#writertober 2020

[scalpel-mom-mori]

Writertober day 31: Halloween

Yukichi really doesn’t like Western clothes

Guys I took one look at that Mayoi card and kinda went “I want that one”

It was only after he was half-dressed already that Yukichi remembered why he didn’t usually bother with Western clothes. Well, half-dressed in the sense that he had about half the clothing piled on the bed on his body. Pants, two shirts (a plain shirt, and a button-down), socks and boots. “What’s taking so long?” Mori-sensei called from the other side of the door. “Is it the tie?”

Yukichi didn’t respond. He despised ties with a passion.

“It’s the tie,” Mori-sensei decided, and entered.

Mori-sensei, to be fair, wasn’t short. He wasn’t particularly tall, but he wasn’t short. But he was short enough that he came up to about Yukichi’s nose, which is to say, a very awkward height difference for Mori-sensei to be standing as close as he was.

It briefly crossed his mind that Mori-sensei might just try and strangle him, and that it probably wasn’t the best idea to let Mori-sensei adjust anything hanging from his neck, but if Mori-sensei truly meant to kill him, he’d wait at least till Yukichi was fully dressed.

That’s just the sort of petty, spiteful man Mori-sensei was.

But Mori-sensei didn’t try anything. He finished with the tie and stepped back. “You almost look normal.”

Yukichi frowned at him and began working at the belt, silently praying that Mori-sensei wouldn’t offer to help with that too. It was awkward enough to maneuver the sword without him.

Not for the first time, he silently cursed Mori-sensei and his practical jokes.

Mori-sensei sits on the bed, eyeing Yukichi like he was a slab of meat. Yukichi, however, refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he’s uncomfortable, and picked up the next piece. A vest, Victorian-style. He made a face and put it on. Then a jacket.

“Is all this really necessary if the jacket covers it all anyway?”

Mori-sensei’s face was a strange, indecisive mix of smug and offended. “Of course!”

Yukichi made a face and picked up the remaining jacket. A pair of gloves fell out of a pocket. He frowned at Mori-sensei, who only smiled smugly in return.

“The fur is atrocious.”

“And expensive,” Mori-sensei countered.

Yukichi shook his head, scowling, sticking an arm in. It was warm, he supposed. Heavy, though. “It feels like I can barely move,” he grumbled.

“I do it just fine,” Mori-sensei quipped as Yukichi tugged on the gloves.

“Your pants aren’t this tight,” Yukichi shot back, shaking a leg, half-testing his mobility. Somehow, he wouldn’t be surprised if this stupid stunt was another half-assed attempt to handicap him so an assassin might have half a chance.

Mori-sensei snickered. “Maybe not,” he allowed. “Don’t forget the hat.”

“Costume fetish,” Yukichi muttered under his breath, recalling how his counterpart would always be dressing Elise up.

“Hardly,” Mori-sensei replied, slightly miffed. “I just wanted to see you in an outfit that isn’t a crime against fashion.”

[scalpel-mom-mori]

Writertober Day 14: Alone

A lavish kingdom of despair, and its king

Or, Sigma, and Fyodor shows up to hit on him.

For the record, I did not ask Fyodor to show up and hit on Sigma. He just did.

Manga spoilers, no warnings

Sigma was well-acquainted with despair. He’s known nothing but the Sky Casino, and by extension, human despair. Casinos, for all their luxury, all their decadence tended to be sinkholes of despair. His office was little more than a throne room exalted by the crushing of the human spirit.

Gambling was like that. It was interesting, to leave someone like him in charge of this lavish hell. But then again, maybe it wasn’t.

He was the King of chance, a product of fair fortune, wasn’t he? To be found as he was, and given a place to exist. A place to care for.

Though, yes. This kingdom was bittersweet. Lovely and lavish, luxurious and elite, home, one that Sigma loved, but for all he served this beautiful place, he nurtured in equal part despair.

How many people had Sigma watched gamble their lives away? More than he knew. More than he could count.

Despair kept the books balanced and the casino aloft.

Was he, then, at fault- in part or in whole- for the lives wasted here? For the souls wasting away in these red-velvet halls?

There was only one sinner he knew to hold a candle to himself if this is the case. A sinner, a god. A god of sin? Perhaps the devil himself. At any rate, he appeared today, in the doorway to Sigma’s throne room. “Doing well, then? I knew you would.”

He wore, as he always did, his usual furs, despite the comparatively climate moderate in Japan. “Fine, thanks to you,” Sigma replied, putting aside his pen, waved him to the seat across the desk. “Tea?”

“If you would kindly.”

Dostoyevsky, as he always did, gave Sigma the distinct impression that the former knew something and wasn’t telling. And that he was very smug over the fact. Still, Sigma paged the wait staff. Dostoyevsky was only half a stranger, and only because he never played the tables.

Dostoyevsky gave Sigma a half smile through a veil of steam. “You’re so good to me.”

[scalpel-mom-mori]

Writertober Day 17: Dream

The Aimless Dreamer and their dream

I have given up on writing these in order, so they’ll come sporadically over the next couple of weeks, sorry.

No Warnings

Mori could hear the headache coming on. Literally. Q’s voice was unmistakable, and they were furious. He could also hear Chuuya doing his best to calm down the child. “Do you want me to go in with you?”

Q paused their tantrum. “Would you?” they asked.

“Of course.” It was times like this where Mori remembered why his office wasn’t soundproofed. Chuuya was so soft on the kids, Mori thought with amusement, despite having been one of them.

But, it occurred to him for maybe the first time, because he had been one of them. Chuuya was just that sort, loyal to a fault, and empathetic, sympathetic in a strange way. Kind, in a roundabout sort of way.

It’s Chuuya that knocked, firm unwavering, just like the rest of him. Mori envied him sometimes. “Come in,” Mori called, and Chuuya appeared, holding Q on one hip.

Mori’s mouth quirked into a teasing smile. “What does Okaa-san need of me?”

Chuuya made a face and set down the child, who marched past Elise- she had been oddly quiet this whole time- and right up to Mori’s desk with a strangely intimidating expression. “Why?”

Mori was caught off-guard. Q, while a member of the Port Mafia, did not observe the usual standards, “Don’t question the Boss” among them.

“What do you mean, Q?” Mori asked, smiling. Despite the destructive potential contained in this child, they were quite cute.

“Yumeno,” they corrected. “My name is Kyuusaku Yumeno.”

Mori couldn’t help the spark of admiration. This sort of insubordination was something he very rarely dealt with. It was thrilling. “Very well then, Yumeno-kun, what can I do for you?”

“Why did you let him do it?”

Mori grinned wider. “Not all of us are children,” he replied. “Not even when we wear the faces of children, Yumeno-kun. I don’t expect you to understand.”

Q narrowed their eyes.

“Is there something else, Yumeno-kun?” Mori asked.

They tilted their head, considering. “I want you to let Chuuya-san take me to ride the trains more often.”