Title: Familiar and Strange
Rating: M
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Karneval, or anything that concerns Karneval. In no way am I affiliated with Karneval or Mikanagi Touya.
Warning: Not for underage readers.
AN: Thank you for your patience. It's been a hard year, but I'm finally continuing this story. I still can't believe that I've been working on this for 3 years, on and off.

Perhaps hours passed in the dim cell. When the sun overhead made the room damp, he felt as if his clothing was suffocating him. He spent the idle time wondering how he'd die. He had no paper, so he could not write a letter to Gareki even if he had wanted to. He remembered the touch of his body, the warmth that made him irresistible. He paced around in circles and the dust kicked up and coated itself the edges of his gown. When the sun drew away from the window and began to set he wondered if Gareki would be okay. What if he took the fall for him and they were both locked away?

An unfamiliar servant clicked open the door. What was the point of being rescued from this tiny cell? He stumbled out onto the hot ground, he realized that he was still in prison. But was he ever truly free? He had to smile endlessly and pour wine for his older work associates. On his own, he couldn't hope to exit the palace grounds. He knew that he would be questioned on the way, and after finding his lack of seals and no credentials whatsoever, they'd toss him back into the damp dungeon like before. It wasn't an act of cowardice, to dejectedly follow this servant, but rather a logical and sullen gesture of defeat.

As she led Yogi out of the room, he turned and asked her where they were headed.

"To the Prince's quarters," she responded. Yogi was confused by the news. Why would he be allowed to return to the Prince's quarters? It didn't make any sense whatsoever. Was this the last time that he would see him? Did Gareki somehow convince the judge and the Emperor to spare his life? At what cost?

By the time they arrived, the lamps were already flickering to the warm evening wafts of jasmine. The orange glow was dizzying. The dark pool of water glistened richly, the lotus flowers gently bouncing back and forth. He bowed to the servant and turned, his eyes catching a soft huddled lump of fabric in the chair, hidden in the dark.

"Gareki-" He walked quickly to his side and took his hands firmly in his. The man looked up, his dark eyes seeming more tired than ever before.

"Yogi." His voice was quiet and he looked away.

"What's happened? What's wrong?" He sat adjacent to him, his body leaning over, his elbows digging into the table. His form, so crumpled, so fragile.

"I need to tell you of something." And Gareki softly told Yogi of the proceedings that would follow, what would take place in the next two days but how Yogi was safe, for now. He took him by his shoulders and hugged him to his chest, his trembling lips on his hair. Gareki, although completely attached to this man, stiffly held himself to him. He couldn't get closer. It would make the separation that much more painful. He couldn't bear it. After the morning tea he thought for hours about how he was weak, how his petals were not strong enough to stand against the brewing storm, and yet here Yogi was, trying to hold up his petals with his strong arms, his warm chest against his cheek like a shield that could stop a thousand arrows.

"So I'm the new ambassador, huh," he said. Gareki nodded. He was now the one people at home would have poured tea for. Or perhaps it was temporary, a status for war. After the conflicts were over he'd most likely return to his original position, if not lower. He shook the thought out of his mind– it was the least of his concerns now, since he was already a dead man.

"You're like poison to me," he said, feeling the words slip as his hold around Gareki grew tighter.
"As are you to me." Gareki replied, somewhat surprised by strained his voice was. To Yogi he was much less toxic- Gareki was like a drink or two, but Yogi was arsenic decorated with black ribbon, candied and garnished with glass shards. He had loved before, loved without remorse.

"There's more," he said. Yogi slowly held him back, looking at him carefully. It was inevitable that at one point he would have to marry, but he did not plan on sticking a fresh leaf into a book and closing it forever. Gareki drew a shallow breath.

"I once loved a woman. Her name was Jia Mi."

"Jia Mi loved feeding the fish," he said quietly, settling into the chair. "The koi pond right in front of us had them, gold ones, red and black spotted ones, large and small."

