Kit Fawkes (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fauxfawkes) wrote2021-01-27 05:13 pm
fauxfawkes) wrote2021-01-27 05:13 pm
Bonus: DVD Commentary
[DVD Commentary Edition]
Otherwise known as my ridiculously self-indulgent extended author's notes, thoughts, commentary on the process, hidden in-jokes, and so on. If that's the sort of thing that interests you, feel free to read on; if not, it won't hurt my feelings if you skip this. I like having it as a record for myself more than anything else, and so much went into writing this one that I'm going to be a little full of myself and go over it again, tooting my own horn all the way. Sob.
From here on out, my notes will be in red text!
For his part, Kit at least had the decency to look sheepish as he shrugged, glancing over his shoulder at the demon in question. "Well, it was less obvious than summoning one in your boudoir," he answered. "I mean, you do spend an inordinate amount of time in there."
I'm normally incredibly bad with first lines, but every so often I get one that just grabs hold of me and doesn't let go. For me, an ideal first line is the one that grabs your attention, reels you in, and gives you a glimpse of the gist of the story while still leaving the events of it wide open. Here, we not only have the whole premise of the story condensed into one line, but we also have a snapshot of Kit and Crehador's relationship laid out in two.
And yes, Kit goes out of his way to call Crehador's private room a boudoir, as opposed to a cabinet. Because he is subtly calling Crehador a girl. Oh, Kit.
"I tend to notice people summoning demons in general," Crehador retorted, folding his arms over his chest. "Regardless of where in my house they're being summoned."
"That's very observant of you," the demon put in approvingly. "There are quite a few people who wouldn't notice at all."
"Most of those people aren't mediums, though," Kit pointed out, half-turning in place so he could face both Crehador and the demon at once. "So he's got an unfair advantage."
"That would make sense, yes," remarked the demon.
"Let's get back to the part about you summoning demons in my kitchen," Crehador said irritably.
"A demon," Kit corrected. "Not demons. Just the one."
"And technically only a half-demon at that," the demon elaborated. "Though to be fair, he did only summon the demon half. It's just that the human half couldn't help but be brought along for the ride."
"Why are you summoning demons—"
"Half-demons."
"—in my kitchen?" Crehador demanded.
"Because there's a really nice Oriental rug in the spare bedroom and I didn't want to ruin it by drawing sigils all over it?" Kit suggested hopefully.
"That was considerate," the demon remarked affably.
Making a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, Crehador fixed Kit with an icy glare. "Why are you summoning demons at all?"
There was a brief pause. "Oh," Kit said, looking slightly embarrassed. "Right. About that..."
The dark-haired youth fidgeted uncomfortably for a minute, fingers curling and uncurling around the cane that held his magic wand, and tried to look innocent beneath Crehador's withering gaze, at which he promptly failed miserably. "Look, the parlor tricks and sleight of hand only go so far these days," he said at last, his shoulders taking on a rather sulky slouch. "All the really renowned magicians are the ones who've dabbled in the occult stuff. I'm just keeping up with the curve."
Crehador regarded him for a silent, thoughtful moment, and then at last pronounced, "C'est des conneries."
According to Google Translate: "That's bullshit".
Kit sighed. "Fine, look, I was trying to summon a butler, okay?"
Crehador blinked. "A butler."
"A demon butler. To...you know, be my valet and stuff," Kit explained awkwardly, staring at his shoes. "Like Riff. Except probably not as capable."
"I suppose this would be a bad time to point out that I'm already employed," the demon interjected. "Which reminds me, could I trouble you for the use of a telephone? I imagine my superior will be wondering where I've gotten off to by now."
"What could possibly make you think that harnessing a demon for a butler would in any way be a good idea?" Crehador snapped.
Kit shrugged. "I heard it was the done thing for earls."
Yes, this is a veiled shout-out to Kuroshitsuji. Can't let Ciel Phantomhive have all the fun, can we?
"It also involves selling your soul to the powers of darkness and taking your chances with an eternity of perpetual torment," Crehador said flatly.
"I should've figured there'd be a catch," Kit sighed.
"As it happens, I've forgotten the market value of souls anyway, so the exchange really won't be necessary," the demon put in. "But about that telephone..."
"You of all people should know why summoning demons is a vastly, incredibly stupid idea!" Crehador continued, as though he hadn't heard. "What if you'd called it up and it had possessed you?"
"I warded the kitchen!" Kit protested.
"And I'm actually quite content with the body I'm currently residing in," the demon added. "Though it would be immensely helpful if I could borrow that telephone?"
"You're in the kitchen!" Crehador retorted. He sighed, scrubbing at his face. "Never mind, we'll deal with that later. For now, banish the demon back from whence it came and get those occult sigils off my kitchen floor."
There was a long pause.
"Banish it back?" Kit repeated uncomfortably, fidgeting in place. "Right, um...how do I, er, do that, again?"
Another—considerably more strained—pause followed.
"I suppose this would be as good a time as any to inquire after that telephone?" the demon said at last.
Thus fulfilling the summary of the story to a tee: Kit Hargreaves summons a demon. The demon is amused (and perhaps more pertinently, unfazed). Crehador is not.
The demon offered him a friendly smile, replacing the phone's handset in its carriage with a gentle click. "I get the impression there's a lot you don't know about the legions of hell and damnation," he answered pleasantly. "Particularly since you haven't yet figured out that I'm not one of them."
Kit blinked, slightly perplexed. "But you're a demon. You were summoned by my sigil, you can't cross my wards..."
