Speculate

With my newfound love of Poker Pair, I feel it appropriate to write at least one crackfic pertaining to my current OTP of awesome.

Disclaimer: Nope.

One day, for reasons completely illogical and inexplicable, Tyki Mikk's glasses violently broke.

"Well," he said as set his book down, beginning to sweep up the shards manually. He held the broken shards of glass in his hands. "This seems to be an odd turn." He couldn't properly finish his book if he couldn't see properly as he read.

A waiter stopped at his table. "Sir, I believe your glasses are broken," he commented with the air of an idiot.

Tyki looked at him. "I don't believe I ever noticed." He smiled, a stretch of the lips that flitted the edge of just plain disturbing. "Here, you can take them instead." And he threw the shards of glass at the waiter's face, aiming towards the eyes in particular.

The unholy screams of the poor man made the ex-Noah sigh in happiness, and he stood up from his chair. "Have a good day, sir," he purred, tucking his book underneath his arm and grabbing his coat from the back of the chair.

--

"Oh, Tyki, my boy, whatever happened to your glasses?" the Millennium Earl cooed, his signature demented smile stretched on his face.

The Portuguese man made a slight shrug, removing his top hat from his wavy-haired head. "I haven't the slightest idea," he replied, sitting in a plush chair across from the manic Earl. "I was reading my Charles Dickens' novel, and then there was broken glass all over my book and table." He poured himself a cup of tea.

The Earl hummed in response, a small cup of tea in his hands as well. "Have you worked on getting a new pair, my boy?" he asked, just for the sake of inane conversation.

"Oh, but of course." Tyki huffed. "I feel rather naked without them."

That, all by itself, made the large Earl grin even harder, if it were virtually possible.

"Oh, my boy," he began jovially, attempting to hide his smile behind the teacup. He failed miserably. "I can help you with that."

The dark-skinned man cocked an eyebrow, eyes hooded. "Really?" he replied. "And what can you do, Earl?"

"I can do this." The fat man flit his hand through the air, a pair of glasses materializing in his gloved hands. "For you, my boy." He handed the pair of glasses to the man.

Tyki took the new spectacles, turning them over in his gloved hands. "They are actually very nice," he mused aloud, smirking. "But there's a catch, is there not?" He slipped them on, his eyes closed.

"I've raised you well," the Earl replied, laughing a high-pitched sound. "Well, you'd have to open your eyes first, Tyki, to find out."

"Ah." He opened his eyes.

And he stared.

"Well, my boy?"

"I…" the ex-Noah started, placing his tea on the small saucer on the table. "I…I must excuse myself. I have to go and vomit."

He stood up suddenly, holding his stomach. The signature dark-skin of the man was beginning to pale.

The Earl chuckled. "I take it you like my see-through glasses, then?" he called after the tall man.

The sound of retching was his reply.

--

Of course, Tyki Mikk was not at all embarrassed from his gross display in the restroom.

"You would've done the same," he said to Rhode, looking anywhere but at her. "If you had glasses that could see through all clothing, that is."

"But I don't have glasses that can do that," Rhode retorted, poking him on the forehead. "So it's still a sickening act. Come on, play with me."

"Ah." Tyki looked down at his book, marveling at how amazingly clear the pages were now that he had glasses that could see through almost anything.

"Tyki," the girl whined, climbing onto his lap. "Why won't you play with me?"

"I don't want to look at you."

Ouch. "That kind of hurt my feelings," she replied, huffing. "I mean, what's wrong with my body? I know a lot of men that would jump to see me naked."

"Sherman doesn't count." Tyki retorted, stifling a shudder at the one man who could creep even him out.

"Oh."

"You have the body of an eleven-year-old girl. I would have to have no morals to just glance at your underdeveloped body like a verifiable pervert."

Rhode smacked him lightly atop the head. "You would do it to Allen," she muttered. Then she thought about it. "Well, so would I, actually."

"…" Suddenly, A Tale of Two Cities wasn't nearly as interesting as it was a few seconds ago. "I do believe that is a great idea."

"What? Imagining Allen Walker naked?" Rhode grinned.

He looked at her. "Now, why would I need imagination, when I've got these?" He tapped at the spectacles on the bridge of his straight nose. Then he grimaced. "You really are underdeveloped."

The Noah frowned. "But, I wanted you to play Voodoo with me," she complained, holding up a painstakingly familiar doll sewn to perfection. "I have a Bookman Junior one this time!"

"I'll play later." Tyki smiled, a disturbing smirk on his dark face. "I must catch the next train to Manchester." Apparently he had a built-in radar of sorts when it came to Allen Walker.

"He's actually in Stratford at this time." Rhode corrected, hugging her doll close to her chest.

Ironic. He just returned from Stratford.

"Thank you, Rhode. I'll be sure to bring you back a present."

"Great!" She paused. "And I am not underdeveloped, you unnatural sexual pervert!"

--

Allen Walker, without the threat of Noah sightings for three weeks, was becoming respectably paranoid. Add the persistence and stalking of Howard Link, the over-bearing suspicions of Levillier, and the mysterious disappearance of Cross, it was a wonder from God that he had not pitched a spasm at this point.

"Sir?" a heavily facial bandaged man spoke, looking above him. "Are you okay? I'm hearing a lot of tapping coming from your table."