She would bend over carefully, her small fingers so delicate as she tossed the food in, a smile always on her lips when she did so. She took the room over there, and painted the closet green herself, despite the snickering from the others who looked down upon a woman of her position, putting herself to labor. Her clothes were like magic too- in shimmering shades, what exact colors I've already forgotten, but they were always so elegant and never pompous. She was always by his side in something astonishing that would attract the eyes of all the men and women. Her softness seemed to emanate from her, assuredly melting his heart. Perhaps it was her beauty that blinded him to the evil that surrounded her, her kindness so pervasive that it seeped into his own judgement.

It was a warm day, almost too warm– stifling, and her friends decided to accompany her to feed the fish. She slipped in, they said. Or rather, her friends shoved her. The water was shallow. She was laughed at posthumously for months for being so clumsy, for being so inept at even the simplest of things. Fell in while feeding the fish? Pathetic, poor soul. There was no suggestion of foul play- they did not find her strangled or dismembered, but there are many ways to end a soul, and she had a large one, one that attracted too much evil intention.

He was too careless. Too naive, thinking that the world he lived in would allow such beauty to exist, that the world would be kind enough to allow him this kind of joy. He was wrong. He was wrong up until the moment he saw her bloated, floating mass, the stench of death seeping through her soaked white and blue gown and filling his nostrils. The heartbreak, the agony then, broke him and broke him thoroughly. His lover, the girl he fell in love with, the one he stared into the stars with, was entombed in a black casket made of marble, buried deep into the hot rural hillside with the rest of the forgotten concubines and servants. He could no longer see the people around him as anything more than wrath sewn in bags of human flesh.

Yogi stood abruptly and took Gareki in his arms, cradling his face with his hands and pressing his lips to his temple. He didn't need to say that he was sorry, Gareki already knew, he heard it in the whisper of his fingers, the way they curled into his hair and brushed down his back. He pulled them both down and they slowly settled into a mess of fabric and limbs, Gareki's eyes to the sky, drawing across the pattern of stars, both familiar and strange. This time, Yogi helped to drown out the pain with his tender kisses, his hot breath and kind hands breaking the coldness that gripped his heart, and the agony coupled with the fresh-cut experience of being taken for the first time placed him on the brink of catharsis. His shaky breaths of pleasure and pain, the grunting of the man above him as they made love of love's sake.

They breathed hard into each other's hair and wrapped themselves with their gowns, the scratchy threads from Yogi's embroidered coat digging into Gareki's chin. They lay in silence, the babble of water and the croak of a tired toad the only sounds they could hear in the small courtyard. It was dangerous to be in plain sight but what was there to lose now? They shivered together and caressed one another.

"If only we could run away together," Yogi whispered, his arms caging around him, his eyes combing over the prince's perfect milky complexion. Gareki was staring up into the sky, his breath calm, his eyes doleful. Yogi whispered vain hopes, wishes that only naive children would truly believe. The walls were guarded with terrors. Instead of keeping dangers out, they kept the inhabitants in like stupid pigs. Gareki knew that he was saying them like lullabies, words to calm the soul but now was not the time for appeasement.

"Impossible," he said gruffly.

"There are so many beautiful places out there, Gareki. The province of La Hui, where the rivers overflow and cover the cobblestone brick with pristine green water, where you must wade to buy your groceries and climb ladders to reach home. You can hang your clothes to dry and swing to your neighbor's homes for sweet mango and and rice. Or the city of Guo Ri, where they trade the softest silks and sell the most delicious meat buns you'll ever taste– I know it seems impossible now, but it's there, just outside those walls. Let's think of a way, Gareki, I know–"

"Stop. It's just not possible. After Jia Mi died, I tried."

"What happened?"

