside, but inside, the labyrinth of corridoors revealed many doors into chambers, decorated traditionally for the use of entertaining their guests. And so far, all the people he had found to work there were not only familiar with their duties, but it was as though the employees were made for this very place here.
This City never failed to surprise him.
The Garden, in particular, his own private area with his personal resting chamber for himself and special guests if necessary, was a beautiful sight. Very zen, as some people would call it, and it had the look of a very peaceful, spiritual place. Oriya observed this from the platform outside his room, the smoke from his kiseru escaping through his lips almost absently as he looked ahead.
So far so good.. he thought to himself, folding an arm over his chest as he stood up to walk over the clear stone path through the grass. Where is that bastard? he wondered then, glancing over his shoulder. Muraki was late again.
His evening had been moving swiftly, so it seemed. Exploration of the underground areas went, for the most part, quite successfully. A few easy kills, really - with the right amount of money and the correct use of a blunt object, and one found it easy to end the life of a prostitute wandering the streets for prey. A sort of invincible feeling had overcome him, but it was subdued once he had realised the owner of the budding Koukakurou had requested his presence.
Luckily, Muraki was quick to ready himself, to shower off the blood from his face and hands - newly cleansed, a pure man once more as he had again dressed himself... in a different set of clothing, of course. And he found himself now within the elaborate passageways of the establishment his friend had created. Quite a deal similar to the one he had always known, and yet different. No wonder he seemed mildly surprised when he stumbled upon what seemed nothing else but the gardens.
And, of course, Oriya, moving along the path within, looking almost like a ghost from a Meiji era landmark.
He smiled a bit, looking almost sly as he approached the other man from behind with light steps. "There you are."
He'd turned to look back, beginning to light incense sticks in the garden guardian display near the little lake, in front of the garden temple, when he felt his best friend's presence. Even without his voice, the scent of blood on him that usually tinted the moon red when he came into his presence in the open gave Muraki away. Now, it had become a sort of second nature to him, and Oriya accepted it as he accepted everything else.
His greeting was met with a turned back, and he bent down to pick up his pipe once more, having left it down near the stone pedestal while lighting the incense, and his voice expressed a calm reprimand as he greeted Muraki with, "And now you're going to say you were late because you got lost, aren't you?"
He was daring him to, considering the layout, despite the slightly changed interiors, was still very much like home.
Muraki met his friend's challenge with a charming chuckle, following Oriya a bit like a dog who had come to present a frisbee to its master. "No, I merely was out on business when I remembered." Business, indeed - he still could smell the blood in his hair, but it would wash out within a few more showers. "I wasn't too late, though, was I?" he continued, a jaded sort of tone in his voice. He had dealt with this sort of situation more than once, honestly, and it was to the point where he was expecting an exact reaction from Oriya. Then again, sometimes even the master of the tea house surprised him with a curveball of his own.
"Of course, if you're so upset with me being late, perhaps I could make it up to you. A new obi, perhaps?" Considering he had burnt the previous one in an odd incident, Muraki only found it fitting to show apology that way. Though surely his friend wouldn't be that upset... at least, that was what Muraki was waiting to see.
The invitation was a good one. Muraki still owed him for messing up his own after all, and though that wasn't something he took seriously, it was still amusing in a way to have Muraki treat it with such importance. And in a somewhat childish way, it made him give him some attention, which was always welcome.
Sighing, almost dramatically, he stopped in his walk and turned to look over his shoulder, facing his best friend with a somewhat placid look, before shaking his head and turning to look back at the sky. It was strange, really, how the sky managed to tell him so much more about the people that wandered these grounds than the people themselves. The moon above him right now was full, and pale. Ghostly visits, perhaps? He smirked to himself, before snuffing out the kiseru and looking ahead of himself at the inner garden pond.
"Is that an offering for good luck or a bribe?" he asked then, smirking to himself. "I don't remember being so materialistic that I'd need something like that to curb my temper, Muraki. What do you take me for, a woman?"
Muraki smirked a bit back to Oriya, turning to look back up at the sky in a slightly avoidant move. He wasn't really wanting to answer the question - no, he knew it was a bit of a loaded question. Oriya was good with those sometimes. But he had learned well enough to avoid them if at all possible. He shrugged to himself, choosing to remain silent as his gaze found the reddened moon above them. A sigil, as always, to his work.