The white-haired boy smiled, his gloved hands stilling. "Why, yes. Thank you for asking." He looked up at the waiter, noting the blood seeping through the white gauze around his eyes. "…I apologize if this is not my place to ask, but are you okay?"

"Huh?" the waiter looked down. "Oh, so you were sitting. I'm okay, just a little blind-sided, that's all."

It looked like he was just blind, but Allen knew better than to comment.

"What a sad predicament," he replied, resting his chin on an open palm. "What happened?"

"Some bloody psycho threw glass in my eyes!" the man explained angrily. "I just told him his glasses broke, and he went completely barmy on me!"

"Barmy?" Oh, the people he knew that could be described with that word. "Do you remember what he looked like?"

"Oh, a really handsome bloke with a Spanish, Porto-kinda look." He shrugged. "Had a thick accent."

For some reason, Allen's Noah-senses were going off, full-kilter.

"In fact, he was the best bloomin' thing I ever saw, for my last sight, that is." The waiter trailed off irritably, huffing.

"Then why are you still working here if you cannot see?"

"Because I've got bugger all money and no family." He sighed. "It's a pity job, really."

"How unfortunate." Allen smiled. "May God help you with your perils."

"God, hmm?" a deep, evil-tinted voice asked from behind the fifteen-year-old. "The mere irony of that statement is enough to make me laugh." Which he did, for the record.

The white-haired boy turned around, very slowly, and refrained from having a conniption. "Tyki Mikk," he greeted with an irked smile. "How…nice to see you again."

Tyki opened his eyes from behind a nice pair of glasses, if Allen had to comment. "It's nice to see you again too," he replied, stepping to the side of the table the boy occupied. "Very nice."

Oh God. Allen didn't know if he could handle this.

"What brings you to this…restaurant?" he asked, noting the horrified face of the waiter, who stood behind Tyki, his hands to his bandaged eyes.

"You." The Portuguese man sat in the chair opposite of Allen, legs crossing habitually. "I caught sight of your unmistakable hair, and thought it to be nice to stop and see you. You're my favorite exorcist, you know."

Allen didn't know whether to be pleased or horrified, but he suspected the latter was the correct reaction.

"Thank you, I suppose." The boy blinked at the man's unwavering, unnervingly creepy stare. "I'm sorry, is there something on me?"

"Oh, nothing at all." Tyki's smirk widened to satanic proportions. "But, I believe your coat is on incorrectly."

"Really?" Allen looked down, not finding anything wrong with his red and black exorcist coat. "Are you positive?"

"But of course. I'd never lie to you, since I am no longer a true threat." The ex-Noah waved his wrist in an offhand manner. "You should stand up. I'm only trying to help you, Walker. Not hurt you." It would've been great if he did anyway, but his days of sadism are, unfortunately, over for the count.

"You do realize that I don't trust you, correct?" But he stood up anyway, brushing off his chest pocket.

Tyki could've died right there and he'd be happier than the time he tripped a man into London traffic.

"Turn around a little," he instructed, smiling a little too hard. "I believe it may be the tails of the coat."

Allen narrowed his eyes slightly, a nervous feeling sliding down his spine. "I still see no problems," he muttered, turning slightly.

"I don't see any problems either," Tyki purred, staring pointedly at his backside. Allen, who at this point was extremely suspicious, looked back at the dark-skinned man with a glare.

"What is going on, Mikk?"

"My apologies." Tyki said, grinning a white-toothed smile. "It seems that I'm just not used to the designs of your new coats." He readjusted his glasses. "And, those coats have a great view."

"For some reason, what you just said has made me feel dirtier than any mission I could ever take." Allen said, smiling nervously.

"My pleasure." The Portuguese man looked up. "It seems I must take my leave, as your loving stalker has returned." He stood up, eyes on Allen's torso. "A good evening to you, and goodbye." Tyki smirked, tipping his top hat in leave.

He walked by the tall, blond stalker of Allen, and then leaned over, grinning. "A body like that doesn't need to be hidden so profusely," he whispered in Link's ear. "Do you work out?"

Link blinked very slowly. "…Do I know you?" he demanded.

"No." The Portuguese man walked out the doors, winking at Allen one more time through the windows.

The inspector sat in front of Allen, hands interlacing. "I feel oddly dirty," he commented stoically.

"Oh," Allen breathed, resisting the urge to run all the way back to headquarters and take a burning hot bath. "You are not the only one."

--

The Millennium Earl grinned at Tyki, who smiled back.

"How do you enjoy the spectacles?"

Tyki, who kept his eyes screwed shut when facing the general direction of the Earl, laughed lightly.

"Beautiful," he purred. "Just…beautiful."

LOL WUT

I MUST BE ON DRUGS

No, no, I'm just taking a break from the shitload of schoolwork I'm constantly doing. :D I don't know how to factor Polynomials to SAVE MY LIFE FROM SUPER-AIDS or something.

The glasses mentioned in this are the gay-looking ones Tyki wore in volume 9 or 10, I can hardly remember.

But writing this has been an intensely fun experience. INTENSELY I SAY! I'm practicing Britspeak for AWYWI, because it's actually really fun to write. This one-shot was only supposed to be, like 500 words and stuff, but I suck at word count and shit.

For RuneMoon, because she put the damned idea in my heeeead. It wouldn't go awaaaay! Poker Pair fucking pwnz. Srsly.