"I'm not part of a legion," the demon pointed out, raising one finger in a way that reminded Kit of old Gerwain instructing him in some point or another of courtly manners. "You might say I'm something of an independent contractor."
"Are you saying you were hired by the legions of hell and damnation?"
"I sometimes do business for them. But they generally like to have a rough idea of where I am at any given time, which is why the call was necessary," the demon explained. "I doubt they'd take too kindly to discovering I abruptly went missing because I'd been summoned back into the late Victorian era by an amateur medium."
The trick with writing any crossover, I think, is bringing the two fandoms together neatly enough that even if your readers aren't familiar with one of them, they still get all the relevant information from the narrative. And on the other side of it, for the ones who are familiar with both, there are plenty of in-jokes for the people who know what's going on.
"Amateur?" Kit snapped defensively, before he reconsidered and silently admitted that the demon had a point; it wasn't as though he was particularly experienced at this sort of thing, after all. But everyone had to start somewhere, didn't they?
He cleared his throat, buying himself a moment before changing the subject. "The late Victorian era?" he repeated with a slight, worried frown. "Are you saying it's going to change soon?"
The demon cast him a conspiratorial smile and promptly ignored the question. "In any case, I borrowed your phone so that I could leave a message with my superior's secretary, sealed with instructions to only be opened on the day I remember it being just before you summoned me," he continued. "Which means they ought to know exactly where—or perhaps I should say when—I am at the moment." He paused. "Coincidentally, your great-grandchildren are undoubtedly going to come under a great deal of surveillance as a result of this."
Kit scowled. "Are you going to dodge every question I ask you?"
"Are you unsatisfied with the answers I've been giving?" the demon replied with what appeared to be a touch of amusement.
"You just answered a question with another question," Kit pointed out, glaring. "Yes, I'm unsatisfied. I summoned you, I'm the magician, and that means I'm in charge here. Which means you're going to answer my questions directly and stop playing games."
In truth, Kit had absolutely no idea if that was the way things worked when one summoned a demon at all, but he assumed that demons in general would be the sort to prey on weakness, which meant that if he wanted to retain some semblance of control over the situation, he'd have to be confident about it. Or at least pretend to be confident about it, even if his mind was a frenzy of activity and doubt. It was like that saying about the ducks, he decided. Smooth and unruffled on the surface, but paddling furiously below.
"I suppose that is a fair point," the demon agreed with a slight nod, which only caught Kit moderately off-guard. "Summoning me here in the first place does demonstrate a certain amount of aptitude and tenacity, which is certainly deserving of reward." He smiled pleasantly, which was slightly unsettling because it made him look absolutely nothing like the hideous creature of evil and corruption that Kit was fairly certain he was supposed to be. "Well, then. Would you prefer to do this somewhere more comfortable? I imagine you've a lot of questions, and this may take a while."
Bemused, and vaguely nettled at the implication that the demon was offering answers out of charity rather than deference, Kit led him out of the parlor and into the spare bedroom he'd long since commandeered as his own cabinet. It was rather cramped and slightly cluttered, mostly due to the pots of deadly plants arranged on just about every available surface and the piles of ancient books and arcane tomes stacked near the bed, but there was enough room for a small table and pair of chairs. Crehador would like it better this way, anyhow, Kit mused as he ushered the demon into the room and proceeded to set wards around it, which only seemed to amuse his unholy guest further.
For the people familiar with Yu Yu Haksuho, and who have already guessed that the demon in question is Kurama, Kit's folly here becomes apparent. He's bringing Kurama into a room filled with poisonous plants and thinks the wards are what he needs to be concerned about. Hence the amusement; he could kill Kit twenty ways to Sunday without even blinking in a room like that. Moreso than he could already, I mean.
He waved the demon into the empty chair and moved for the other himself, shifting a pile of silk scarves and piano wires out of the way before sinking into it with what he hoped was a casual air. "Let's begin with something simple," he said, aiming for an authoritative tone. "I'm sure you're probably not inclined to tell me your real name, considering that binding spells tend to work off true names and so it's just good practice to keep them secret, but what would you prefer to—"
"It's Kurama," the demon interrupted gently. "And you're welcome to use it as you please. If I could be bound by nothing more than the power of my name, someone would've done it long before now."
Kit's lips narrowed into a thin line; no matter what he tried, he couldn't seem to shake the feeling that the demon—Kurama—was ultimately unconcerned by any of his attempts at authority, and was only participating in this line of questioning to humor him. "Kurama, then," he said. "And you are a demon?"
"A half-demon," Kurama corrected. "But that has little bearing on the scope of my abilities, so I imagine for your purposes, it's safe to say that yes, I am a demon."
Kit considered inquiring further into precisely what the scope of those abilities was, but ultimately decided against it. The demon had probably only mentioned it as a way of baiting him, and he wasn't about to sacrifice any more ground than he'd already given up at that point. Instead, he went on, "And because I'm the one who summoned you here, you're therefore bound to me?"
"No," Kurama answered. "I'm afraid not."
Kit paused. "But you're at least compelled to obey my instructions?"
"No more than anyone else would be, unfortunately."
"Then why are you answering my questions in the first place?" Kit demanded.
Kurama offered him one of those enigmatic smiles that somehow managed to be friendly and infuriating all at once. "Well, you did go to a lot of trouble to bring me here," he pointed out, folding his hands in his lap as he settled back into his chair. "It only seems polite."