"Of course, you can't be very angry with me for being late, can you?" he suddenly asked, looking once more to his friend with a challenging, jovial smile. He was hoping for a no, honestly - sometimes the brunet had such an astounding way of expressing rage, mainly through more physical channels. "After all, I did show up... that should give me some credit, Oriya."
The answer was just what he'd expected of the man, in all honesty. Not that he'd really wanted an answer (a memory came to mind, of braids and red ribbons and he quickly shook it off) and he sighed again, smirking to himself. "Decently enough to not get you an ear lashing, I suppose."
Pausing then, turning around to face the silver-haired man, Oriya folded his arms under the opposite sleeves, observing him for a while, before deciding to switch subjects. Any topics about themselves and they'd continue to go around in circles. "It appears the City has finally decided to make its residents work for their livelihood here. Coincidence or good timing, I wonder?" he asked, referring to the strange rains that had plagued the city earlier.
A small smirk appeared on his lips though. "Will you want to be paid for your services now, Muraki?"
He chuckled to himself, smiling in such a genial manner as to belie the engineering mind behind his eyes. "Now, now - consider it a free service for the time being," he replied casually, waving one hand dismissively at the topic before turning his sight to sweep over the garden. It did look rather familiar, almost eerily similar to the gardens Oriya had set up in his Kyoto base of operations. The fireflies that occasionally blinked in the farther corners of the garden only seemed to add to the nostalgic sort of feel. Funny, in a way - he didn't really care for it that much to begin with, but....
"Besides, I do have my own practise to maintain as well," he continued after a moment's pause. Quickly, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He was due now for one of these. "And Oriya-kun will be 'business as always', won't he?" Again, a chuckle escaped him - that alone would ensure him some opportunity to moonlight, considering the nature of the tea house. "I might hardly get to see you, if you rake in as many customers as before," Muraki noted off-handedly, lighting a cigarette afterwards in what seemed to be a nonchalant sort of way.
"Of course." Oriya's response to his practice was met with a casual acceptance, though considering their situations now, as Muraki further expressed, he knew what he was saying was true. He probably wouldn't get to see Muraki either, but there was the fact that they lived in the same place. All he had to do was find a good mediator, as it was, and the tasks would be delegated accordingly.
How he wished Tami-san would show her wrinkly old face here.
Walking up to him then, standing to his side, he frowned a bit at him smoking again and then, he moved his hand up to pluck the cancer stick from his mouth, looking at it for a while, before holding it between index and middle finger. "Don't forget that I'm selective about the people who hope for my company. You may see me more often than you think." And he raised the cigarette to his mouth, taking a short smoke. It was an act of curiosity on his own part, and while it certainly required a taste for it, nothing could compare to his for the tobacco he favored.
Muraki did look a little surprised when he suddenly found his cigarette confiscated, and he blinked a bit with confusion as Oriya inhaled it. He hadn't ever seen Oriya take tobacco in another form aside from that kiseru. It was a strange sight, but curiously fascinating, as well. Once his friend was finished, though, he took a look at the kiseru that Oriya still held. If it was to be a swap, well, Muraki had enough curiosity for the both of them at times.
"And are you always so selective with everyone?" he asked, using it as a distraction while he snatched the kiseru from his friend's grip. Quickly, he took a small drag of it, inhaling in an imitation of Oriya, in a way, before the smoke finally reached his lungs. The tobacco didn't have the exact smoky, dark texture he was used to - sweeter, almost a little heavier, too. Just as swiftly as he had inhaled, he let the smoke go. "Don't suppose you prefer a cigarette, do you?" he mused with a hint of mirth in his voice before he took one more puff on the kiseru. It was different, true, but not half-bad.
Not really surprised, enjoying the anachronism of the moment, Oriya motioned to Muraki to move on ahead as he began to walk once more. The fireflies had begun to emerge, and it gave the garden a sort of mystical feel to it in an odd way. It reminded him a bit of when they were younger, much younger, hardly aware of how they would come together in the future, many summers ago. Catching fireflies and putting them in their lamp covers, walking through the extensive gardens of his family's estate, long before his father and him had bickered enough to never want to come face to face with each other again.
