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Post by MikoChansGhost on Nov 5, 2003 23:22:44 GMT -5
[unknown to the assorted types or organisms gathered around the once breathing life-form known as 'some random anynomus assassin disguised as a servant sent to kill Cain', a new lifeform in the abdominal regions of the assassin's body was slowly growing--courtesy of the sodium flouroacetate mixed with as yet unidentified substances combined with super unnaturally horrendous cooking abilities as well as a minor cosmic unbalance around the area coincidentally used by Tsuzuki for cooking, thus resulting in an unnatural warp of time and space. all this, upon reaching the various gastrical juices of said would-be-assassin sparked off a quantum-chemical reaction which resulted in the universal rule of Mixing Things-That-Were-Not-Meant-to-be-Mixed coming into play. which was to say that the assassin, after a few moments of unstable flickering in and out of reality as his body was trying to sort out whether it actually had a right to exist or not, caused his stomach to explode. Messily. cheerfully splattering the drab, white tiles with varying hues of joival bright red commonly found everywhere during chinese new year in abstract splatter patterns which would have sold for thousands if it had been on canvas. and in the remains of the dead assassin's stomach, a little organism that Wasn't-Meant-to-Be-Under-Natural-Circumstances, changed its name to Came-to-Be-by-Freak-Cooking-Accident.
No one noticed a little bloodied and strangely misshapened cinnamon roll crawl out of the dead man's stomach and wander off into the depths of the mansion...
On an [possibly] unrelated note on the side effects of quantum-chemical occurances, A Really, Really Huge Rock with the characters for Mt. Konron on it crashed through the roof and flattened a napping Terazuma, after which it promptly disappeared back into China 1100 B.C.
"Why me..."
=== I just had to put abit of Houshin Engi into the fic XD I just got into it, and the manga is GREAT! Just too bad the anime wasn't as good...
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Post by TsukiyamasGhost on Nov 5, 2003 23:23:23 GMT -5
His assailant had taken the initiative by apologising profusely and introducing himself as Watari Yutaka. This degenerate self-proclaimed Frenchman was part of the team investigating the Hargrieves household, apparently. Assuming this guy had no idea who he was, and with no obvious alternative, Jezebel introduced himself. “Well, I happen to be the Hargrieves’ family doctor, the Count’s physician and I was not informed about your arrival.” He lied, hoping he wouldn’t be exposed, at least not without a nearby window from which to make a dramatic exit.*
“What exactly are you here to investigate, may I ask?” “Erm, well, there have been a number of suspicious deaths which seem to be in some way related to Count Hargrieves…” Yes, I know, I’m responsible for some of them. “Granted, but why should the French be interested?” Monsieur Watari looked at a loss in the face of these questions. Had the shinigami had the foresight to brief their number with a more substantial cover story, or indeed who else they might encounter on this assignment, Watari might not have felt compelled to do what he did next. He removed a vial of inert looking liquid from his pocket and… Dropped it. “Oops.” Thankfully, ‘sex change formula #4907’ was about as effective and any of Watari’s other concoctions and simply released a copious amount of noxious vapours which left both men doubled over for several minutes, coughing and an interesting stain on the lawn that would perplex the gardener for years to come. The scientist paused to scribble a few observations down in a notebook, formula #4907, unsuccessful, he noted, sadly. When he looked up, the Dr had taken the opportunity to leave.
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*Everyone in ‘Cain seems to do this, Alexis, Jez, Lief’s fiancée (I forget her name) etc.
You have no idea how much work I ought to be doing instead of this… Oh and I’ve got plans for a rendezvous with Muraki next. XDXD.
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Post by YuesGhost on Nov 5, 2003 23:23:58 GMT -5
/ oh no! / thought Watari, he was a nice guy to experience on... Pouting, he started walking in the direction the other blond doctor had taken when he heard a hight pitch screem. but with the Doctor accent. Hoping against hopes his potion had just need time to work, he run towards the sounds and found... the normal doctor.
Sadly, he hook his head, while silently laughting for the well fit man to have such a girly screem. He idly wonder if Jez would be a better uke or seme? but his thougts, naughty ones at that, were once again interrupt* by a ear pieciing cry by Jez who then run past Watari, still screeming his head off. It was only then that the shinigami saw what the other was running from. His eyes opened wide and his mouth hang out in terror, befor he fled for his life too ...
..a bloody cinamon rolll at his wake.
___________
* is that written,like this? my english's so ba~~d =____=;;;;
Now bring Muraki in the infernal blond duo XD
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Post by RisuChansGhost on Nov 5, 2003 23:28:09 GMT -5
:: piku piku :: ...cinnamon rolls making like refugees from the Alien movie. Phrases I never thought I'd have any reason to write... ^^;;; what an amazing world... Yue: Almost; I think you need 'interrupted' instead of 'interrupt' for the tense there. ^_^
I don't know if I'm going to get this done tonight, I might come back and edit and tag more on tomorrow if I don't, it's getting late in this time zone and I haven't officially finished my homework yet ^^;;; (I cared so much more when I actually depended on graduating; now that I've got the diploma, it's like 'whatever, I just want the information, I don't care what grade they give me...') (erm) anyhow, on with the story! (sweatdrop) I tend to ramble MORE when I'm tired, so that's a pretty scary thing...
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Terazuma, sporting a large white bandage wrapped around his skull, looked even crankier than usual. Merry tried to keep herself behind her big brother or the considerably bigger Riff whenever possible, thinking that there were certain things she knew which made 'the whole truth and nothing but the truth' a distinctly uncomfortable proposition at the moment.