"I was caught. They banished me to a year of isolation– I stayed in a commode not far from here." His voice broke on the word isolation. It was the loneliest year of his life, when the sun could shine and yet only the weakest rays would enter, making his carpet cold and his bed colder. There were no warm yellow rays- it was as if the entire building had been enchanted and swallowed in grief. In the mornings he was served tea and gruel, with pickled cabbage and radish. In the afternoons, an assortment of meats and rice. He learned to live modestly, to wash his own hair, to sharpen his swords and mend his own clothing. He was thankful, but it destroyed him. He felt too entitled, felt as though the balance to his wealth warranted more- he should have been in the fields, should have had his toes cut off. A year where he felt sorry for himself and felt guilty for feeling sorry. A year where he whispered to the handkerchief that Jia Mi had gifted and fought an insanity that threatened to consume him. He shifted away from Yogi but he clutched him tighter.

"We still need to try," he whispered.

"We'll see," Gareki said, the sadness seeping into his voice. Yogi felt his stomach plummet.

The new ambassador put his lips next to his ear and breathed,

"You can get married to a hundred women, but I'll still be yours," his voice urgent, feeling like all the mumbling he did would not help a single soul.

Gareki closed his eyes and pressed his face to his chest. He couldn't tell Yogi that everything was going to work out; he didn't trust his voice, nor could he tell what the future had in store. He didn't know if he'd ever truly be held in these arms, and so he said nothing.

"Mei Li, be a darling and come help me this afternoon, would you?" The Emperor said, getting up slowly, his knees bending slowly into an upright position.

"Yes, of course, Emperor," Mei Li said sweetly, bowing. The Emperor smiled dryly and walked to his sedan. His face flickered with anger when he was reminded of his failure of a son. That scum was such a fool, saying such foolish things in front of Mei Li, this beautiful angel of a lady. He didn't deserve her, her raven-black locks, the supple smooth feel of her cheek, the soft plumpness of her hand.

When the sun had just begin to set, Mei Li arrived at the Emperor's doorstep in a dark pink gown with green edging and a white sash. Gorgeous. He smiled at the kneeling beauty.

"Hello, child. Please, come in."

"Oh, Emperor, you needn't help me, t-thank you," she said, as she politely took the arm he offered.

"What services of mine do you require?" She said, looking up, a small knowing smile gracing her lips.

"Now, let's not get ahead of ourselves, dearest. Let's have some dinner, first, shall we?" He led her to the table, and gently seated her. He sat two feet away, glancing with a quick eye.

"Here, try this." He placed rich slices of the roasted pork onto her bowl of rice. "We must always treat the beautiful as well as we can, as they always grace us with their image of finesse."

"Now, stop that, Emperor, you are ever so well-spoken," she teased, picking up her chopsticks and slurping up the meat he had generously placed in front of her.

"Delicious. I can't get enough of it," she sung. "Here, Emperor, try for yourself," she said, and she offered him a bit of the pork from her chopsticks, a napkin held under to catch any droplets of oil. She was poised, her breeding from one of the highest noble family's in the entire League. He took it from her with a happy bite, overjoyed that she was so cooperative.

"Thank you for spending time with an old man such as me," he mused, taking her hand and squeezing it. She placed her other hand on top.

"Oh no, Emperor, you are full of vitality! Stronger than most young men, able to support young women like me better than most."

"Oh?"

"Quite so, and you are able to please, with such experience and wisdom in political and domestic affairs," she said.

He slowly raised his hand and caressed her soft pink cheek– she looked back at him in timid bashfulness.

"Now, Emperor…"

"I do love when the young ones play hard to get," he thought, almost licking his lips in front of his new prey.

"You've been craving a real man to please you, no? You've wished for someone who could understand you, see you as the beautiful, delicate creature you are." He carefully placed a hand on her clothed knee.

"Ah… Shouldn't we… at least make sure we're alone, first?"

"Ah yes, you're right, dear flower." He turned to the guard at the opening of the door who most likely had heard the entire exchange. "Leave us alone and don't come in until I tell you to." The Emperor boomed. The guard bowed his head and closed the heavy red-wood doors.