Kit fought the urge to scowl, then silently counted backwards from ten and tried a different tactic. "Generally, summoning a demon comes with the expectation that there'll be an exchange of services involved," he said, his eyes flickering momentarily to his cane, which he'd left resting against the wall. "And it's usually something to the effect of, the demon makes an offer to bestow powers on the human or grant him a wish or serve him in some way, and if the human consents, the demon receives something in exchange."
"The Faustian bargain," Kurama agreed with a nod. "Does that imply you're bored and dissatisfied with your life?"
Bristling, Kit sat up a little straighter in his chair. "It implies that you're supposed to be making me an offer," he said irritably. "And as yet, all you've asked to do is borrow my telephone."
"And so you're waiting for me to strike a contract with you," Kurama finished.
"That's right."
And here we lay the groundwork for the ultimate reveal—Kit pushing as hard as he is to be offered an unholy compact so that he can test whether or not he'll be able to say no. Unfortunately, Kurama isn't particularly inclined to offer him all the kingdoms of the earth (not that he has them to give, anyway).
There was a brief pause, and then at last Kurama remarked, "Well, if you're this eager to offer your soul in exchange for material gain, I can only assume there must be a catch you're not mentioning. So I'm afraid I'll have to decline." He paused, giving Kit just enough time to grit his teeth in frustration before adding, "On the other hand, it does appear that I'm trapped here until you or your friend manage to find a way to banish me again. So shall we play a game to pass the time?"
Kit's eyebrows went up, almost before he'd realized he'd done it. "A game?" he repeated.
"Nothing so binding as a contract, but more of a...gentlemen's agreement," Kurama elaborated with another of those elusive smiles. "For every request of yours I grant, you'll truthfully answer one question of mine in return. Is that fair?"
In canon, Kurama seems to have a thing about learning about people, particularly their motivations for why they do what they do. And Kit's insistence on the contract thing has already clued him in that there's more afoot here than he's letting on. He's probably already well aware of what his first few questions are going to be at this point.
Looking back on it afterward, the sensible thing to do would've been to refuse. Dealing with demons—even ones as pleasant as Kurama was proving to be—was never a wise idea.
"Agreed," he answered, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt.
Then again, no one ever said Kit was the most sensible of people.
For one thing, he'd been expecting a creature of evil and corruption with nothing but malicious intent driving its actions, and Kurama had a bemusing way of behaving more like a considerate houseguest than anything else. He drank tea when it was offered and never failed to compliment the scones that came with it; he quietly stayed out of Crehador's way by spending long hours reading books near the window, and never objected to the wary looks and suspicious gazes that were constantly cast in his direction; he even took time out to admire the plants in Kit's small back-room garden, and offered bits of conspicuously helpful advice on how to improve the quality of their growth.
("Your foxgloves are getting too much light by the window," he'd remarked lightly, his fingers still lightly covered in dirt from transplanting Kit's prized fledgling Strychnos nux-vomica into a wider pot. "I hope you don't mind that I moved them to the far corner for you.")
Researching Kit's ridiculous garden of poisonous plants was one of my favorite parts of this story. Here we have his foxgloves and his strychnine tree, both of which are highly poisonous and generally deadly, if the appropriate parts are consumed.
Plants of all varieties were his demon's specialty, Kit had come to realize since the day they'd sealed their bargain. It wasn't just that he knew a great deal about them—which he did, and the deadliest ones most of all—but that they always seemed to thrive under his careful touch, even when he'd done no more than run a finger along one of the stems. It took him more than a week before he caught sense of how his demon was doing it, partly because the form of magic he was using was one that Kit had never encountered before, and partly because he suspected his demon was going out of his way to mask the use of that magic at all, which made things more difficult to track. He also had a sneaking suspicion that Kurama had chosen to mask that magic at all as a means of finding out how long it would take Kit to notice he was doing it in the first place.
That was the other thing about his demon. It wasn't just that he was intelligent and personable; he also had the nerve to be entertaining.
And here is the point where Kit's mental narrative switches from calling Kurama "the demon" to "his demon". Also one of the first hints that he's developing a certain affection for him.
"The girl beneath the magnolia tree seems to have a fondness for you," Kurama remarked from his place at Kit's side, his long red hair standing out in startling contrast to his black and white attire. He'd tried to persuade his demon to conceal his mane beneath the collar of his jacket, or at least tie it back in a style that would vaguely approximate respectable, but Kurama would have none of it; for some reason, he was adamant about the necessity of leaving his hair long, which made Kit wonder if perhaps his demonic powers weren't connected to it somehow, like Samson's.
"You think so?" Kit said, drumming his fingers lightly on the handle of his cane as he let his eyes sweep the park, trying to catch a glimpse of the girl in question without being entirely conspicuous about it. "Oh, her. That's the Baron Weatherton's daughter, Caroline. I think she believes if she's persistent enough about staring at me, eventually infatuation will hit me over the head and I'll fall desperately in love with her."
"A storybook tale, if I've ever heard one. I gather you don't feel the same?"
Kit shrugged vaguely. "Even if I did, I doubt her father would allow the match, anyway. She'll trade up and marry some viscount or another, and that'll be the end of it."
Kurama tilted his head, regarding him with a sideways look. "I'm hardly an expert in the hierarchy of nobility, but I'm still fairly positive an earl outranks a viscount and a baron both."
"An earl would," Kit replied, leaning back against the trunk of the tree they'd chosen to stand under. The temptation to shove his hands into his pockets was strong, but he made himself refrain; there were some limits he wouldn't cross in public, even with his reputation as a magician and an eccentric. "But just because I know I'm an earl doesn't mean anyone else recognizes it."