Continuing to smoke on his friend's cigarette, Oriya blew out a thin trail of white smoke and made a face. "I don't know how you can stand this taste. It feels like someone painting your lungs with city smoke." Oriya had never liked the big city, finding it too artificial for his tastes, and he kept it that way. Perhaps that's what made his upkeep of the Koukakurou much more authentic, in a way. It wasn't made with the wants of city dwellers in mind, but the wants of those who respected the old world and wanted to come back to it.
Finally, when they stopped in front of the pond, Oriya glanced down at it, and the moon's reflection in the water. It was clear and perfect, serene in a way. "... it's frightening in a way, to think we're integrating with this madness."
Again, he chuckled at his friend, moving along the path that Oriya had designed accordingly. Oriya was far more used to finer, older things, and he had always been teased in the way of that - mainly by Muraki himself. With an unpredictable movement, he stope back his cigarette, inhaling and letting the smoke settle into his lungs while he tossed a haughty look to Oriya. "One man's madness is another's sanity, Oriya," he answered, exhaling the smoke. Madness was a subjective term anyway... and he had agreed to that, even with the scientific evidence he had seen regarding insanity. Then again, insanity and madness were two different things.
"But one has to make do, isn't that right?" He shot Oriya a contemplative look, lingering there before he took to examining the kiseru he still held with mild fascination. He had seen it before, but never in such detail or so close. And certainly Oriya wanted it back soon.... A small smirk played at his mouth, and without warning, he sprinted ahead a bit and stopped in front of his friend. "You want this back, yes?" he teased his friend while waving the pipe in the air. Maybe it was the serenity of the place that activated his capriciousness, or maybe it was the fireflies. Either way, he wasn't feeling very sombre.
He blinked when the cigarette was stolen, before shrugging a shoulder and looking to a side. Madness, insanity, arrogance, it seemed all the same to him, all things considered. As they continued to walk, he turned back to catch Muraki eyeing the kiseru pipe with interest, and blinked when he was suddenly in front of him. What was he...
Oh, that twat, he thought with mild amusement and giving him the lead for now, he raised an eyebrow at him.
"I'm sure anyone who claims possession over their belongings would want them in their presence?" he replied calmly, but not moving forward to take the pipe from his hand. Oriya always waited patiently to strike, after all.
He didn't realise he was so dangerously clse to the edge of the pool in the middle of the gardens. Nor did he realise just how much Oriya was willing to fight for his kiseru... or maybe he did. After all, it had been his for a long time. But, hell, Muraki was feeling ready to play a bit. A gamble, perhaps he would call it. And he had a slight weakness for a good gamble at times. "Well, then," he started, stepping up onto a promontory rock at the edge of the pond. "How far will you go to get it back?"
And while Muraki smiled, looking to his friend, he took another inhalation from that pipe. The whole thing was a taunt, even if the tobacco tasted pretty decent, anyway. "What will you do, Oriya-kun, to get it back?" he asked, in an almost sing-song voice. "Hmn?"
Oh he was playing with fire, in more ways than one, wasn't he. Oriya masked the fondness of the situation threatening to spread on his face with one of feigned annoyance, and moved his hands down to his sides* "That's mine, Muraki. Hand it over."
However, at the next taunt, Oriya found himself smirking. How far, he asked? Dangerous thing to ask a swordsman, wasn't it? He didn't approach Muraki then, watching him with a predatorial gaze. "Be careful when playing with other people's things. They might break you!" and in a flash, Oriya had moved, swiftly enough as he would when slicing out with a sword, but he only made a movement towards Muraki. He wasn't aiming to get the kiseru, far from it, he had already taken note of Muraki's position, and calculated the step he'd have to take to get away from his swing--
He hadn't really thought about how Oriya would strike or lash out - although he had known, perhaps in the back of his mind, that he would have possibly resorted to his variety of violence. But he hadn't accounted for just how soon Oriya would have done it. Which was why, in the swiftness of the attack, Muraki took to lean back away from the slash - his reflexes, perhaps a bit slower than usual, were still in good shape. His balance, on the other hand, was not.