"Don't be preposterous," Cain said. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to hire reliable help when you already have a reputation as 'the Count of Poison'? I make it a point of pride never to experiment on my staff! And to go around deliberately killing them off - did the mountain that fell on your head do that much brain damage? Why on earth would I?"
"So that you wouldn't have to pay her severance and unemployment benefits," Terazuma growled, touching the bandage on his head defensively.
Cain blinked twice, and asked, "What are 'severance and unemployment benefits,' and why should I have to pay them to anyone, let alone kill to avoid them?"
Terazuma's jaw fell open. Then he took a deep enough breath to roar the roof down, even without Kuro-chan putting in an appearance.
* * * Half an hour later, when Tsuzuki had finally managed to explain certain distinct differences in labor and child labor laws which had developed over the past century to both sides of the temporal divide, Terazuma had stopped shouting and fallen back on the expedient of stalking around the kitchen growling at anything that moved and several that didn't.
"Honestly, man," Cain said, with a wave of a hand that carefully came nowhere near touching the pan of baked goods in question. "Aside from the fact that anyone who took a substance looking and smelling like that and deliberately put it in his or her mouth was likely too stupid to survive anyway..."
Merry flinched a little further behind Riff; Tsuzuki said loudly, "Excuse me! Those are almost perfect cinnamon buns! I'm sure I'll get it right the next time, and look, there's not a thing wrong with these!"
To prove it, he scooped one up and bit into it enthusiastically.
Merry made a small startled half-scream of protest; Hisoka buried his face in one hand.
"Tsuzuki, you idiot, you're ALREADY dead! And if anything could still kill you again, your own cooking would have done it so long ago that we wouldn't be able to have this conversation right now, now would we?"
For once, Tsuzuki didn't have a response available; he'd turned a rather startling shade of blue-green, and seemed to have stopped moving or breathing entirely.
Both the living and the dead watched him in appalled fascination.
Finally, he choked a little, wheezed, gasped, grabbed a napkin to spit the mouthful of cinnamon bun into, and picked up the rest of the tray to throw its contents into the hearthfire.
The fire started to burn a disturbing shade of green.
Weakly, Tsuzuki said to Terazuma, "Mr. Hargreaves does seem to have made a rather compelling point about the, er, general edibility of... um... I suppose I really shouldn't call them cinnamon buns, considering..."
Hisoka walked over, picked up the empty tray in one hand and the gingerly bundled-up napkin in the other, and threw both into the fire as well.
Terazuma stared into the green-burning fire for a long, long moment. Under the crackling of the flames, there were disturbing sounds which might have been mistaken for tiny agonized screams.
Wearily, shaking his head for fear it might come off, Terazuma said to Hisoka, "You're in charge now. I'm going to go get drunk out of my mind and try to forget I ever saw any of this..."
"Hey! I'm the one with seniority, remember?" Tsuzuki protested.
"You're the one who made the monstrosities that poisoned that poor stupid girl," Terazuma shot back. "That makes you more than a suspect, it makes you guilty of accidental homicide! Be glad I don't lock you up and ship you back to Tokyo while I'm at it!"
"But then nobody here would be able to invent cinnamon buns," Tsuzuki said. "You need me here. Admit it."
Quietly, Cain reached into a sideboard for a bottle of brandy which he handed to Terazuma. Terazuma nodded mute gratitude, turned, and walked an almost straight line out of the kitchen.
"Now, then," Cain said, dusting his hands together. "The fundamental question, of course, is what on earth got put into those cinnamon buns. Since all our evidence has just been charred to ash--" He looked pointedly at Hisoka, who looked right back at him without the slightest sign of penitence.
"Did you want those things still sitting around in the kitchen where people might have mistaken them for food?"
"You don't know how many toxins I keep in the basement," Cain retorted sourly. "In any case. Since the point has now become moot, Tsuzuki, would you show me what precisely you put into those -- those--" For once, words failed him.
"I don't know," Tsuzuki said. "That's why they call it an experiment, right? At least, that's what Watari always says."
In a tiny voice, Merry said, "I think I have a couple guesses, big brother. I was... er... kind of... helping..."
They all turned to look at her.
Merry flinched back behind Riff's elbow again; gently, he reached back to coax her forward.
"From the descriptions," Riff said very carefully, "I'm sure that you were certainly helping Mr. Tsuzuki."
"At the least, she couldn't have done any harm he wouldn't have gotten into by himself sooner or later," Hisoka said.
"Hey!"
Cain bent slightly to look his sister straight in the eyes. "So, Merry," he said. "You said you had some guesses? Which are your best guesses?"
Merry went to the cupboard to look for all the boxes of ingredients which weren't the cinnamon sticks; they'd thrown a little bit of everything in sooner or later.
--to be continued sometime... ^_~ --
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Post by TsukiyamasGhost on Nov 5, 2003 23:28:30 GMT -5
The following takes place while Tsuzuki is in the kitchen doing bad things with cinnamon… ---------------------
There was something distinctly odd about these ‘investigators’. Well, actually, there was a /lot/ odd about them. And he hadn’t intended to be noticed just yet. However, with his cover blown the Dr saw little point in sneaking around anymore and was blatantly walking around the second third floor of the house occasionally nodding to a servant he recognised as one of Delilah’s minions. And what the hell had that…that creature lurking in the flowerbed been? Still, he consoled himself with how pleased Alexis would be with him if he came back with some interesting news about Cain.