"Then who do they recognize?" Kurama asked curiously, in a tone that was almost gentle.
Kit stared across the garden, carefully avoiding the magnolia tree lest Miss Weatherton mistakenly think he was gazing after her. "My aunt is the acting lord of the family," he said at last, quietly. "The title is mine by birthright, but my father transferred it to her before he ever knew about me."
"Which is how you manage to be an earl and untitled all at once," his demon finished with a slight nod. "I see."
They stood in silence a moment, watching the ladies chattering amongst themselves and a select few taking turns with their favored gentlemen around the walking paths. The tension in the air was palpable, and Kit resisted the urge to fidget as a result; surely Kurama would say something, ask some pointed question, press him to expose more of the uncomfortable workings of his family history. He'd already worked up a small balance of truthful answers owed by exploring the extent of his demon's powers and capabilities. This was the perfect moment to collect, and he steeled himself for the inevitable.
But the moment never came; Kurama's vibrant green eyes were currently fixed on something that Kit couldn't immediately identify, his expression suddenly gone cool and solemn. "That girl," he said in a strange tone. "The red-haired one near the flowering hedge. Do you know her?"
Again, Kit let his gaze wander until it finally landed on the girl in question, an achingly beautiful young woman in white, who wore her hair long in waves and ringlets about her shoulders. "No," he answered with an almost imperceptible shake of his head. He'd long since acquired a knack for names and faces, and surely he'd remember someone so stunningly fair of face if he'd ever met her before. "Why? Did you catch her staring, too?"
"No, but I am relieved to hear you don't know her," Kurama said, still in that same strange tone. "Considering she's dead."
It never gets explicitly stated, but people familiar with Yu Yu Hakusho will probably guess that Kurama spots this by smelling her. In episode 84, he manages to smell Elder Toguro inside Gourmet's body from across an cavern immediately upon walking in, so I figured it wasn't outlandish to assume he'd be able to spot one dead human in the midst of a lot of other living ones.
Crehador, predictably, was less than pleased to hear the news.
"We're not going back to Italy," he said irritably, not bothering to put on a shirt or house slippers as he stalked through the residence in search of a bottle of absinthe; despite the gravity of the situation, Kit found himself fostering a slim hope that this latest news would be enough to drive Crehador to unwittingly reveal the location of his top secret stash of the really good stuff, which Kit had been unable to uncover for months now. "This is what I get for staying mixed up with your family. Suicide missions in foreign countries investigating fanatics, demon summonings in my kitchen, all manner of offenses against heaven and nature..."
"Don't forget the veritable garden of poisonous plants in your back room," Kurama supplied lightly.
"You're not helping," Kit hissed under his breath.
"And now they're back to trying to seduce you with unholy constructs possessed by dead women," Crehador continued to rant, undaunted. "Because of course it couldn't end with the tower. Oh, no, now they've found out that the Cardmaster has a grandson, and better still, he's one who likes to spend his leisure time mingling with aristocrats and calling up apparitions for fun!"
Kurama quirked an eyebrow. "Does he often equate the nobility with the denizens of the underworld?" he asked quietly.
"No, sometimes he actually tolerates the denizens of the underworld," Kit answered, just as quietly. Then, in normal tones, he went on, "It doesn't matter what they're doing. If anything, we should be relieved they're still using the same tactics we saw in Italy, instead of throwing a whole new strategy at us."
"At you," Crehador grumped.
Kit sighed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "At me. Honestly, I'm not about to be swayed to the side of evil by the temptations of some pretty girl, and certainly not when I already know she's an unholy construct, and especially not when they've already tried this on me once before!"
"She wasn't a redhead the last time," Crehador muttered, his voice thankfully muffled by the fact that his face was currently pressed into a bookshelf. Which meant the absinthe was probably stashed within a secret compartment hidden behind the books, Kit noted for later reference. Or possibly within a hollow book itself, but regardless, somewhere in the vicinity of the books. Excellent to know.
Cain has a marked preference for redheads. Prior to this comment, I also made sure to mention several times that Kurama is a redhead, himself; by this point, Crehador's probably already caught on that something might eventually come up between Kit and Kurama. Not only is Kurama a particularly effeminate boy (he's actually mistaken for a girl a few times in canon) with red hair, he's also apparently acting in the same capacity to Kit that Riff did to Cain. And Crehador hasn't forgotten Cain's thing about Riff, oh, no.
"I didn't know she was dead the last time," he retorted, almost as an afterthought.
"That does tend to be a fairly significant thing to know in a potential mate," Kurama said, looking amused.
"Whose side are you on?" Kit demanded, folding his arms over his chest.
Kurama shrugged. "Would you like to owe me another question?"
"Never mind," Kit answered with a hint of irritation of his own. "Look, either way, the girl is here because of me. She's going to be targeting me no matter what I do. And since it's essentially my fault she's been the victim of an unholy summoning in the first place, it's my responsibility to do something about it. So we're going to go find her, figure out where DELILAH is holed up now, track them down, bring the house down on them like we did in Italy, and call it a wrap. I just wanted to let you know where I'll be." He paused. "And to ask if I could borrow Skippy."
"Skippy?" Kurama echoed with an inquiring tilt of his head.
"His pet falcon," Kit elaborated. "Officially, at least. He likes me a lot better than he does Crehador."
"Scipio is still recovering from Italy," Crehador interrupted with a touch of annoyance. "And I know by now you're just hanging around to try to see where I keep the absinthe, so I'll save you the trouble and point out that I'm not getting it out until you're gone."
"Damn," Kit muttered. "Foiled again."
