Puppet Master by Gaki
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Have edited the story a bit, so hopefully, it's a bit better.
This fic is a result of not sleeping early and too much coffee. That and listening to a hauntingly beautiful song hours on end and letting a certain sensei control my brain. Will involve things from the manga and not the anime, because the manga is better. Please keep in mind all this is before the Kyoto Arc so sensei is still happily jumping around ruining their afterlives.
And of course,
Yami no Matsuei is not mine. If it were, I would have lots of money and
all the time in the world to torture these guys. Beware of spoilers and
suchness. If there is any OOC please forgive me. ^^
Hisoka torture, angst and 101 bad things Muraki-sensei could do by just
talking. Well, maybe not just talking.
Pairings that might be in the fic are as follow:
Muraki+Hisoka, Tsuzuki+Hisoka, Muraki+Tsuzuki; not yet sure if any other characters will be involved in this fic as it does mostly only centers around Sensei and Hisoka.
The relationship between the owner and the object of ownership is strong. One wouldn't want to see their favorite toy being touched by another. One wouldn't want to see that toy being slowly pulled apart when they spent so much time on it. When that happens, the owner becomes possessive and takes what is theirs back. They once again spend time to fix what was broken.
For a broken toy isn't as fun to play with.
Sometimes he finds himself amazed at how strong the bonds between them were. Then of course he reminds himself that he made it so, so that he could find that one whenever he pleased. Sometimes he wonders if things would go so according to his plan if he'd never met the blonde haired child underneath the cherry tree. His plans would never work out if it weren't for the green eyed boy.
It was amusing how they played out the master and puppet role out so well. He would pull the right strings, and the boy could do nothing but follow.
He could
feel him, in the back of his mind. He could feel the boy just as the boy
could feel him.
And what he felt, as he calmly picked up his glasses from the table, putting
them back on and flicking a lock of hair from his eyes, was the slow but
sure process of his puppet breaking apart.
And he couldn't just sit by and allow that, now could he?
Mocha! I need some caffeine in my system!
I wonder if they have anymore of those center filled donuts...
Man, my feet. That's it, this is the last time I fall for her pleas.
Ohh, she's bending over. Heh. Heh. Heh.
I saw an alien. I know I did!
I wonder if he`ll leave if I stare at him long enough.
Pervert! Stop staring at me!
... Beer commercials are so depressing.
A sigh escaped his lips as he sat himself down on the chair. Tsuzuki had told him to wait for him at the coffee shop, and so here he was. A lone teenage boy sitting at the center of a coffee shop surrounded by adults. And as if that didn't make him stand out more, he was the only one in the place that was surely dead. Life can be so strange sometimes. Instantly ignoring all that was going around him, he lifted up the book he'd carried along and opened it to the last page he was on, intending to finish the book or at least get as far as he can before his ever late partner came.
It started out as an annoying itch at the back of his mind, a small voice that wouldn't shut up. Taking it as the thoughts of those people around him, he concentrated on blocking all the unwanted voices from his head. Not even half way down the page, the voice, the itch, came back but now even stronger. Followed by a sudden sensation running itself up and down his arms and spine. He felt his breath pick up a hitch. He knew this feeling, it was in his worst nightmares whether he was awake or asleep.
And as he looked up from his book, he suddenly wished he really was having a nightmare.
"Isn't
this a pleasant surprise?" Was the amused sounding comment that came
from the silver haired doctor standing in front of him.
He really would never get used to seeing this man, whether he expected him or not.
"M-Muraki!" He glared, making a move to stand up.
Muraki raised an eyebrow. "I wouldn't want to make a scene if I were you, boy." Then a seemingly pleasant smile that held underlying threat crossed Muraki's features. "Unless you want to attract attention to yourself."
He looked around, then reluctantly sat back down, not without giving the older man before him a glare that would've scared anybody. Muraki calmly sat down before him, not the least bit afraid of his glare. Silence surrounded them as Muraki proceeded to ignore him as he ordered some tea from the waitress and took his glasses off. He clenched his hands together into fists, angry that Muraki never found him as a threat to his life, or anything else for that matter.
"What do you want?" Funny how that always seems to be the question he asked around him.
What do you want? Why are you here? What are you up to? Are you going to kill me? Are you?