He stopped short of turning a corner when he heard an exasperated voice. “Tsuzuki!? Are you in there? We do have work to do, you know.” Hmm. Tsuzuki. The Dr watched as a fair-haired boy in a dress hesitated a moment outside one of the guestroom doors before apparently giving up on anyone being in there. He turned and was headed off to the kitchens when he noticed the Dr who was still standing there. He looked down at his lacy, confection-like attire and blushed before gathering his skirts and brushing swiftly past with a swish of silk and a scowl. Had he not been already concentrating on how he was going to get into that room, the Dr might have noticed how that lavender really set off the boy’s complexion beautifully and the style of the dress showed an almost provocative amount of shoulder and chest… He was, however, already trying the door handle. He might as well wait for this violet-eyed Frenchman here. As it happened he found the door unlocked. It was dark in this room, as if the curtains were drawn. This, of course, meant he had no idea what was happening when he found himself immediately pinned against the wall and the door slamming beside him. Even before his eyes became accustomed to the darkness his assailant was pressing a thigh between his own and holding one hand up against the wall. He could feel breathing on his face. Most noticeable, however, was the hand at his throat. With his free arm he retrieved a scalpel from somewhere about his person and applied it to the hand, which withdrew, swiftly. “Go on, I like it when you struggle-wait-you’re not Tsuzuki!” the smooth, male voice interrupted itself incredulously. “You’re not Tsuzuki?” Across the room, the curtains jerked themselves open revealing his attacker. A white-haired, odd eyed gentleman in an impeccable suit of various shades of white, red on one cuff where he was bleeding from a scalpel cut. Slowly, deliberately he drew his tongue across the wound, smiling.
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Well, there you go. Anything could happen in the next half hour. Where’s our Muraki? :hurls the fic baton into the crowd:
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Post by CrisisGhost on Nov 5, 2003 23:29:12 GMT -5
*gets smacked by the baton* Owwww... Hmmm...hope I'm doing this right. Never written for a Round Robin before. I've played in plenty of email RPGs where one character is assigned to each player but isn't allowed to touch someone else's character. So everytime I write for another character besides my own here, I feel like I'm doing something terribly terribly sinful. *blinks* Must...get...over...that... Hehe...let's see what insane homocidal trouble the two mad doctors can cause when together...
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“That hurt, you know,” Muraki murmured, raising his injured hand up to the window and examining the different shades blood could take on when hit by light at various angles. Continuing to focus on the wound and the bone structure of his hand, he continued, “really, humans are simply too frail. Why, their bodies force them to feel pain over a mere knife cut or the simple disconnection of the thumb from the rest of the hand. Pointless, isn’t it?” The silver haired gentleman pressed closer against his mistaken Tsuzuki. With one swift action he had his fingers firmly wrapped around the other man’s wrist, thumb pushing down on the pressure point of Jezebel’s palm in an attempt to force the man to drop his scalpel.
Jezebel could feel his grip on the scalpel start to loosen, and forcefully swung the knife towards Muraki’s face. The sharp end of it grazed past Muraki, nearly making contact with the silver haired doctor’s oddly shaped eye. Caught by surprise, Muraki loosened his grip, allowing the other to squirm away and dash towards the other side of the room.
“Careful there!” Muraki exclaimed. He raised a hand up to his eye to ensure that it was unscathed. “It is not easy for me to find replacements for this. Connecting the nerve ends to this mechanical darling is costly, and I doubt anyone in this place could achieve such a feat.”
“Do not try anything like that again,” Jezebel warned, his scalpel having been replaced by a gun aimed in Muraki’s direction, “or you will find your brains enjoying a pleasant bath in my jar of preservatives.”
“Ah,” the right corner of Muraki’s lips lifted into a half smile, “a collector. I am one myself, though I’m particularly fond of a certain violent eyed man who should be here instead of you.”
“Would this violet eyed man happen to be a Mr. Tsuzuki?” Jezebel questioned warily. He simply could not get over the unsettling feeling that here was a man staring calmly at a revolver aimed at him without showing the slightest flinch of fear. Even Cain, who had dealt with every horror imaginable, still displayed alarm when his life was at threat. Stepping forward to cow the silver haired stranger, he heard a “clank” as his right foot brushed against something metal. He was able to determine it as being some kind of handcuff, though the odd fact that it was closed and locked escaped his notice.
Muraki noted the cuffs that Jezebel had grazed and rubbed his thumbs, relishing in the residue of pain still there.
“A Mr. Tsuzuki? Yes, that way of addressing him does sound rather nice. Allow me to introduce myself before we continue further. Doctor Muraki Kazutaka. I work at Tok...ah...the French International Hospital, and am currently accompanying the criminal investigation group from France. There was a certain Mr. Tsuzuki who I had been hoping to perform a little...‘medical checkup’ on, when you so crudely interrupted me. And you are?” Muraki extended a hand towards Jezebel, but the other doctor merely tightened his grip on the revolver and took another step forward.
“Doctor Jezebel Disraeli, Hargreaves family doctor. It appears you and I were both expecting to meet a violet eyed specimen in this room. After all, I am starting a nice collection, and a pair of purple eyes would look stunning next to my soon-to-be-acquired pair of golden-green orbs.”
Muraki smirked and advanced towards Jezebel, taking little notice of the gun still pointed at him.
“Now then,” he said smugly, “why don’t you put that toy away and help me search for our...‘specimen’...as you so lovingly called him. I’m sure that things would go much faster that way, and we can always divide him up between us. You can extract his eyes while I relish the rest of his lovely body. Or, if you prefer, we could also slice him in half, though you would only receive one eye in that case.”