"There, privacy, at long last. Now, would you help me?"

"Yes, of course, Emperor," she murmured. He stood and she followed after him. He held out his arms.

"I've quite a few evening gowns to choose from, one of my cloth-maidens happened to come back with new ones, and now it's become difficult to choose amongst them. I'm sure your sense of fashion has the refinement I would require."

"Oh yes, my majesty, I believe I could be of much use." She slowly lifted the Imperial outer fitting from his shoulders, carefully placing it into the bureau. She reached to his belt and tugged lightly at the sash, heavy with the symbols and tags of royalty, the keys out of the kingdom, one would say. He bore so many medallions of gold and jade. One flash of the symbol made of silver and one could leave the Imperial Palace. She set it carefully into the bureau, shutting it slowly.

"What a wise child you are, my dear," he said, breathing carefully as she slowly unbuttoned his top shirt. Her fingers slid down the inside of the shirt as she peeled this layer off with nimble form.

"Thank you, Emperor, but what have I done?" She asked, draping a golden-yellow evening gown over his shoulders, threading his arm through and smoothing the fabric over his flabby old limbs. He was an aged man, but she curled her tongue and told herself that old men were like… fine wines. It was necessary if she wanted to be queen, and this was a shortcut to getting what she wanted. She was younger than most of the other concubines, and she was from a noble family! One with northern influence, the heir of a wealthy landlord. She had nothing but glory and luxury to look forward to, and if she had both the Emperor and the prince, well, it just made her life that much easier. This stupid, horny, Emperor.

"You safely put my sash in the bureau instead of on top. It's dangerous being an Emperor, my dear, can't ever be too careful." He was still very sharp for his age. She smiled innocently.

"I always take great pains in taking care of the possessions of others," she said, and handed him his evening pants.

"I think it would be best for you to change these yourself, my Majesty," she said, bowing, ever so chaste.

"You're right, just a moment then." He smiled with satisfaction at her prudishness, taking them and quickly changing into them. He tossed the day clothes to the side.

"Now, I have something for you," he murmured into her turned shoulder. She looked at him and raised her eyebrows.

"Oh?" She whispered. He went to the chest on his dresser and took out a small red pouch, stitched with delicate gold thread. He took her by the hand and led her to the bed, where he handed her the gift.

"For your coming of age as a young, bright woman," he said, patting her hand.

"I can't possibly accept–"

"Shh, now none of that," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Thank you, Emperor," she blushed, squeezing his hand.

"No need, dearest," he breathed, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

"But– what about Gareki?"

"You're still fighting it, even now? You and I both know that he is a waste of air and resources. Spare him no mind. Now give in to what you truly desire, my love."
He placed his greedy lips upon hers and she stared back with half-lidded eyes. His beard scratched her chin but she eagerly ignored it. He stripped her quickly, tossing aside the soft robes and almost tearing to get to the pale white flesh. Youth. He couldn't get enough of it, and this time he really found a gem. She was a virgin, to his knowledge. And even if she wasn't, she sure looked like it. Her rosy cheeks and thin waist, so pliable under even his old hands. Her thighs, so soft! And those pink nipples, the nubs so sensual and delicious. And when he roughly thrust into her–the sweetest moans. The warm, tight space, squeezing him so deliciously. Yes, this was what he lacked. A new fuck toy, one who played hard to get but was still a bit afraid– a clever fuck toy, one who playfully fought back and needed to be held down and fucked well. How many women had he laid on this bed? He could never keep track, but he had never had one quite like her. She wrapped her legs around him and whimpered for more. Very good. He thrust until his old, weary hips became sore. That stupid son of his didn't deserve this.
"My pitiful… son… You had better.. fix him!"
"Ah… hnn… yes.. I will..!"