Actually, Crehador's just keeping Skippy behind so that when Kit inevitably gets into trouble, he can send him along to track Kit down, signal he's on his way, and possibly send help if he needs it. Sneaky.
Kit grimaced a little, shifting in place to try to make room to stretch out his cramped legs. It had been surprisingly easy to track down the mysterious dead redhead—quite possibly too easy, considering, but it wasn't like they had many options other than following her and playing along until the axe fell—and they'd trailed her from the park back to an elegant residence in the upscale part of town, where she'd disappeared inside and hadn't been seen since. Kurama suspected there was more than one occupant of that building, though, and Kit had to concur; it wasn't the sort of place that a fashionable young woman would hold down alone, and aside from the part about being dead, she'd otherwise gone quite out of her way to give the appearance of being perfectly decorous in everything she did.
Which meant they had two options. One was to wait until nightfall and attempt to break into the house to investigate, which Kit had expressed trepidations about up until Kurama calmly pointed out five different ways he could enter the premises without alerting a single person (and ended up revealing that he'd been something of a legendary bandit in his own world in the process). The other was to stake the place out and see who came and went, working off the assumption that the house to which they'd tracked the girl was only a front for a larger operation.
After five hours of waiting, Kit was starting to reconsider advocating the latter method. But there was no way DELILAH would let such obvious bait lead him directly to their actual base of operations; more probably, if he were ever to enter, he'd be knocked out and transported someplace else as soon as they could get the drop on him. Which was the other reason why he hadn't chosen the breaking and entering method, despite rather wanting to see just how well Kurama's actual capabilities matched up with his apparent reputation.
And so they'd resorted to a stakeout, holing up on the roof of the building across the street, using the chimneys for cover as they hunkered down and waited for any sign of movement from the residence across the way. Which was a rather neat plan, in Kit's opinion, save for the part about not being able to move around for upwards of five hours at a time. They took turns at watching, each one relieving the other after a half-hour or so, and it was in the midst of Kit's respite that Kurama voiced his question.
"Is that one of the ones I owe you?" Kit asked, letting his eyes slide closed a minute as he tried to enjoy his period of rest to the fullest.
"No," Kurama answered with a slight shrug, his green eyes never leaving the building across the street. "Just a way of passing the time."
An exchange that gets echoed later, in the ending.
Kit yawned, as silently as he could. "You know that means I don't have to tell you the truth?"
"I do. But by the same token, I can't imagine you'd have any reason to lie about something as simple as that," Kurama murmured. He paused, then added in a lightly teasing tone, "Unless you're worried I'll cast a binding spell on you, supposing you were to elaborate on it."
"No. It's just simplest," he answered, letting his eyes slide open halfway as he tipped his head to look at Kurama, his gaze lingering on his demon's profile and the odd way his red hair stuck up in the back. It reminded him of something, though he couldn't place what. "My name, I mean. I've practically lost count of the number I've used over the years, but that's the only one that feels...right, I guess."
"To say nothing of the fine pun it makes," Kurama mused. "Mr. Kit Fawkes, the renowned magician. You like foxes, don't you?"
Kit was quiet a moment, lingering in that drowsy, reminiscent feeling before replying, "My mother used to say I was as clever as one." He let his eyes close again, pondering a minute, then reopened them and added, "Do you like foxes?"
Kurama tilted his head momentarily, glancing away from the building just long enough to cast him an amused smile. "You could say that."
Again, people who have seen Yu Yu Hakusho already know that Kurama is a demon fox by this point. Hence the amusement.
"I like them because they're smart," Kit went on in a languid voice. "Because they can manage to find a way out of almost anything, even when the odds are stacked against them."
"Your mother sounds like a perceptive woman," Kurama remarked gently. "She's very important to you, isn't she?"
Kit shrugged a bit, sinking down a little lower against the chimney as he let his legs sprawl out. "She wouldn't be happy to know I've been summoning demons," he answered with a vague smile. "She's the kind of person who always puts other people before herself, and she's always the first to give something up if it means it'll help someone else." He fell silent, momentarily drifting through memory. "She waited a long time for my father."
"I wonder which of them you take after more," Kurama said.
Kit's smile widened slightly. "That depends on what I'm taking after. Crehador never misses a chance to tell me that I'm just as much trouble as my father was. But if my father's to be believed, it's my mother who's the really troublesome one."
"Despite being so selfless?"
"According to my father, half the time it's because she's so selfless." Kit paused. "Do demons have mothers?"
"That depends on the demon," Kurama said, deflecting the question with his usual ease before circling back around the point. "But if you meant do I have a mother, then the answer is yes."
Kit frowned in thought; it was more difficult than he'd expected to picture what a demon's mother might look like, particularly when his thoughts kept drifting back to images of Grendel and his even more hideous parent. But of course, Kurama had defied just about every other assumption he'd had about demons so far, so it only stood to reason that he should keep up that trend with his heritage.
"What's she like?" he asked, silently debating what sort of mother would produce a person like Kurama. She must be terribly clever, he decided at last, and vivacious enough to keep up with him. And probably quite beautiful, if he'd inherited his looks from her—which abruptly struck him as an odd conclusion to leap to, but it only seemed natural that relatively feminine looks would come from a relatively feminine parent. Or, well, something like that.
Fortunately, he didn't have to try to justify that much longer, since Kurama had begun speaking again. "She's very kind," he said in a light, yet oddly wistful tone, and abruptly Kit caught himself wondering if his demon missed his mother as much as Kit sometimes missed his own. "And very loving. She isn't aware of what I am."