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Ahhhh Muraki and Jezebel meet. Me thinks the cinnamon buns aren't going to be the only things doing the killings from now on. ~.^
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CrystalGryphonsGhost
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Post by CrystalGryphonsGhost on Nov 5, 2003 23:29:49 GMT -5
I know I wasn't in on this originally, but given the status of the thread, I didn't figure anyone would mind if I borrowed the homicidal cinnamon roll for a bit. --------------------------------------------- It was quite frustrated at having lost its prey. First the two blond humans had split up, and then the one it had chosen to follow had jumped up and simply hung in the air, and although homicidal animate cinnamon rolls have many peculiar aptitudes, the ability to fly is not among them. Alas, several minutes of searching the grounds had failed to turn up any other potential victims (except that pale-haired, pale-eyed creature with the bloodied shirt cuff, who had given it such a dangerous smile that the cinnamon roll had been disenclined to tangle with him), and frustration was rapidly becoming mingled with boredom. Clearly, there were no more prey-creatures out here. Therefore, they had all gone somewhere else. And therefore . . . therefore, it would be necessary to get back inside the building. (This was rather an impressive deduction on its part, for, just as cinnamon rolls cannot fly, they are not particularly renowned for their brains.) Of course, getting back inside the Hargreaves mansion was also easier said than done, for the peculiar cosmic event which had created the cinnamon roll had failed to implant the concept of "door" in the construct which the deviant baked good used as a mind. The only opening it could find was a crack in the foundations where some mortar had crumbled, and squeezing itself through that crack was rather uncomfortable to say the least, even before it fell the three feet or so down to the shelf that was positioned below the crack. The cinnamon roll decided that it was having a bad day. It also decided, after it had had a moment to recover its composure, that the room it was now in was Most Fascinating. All those jars and bottles and vials full of colourful powders and liquids were just, well, *neat*, and the other items carefully arranged here and there--dried flower petals, and leaves, and roots, and other things less identifiable--were likewise interesting. And appetizing. It having been several hours since it had eaten its way out of anyone, the cinnamon roll was hungry. It oozed its way over to the nearest pile of leaves and engulfed it, and had anyone else been present, they would no doubt have been puzzled by the soft belch which then ensued from behind the tall jar at the front of the shelf. It was only when the cinnamon roll had left that oh-so-fascinating room in search of new prey that rumblings from somewhere in its midsection informed it that perhaps eating those leaves had not been such a good idea after all, and it decided to take a nap in a nice quiet place until its stomach could settle. And so it oozed up a flight of narrow, ill-lit stairs and under the first door to the left in the hallway at the top. The cinnamon roll was not knowledgeable enough to realize that the uncarpeted floor and narrow bed indicated that this room was in the servants' quarters. It could not read the spines of the well-thumbed medical textbooks stacked on the desk, or identify the piece of furniture onto which it was now climbing as a dresser, but when it had oozed inside the half-empty[1] top drawer and settled itself in beside the neatly-balled-up socks, it knew it had found just the place it was looking for. And a good thing, too, for its discomfort was growing worse by the minute. Hidden inside Riff's sock drawer, the cinnamon roll slowly grew to twice its original size, shuddered, and . . . divided. ------------------------------------------------- [1] The question of whether the drawer is half-empty because a man "born with his clothes on" doesn't have to change his underwear all that often, or because Riff starches his boxer shorts and keeps them on hangers in the closet, is left to the interest of the reader. And now someone else had better get in there and rescue the Hargreaves household and the Shinigami before they're all eaten by mutant cinnamon rolls (or knifed by Muraki and Jezebel, whichever).
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Post by CrisisGhost on Nov 5, 2003 23:30:34 GMT -5
OOC: Hmmm...I'm going to pick up on that cute little idea Risu-chan left about Tatsumi finding a note from Cain, since I'm itching to write and Muraki is itching from the dust he's collecting. ^^ Whoever wants to claim him afterwards (didn't someone express an interest in him before?), just raise your hand in the Cain/Yami crossover logistics thread! Oh yes, just keep in mind that the letter Tatsumi receives from Cain was written days after the cinnamon bun fiasco and Muraki’s meeting with Jezebel.
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Back in JuOhCho, year 2003, Tatsumi sat in his desk with the newspaper in his hand, basking in the peacefulness of the empty office. Sending the shinigami off to the past had been an ingenious idea on his part. As of the late, there was no rabid Tsuzuki devouring everything in sight, and none of the office workers had magically switched genders. Life was good.
Tatsumi took a bite into Tsuzuki's box of cinnamon buns that had been left behind during the shinigami's time travel. He frowned at the cinnamon bun, turned an unhealthy shade of green, spat it out, and dumped the box into the trashcan. Once his face had resumed its natural cover, he scanned the paper's front page again.
"City Panics Over Unusual State of Peace". Yes, sending Muraki to the past was definitely another one of his ingenious ideas. He was just full of clever ideas these days. Tatsumi pondered over the even more ingenious idea of kicking Konoe off the seat of power and taking over, but his brilliant plan formulation was interrupted by a letter that suddenly dropped onto his desk.
"What's this?" Tatsumi asked in surprise. The Gushoushin brothers who were hovered over his desk squawked, "a letter for you, Tatsumi-san! It's been sitting in the mailroom for two centuries because the instructions said it wasn't to be opened until today!" Tatsumi marveled mildly over how two floating birds could talk in unison so well, but quickly proceeded to open the letter after that.
The contents of it made him frown.
"To whomever it may concern,
Allow me to first introduce myself. I am Count Cain C. Hargreaves, master of the Hargreaves household which is currently housing a certain group of "French investigators" that you sent.
As of today, fifteen of my workers have been murdered as a result of a collaboration between the French doctor you sent and my mentally unstable half-brother. Five of my oriental rugs have been permanently stained with blood, and the draperies are completely unsalvageable. In addition, half of my irreplaceable poison collection has been consumed by a biologically impossible bakery item created by one of your “investigators”, which in turn has murdered twelve more workers and scared off the remaining three. The only servant I have left is my personal butler, who suffers attacks of epilepsy every time he is asked to open his underwear drawer.
