Guilty Gear, its characters and
settings are property of Sammy Studios, and are being used in this fanfiction without permission. This fic
is rated R for violence and sexual content, and it contains yaoi
material. C&C very welcomed.
OMG does anything happen in this
chapter??? I’m sorry it’s going so slow. But there’ll be blood in the next
chapter, I promise. And a new character. And blood.
And the beginning of plot…I think…but if nothing else, blood.
Seeya there.
Thunder Falling
Chapter 4
Ky had slept so soundly
through the night, it wasn’t until he heard his housekeeper reach the top of
the second floor stairs that he stirred at all. He blinked himself awake,
frowning, as he remembered having giving both the young woman who attended to
him the holiday to themselves. “Rosaline?”
“Yes, Master Kiske?”
The door twisted open, and Ky
jerked upright—remembering suddenly that he had not come to bed alone. But Rosaline, a bright-eyed young woman with brown curls, only
smiled warmly at him. “Good morning, Sir. I’m sorry if I woke you.”
Ky
blinked down at the bed he occupied, only to find it empty save for himself.
Testament’s clothes, too, were gone from where they had been carelessly dropped
among his uniform on the floor. He frowned in confusion. “I did give you the
morning free, did I not?” he asked, wondering if perhaps this was not the
morning after the festival after all. If he maybe had dreamed
it…
“Oh, you did,” Rosaline replied, her smile sobering. She bent down to
gather up his uniform. “But I know it’s a strain on you, sir. I thought I might
at least prepare breakfast and a bit of laundry, if that’s all right.”
“That’s not necessary…but thank
you.”
“Take your time, sir.”
As Rosaline
closed the door behind her, Ky
turned his attention back to his room. It was already late in the morning, as
was proven by the soft morning light streaming through his eastward window. The
space beside him on the bed was still warm, and as Ky ventured closer to the edge of the mattress, he
finally discovered his missing companion. Relieved and amused, he grinned
against the back of his hand. “Sorry.”
Testament stared up at him, his
coat and clothing held against his chest, having dragged them into hiding with
him half under the bed. “Did she see me?”
“I don’t think so.” Ky reached down and, abandoning
his things, Testament allowed himself to be tugged back onto the bed. “I didn’t
think she was coming today. She and Tessa take care of the house for me.”
“I see.” Testament glanced at the
door. “She won’t come back up, will she?”
“Probably not—she’s always left
me to my privacy.”
“Good.” Testament turned
abruptly, pressing a hand to Ky’s
chest to force him onto his back. The officer managed a short intake of breath
before the Gear’s hot mouth was over his, demanding of him a heated kiss that
made his toes curl.
Ky
was grinning breathlessly as Testament pulled back once more. “I suppose it’s
time for me to greet you properly.”
“I’d been hoping as much,”
Testament returned, settling himself over the officer. His eyes gleamed
hungrily, and as he leaned in again his lips darted instead to the sensitive
flesh below his jaw.
Ky
breathed an appreciative sigh and twisted his fingers in locks of thick ebony.
“I’m glad you came,” he murmured. Testament’s warm hands gliding over his bare
chest and sides were easily awakening his memories, and it made his pulse rise
into his ears. “I was beginning to think that maybe….”
“Sorry.” Testament drew his hand
firmly along the inside of Ky’s
thigh. “I’ll make it up to you.”
Ky’s
breath caught, but before Testament could go any further they were alerted to a
thunder of footsteps making their way hastily up the steps. Before Ky could get his thoughts well
enough in order the door was being flung open, followed by a flash of blue and
blonde, a squeak, and the door closing just as abruptly.
Ky
blinked, staring at the door in confusion. “What…?”
“Bridget,” Testament explained
for him, slumping onto his side.
“Sorry!” came
the boy’s flustered voice from behind the door. “I’m sorry—she said you were
awake, so I—sorry!”
Ky
sighed. “It’s all right, Bridget,” he called back. It wasn’t until then that he
remembered Bridget’s promise of breakfast from the night before. “Could you
wait downstairs for us? We’ll be right there.”
“Sure!” Bridget chirped, and then
was bounding down the stairs once more.
Ky
relaxed, and when he looked to Testament was amused to see his cheeks colored
with embarrassment. He tugged him down into a kiss. “We shouldn’t keep them
waiting.”
“I suppose not.” Testament
watched him thoughtfully a moment. “You know,” he murmured, “you shouldn’t
underestimate him. He’s very fond of you.”
“Oh?” Ky smiled faintly as he folded his hands over his
stomach. “He’s a good boy. I suppose it’s not unusual for someone his age to
look up to an officer.”