And a loud splash that followed as Muraki fell over certainly indicated such.
The pool was deep enough to completely saturate him with water the moment he fell in, and as he rose to stand to his proper height once more, he spat out a bit of water. Even though he was terribly amused, he gave the impression of a mild glare. "Oriya... this is 'dry-clean only'." And just as swiftly as Oriya had launched that attack upon him, so, too, did he reach for the sleeve of his friend's kimono and tug sharply upon it. If he were going down, Oriya was coming with him.
Ah yes, the sweet splash of success. He had counted on that to happen, and climbed onto the rock with a calm grace and balance, though his laughter was hardly able to be contained any longer. Seeing Muraki's plight, he moved a hand to his chest, laughing at the silver-haired man. How many people would have the fortune of seeing the composed and calm doctor in a state such as this?
The glare did nothing to put him off-- he didn't fear Shinigami, what did he have to fear from his childhood friend who was, by all means, a cunning killer who could take him down anytime he wanted and didn't?
Of course, after what Muraki did next, it would be HIS luck that Oriya didn't kill HIM-- and at the tug which he had foreseen pretty much, Oriya (caught up in his laughter) pulled away a moment too late and then ended up falling back into the pool as well, the loud splash indicating not only his fall, but Muraki's because Oriya moved his hand up to grab the doctor by his tie and forced him down as he fell. When he came back up, sputtering, he paused, before staring at Muraki and then splashing him as well. "And this is made of silk, you jerk!" he snapped, before the situation caught up with him once more and his expression changed into one of childish mirth as he began to laugh again.
"Bastard..." he laughed. "You were asking for this!"
He had to spit out even more water when he rose back to the surface, this time looking more like a water fountain than anything else as he did so. He had been lucky that his glasses had remained on his nose when he had been pulled down - his outfit, however, had taken the brunt of the damage. He smirked, however, when he heard Oriya snap back at him about his kimono... serves him right. It wasn't too long before Muraki found himself also chuckling, mainly at the sight of Oriya looking far less than dignified, as he tended to look. Success, definitely.
"You look like a drowned rat," he returned in a sarcastically complimenting tone while a hand moved to push back his now soaked silver hair from the side of his face. "It's a good look on you - don't be offended," added Muraki with a playful grin before his hand reached up to the top of Oriya's head... this time to push him back underneath the water's surface.
Why that no good--! Oriya was about to retort to the drowned rat comment before he found himself making friends with the pond water again, flailing almost comically. His long hair contrasting with the color of the blue pond completely took on more damage than normal, and he shot an arm out, his hand pressing against the man's face, glasses et all, and tugged him down as well, backwards, using the shock of his action to pull free and inhaling deeply.
"And you--" he spat water out of his mouth, "Look like the ghost of a dead woman!" he grinned evilly, letting go of Muraki's face, but tugging his glasses off. Kiseru for glasses, it was a fair trade, and he let it drop into one of the smaller rock pools behind him discreetly, before splashing a wave of water over Muraki's face.
"Hmph. At least now you smell like something remotely pleasant compared to a corpse!"
Luckily, Muraki only needed those glasses for reading. Otherwise, Oriya would have been in for it, and he was certain his friend knew such. But he had been given a damn compelling reason to keep the kiseru in his tight grip. Even though he was playing around, he still kept a manner of intense competition in the sport - it wasn't fun without it, really. "I just bathed, you know - you're paying for my dry-cleaning, too, by the way," he sputtered out, tossing some water Oriya's way in much the same way his friend had done to him earlier.
Muraki was rather tempted to pull a fast one over his friend. He had a good opportunity to do so, especially since it would be unexpected. But, well, he could save the disastrous ammunition for another time when he'd really need it. And he expected that it would be needed sometime soon. "Fork over the glasses, or the kiseru is mine," he declared in his best imitation of a stereotypical villain. If Oriya wasn't going to take this seriously, then neither would he.
He honestly didn't care- after that shower of coins- oh look, there were still some in the pond- he had enough to start fifty Koukakurous if he wanted. He wasn't planning on taking this seriously at all, although the thrill of the challenge was from letting Muraki win. Moving his hand behind him to hold the glasses where he'd left them off, Oriya gave him a semblance of a glare, before he turned his nose up haughtily at him.
