blackwidow (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
blackwidow) wrote2009-07-15 10:59 am
blackwidow) wrote2009-07-15 10:59 am
Zodiac : Seven
Title: Zodiac
Rating: M
Warnings: None this chapter.
Pairings: KuramaxHiei, KarasuxKurama.
Summary: Rule Number One: do not fuck bandmates or members of other bands.
Notes: I apologise to one of my RL friends. I borrowed the name of your guitar for Kuronue.
Previous Chapters: Prologue 1 2 3 4 5 6
“Tack så mycket,” the dark haired man said with a thick Japanese accent, nodding in thanks as the bartender set a bottle before him. He gave her a playful smirk that didn’t really reach his eyes.
The bartender was tall and fair haired, had nice curves and a pretty face. She smiled back at him, perhaps finding him a bit rough but handsome all the same. “Varsågod.”
He scowled at the back of her head as she sashayed back down the bar to serve the other men who rested their elbows against the bar top. A group of women in the corner of the room laughed loudly, the shrillness of their laughter grated along his nerves and almost swallowed the foreign music playing softly about them.
Today wasn’t a good day for him; pretty women did little to cheer him up surprisingly.
He was on the street again. All he had with him was his guitar case and a change of clothes. What little money he had remained hidden inside his shoe, the rest of it in the seams of the hooded jacket he wore now. It was a dark brown, and smelt of beer and really needed to be washed. He lived comparatively simple these days, compared to his life style from before.
He pulled his hood up and turned his attention to the tall glass of beer. God what he wouldn’t have given to taste sake just once more, but half of the people in this country hadn’t ever heard of such a thing. Frowning he lifted the chilled bottle to his lips and didn’t look to the side when a body slid onto the stool on his left.
A big body, to be certain, with a lot of tattoos and scars.
There was a moment of utter silence, where the patrons of the bar and the music that fluttered through their constant noise reigned supreme. His thoughts screamed over all of them. Where would he go next? He’d have to get some money somehow, he only had a little left and he wasn’t about to return to Japan in disgrace.
“Kuronue-san?” a very Japanese voice murmured to his left. The man with the tattoos.
He froze. A drop of the collected moisture on his bottle brushed down his thumb and continued down the glass towards the bar top.
“I haven’t been called that in a long time...” he whispered, not looking up to his companion. The tattoos made him weary. What did he want if he knew that name? How the hell did he recognise him?
“So it is you? Good.”
Kuronue scowled and continued drinking his beer as if there wasn’t a large man beside him who he was almost definitely sure was a Yakuza. With his face hidden by most of the dark hood, Kuronue glared at the man’s hands as they rested on the bar.
“What do you want?”
“My name is Bui. I have a proposition for you.”
“Oh, is that so? What you want me to do something for you, but let me guess, you’re not really giving me a choice are you? You’re telling me out of politeness instead of just dragging me out of here. What’s the matter? Tell me, honestly, what could a washed up guy like me have to offer you?”
Kuronue slammed his bottle down on the bar and turned his head to glare at his neighbour.
Well, he hadn’t expected the bright blue hair. It made him blink a little in surprise. Kami-sama, the guy was huge. And tall, he’d bet. He’d easily dwarf Kuronue and that wasn’t too easy to do, even in this country.
Bui frowned at him a little, a bare twitch of the lips, and his empty eyes bored holes right through Kuronue’s forehead. “A friend of mine wants to ask a favour of you, we believe you will be interested in cooperating with us, considering the target in mind.”
“I have enough of a criminal record, thank you,” he snarled. The Yakuza was what had started all this shit in the first place. Was Youko - no, he just went by Kurama now- still involved with them? Stupid shit wouldn’t ever fucking learn.
It was Youko – Kurama’s fault he ended up here. Homeless and nigh poor.
He hadn’t thought so at first, but after those first few months nursing a bitter Yomi back to health, and then losing him due to the constant arguments – Yomi was too damn proud – they had, he’d come to realise that this had all started because of Youko.
Bui was silent for a long time, but Kuronue didn’t get up and leave so neither did he. He just sat there like a big bulky black cloud.
“Karasu of Ammonium Chlorate, wants you to be his guest for a while. He’ll explain his wishes to you in further detail once we get there,” Bui said, leaving little room for discussion.
Kuronue’s ears pricked at the mention of the cellist. It came from rather left of field when Karasu’s invitation (or order) was relayed to him through...well, Bui. He wasn’t exactly the type Kuronue could see on ads for toilet paper or something. Semi-automatic’s maybe. “Nice to know you have everything sorted out already,” he hissed at him and turned back to his bottle.