Testament’s lip curled. “If
that’s all you see it as, you’re going to get yourself in trouble.”
Ky
frowned, but when he started to question Testament cut him off with another
kiss. “Come on,” the Gear said against his lips. “He’ll be waiting.”
The pair dressed, Ky in a fresh white shirt and
pants and Testament in his leathers, and when they descended found Bridget
bustling about in the kitchen. “Rosaline’s down in
the laundry,” Bridget said as he poured them each a cup of tea. He himself was
in yet another new outfit: a pressed white shirt with a high collar and pearl
buttons, with a dark blue vest and trousers. “I told her I’d finish up with breakfast.”
He smiled at them, though when his eyes met Ky’s he blushed and turned back to preparing their
plates.
“I should be serving you,” Ky chuckled as he took a seat. “You being a guest.”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” Bridget
quickly assured. “I’m just sorry about…um, interrupting you.”
Ky
blushed, catching a knowing glance from Testament. He coughed lightly. “Um,
it’s all right.”
Though upon her return from the
basement Rosaline was startled to find her master
entertaining yet another guest, she didn’t question—in fact seemed inordinately
pleased that Ky had visitors
to spend the morning with at all. It wasn’t until she mentioned as much that Ky realized this was the first
time in several years he had spent this day with any manner of company. Usually
he would have taken his breakfast alone, and until the evening spent his hours
in idle study. He was beginning to see that he much preferred celebrating the
winter season with companions.
“I’m afraid I won’t be able to
spend the entire day with you,” Ky
said as they reached the last of their breakfast. Rosaline
had gone by now, and his freshly cleaned uniform hung ready in the closet for
him. His eyes slid to it grimly. “There is one last ceremony for me to attend
this evening.”
“The memorial,
right?” Bridget said
brightly, but when he saw the expression Ky
bore he lowered his voice a little. “I’ve never been before. Is it all right if
I come along?”
“I don’t think it will be very
enjoyable for you, but if you like.” The prospect of having Bridget with him
made Ky’s spirits lift a
little…until he looked to Testament. The Gear was watching him closely. “I’m
sorry, Testament, but you’re welcomed to wait for us here. There are several
books up in my study; I’m sure there’s at least one that might interest you.”
Testament sipped the last of his
tea. “I’m not invited?” he asked evenly.
Ky
faltered somewhat. “Well….” He glanced away, feeling something cold and hollow
slide into his ribs. “It’s a public memorial. But it will be attended mostly by
former members of the Holy Order. And you—”
“As a Gear, I wouldn’t be
welcome.” Testament pushed some of the hair from his eyes. “I understand.”
Ky
started to protest, but his voice fell short. The hollow sensation in his gut
seemed to swell as he watched Testament and realized that he could not say that
he wanted him to come. The December Third Memorial was, for the veterans of the
Holy Order, a day to mourn their comrades away from the city celebrations. He
could not imagine walking among their solemn ranks with a Gear at his side, no
matter what history they now shared. And he was ashamed to admit it was his own
pride that made him feel as such.
“I’m sorry.” Ky lowered his head guiltily. “It would be
inappropriate.”
“I understand.”
Bridget glanced between the pair
and shifted in his chair. “Maybe we can bring back something to eat
afterwards,” he suggested. “And have dessert together.”
“That would be fine,” Ky was quick to agree. “And in the
meantime, we still have the day together. I want to hear all about what the two
of you have been up to.” He looked to Testament hopefully. If
he could possibly spend this day pleasantly…
“Of course.” Testament drew his gaze back, to Ky’s relief, and nodded. “You’re
not on duty today, correct? I can’t exactly see the city with you both, but we
should be able to amuse ourselves here.”
“Yes. Would you like to move to
the foyer?” Ky suggested,
pushing to his feet. “There’s much I’d like to hear.”
*~*~*
Anji had to admit, he had been in worse prisons
before. Seeing as the bars were made of wood he probably could have easily
escaped, had he chosen to. Not that it would help much in proving his innocence
in whatever it was Murase thought he had done. He had
spent all morning answering the Council’s questions, most of which several
times over, relating all he knew of his meeting several months ago with the man
who created the gears. And he had tried, with each repetition, to stress what
the man had told him: that he had not wanted the Japanese people destroyed.
That he regretted the war deeply. These seemed to be the only pleas of his that
no one would listen to.
As the prison was underground
there was no way of knowing exactly how much time passed after his
interrogation. By then his wrists were sore and throbbing from being bound
behind his back, and his stomach was rumbling hollowly. He was beginning to
think they had decided to leave him here indefinitely when the door at the end
of the hall suddenly opened.