I kindly ask that you either pay for the damages caused by your investigators, or you personally come back here to prevent all this from happening. I do not like to make threats, but I assure you that your other investigators will have their hands full if this is not resolved.
Sincerely,
Count Cain C. Hargreaves”
Tatsumi glanced back at the newspaper. “London Suffers Biggest Blow to Tourism because of Ghost Encounters”. “Unsettled Spirits Roam England’s Shopping Mall’s Freely”. “Massive Death by way of Infected Cinnamon Buns”. With a sigh, he threw the paper down and stomped out of the room. “Tatsumi-san, where are you going?” Gushoushin Elder squawked. “To the past.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Tatsumi swore he saw a green cinnamon bun crawl out of the trashcan.
* * * * *
Two centuries earlier, Tatsumi popped into the kitchen where people were still gawking at the bloodied body. He frowned at Tsuzuki. “T...Tatsumi!” the violet-eyed man squeaked.
Elsewhere, the cinnamon bun had just climbed into Riff’s underwear drawer.
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OOC: Hehe...how did everyone like the letter? ~.^
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Post by EmberFangsGhost on Nov 5, 2003 23:31:10 GMT -5
Would anyone mind if I added my two cents?...^_^' Err...I think no one does...well here goes nothing! ~*~
Cooing lovingly to it's nest of cinnamon-rollings, the proud cinnamon roll mother compulsively arranged the small nest made out of un-balled socks and a few rare pairs of underwear yet again.
It had just went through a major binary fission, and the product, six wonderful little cinnamon-rollings! Chewing dutifully on a silk boxer, it sank into a light sleep, it's offspring actively dividing again and again.
~*~
To say Riff was shocked when he opened his sock/underwear drawer was a gross understatement.
He stood there in nothing more then a towel, dripping wet after a rare bathing session, and opened his drawer, expecting to find nothing more then clean balled up pairs of socks, and a neat stack of boxers, not a nest of mutant cinnamon rolls binary fissioning in a nest of fabrics.
The edge of the towel, clutched tightly in his hand to protect his modesty, slipped from his clutches and pooled at his feet.
"Cinnamon..." He did not scream, did not panic, he just stared, motionless at the cinnamon rolls, which hissed venomously upon spotting the frozen butler.
"Riff! Riff! Are you there?" Even the irate voice of his master could not awaken Riff from his frozen state, and when it seemed Cain finally given up on finding out whether Riff was there, the door suddenly burst open.
"Riff!" Cain's voice, no longer muffled by the thick wooden door echoed through the room, which thus, finally awoke Riff.
"Cain?!" Whirling from his position, the naked butler turned to face his Master who turned a crimson red upon seeing his...erm.."thing".
~*~
Two different voices, could be heard screaming in unison, scaring all birds who nested in the nearby forests surrounding the Mansion.
~*~
^_^ Well...Crystal_Gryphon did say it was up to our imagination where Riff placed his boxers...so...he.he.he. I'm a real sadist.
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Post by EmberFangsGhost on Nov 5, 2003 23:31:47 GMT -5
^_^' Silly me, I forgot to mention that Cain was looking for Riff about his missing poisons.
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CrystalGryphonsGhost
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Post by CrystalGryphonsGhost on Nov 5, 2003 23:32:37 GMT -5
The cinnamon roll had now had *enough*. It had been pleased with itself when it had drifted off to sleep, one auditory organ half-cocked to listen for sounds of distress coming from its brood (or for the first cry of "Mama!"), but now it had been rudely awakened by a sudden influx of bright light and an unpleasantly loud and high-pitched noise coming from these two human creatures. They were disturbing the babies--and just to add insult to injury, they were clearly too bony to even be worth eating! Nevertheless, the cinnamon roll was a good mother, and knew its duty. It drew itself up to its full height, and *growled*. To its immense gratification, the two humans scrambled backwards, nearly falling over each other in their attempts to get through the door and out into the hallway.
The immediate threat was thereby neutralized, but even the cinnamon roll's slow thought processes had ground far enough forward for it to realize that the refuge it had chosen wasn't, in fact, a very safe place. It needed to find a location that the humans couldn't easily get at, but which was also close to a food source--couldn't have the children's growth getting stunted, after all.
The deviant pastry rolled up several pair of still-balled-up socks in a pair of silk boxers and hoisted the package to what served it for a shoulder, then hitched itself up onto the edge of the drawer and chirruped to its brood, indicating that they should follow.
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Meanwhile, out in the hallway, Riff and Cain were leaning against the wall furthest from the open doorway to Riff's room, watching rather dazedly as the baby cinnamon rolls poured out of the drawer and oozed through a crack that marred the wall not far from the window. Then Cain, cheeks still stained with pink, reached out and shut the door.
"I don't think either of us should go back in there quite yet--Riff, are you all right?"
"I . . . Give me a moment, please, sir." Riff was slowly sliding down the wall as his knees gave way. "I believe I am in shock."
Cain glanced quickly in either direction and, seeing neither "French investigators" nor any of the other servants, sat down beside his butler and began to remove his jacket. "Here, cover yourself up." *If you can,* he added mentally. The young count had never had any idea that Riff was so shockingly . . . well-endowed. It was enough to make him blush again just thinking about it. "Once you've gotten yourself together, we'll see about finding you something to wear, even if we have to borrow from one of our . . . guests." He looked down at his lap, and added thoughtfully, "I had come looking for you originally to ask if you'd seen anyone in the general area of my poison collection, but I'm fairly certain that I now know where the missing items from it went."