"Hmph, you'll never have the glasses unless you give me what is MINE." he retaliated, and began to shift back so he could gain a distance from his friend, or risk getting caught again. The dark magenta robes were already soaked and clinging to his form, and while he wasn't afraid of catching a chill, being more disciplined than that, he didn't want to risk Muraki taking advantage of any openings he might find to throw him off, which he normally would use. Unless, of course, he could turn the tables....
Just as Oriya retreated, so, too, did Muraki approach him, matching him move for move. It was a game - a jocular one, but a game nonetheless. And the realisation made him feel a burning of competitive spirit rise within him, giving way to a scheming smirk while he attempted to corner his friend within the small pond. He liked winning, truly, and, somehow, he had a feeling he would. "Is that so?" he replied in a cocky tone, lifting a brow as he again slicked back his sopping wet hair. "Don't make me force you, Oriya-kun."
Sometimes, playing the villain was more fun than it really shoud have been. There were no true villains in the real world - he knew that fact far too well - but it was still fun to pretend sometimes that those overinflated ideas in television shows were real. "I can get downright nasty if you let me, you know," he hissed through a triumphant smirk. It was unclear in his voice whether or not he really was adhering to the stereotype, but he considered himself doing a good job as he reached for the front of Oriya's soaked kimono to tug him closer.
The water shifting under them in soft splashes every time they moved, the clothing they wore adding to the weight, Oriya recognized Muraki's advace move-by-move and wanted to roll his eyes at him, but at the same time he was caught in the mirth of the moment. Still keeping his glasses in his fist, he blinked when Muraki tugged him closer, and glad for the moonlight and darkness around them, the heat of his cheeks was probably invisible to the naked eye. Well. This wasn't exactly what he'd had in mind, but treating it like a game as much as Muraki was, Oriya took on the role of the defiant prey.
Which wasn't really too far from reality if one thought about it.
Bringing on a somewhat rebellious look onto his features, bronze eyes glared challengingly back as he brought his free hand to clamp down on Muraki's wrist and whispered in defiance, "If... I let you. I'd like to see you -try-. You'll never have me, Kazutaka." He smirked challengingly at his best friend, ready to use the hold on his hand to push him away and stand to make a run for it.
Oriya was starting to get into the playful little act, and it was motivation enough to incite that competition that drove every move Muraki made. It was more the thrill of it than anything else, the competition to see who would crack first. And he was generally the winner at such things, even if it was more of a slight split down the middle. His grip on Oriya's kimono fabric tightened as he jerked the other even closer, making sure they were at least no longer separated by a vast expanse of water. He was also probably getting into the act a little well. But it was surprisingly easy.
"Sounds like a challenge to me, Oriya," he muttered, smirking as wickedly as a villain on the verge of seeing his nemesis taken down. "Is that what it is?" Now seemed as good a time as any to start using some of the heavier artillery against his friend - he didn't hesitate at all in letting his lips brush at Oriya's year while he moved in to whisper. "Because I'll win, if that's the case...."
For the briefest moment, Oriya could have sworn that Muraki was taking this seriously and had every intention of going through with the villain role, but knowing his friend as he did, there was nothing he had that Muraki could gain from him. Startled by the action, it was easier to get into the role of the defiant warrior not intending to submit, and as the water splashed when he was jerked forward, he maintained his expression of rebelliousness and stiffened defiantly when Muraki's lips came by his ear.
"You're being too overconfident. That will be your downfall." he replied calmly, before reaching out and clutching Muraki's shirt, the influence of his own madly pounding heart making him hold him a little more forcefully than normal. At the very least, the game would look realistic...
He wondered how far Muraki would take it, and smirked to himself, turning to face him directly, bronze eyes looking into platinum ones squarely. "You have no control over me and I won't let you win."
When he pulled back, Muraki stared at his friend with a calm, calculating sort of smile. It took a while before a grin developed on his face, but he soon looked placidly happy, although a hint of cunning still remained. He could see those glasses in Oriya's grasp, and he had a plan. It was all in the execution, though. "No control over you, is that it?" he echoed, smiling almost rakishly while he moved in closer. If he could stun the other with an action for enough time, he would win.