“Anji!” Chipp, still dressed only in his boxers
and a robe from the night before, dashed down the line of cells to him. “Fuck,
are you all right? I’ve been trying to get in all goddamned day—what the hell
happened?”
“Chipp…”
Anji sighd in relief, until he saw Yuuya
join his friend at the cell door. “What’s going on?”
“You’re being released,” Yuuya stated plainly as he unlocked the cell and tugged it
open. “I’m to take you back to the temple, where you’ll stay until the Chairman
says so.”
Anji smiled bitterly. “I guess that’s a nicer
cell than this.”
Yuuya smirked as he stepped inside to undo the
bindings on Anji’s wrists. “You weren’t planning on
leaving the Colony anyway, were you? I thought you’d want to see the result of
all the commotion you’ve caused.”
“Commotion?”
“You’ll see, once the Council is
finished deliberating.” Yuuya stepped back into the
hall and motioned Anji to follow.
Anji did so, rubbing his sore wrists as he
allowed Yuuya to lead him out of the prison. All the
while Chipp all but bounced anxiously at his side.
“Damn pricks,” the albino man muttered under his breath, just loud enough so
that Yuuya would hear. “You know what they told me?
Said you were being held as a traitor. Fuck that! We saved the goddamned world,
didn’t we? Let’s see them do that in their dresses.”
Anji smiled, tempted to remind Chipp that the two of them had been unconscious and
brainwashed, respectively, for that entire affair, but he was grateful for the
man’s support. “It’s all right. I should have told them everything when we
first got here, like Baiken.”
Chipp snorted. “Well, fuck Baiken,
too. She’s probably still at the temple smoking her goddamned pipe—wouldn’t
even get off her ass to come help me complain for you. That’s cold right there,
you know. Seeing as she’s the one that tipped them off to you.”
“When you say it like that, it
makes me sound guilty,” Anji replied with a quiet
chuckle. “Besides…they would have found out. I’m not angry with her for telling
them.”
“Wha?
Fuck, man, then you’re way far gone.”
Yuuya walked with them back to the temple, and Anji couldn’t help but smile when he saw Wakami waiting for them anxiously at the gate. She greeted
them happily and gave her brother a disapproving frown, who returned it with a
casual shrug. “Remember,” Yuuya said pointedly as he
slipped his arms into his coat. “You’re not to leave this temple. For your…safety.”
“Of course. My safety.” Anji frowned as they all watched the man leave, and at last
turned in toward the temple. “Thanks for waiting for me, Wakami,”
he said with a grateful smile. “I’m all right.”
“I’ll make us some lunch,” she
offered shyly. “You must be hungry—and you, too, Zanuff-san.”
Her cheeks colored a little when she looked to him. “You were there all night,
too.”
Chipp scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, I
guess I was. Thanks a lot, Wakami.”
The trio returned to the main
room of the temple, and Anji felt something in his
stomach curl slightly when he saw Baiken reclining on
the steps. Just as Chipp predicted, she was dressed
in her usual yukata and smoking her pipe
easily. She glanced up lazily when they approached. “Anji.”
“Baiken.” Anji took a seat next to her as Wakami stepped past, toward the kitchen. After a hesitant
moment and a scowl Chipp sat down as well. Anji could tell he was expected to say something—something
accusatory or hurtful—but the words wouldn’t come to him. Instead he merely
plucked Baiken’s pip from her fingers, and took a
long breath for himself.
“Is that it?” Chipp
asked incredulously, glancing between them. “Aren’t you going to say something?
She got you arrested, you know.”
Anji shrugged, very conscious of both their
stares on him. “Probably isn’t the first time,” he replied easily. He sighed.
“And I’ve been thinking. Maybe…convincing them to open the Colony wouldn’t be
such a bad thing.”
Baiken glanced at him sharply, and Chipp frowned at them both. “Open the Colony,” he echoed.
“You know, I still haven’t figured out what the hell you’re talking about.”
“Do you remember how we got
here?” Baiken finally spoke up. Her voice was
somewhat hoarse from the hangover she must have been suffering.
“Well, yeah.” Chipp
pursed his lips as he recalled. “We came over that weird bridge.” He indicated
the huge statue of a man on the horizon, and the long suspension bridge it held
which terminated abruptly at the top of its curve. “So?”
“When we went over that bridge,
we went through…well, a rift in space,” Anji took up
the explanation. “We’re not in the normal world right now—this Colony was
created through magic, in a pocket of space. Kind of like another dimension.