Once again he was ignored as the waitress set down Muraki's tea. It continued as the silver haired man stirred the warm liquid around and brought the cup up to his lip to drink. A soft chuckle escaped those lips as Muraki set the cup back down. "I should be asking you that question, boy. You were the one who called me here."
What? "What are you talking about?" He glared. Glaring is good. Glaring keeps people away. Not him though, never him. He gets closer. Too close. Go away.
Cold hungry eyes looked into his own confused ones. "You want something from me." A smile. He hated when this man smiled. So cold. So hungry. So knowing. "Rather, you want me to do something. Right, boy?"
"What I-" Now he really was confused. "What are you talking about, Muraki?! I don't want you to do anything!! What are you up to?!"
A raised eyebrow as people from other tables turned to look at them. "Temper, temper, boy." Muraki stood up. "Why don't we find a more.." Yet another smile. "Private place to discuss this?"
He twitched. "I'm going nowhere with you. Whatever you're up to-"
Muraki cut him off smoothly. "If I was up to something, boy, I would have done something more interesting than meeting you in a coffee house."
Even though he hated him, what he said was true. He blinked, confused. "What do you want?" He was repeating himself, yes, but he was confused. He didn't like being confused.
Picking up his glasses from the table and putting them back on, Muraki turned away from him and headed out the door. "The question isn't about what I want, boy." He smirked over his shoulder. "It's about what you want." With that, he walked out the door, knowing all too well that Hisoka would follow him to find out what he meant by that.
Unable to push down his need to know, Hisoka stood up and ran after him, keeping a safe distance from Muraki. He followed the man in white quietly all awhile glaring at his back. What are you up to, Muraki? What are you talking about? What do I want? What I want is none of your business!! He kept his eyes trained on the white covered back as he followed Muraki, not paying any attention to his surroundings. He stopped, surprised, when he found out that Muraki had taken him to a sakura field. He felt his blood rushing through his body as the memory of that night so long ago flash behind his eyes.
Swallowing, he pushed the sudden panic down and glared. "Well?"
There was a slight pause before Muraki started to speak. "When a gardener plants a seed into the soil, he takes care of that seedling until it starts to sprout. As it starts to grow he spends his time to nurture it. Protecting it against bugs, weeds and animals. The gardener becomes the seedling's caretaker."
He blinked. "What are you trying to say?" He always hated it when Muraki started talking like this.
Leaning down to pick up a slender stick, Muraki turned back around, twisting the slender bark in his fingers. "It's the same thing for puppet masters. They spend their time picking out just the right piece of wood before they start to carve into it. They pick out the right tools so they can bring out the best of that piece of wood." As he spoke, Muraki started to walk closer to him ever so slowly, still twisting that stick. "Inch by inch, they cut and sand it into perfection until that piece of wood becomes their masterpiece. Whether that piece of wood has turned into a toy solider or a doll, they dress it up carefully, lovingly. They give it a name and leave their mark on that puppet." He looked up from the stick and right into Hisoka's emerald eyes. "That puppet is then branded as theirs."
He was visibly shaking, he could tell. Taking another step back he yelped when he felt the hardness of a sakura tree against his back. Realizing then that he's backed himself up against the tree, Hisoka looked back up at Muraki and glared. "What does this have to do with anything?"
Muraki smiled as he let the stick fall to the ground in a soft thud. "Puppet masters take good care of their puppets, boy."
He must've still looked confused because Muraki let the smile drop and planted both of his hands on either side of his head, keeping him trapped between his arms. He flinched and turned his face to the side when the older man leaned forward. His breath tickled Hisoka's cheek as he spoke in a low tone.
"Puppet masters, " he repeated slowly. "take good care of their puppets. If they happen to sell that doll off, that doll is still branded as theirs. If that doll happens to get broken while in the hands of it's new masters, that puppet is then returned to the maker to fix it."
He flinched, trying to press himself into the tree and away from the man in front of him. "Wha... I... I'm not your puppet!"
A soft chuckle sent chills down his spine. He could feel his skin burning underneath his clothes. Too close. He's too close. Just like him. He didn't like it when people got too close to him.
"I beg to differ." A hand reached up and pulled his face back, forest green meeting cool silver. "You're broken, boy. It's about time I fix what he has broken."
Before he could say anything, he was engulfed in darkness.