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The space below the stairs wasn't quite as pleasant a place as Riff's dresser drawer, but it was dark and quiet, and, best of all from the cinnamon roll's point of view, it was accessible only via a three-inch-high crack between two sections of baseboard. It crooned softly to its children as it unballed the socks it had brought with it and arranged them into a new nest.
Then it felt a vibration in the flooring, and slipped a little way back out through the crack to have a look.
A human was coming up the hallway outside--a human much plumper than the two that had disturbed it upstairs. Perfect.
The unsuspecting servant had no idea what hit her when the family of cinnamon rolls fell to like a horde of starving land-piranha. A few moments later, there was nothing left in the hallway but a neat pile of gleaming white bones.
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CrystalGryphonsGhost
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Post by CrystalGryphonsGhost on Nov 5, 2003 23:33:20 GMT -5
Well, here we go. This should fit in between Crisis' and ember_fang's parts. The cinnamon roll isn't in it--gomen--but it does explain how Riff ended up having to wash up. -------------------------------------------------- Tsuzuki met the steely blue eyes hidden behind his co-worker's glasses, and his heart sank as he realized that whatever Tatsumi was thinking of doing to him was going to be infinitely worse than just filling out the usual collection of expense reports. In an attempt to escape his fate, he did the first thing that popped into his head: he started backing away from Tatsumi while glancing quickly around the room looking for an exit. Unfortunately, there wasn't much room for him to back into, and he ended up with his rump pressed against the counter, scrabbling both hands over a surface still strewn with the debris from his earlier attempt at cinnamon-roll-baking. If his hand hadn't come down on the handle of that particular spoon, things might still have turned out all right. Or at least, that was what Tsuzuki always insisted later on, whenever the subject came up. The spoon in question was large and balanced on an angle against the edge of a mostly-empty jar containing what might have been sugar cubes. When Tsuzuki's hand hit its handle, it acted like a miniature catapult, sending several of said cubes arcing across the counter. Which might still have been all right, if one of the cubes (which apparently were not sugar, although the label on the jar was in such poor condition that Tsuzuki--or so he maintained later--might have been excused for thinking that they were) hadn't landed in a bowl containing the residue of some unidentifiable liquid, which then proceeded to undergo what Watari might have termed (had he been there, instead of floating in mid-air outside in the yard, not having realized that the cinnamon roll had gotten bored and left a while back) a violently exothermic reaction. In other words, there was an explosion sufficiently forceful to shake the entire kitchen, leaving Tsuzuki blinking and blackened. And while everyone was staring, appalled, at the violet-eyed shinigami, a large jar that had been precariously balanced on top of a cabinet on the other side of the room toppled, bounced off the wall, and broke, spraying treacly strawberry preserves all over the unfortunate Riff. When everyone had turned their appalled stares in the butler's direction, Tsuzuki began edging towards the nearest door. He was almost there when a vise-like grip clamped down on his elbow. Tsuzuki gave Tatsumi a puppy-eyed look, but the steely blue gaze of the other Shinigami never wavered, and Tsuzuki's tail and ears began to droop. He was *really* in for it now. * * * Meanwhile, Count Cain C. Hargreaves had his face buried in the palm of his hand and was trying valiantly not to cry. It took him several minutes for him to master himself and raise his head. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I didn't mean to--" Tsuzuki was babbling. Cain sighed. "Never mind that. What's done is done," *and at least there's no carpeting in here*, he added mentally. "Riff, go get yourself cleaned up, then get one of the maids in here. And then start working on getting rid of the body." "Of course, sir." The butler put aside the towel he had been using in an attempt to clean the sticky jam off his hands and face and exited the room in the general direction of the back stairs. The man that Tsuzuki had addressed as "Tatsumi" raised an eyebrow. "Your staff seems remarkably . . . sanguine . . . about having to deal with unexpected dead bodies. Does this sort of thing happen to you often?" Cain winced. "Often enough, unfortunately. At least this time we know whose body it is, and how the person in question died, *and* it's obvious that there was no poison involved. That makes things . . . remarkably easy, to be honest." Tatsumi opened his mouth to say something else, but was interrupted by another thing with which Cain was regrettably familiar--an incoherant scream of terror, coming from roughly the same direction as Riff had disappeared in. The young Count muttered a word of the sort that proper young noblemen were definitely *not* supposed to use in that time and place, and sprinted for the back stairs. The coppery scent wafting up from the basement told him immediately that he needed to go down, not up, and he breathed a sigh of relief--at least it wasn't Riff who had screamed--then chastized himself for so doing. If there was a pool of blood down there that was large enough that he could smell it from up *here*, there was probably another dead body lying at the center of it, and that was all he needed. Nevertheless, the young count descended the stairs, trailing "French investigators" in his wake. He stopped abruptly not two paces beyond the last step, for it was there that the blood began, and it wasn't just one body lying at the center of it. It was two of them. "Their throats appear to have been cut," Tatsumi observed. "Not the cinnamon roll, then," Cain muttered. "But who else would want to do a thing like this?" "When was the last time anyone saw Muraki?" Hisoka asked in a choked-sounding voice. "I--um," Tsuzuki replied coherantly. Cain edged past the pool of blood and discovered that there were two sets of footprints leading away from it. He knew that they were two distinct sets, rather that the mark of one person walking through the red pool twice, because they were of different sizes. Following them down the hall, he discovered that the smaller person hadn't gotten very much blood on his shoes, because that set of prints petered out after a dozen or so steps. The other set led on around a corner and past a door that should not have been open, until they reached the old slanted root-cellar door, and climbed up the steps to disappear outside. There was a third body at the foot of those