That’s why only certain people can come in and out, and why we’re protected
from the outside world.”
“Shit, really?” Chipp scratched his head thoughtfully. “Like…the outer
dimensional prisons?”
Baiken snorted. “Yes. Like the prisons.”
They both glanced to her, but
before Anji could protest she continued. “We may be
supposedly ‘safe’ here, but we’re also cut off from the rest of the world. If
the Bureau wanted, it could destroy us all in an instant—everything here,
without any effort at all.” She looked abruptly to Chipp.
“Do you know how old Wakami is?”
“Wakami? Um…no, but….” Chipp blushed
a little. “I thought, maybe…nineteen?”
“She looks it, doesn’t she?” She
retrieved her pipe. “But people in the Colony age
differently—slower than outside, to preserve the Japanese race as long as
possible. It’s as if the magic that created the Colony taps into a
person’s natural longevity and lengthens it, with the help of a person’s Ki. Wakami is at least in her
thirties, if I remember. Her brother is twice that.” She took a breath on her
pipe. “And their father has been around since the beginning of the Colony.”
“But that’s over a hundred
years!” Chipp protested. He turned his wide,
disbelieving gaze on Anji. “What about you?”
Anji smiled thinly. “Forty-two
next month.”
“Damn! That girly-looking guy is
older than you? You’re forty? Chipp leaned
forward to see Baiken. “And you?”
Anji glanced to her as well—he himself had
never gotten an answer out of her, though he knew she had to have been a great
deal older than him. But she only puffed on her pipe, seeming to have no
intention of giving them a number. “Old enough,” she replied at last.
Anji smiled slightly to hide his
disappointment. “Now, Chipp,” he said, “you know it’s
not polite to ask a woman her age.”
“She brought it up,” he muttered,
crossing his arms. “What’s the big deal?”
“The point is, the Colony has
been away from the world for a long time,” Baiken
resumed. “Its people are weak. They don’t care about the truth, or about
danger. They’re fools. Which is why Anji
and I left here in the first place.”
She looked to him pointedly, and Anji found he couldn’t deny it. The Colony had always been
home to him, and he loved it and its people dearly, but he, like Baiken, had always been aware of its suffocating confines.
Unlike his peers he longed for the truth—truth they would never reach locked
away as they were now.
Anji sighed softly, just as Wakami returned with a hastily prepared lunch for them.
“You’re right,” he said, softly. “Slayer was right.” He lifted his head. “It’s
time we started to see the real world. All of us.”
*~*~*
Yuuya chewed idly on the end of his pipe as he
watched his father’s slow pacing. He felt fortunate that he had not inherited
his father’s tendency toward the habit; the rhythmic tapping of his feet
against the tatami was vaguely irritating in
its consistency. Yuuya himself was reclined easily in
the corner. All this debate seemed a waste of time, with the council waiting,
and him already knowing what conclusion his father would reach. He blew a slow
ring of smoke. “Father.”
Murase’s eyes snapped to him, though he did not
halt his pacing. “Yes?”
“We both already know your
decision,” Yuuya told him easily. “So you might as
well just tell the council.”
Murase sighed heavily. “It’s not that simple,”
he muttered with a shake of his head. “Even if we convince the United Nations,
we’ll have to rebuild the entire Colony from scratch on poisoned land. And if
that man is alive, we’ll be completely vulnerable to attack. The risk is—”
“Father. Why do you always stall like that?”
Murase turned to glare at him, though Yuuya was already considering himself
victorious in that he had forced the man to stop his pacing. The man smiled
thinly. “I’m old. I’m entitled to take my time.” He crossed his arms. “And just
because you happen to be fond of that woman doesn’t mean you should agree with
her so much.”
Yuuya rolled his eyes. “Are you just incapable
of admitting that she’s right?” he countered. “Just because you don’t like her
doesn’t mean you should disagree with her so much.”
Murase frowned at him, but his son was already
winning him over. “If I send a delegation to
“Why do you think I’m all for
it?” Yuuya chuckled as he pushed to his feet. “Maybe
I want to see the world, too.”
Murase was silent a moment—looking as if he
might return to his pacing—and then sighed again, drawing a hand over his face.
“Very well,” he said at last. “We will alert the Council, and then the populace
to gather their approval. And then you will lead a delegation to
Yuuya’s lip curled as he followed his father.
“That’s more like it.”
*~*~*
When Venom awoke, he was fairly
certain he had never suffered so awful a headache in his life—he felt as if his
entire body were throbbing, making him wince when he tried to open his eyes to
a well-lit room. Despite this, the agony in his skull was not the greatest of
his concerns. As soon as he started to sit up his stomach twisted nauseously.