Mothers are a touchy subject for both kids here; both were basically raised by single moms and both have a certain distinct attachment to them. Kurama becomes half-human after possessing the unborn baby in his mother's womb and ends up remaining with her because he grows to love her. She's also one of the best ways to blackmail Kurama into doing something against his will. And of course, we all know the Godchild fascination with mothers.
Also, the first time Kit makes conscious note that Kurama is pretty. Tee hee.
The words hung in the air a moment, adding a new layer of tension to the silence, before at last Kurama smoothly changed the subject. "Ah, it's my turn again. Very well, what happened in Italy that irritated your friend Crehador so?"
Eyebrows raised, Kit mentally counted back—and realized Kurama was right, they'd traded question for question the whole time, always maintaining an even balance. Absently, he wondered if that was part of his demon's plan all along.
"I don't know what he's got to complain about," Kit said, aiming to keep his tone nonchalant as he shifted against the chimney again, stretching in a new direction. "It's not like I don't bribe him to come every time he tags along with me. And besides, I was the one getting beaten up and poisoned by fanatics while he was sleeping off a hangover in some back-alley opium den."
"The same fanatics we're following here, I presume."
An ironic smile touched the corners of Kit's lips. "Not the exact same ones," he said wryly. "All the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't put them back together again."
"Your modus operandi sounds rather like that of a friend of mine," Kurama remarked, his own dry amusement evident. "Though you strike me as far more of a strategist than he is."
"Do I?" Kit asked, trying not to sound as eager at the compliment as he abruptly discovered he felt.
"He wouldn't have had the patience to wait five hours on a rooftop, gambling on the chance that our targets might come out and lead us to their real base of operations. I imagine he would've lasted closer to twenty minutes, if that, before storming the residence and extracting the information through more...physical methods."
Honestly, I don't actually know which of the others Kurama is talking about here. My original idea was Hiei, but in retrospect, the description of "bust in with weapons blazing and brute force your way to your objective" really fits for all three of them. Also, I suspect Kit has started to remind Kurama of Yusuke here a little bit; with the power he's got, he might very well make an excellent Spirit Detective himself. Aside from the part about being really susceptible to getting possessed all over the place, that is.
"Nn. I'd rather win a fight with my head than with brute force," Kit said, shifting onto his side in order to better face Kurama. "But when it comes down to it, does it really matter how you win, so long as you do?"
Kurama was quiet a moment. "That's a complicated question," he answered. Then, abruptly, he shifted a bit further behind the chimney and gave Kit a nudge. "There they go," he said with a slight nod in the direction of the street. "The girl and a man, middle-aged, charcoal coat and graying hair beneath a black hat. They're driving a fine pair of chestnuts, so I doubt they'll be difficult to follow."
Kit nodded, snapping to attention, rubbing circulation back into his legs as he prepared himself for a chase. "Good. Let's go."
The carriage's ultimate destination turned out to be an estate situated a short distance out into the countryside, all gray marble and ivy-covered stone, looking solemn and ancient in the midst of the otherwise warm green field. The grounds were well-kept, from what he could tell at first glance, and surrounded by a wrought-iron fence in front and a thick hedge in back. And the minute Kit laid eyes on it, a twinge of familiarity went off in the back of his head.
"It's the same layout as in Italy," he breathed, pressed close against the oak tree they'd chosen for cover. "This is the building, all right. And if they're after the same thing, then there should be a garden here in the back." His expression went stony. "A garden full of poison girls."
"It appears as though the only security is around the estate house itself," Kurama mused, his gaze turned to examine things from the other direction. "Perhaps they assume the garden will take care of itself."
"Or it'll be a trap," Kit said, recalling his previous experience. "They may not be watching it full-time, but I guarantee you they patrol it every so often. The question is, how often do they do it?"
"And if we can slip through before we're noticed," Kurama finished, lightly touching his hand to his long mane of hair. "The hedge won't give us any problems, at least. What would you have us do?"
At this point, Kit still doesn't know Kurama keeps seeds in his hair as a way of storing his weapons. But again, people familiar with Yu Yu Hakusho would, so there's another nod for them.
"Let's go in," Kit said, and Kurama answered with a nod, checking for anyone that might be watching before slipping over to the hedge and making a sweeping motion with his hands, as if parting a set of curtains. The hedge responded instantly, as Kit detected a faint trickle of Kurama's strange magic; the branches parted, forming a slim hole just wide enough for a man to slip through. His demon went through first, which Kit thought might be a slightly unwise idea because of how brightly his hair stood out against the green of the hedge, but Kurama was as quick as a fox when he moved and probably better prepared to handle whatever might be waiting for them in the garden, anyway. After all, the one they were really after was him, not his demon. Even if Kurama were to get caught, the time his captors spent hesitating would hopefully be more than enough for Kit to get him free again.
But as it turned out, the garden was silent and still, perfectly maintained, and completely empty. Unlike Italy, there were no exotic plants, no climbing vines, no poisonous flowers opening up their vibrant blossoms to tempt passerby into death. Kit had expected to see a glassed-in greenhouse filled with the same variety of plants he'd encountered there (and possibly hoped to sneak a few clippings while he was at it, to round out his collection), but there was nothing unusual or untoward at all about this part of the compound; it was simply a neat English garden with clipped grass and trimmed hedges, punctuated here and there by a young tree or a pavestone path. At a glance, the whole thing was perfect, normal, and entirely innocent.
Which meant, of course, that it couldn't possibly be entirely innocent.