He pressed the side of his worn runners against his guitar case, feeling the comforting hardness through the thin material of his shoe. Mother Superior, he called her. And she was. His guitar ruled him, body and soul. No woman, no man, could ever touch the amount of love and respect he had for her.
A bit stupid really, but she controlled his life; brought his fame and took it.
Kuronue was anything but snide. Okay he had his cunning moments, and he was sure as hell no angel, but he wasn’t sure he’d like to dip a toe into a world that had destroyed Swan Song. He tapped a stubby finger against his bottle in thought.
“What does it have to do with me?” he asked, his voice matching his ire automatically.
Bui sighed quietly, in a frustrated kind of way. “He has a plot in mind to take down Kurama. They are competition, you see. You’ve heard of his new band, Spirit Virtuoso, no doubt?”
What a sickeningly Youko name for a band.
Kuronue scowled, glaring at his hands for a moment, then turned in his chair completely and fixed Bui with a stern look.
Kurama had ruined his life. Why could he not do so for Kurama?
“Alright,” he said, and slid off his stool to reach down and pick up his guitar case lovingly. He faced Bui, as he too slid off his stool. Kuronue was right, the man must have been seven feet tall or thereabouts.
“Since I am going out of my way to do as...Karasu wishes...I think all my expenses should be on him.”
Bui didn’t look amused, however he didn’t look angry either. He merely gazed down at Kuronue impassively and then turned on his heel, curling a finger at Kuronue as he stalked towards the exit of the bar.
“Well it was worth a shot,” Kuronue muttered under his breath and trudged after the blue haired man.
At least it wouldn’t be hard to find Bui in a crowd.
Karasu’s fingers gliding along his jaw lifted the black veil of sleep from Kurama. He opened his eyes to find himself face down on Karasu’s large hotel room bed. They’d gotten so carried away previously that even the sheets of the bed where in disarray, pulled up from the edges of the mattress.
His body ached pleasantly, reminding him of their actions. His throat was still hoarse, he wouldn’t try to speak yet.
Lifting his head and turning his eyes up to the dark figure of Karasu himself, standing fully dressed beside the bed, Kurama groaned. Tomorrow he had to leave for Venezuela and meet up with his own band with plenty of time to spare for rehearsals and general catching up.
Karasu’s black painted lips twisted into a smile as he gazed down at him. His fingers trailed from Kurama’s cheek to card through Kurama’s hair. “Such filthy hair...”
Kurama dropped his eyes to the clock on the elegantly carved table beside the bed and then looked up at Karasu. He wasn’t usually up this early.
“I have business that needs attention,” Karasu murmured, seeming annoyed at having to leave for the moment. However there was an edge of amusement in his words.
That said, Karasu covered his eyes with a pair of black rimmed sunglasses and waltzed out of the room, his black jacket trailing after him, and his footsteps nigh silent on the soft carpet.
The sound of the hotel room door closing was just loud enough for Kurama to catch. He also noticed that Karasu had also taken the room’s key with him. There was only one, and the hotel did not provide duplicates. If Kurama wanted to go out, he’d have to ensure the door never closed. He’d rather not risk allowing easy access to his room.
In essence, he was stuck in here until Karasu decided to return, and he kindly hadn’t left a time at which he thought he’d return.
Kurama rolled over onto his back and sighed heavily. The sheets smelt like sex, blood and Karasu. The three seemed oddly synonymous in his mind.
They were obviously synonymous in Karasu’s mind.
That was a good thing, right?
At one point in his life, a long time ago, he had thought so.
He rolled out of bed slowly and gingerly made his way to the bathroom. He washed his hair first and then the rest of his body. There were three shampoos to choose from in the two person recess.
Kurama glared at them for a while before plucking one off the shelf fitted into the wall.
Hiei hadn’t been amused with his leaving to make the trip to Bolivia with Karasu. He’d said as much, and Yusuke had cottoned on soon enough. No one in Spirit Virtuoso seemed to like his choice in bedmates, although Kuwabara seemed to think it was none of his business to be busying himself with the affairs of others. At least, that was what he said aloud.
Kuwabara had made it clear from the beginning that he didn’t like Karasu.
He’d need to sort this out before it all lost control.
Clean in every aspect, Kurama shut off the taps and stepped out of the recess, catching sight of himself in the mirror.
Long limbed and delicate featured, though obviously male. He turned his eyes away from the mirror before he lingered for too long, reaching for a towel.
He was meant to leave with Karasu tomorrow, and his body seemed to want him to remain on that course of action, however his band was splitting in half and he was not about to let it fall apart if he could stop it. He’d go to Venezuela today, this afternoon if there was a flight available, and he would meet them.
Once he’d gotten his clothes on and brushed his hair he called Botan as he gathered his things.