Clapping a hand over his mouth to stall himself he stumbled hastily toward the
hotel bathroom.
“Whoa, whoa—” Someone followed
him in, and Venom was too distracted by his discomfort to be alarmed by the
unexpected company. As he dropped before the toilet a pair of hands touched his
face, drawing his hair back as he finally retched.
Behind him, the stranger
chuckled. “Long hair and booze don’t mix well, do they?”
Venom coughed weakly, but was
forced to pause his questioning for another bout of vomiting. When finally it
seemed his stomach was empty he leaned back on his heels. “Who are you?” he
croaked.
“You don’t remember?” The man
offered him a glass of water, which he quickly accepted to clean his mouth
with. “I’m Axl. We shared drinks last night. Ring a
bell?”
“Oh….” Venom grimaced, hunting up
a towel to use to wipe his face. Slowly, it came back to him—the strange pair
of Axls, the bar… He rubbed at his throbbing temples.
“Yes, I remember.”
“Well, good.”
Axl tugged the handkerchief off his head, using it to
tie Venom’s hair back. “Can’t hold your liquor, can you? I warned you about
that Vodka. When you’re up to it you should drink some of this French tea stuff
the maid brought up—it does wonders.”
Venom frowned in alarm as he
pushed carefully to his feet. “Maid?” To think that someone might have seen him… He ran a hand
over his hair self-consciously.
“Don’t worry, she didn’t
recognize you or nothing,” Axl assured, having easily
read the concern on his face. He wandered back into the main room. “Come have a
drink.”
Though Venom’s stomach threatened
to rebel again at the mere thought of consumption, he flushed the toilet and
followed Axl back into the room. He took a seat on
the bed edge as he continued to rub his temples. “I don’t drink often,” he
confessed. He wished he would have remembered as much while they were still in
the bar.
“That’s obvious,” Axl chuckled. He poured Venom a cup of tea and insisted he
drink it. “But we had a good time, right?”
“I suppose.” Venom only took
small sips of the drink, though he found the warm smell really was helping to
calm his stomach. But the settling of that uncertainty allowed him to realize
how uncomfortable he felt with his full face exposed, he was quick to undo the
handkerchief Axl had offered him. The brush of hair
over his face was more of a comfort than he would ever admit. “What time is
it?”
“Almost two in the afternoon,” Axl replied, sipping his own tea. “You were starting to
worry me—I thought I’d have to pay for another night.”
He chuckled good
naturedly, but Venom couldn’t help but frown as he watched the man through his
hair. He was still baffled as to why a man like this would desire his company.
Though by now he had given up his suspicions of the man as a police spy, that left him even more clueless as to his motives.
“Why?” Venom asked abruptly, even
realizing he had asked this question before with unsatisfactory results. “Why
are you taking care of me?”
“Am I?” Axl
shrugged carelessly. “Sympathy. I was pretty far gone
this morning, too, you know, and no one likes puking in their hair.”
“I don’t mean just that,” Venom
persisted. He wasn’t sure why it bothered him so much, but he was determined to
know. “Sharing drinks, this room…I’m a wanted criminal.”
Axl shrugged again, his eyes slipping away as
if suddenly uncomfortable. “It’s not like an assassin has any reason to go
after me, is there?” he said. “Besides…it’s not so bad. Not having to spend the
holiday alone.”
Venom frowned sharply at that. He
had spent several holidays alone, and not given them a second thought. Even now
it seemed overrated; if spending the evening with company meant a night of
confusion and a raging hangover in the morning, he suspected he would be perfectly
happy to spend the next several holidays in solitude.
Before Venom could say as much
there was a knock on the door, and Axl bounded
eagerly to his feet to answer. “I bet that’s lunch,” the blonde said happily.
“I know it’s kind of late for that, but you’ll feel
better after you eat, and I’m starved. I hope you like soup.”
Venom turned away as the door was
opened, still deep in thought as Axl’s flirting with
the young maid continued on the edge of his perception. He reasoned that
someone in his situation should have been pleased to be invited to drinks on
the night of a celebration. To not awake alone in a cheap
motel but with company, with food waiting. But these things only made
his mood darken mysteriously, and he couldn’t bring himself to be grateful.
Axl thanked the maid, and Venom couldn’t help
but glance up curiously. He caught a glimpse of the young woman’s face—and,
just beyond her, a tall woman passed down the hall. She was a soft-featured
brunette with wide, dark eyes, and as she turned up her scarf Venom just barely
saw a pair of small scars at the base of her neck.