They kept close to the hedge and stayed low as they crept through the garden, darting from tree to tree as they examined the area for anything out of place—a difficult prospect in a place so neat and well-kept and utterly unremarkable.
Then, at last, Kit spotted something that made him frown, and he beckoned Kurama over to his hiding place as he crouched to examine it more closely. "This is a strange place for a flowerbed, isn't it?" he murmured, touching his fingers to the damp, overturned earth at his feet, dotted with plants in small pots that were apparently waiting to be transplanted. He tipped his head in the direction of the manor, gesturing with his nod. "You can't see it from the estate house with these evergreens in the way, and the nearest walking path to it is still halfway across the yard."
Kurama tilted his head back, regarding the sky. "Not to mention, this part of the garden stays in the shade for the majority of the day, and these are all plants that require a large amount of sun." His eyes narrowed slightly with something that might've been dry amusement. "It seems the lord has an incompetent gardener."
Naturally, Kit notices the London-based error and Kurama notices the horticulture-based one.
"Or it's a trap," Kit replied, snatching up a nearby trowel and beginning to clear some of the fresh dirt away from the plot. "Either way, we're hardly hurting anything by having a look under this earth, are we?"
"And if they've gone to such creative lengths to set this trap for you, it only seems fair to spring it," Kurama agreed, fetching a trowel of his own to help clear the way. "Provided you have a few tricks of your own up your sleeve to answer them when you do."
Kit smiled darkly, saying nothing, but continued to push the dirt out of the way. And soon enough, their efforts were rewarded by the faint outline of some sort of hatch made of metal, the handle sunken in to the plate so there was no obvious protrusion to give it away. It took another ten minutes of careful scraping and easing to move the dirt away from where it filled the cracks, unsealing the hatch from its surrounding base, but eventually, through determined effort and a lot of pulling, they managed to slide the hatch open to reveal a tunnel vaguely akin to that of a sewer below. But it was clear from the appearance that the construction of the tunnel, whatever it led to, was still new; there were no spots of rust on the rungs of the ladder fastened to the wall of the shaft, and the whole thing was still smooth and dry, unmarred by mold or filth.
Kit hooked his cane through a holster loop on his belt (one he'd added for expressly that purpose, on a day when it became clear that he'd inherited the family penchant for adventuring after all) and swung himself onto the ladder, nodding at Kurama as he began to ease himself down the steps. "Let's go see what they're up to, shall we?"
"After you," Kurama answered quietly, brushing the dirt back into place as neatly as he could before following along behind. It certainly wasn't enough to disguise the uncovered hatch, nor would it fool anyone within a fair proximity of the area, but whoever had built this tunnel had placed it in a concealed area for a reason, and so with any luck, no one would notice it had been disturbed until someone specifically came to check on it. And hopefully, they'd be gone long before then.
Hopefully.
It was dark in the tunnel, of course, which Kurama quickly sought to remedy with the careful placement of a plant he called lamp weed—a small, gangly little shoot with a phosphorescent bulb at the end of its thin stem, which glowed just enough to provide the light to see from rung to rung. It would've been better if his demon had been in the lead, Kit mused as he continued to lower himself down the ladder, but the dim yellow glow from the weed cast just enough light to maneuver by, and the tunnel didn't seem to be incredibly deep; indeed, Kurama had laid no more than three of the plants before Kit managed to catch sight of what he hoped was the end of the ladder at what he assumed was the bottom of the tunnel.
When he reached the last rung of the ladder, he swept his foot gingerly along the floor to test for any abrupt pitfalls before sliding out of the way, making room for Kurama to come down beside him with the light. It was oddly smothering, having one of his senses so completely cut off from all the rest for those few moments; it seemed strangely hard to breathe in the darkness, despite the fact that he was sure they weren't far down, and the air at the bottom was as ordinary as the air he'd been breathing a moment ago in the passage. It was all in his head, he thought grimly, and tried to steady himself, mentally reaching for the familiar energy of his magic wand and reassuring himself with its presence.
Kurama descended a few seconds later, bringing with him one more sprig of softly glowing lamp weed, and suddenly Kit could see that they were in a small alcove that led into a larger room constructed entirely of stone, entirely devoid of carving or mark; the only thing that stood out were the raised marble platforms arranged in the middle of the floor, with something like glass curving over the top and reflecting the lamp weed light back at glittering angles. Kit frowned, nodded to Kurama, and the pair of them started forward to investigate.
It didn't take long; the room was large but not massive, and the strange platforms were set up in two neat rows of six blocks each for a total of twelve in all. His lips pressed tightly together, Kit cast his gaze around the whole room before finally approaching one of the platforms, bending over to examine the glass—
—and stepped back abruptly, the color draining from his face at the sight of the corpse inside, whose stunning red hair fell in luxurious waves around her white-clad shoulders.
Caskets. Glass caskets. And a sleeping princess in each and every one of them.
Redheads again! Lots of redheads in this story. Also, it's tradition in Godchild to theme your capers after nursery rhymes and fairy tales. This one's a combo of the Twelve Dancing Princesses (twelve girls beneath the ground) and, as we see in a minute, Snow White.
"Check those others," he whispered hoarsely, unable to tear his eyes away from the girl beneath the glass, at the way the color of her hair matched the flesh surrounding the angry gash messily stitched shut across her throat. "Do they...?"
Kurama went at once, his voice low and dark when he finally answered. "Yes," he replied with cold brevity. "There are ones in here, too."