With little prelude to his action, he moved in and brushed his lips against Oriya's, all the while supervising as his hand crept around to the glasses in Oriya's grip. "You say you won't let me...," he continued in a low voice, a finger hooking onto the hinge of the earpiece. Smirking into Oriya's mouth, he then pulled the glasses up from that loosened grip. That was easier than he had thought.
Fortunately for him, this time around, Oriya was prepared for the action. Mentally reprimanding Muraki for becoming predictable, he let his friend lean close and giving him the benefit of the doubt for the while, he loosened his grip on the glasses, and allowed himself to get distracted by the brush of Muraki's lips against his.
So close really... so close that a repeat of the other night could have happened, but Oriya was careful, his expression almost poker-faced when Muraki smirked at him in triumph. "No control over me or my actions." And revealing what those words meant, he smirked, holding up the kiseru, having stolen it as swiftly as the wind and gazed back with a look of mild triumph.
"Tied." he then said, and with that very hand holding the pipe between his fingers, he grabbed Muraki by the collar and tugged him forward, capturing his mouth in a thorough, no-nonsense kiss, letting his eyelids drop shut as he did, continuing to kiss him while sliding the other hand into his wet hair, clutching it between his fingers, and breaking it only to whisper, "And tiebreaker. I win."
Once Oriya had pulled back, it wasn't very clear whether or not Muraki had decided upon a reaction to such a sudden advance. Honestly, he hadn't ever has Oriya kiss him like that... or at all, in well over a decade at least. If the other man were going for shock value, he went with a good choice, indeed. A blank look on his face soon turned into an enigmatic smile, and Muraki didn't dare budge an inch further from Oriya - perhaps he was paralysed with mild shock. His friend certainly had pulled a fast one over him. But, there was a difference between a battle and a war.
The onset of paralysis brought on by shock was ruled out the moment Muraki pushed the other back - almost a little forcefully, as though it were a show of dominance in some way. The water around them both shifted and sloshed around them both as he approached his target, still keeping the hard-to-read smile upon his face as he did so. No, he wasn't going to let Oriya get away so easily. The tightened grip upon Oriya's silk kimono certainly indicated such. He had a sly look in his eye, even as he initiated that sharp contrast of a kiss - not rough or matter-of-fact like Oriya's at all.
He had control, and he kept it that way once he broke off the kiss at will. The smile took a while to contort into a small, cocky smirk while he kept a steady gaze into Oriya's coppery eyes. "Doesn't matter...," he breathed out, making a sound of triumph as he suddenly pushed Oriya's head once more under the water. That was a good enough payback, he decided as he took his time in climbing back out of the pool, again slicking back his mussed, wet hair once he was back at his full height.
Part of him had expected Muraki to respond with the kiss that came next, and for that moment, due to the fact that he had gone so far as to initiate it, and was getting one returned. However, his own triumph had lain in the fact that he'd been able to throw his best friend off that devilish composure of his, and for the seconds that his expression had gone blank, everything had been worth it. So when Muraki had kissed him, attempting to dominate him, he knew one thing for certain-- even Muraki would really know who won this.
It might have been either of them, or it might have been a tie-- either way, the pleasure that came from going in for this kill had been more than worth it.
And that fucking tease-- Before he could stop him, he found all of the heat building up in the moment of their kiss destroyed as the cold pond water came around his head once again and he had the good fortune of inhaling air and holding it in when he went down. But no sooner had that happened that Muraki's hand left him, and he re-emerged, his long auburn locks now covering his face in wet, dark strands over his eyes and he looked like a comical sight.
As Muraki climbed out, Oriya composed himself, slowly standing and resembling something out of the monstrosity of O-iwa's tale emerging from the river, until he tossed his head back, sending his wet strands flying back with droplets flying, intended to splash towards Muraki, before he waded out, nonchalance in his stride and a triumphant smirk on his lips.
There were no snide words tonight, and as he tucked the kiseru into his belt, he stopped a short distance away from the silver-haired doctor before looking over his shoulder at him.
"Tonight, Kazu... I think it does." he smirked, closing his eyes and looking towards the entrance to his inner room. "Now get inside before I hang you out to dry myself."