steps, one of the maids'. Kneeling beside her, Cain determined that her body was still warm, meaning, doubtless, that it had been her scream he had heard, and the killers were only just far enough ahead of him to make them difficult to track by the time he got the massive slanted doors open. But before he went running after these people, there was something else he knew he absolutely had to check. Cain backed up to the open door of his poison room and swore out loud--making Merry, who had crowded down the stairs in the wake of the shinigami, exclaim in shock, as she was much more used to seeing the aftereffects of violence than she was to hearing Cain swear--as he saw the disorder inside. A hurried inventory told him that several items were missing, and he could only assume that they had been taken by the smaller-footed murderer. He pushed back past the shinigami and began to climb the stairs to the next floor. He needed to talk to Riff, *now*. * * * "Why did you bother having me take that thing, anyway?" Jezebel asked. "It's just one of Cain's poisons." Muraki looked up from the vial he was examining in the ray of sunlight that fell through a crack in the roof of the garden shed. "This is scarcely a simple poison, my dear Jezebel, although it can certainly be fatal when administered in more than minute quantities. However, when properly prepared . . ." He traced a symbol in the air above the vial with the tip of a blood-sticky knife, and smiled in satisfaction as the powder's colour changed from pale, sickly green to pale, sickly blue. " . . . and inhaled in very small quantities by one's chosen victim, it induces extreme suggestibility without being immediately fatal--rather like hypnotism, but without requiring lengthy preparation or a particularly suggestible subject." "And so?" "Well, you can scarcely have failed to note that we have been wandering around this house and its grounds for some time now without coming into contact with anyone but the servants. I think it is fairly clear that we are never going to find Tsuzuki this way. Therefore, an alternate approach is in order." Muraki paused to lick the blood from the blade of his knife before explaining his new plan to Jezebel, and was gratified to see that the blond was . . . lapping it up, so to speak. Having such an ally was so convenient. He would have to find a way to take the blond back to the future with him if at all possible. But first, he had to complete the hunt for his beloved . . . -------------------------------------------------- And now it's someone else's turn.
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Post by YuesGhost on Nov 5, 2003 23:34:12 GMT -5
Merryweather ducked back behind the corner she'd just turn, flushed at first but then slowy beginning to grin. One could've think seing her brother and Riff together in such a pose; Riff naked but from Cain's jacket on him sitting on the floor and said Count leaning toward him, ears still red. She may be seven or so years younguer than him, but she knew more of male anatomy then him, living in the streets as she did while he was kept secluded in a dark room alone for most of his youth. Plus, this was *Riff* of all person. She wasn't particulary pro-homosexuality but didn't had much of an education already to tell her men of those times weren't supposed to think that way; for now she only thought Cain deserved love at least. She grinned a bit more and deceided it was time she went back to make sure no one interuped them. After only a few meters, she met the Purple Eyed Nice Dead Guy. She lost her grin a bit, it was because of them that now there was a mad pastrie on the loose. He was still running up the passage but she was pleasently surprised to see he wasn't making much noise if any at all. She eyed his long legs and small waist warily. How light are dead guys anyway? But then he opened his mouth to ask who had scream or if they were alright.
Paniced because she hadn't think of an excuse yet, she wailled her hands helplessy and told him quietly:
"Erm, everythings fine, simple error!!"
Tsuzuki looked at her, puzzled, before frowning and starting past her. She took his arm in both her small hands and tried to keep him from seing anything.
"Erm, mister, are you here alone?" she asked him, afraid her lying skills weren't good enought for anyone smarter than this guy, wich meant most of everyone in the household.
"Yeah, the others are cleaning themselves from whatever exploded and sent me alone to investigate the 'results from my irresponsability' "
The "french investigator" pouted.
she sighed, releive, when an idea came to her. she grabbed the other's arm more firmly and dragged him into her nearby room, slamming shut the door behind them. She turned around to find the strange undead looking around exitatly, clearly not having been in a children's room often. He gawed at the numberous teddy bears and flower pots all around the room.
Merry sat on her canopied bed and studied him a while.
"Say, you're coming from France, aren't you?"
Tsuzuki looked at her uncertainly before nodding. He wasn't good at all at lying. Merry smiled at him, thought.
"Then, could you help me with my french homework? There is something I don't understand very well..."
The shinigami stared. Stare for a extravagant time before sweatdropping massivly. How could he get out of this mess? Tastumi was the one good at languages! This whole thing wasn't fair at all, -he- never wanted to lie to them. Maybe this was a trick? That little girl always looked at them weirdly with those huge eyes of hers, seeming to know exactly what they realy were. A bit the way Hisoka's eyes did. Ah! Maybe he could ask Hisoka for help? But then, reflected Tsuzuki, that would probaly earn him a hit on the head and a off hand remark to 'get out of this by your own'. Tsuzuki sweatdropped more.
"Er, do I have a choice?"
********
It had only been fifteen minutes and Tsuzuki was already in sweet-withdrawal. He needed sugar to survive to this. Not only has he been listening to Merry receite some things he didn'T understood a thing of and was supposed to tell her if she didn't pronunce something well, she kept raising her voices every so often for no apparent reasons, looking uncertainly at the wall on her side. He was completly lost at what to do, he wouldn't stand much longer.
Suddenly, he spot It.
A small thing, realy. Only a little bakery laying there innocently.
He didn't even realise what he was doing until it was in his mouth and was guliping it down.
********
One of the little cinnamon rolls woke up. What sences that thing posseced told him that he was the sole one awake, and that so because some guys upstairs were making a racket. A bit grumpy but curious, it sliped out of the confortable nest and out of its mother's guard. He walked, more rolled of anything, around the stairs,then proceed to climb them. Being sticky helped it. It would be said it leaved it's mark in this household.