He came into her and shuddered. She gave a small yelp as she climaxed, or at least, pretended to climax, as she felt the hot seed dripping into her womb. He really didn't care if she orgasmed or not, he was tired and fulfilled now. He lazily threw the blanket over the both of them.

"Thank you, dear." He whispered into her ear.

"That was…great, my Lord," she panted daintily, nudging her body to his and caressing his shoulder with a finger. "What great bedside manner," he thought. If only the other girls were as talented as she. He gave her a sloppy kiss, the saliva dripping from the corner of her lips. He promptly passed out on the pillow beside her, a loud snore rippling through the quiet regal bedroom. She stared into the darkness of the room, watching her shadow jump to the flicker of the candle. She roughly wiped off the saliva but shakily smiled. Maybe she'd get pregnant! Her heart sped up at the thought of carrying a royal baby. It would absolutely ensure her future.

Gareki shut the door quietly and turned to Yogi.

"You were saying that it was a noble woman who might have been behind the murders," he said, sitting across from him at a small table. He nodded.

"Do you know any women who might have that intention?" He asked. Gareki's mind flickered to Mei Li. She was a tricky one but he couldn't see why she might hire men to assassinate him, of all people, when she was to be married to him in a day. But perhaps it was she, who wished to end him through other means to make it seem like an accident. Perhaps she wanted to kill him to get at his father– the joke would have been on her, however, as he meant nothing to his father. Who else might be trying to kill him? Was the death of the previous ambassador a sloppy accident? Death delivered to the wrong door? Maybe the first trial to see if a poison of that potency worked. He was unsure.

The light filtered in through the top of the door, the openings creating a glowing band across the bed and floor. Gareki wrung his wrists in frustration. There wasn't enough progress. Suggesting that his fiance was a mass murderer to the court would be a useless plea. He didn't have any evidence that she was behind it besides her obvious demeanor. It was time to confront her directly.
"Hey."
"Hm?"
"You're pacing," Yogi said gently. Gareki caught himself mid-step. He was anxiously trudging back and forth, his hands almost raw from squeezing them together behind his back.
"You should eat something," Yogi said, and as if he had been requested, an attendant popped up at the doorway. Gareki's heart almost leapt out of his chest. He thanked the merciful gods for being clothed. Just minutes ago he had been naked and lying on Yogi's chest.

"Guests from the nearby provinces have come to express their sincerest wishes for the wedding ceremony." Yogi visibly flinched.

"Tell them to see me later," Gareki said flatly, taking a sheet of parchment and writing a few notes of condolences and a handful of gushing pardons, hoping to appease whoever it was who wished to exalt him with his inked strokes. He handed it to the guard and gave him a hard stare to send him off.

"I'm sorry, your Majesty, but it's urgent. The provincial nobleman has requested a private audience with the prince and has brought two carriages full of gifts, your Majesty. He is waiting in the East Wall Flower Garden."

"I see." He waited for the guard to back away in unsureness. He stood still on the balls of his feet until the distant steps creaked away before relaxing and turning to the man who was seated on the edge of the bed. His back was unnaturally straight, as if he was preparing himself for a blow to the head. His mouth was pained yet neutral. Perhaps this was the last time he'd see Yogi in a silent place like this, where the wind clacked the doors open and closed and the faint sound of water so calmly burbled in the background. He needed him to see this last moment. So he could see the pain in his eyes when he took that vile woman by the hand. He wanted him to take in every bit of his being.

"Watch me that day," he said, standing stiffly against the wall, his hands grazing the smooth wood behind him. Both were thinking about the same thing.
"I won't be losing you– you're not going to disappear," his hands balled up the silken cloths, ruining the delicate stitching with his harsh grip.
In a small whisper, he managed, "Not all of me."

AN: I'm working on a novel at the moment, but I am working on the next chapter. Can't make any promises but I do set deadlines for myself.

Again, thanks for all the support- find me on Wattpad now as well!
/user/chocobomushroom