Nearly overwhelmed with horror, Kit moved from casket to casket, looking down at the girls resting in eternal slumber beneath the glass. Their faces weren't precisely identical, he noted as he retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and held it over his mouth, fighting the urge to gag. They were similar, yes, in that they were all positioned traditionally with their hands folded over their chest, their red hair curtained around their eerily peaceful faces and the remains of their throats inelegantly stitched together with heavy white thread tinged pink at the edges. But they were different girls, there were differences in them too, the shapes of their faces and the finer details of their features, all sleeping until eternity in their mausoleum beneath the garden.
And the poisoned apple lodged in her throat...
Cutting their throats as the method of death fortuitously gave me an excuse not to have to write any dialogue for Eva later. Which also helped to reinforce that puppetlike, almost robotic quality of hers.
"Wait," Kurama called in a low whisper, drawing his attention away from the girl beneath the glass and over to the pedestal at the far end of the room; he must've moved without Kit realizing it, further investigating the bodies while Kit was still recoiling from the horror. "There's only eleven. This one here at the end...it's empty."
"Not for long," came a new voice, lightly accented, and Kit found himself reflexively ducking and covering his eyes as light flooded the crypt, threatening to blind them both with its sudden intensity. There had been another niche and door in the far wall, he realized belatedly as he took cover behind one of the pedestals, hunkered down in the hopes of concealing his identity as long as he could, just long enough that he could come up with a plan—
"Mr. Fawkes," the new voice continued, in tones that belied the speaker's arrogance at successfully springing his trap. "Or should I say, Lord Hargreaves. What a surprise to encounter you again."
Italian, Kit realized abruptly. The accent was Italian.
Where was Kurama? He couldn't see his demon from this low vantage point, and he didn't dare move too much for fear that the sound of his shuffling would give his location in the room away. He reached for the magic lying latent in his wand, curling mental fingers around it, mind racing as he searched for a strategy that would get the two of them out of this alive, because he couldn't simply bring down the roof while they were underground, not like this, not when it would kill all of them in a flash—
This is the part I always find difficult about my plot-heavy stories: letting the protagonists mess up so that the villains can temporarily get the upper hand. That's the problem with preferring genre-savvy protagonists, I always want them to anticipate anything that could go wrong and plan for it. Ultimately, Kit's recklessly heroic determination to save Kurama (who frankly, could probably handle things right then and there if he wanted) proves his downfall.
"Or perhaps no surprise at all," the man went on, entirely too politely for the situation at hand. "You do have an irritating habit of turning up to hinder our research, don't you? How fortunate that we were expecting you this time, and made preparations accordingly."
Him. They were expecting him, and probably Crehador, too—but they wouldn't know about Kurama, wouldn't suspect what he could do, and Kit fervently hoped that his demon would recognize that, would play pigeon until the time was right to use his powers to their advantage...
"The young lady who led you here will soon fill that final casket, now that she's served her purpose," the man elaborated, his voice ringing through the chamber. "They are beautiful, aren't they? Some of our finest handiwork. You see, we've gone to great lengths to make you happy, Lord Hargreaves. It's always prudent to create a few rough drafts before producing a masterpiece."
"You killed eleven innocent girls to make me happy?" Kit spat aloud, despite himself.
"And I would kill a hundred more if it meant achieving my ends," the man answered smoothly. "Just as I will kill the one you so foolishly brought with you in five seconds' time, if you don't surrender now."
Kurama looks like a girl. Tee hee.
He couldn't, Kit thought frantically, sliding back a little further as he tried to catch sight of the place where Kurama had last been. Could a demon die so easily as this? Kurama had always said he was half human, and the one half went with the other—and even if only the human half were to die, would he still—
"Tell my dear earl what I'm doing right now, miss," the man's voice rang out.
And a moment later, Kit's stomach wrenched into a knot as Kurama's voice answered it, pitched higher than usual and with an almost feminine quality about it, but laced with an undercurrent of anger that Kit picked out at once. "You're pointing a revolver at me," his demon said quietly. "And it appears you intend to shoot."
Kurama is the without a doubt most often wounded member of the entire team, which is because his fighting style revolves around learning his opponent's strategy (and getting the crap kicked out of himself in the process) and then ultimately overcoming it. Unlike Yusuke, Kuwabara, and Hiei, who would probably just attack outright, Kurama plays pigeon to see what their captor will do. Also, I'm fairly certain even his reflexes aren't faster than a gunshot, to say nothing of the fact that Kit would undoubtedly do something incredibly stupid if Kurama took a hit. So really, their mutual attempt at protecting each other is what does them in for the moment.
"I do," the man replied. "That is, provided the good earl isn't in his feet in five...four...three...two—"
Kit shot to his feet at once, already lunging for the power in his wand and readying himself to block the gunshot, blast the weapon from his enemy's hand, anything—and that was when the bolt of force caught him square in the chest, throwing him back against the glass of the casket behind him hard enough to leave cracks in the surface, and as the world spun and faded and slowly went dim, he caught a faint glimpse of what he thought were familiar blue eyes peering down at him.
With his last moments of consciousness, he instinctively reached for the magic in his wand, weakly pulling it over himself like a security blanket, and wondered if he remembered hearing a gunshot as everything finally went black.
I have this thing about knocking out my protagonists for dramatic scene breaks when I write in third-person limited. Or first-person, even. It's a really bad habit of mine, along with the "narrative character is drugged and/or sleeping so they only pick up partial bits of what's going on around them" thing. Definitely some of my favorite (and most oft-abused) narrative devices.
ON TO COMMENTARY: PART TWO
SKIP TO COMMENTARY: PART THREE