As it passed one room down the corridor, it heard a little girl's voice. It wondered if children humans taste better. Well, only one way to find out. It slipped under the door and rolled out of immediate sight, amusing itself at playing spies, behind the low bedstand as it was.
The little girl was a bit too skinny for its taste, but she had a lovely voice. At least he guessed she had one, even if it did had the faculty to judge things, the child was fluctuating her level of voice, trying to cover the weird muffled noise comming steadily from the room next the hers.
Trying to get a better view of things, the baby cinnamon roll crawled it's way to the top of the nightstand. The sweet little thing didn't had a clue about its sad fate. Had it had eyes, it wouldn't have been able to blink before a large hand snatched it and it was eaten.
*****
/geez, *what* are they *doing*?!/
She was having a hard time concentrating on the french text and trying to speak on top of the low thumping noise coming from her brother's adjacent room. Not that she realy need to force herself on the lesson, it was plainly obvious the man in her room didn't understood a single thing anyway. That made her grin a bit as she raised her eyes to survey him.
She blinked.
Tsuzuki was on the floor, unconscious. She yelped and rushed to his side, the book she'd been holding falling to the floor. She tried to turn him on his back but he started moaning slightly. She called at him and he slowly opened watery eyes, panting. She helped him to her bed and went off in search of anyone who may know what's wrong with him.
Had she stayed, she would ahve heard him murmuring in his broking in fever, just before he clutch at his stomach as a wave of stomachache stab him and he rolled into a tight ball in the middle of the lacy bed and plushies.
"Maybe I shouldn't have eaten that..."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
*poke tread HARD into its unmaterial ribs*
Come on guys, the country only have three person who know medecine and are willing to enter the Hargrave Mansion: Riff, Jezebel and Muraki. That leaves just too many yummy possibilities!!
Sorry to do that to Tsuzuki but the end justifies it all, ne? ^____~ PS: Since it's been a long time, I'll say it again, if you're surprised at the number of gramatical or whatever errors in this, it's because I suck at writting in english. gomen .___. (but you could still point out some big ones to me so I won't meke them again if you ahve the patience to do that)
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CrystalGryphonsGhost
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Post by CrystalGryphonsGhost on Nov 5, 2003 23:34:57 GMT -5
Upon waking, the thought that something was wrong percolated through what passed for the adult cinnamon roll's mind. It nuzzled its children: One, two, three, four, five. And again: One, two, three, four, five.
*Wait a moment,* it thought, *isn't that supposed to be "One, two, three, four, five, SIX?"*
It did its best to communicate to the other younglings that they were to *stay where they were* (a difficult task when one belongs to a species without language), and began to nose around the edges of the nest. It took only a moment for it to pick up the missing baby's sticky trail.
More cautious than its offspring, the adult cinnamon roll hugged the walls and the shadows (although how a being without eyes could have identified a shadow is open to question) and crept along the upstairs corridor, searching for its child. It oozed stealthily through the crack on the hinge side of the door to Merry's room . . . and there made a horrifying discovery.
One of those human creatures was lying on the floor, with a sticky residue on its mouth and hands. The cinnamon roll instantly realized what had happened, and shook with rage.
That *creature* had *eaten* one of its beatiful babies! How *dare* it? (The fact that the cinnamon roll and its offspring had themselves eaten more than one human already naturally never occurred to it.)
Staring (well, inasmuch as it was capable of such an action) at the prone human, the cinnamon roll vowed revenge.
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Post by eurynome on Dec 20, 2003 18:21:42 GMT -5
Hope this fits in with the story. I figured that Tatsumi should figure in the story somewhere, so here he is. This is also a kind of summation of the story so far.
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Seeing how things seemed to be going Tatsumi was regretting ever coming to Victorian England. From what Hisoka had told him and what he had surmised on his own, things were quickly getting out of control. So far, Tsuzuki had poisoned a girl in the attempt to introduce cinnamon rolls to England. The Count's sister, Merryweather, was a psychic who was currently alternately trying to kill Watari or tricking the shinigami into admitting their true nature. Terazuma was having a nervous breakdown over Tsuzuki's antics. Muraki had gone missing. The Count looked like he was about to have a nervous breakdown. And now two people had been found with their throats slit. Not to mention the fact that apparently the cinnamon rolls that Tsuzuki had created were now rolling around.
And to top it all off Watari was acting like his usual self, meaning strange chemicals were being concocted. The only people who seemed relativley sane were Hisoka, Wakaba, the Count's servant, named Riff, and of course, Tatsumi himself.
A loud thump distracted him from his musing. <Now what?> Tatsumi thought to himself, heaving a sigh and getting up from his seat. What else could go wrong? He somehow just knew that this had something to do with Tsuzuki. Where ever trouble was that was where Tsuzuki was also.
And what do you know? He was right. He found Tsuzuki on a bed groaning and clutching his stomach. The amethyst eyed shinigami was moaning about having eaten something. Tatsumi didn't know whether to scream or roll his eyes.
He settled for the one that enabled him to keep some of his dignity. Tatsumi merely rolled his eyes and approached the bed in a slow and dignified manner. <He is such a child>.
"What did you eat that you shouldn't have Tsuzuki? If it involves money, the cost is coming out of your wage."
Yet, even with that threat Tsuzuki only continued to moan and groan about his poor stomach. Tatsumi was really regretting coming to Victorian England now. With any luck they would finish this quickly and painlessly, and be back home soon. Somehow though Tatsumi got the feeling that they were going to be here for a while.
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