He didn’t leave a note for Karasu.
After having collected his guitar (he couldn’t keep it as carryon luggage, unfortunately) they headed straight for the ominous black limousine just outside of the Arrivals entrance. The driver opened the door for them, and Kuronue was aware of the looks they were attracting as he slid in naturally.
Bui looked like a thug if not a plain criminal, and Kuronue didn’t look too clean or healthy these days. There was a man inside already, seated before them, having a seat all to himself, with a glass of golden wine in one hand. He didn’t sip on it, merely swirled it in an absent minded way.
He appraised Kuronue with flat empty eyes before nodding to Bui.
Karasu, or who Kuronue assumed to be Karasu anyway, seemed to be their antithesis.
Kuronue settled himself, feeling oddly naked without the guitar case by his feet. She was in the boot of the limo, of course, but he lamented her momentary loss. He pushed the hood of his jacket back, and stared at the very pale and bleak man across from him, who stared back.
They pulled away from the curb, leaving the airport and heading south.
Kuronue cleared his throat, shaking his head a little to get the hair that fell in his eyes out of the way. It was cooler inside the limousine’s leather-bound confines than he’d expected. “Karasu, I presume?”
The man nodded, the waterfall that was his black hair rippling through the movement.
“I suppose you have a good reason to fly me all the way over here, and with an entourage.” Kuronue’s odd coloured eyes slid sideways toward Bui, who sat next to him, hands on his thighs, staring out the window as the buildings and cars passed them by quietly.
“Yes, I do. No need to act coy, Bui told you why I needed you. I paid for your flight here, and will pay for your living expenses and further travel fees for as long as I need you.” Though little expression passed over Karasu’s face, his eyes seemed to gleam for a moment.
That made Kuronue a little uncomfortable. Either Karasu was loaded or he really needed him that much. “What exactly do you need me for?”
Karasu’s eyes flicked to Bui.
“He wants conformation,” the other man said, still looking out the window.
Karasu’s eyes returned Kuronue. “You’re wise not to trust him, and myself. What has he told you so far?”
Kuronue leant forward and spread his hands out, palms up. “Not a great deal. Something about Youko – Kurama now. You want to break up SV?”
“Hm,” said Karasu. He turned his eyes down to his own resting in his lap and thought for a moment, leaving Kuronue to raise an eyebrow at him.
Were they going to tell him or not?
Finally, Karasu looked up. He set the half empty glass on the slight table to his right and leaned back in his chair, placing his hands in his lap. “Youko, as I understand it, is the reason Swan Song broke up. The accident was mostly his fault. You blamed your current, inebriated states on him. Hard not to do with such a corrupting creature leading you by the hand down such a dark path...”
“You’re very poetic,” he murmured dryly as he leant back in his seat. Then again, he was a musician. He should have expected it.
Karasu continued on as if he hadn’t said anything. “I wonder if you blame him still. You’re here obviously, has life been easier for you and the last bandmate of Swan Song with his absence? I understand you were intimate. All of you.”
Karasu’s eyes had taken on an emotionless blank edge as he spoken in a soft monotone bluntly.
Kuronue’s hands fisted and he bit his tongue to force down the indignant rage that swelled at Karasu’s clinical blundering over a raw nerve.
“Of course, his betrayal and departure was more than a mere kick in the teeth for you. Do you not wish for revenge, Kuronue?”
Kuronue glared down at his fisted hands, resting on the leather either side of his thighs. His dirty hair hung in his lap, brushing against the dark jeans he wore. “What grudge do you hold against Kurama?”
There was near silence for a moment, in which he could hear Karasu chuckle quietly. “Grudge? I hold no grudge against him. I have a mere want to see him in shatters. Past that, it’s none of your concern. Do you want to aid me, or shall I dump you on the street right now?”
Of course, ‘I’ meant ‘Bui’. Kuronue doubted a twig like Karasu won fights due to his physical strength. It was a threat and Bui looked to be all to accommodating in the manner of opening the limousine door and kicking him out onto the highway without slowing down the limousine itself.
But he hated Youko.
He hated him so much he found himself considering Karasu’s offer.
“Yo-Kurama has ruined my life.” He lifted his head to glare at Karasu, his lips pressed into a thin line and teeth clenched to keep himself from raising his voice. “He caused the deaths of Torvald and Nori, Yomi’s blindness...shit he hasn’t been the same since. He’s just bitter and...focused on proving him wrong, though he won’t admit that’s why he’s turned into such an asshole.”
Karasu’s eyes were gleaming again. “Then yes, I desire the destruction of SV. I want Kurama at his knees before me, and though for different reasons, I assume you wish for that too.”
Kuronue sighed heavily and looked out of the window. “What do you want me to do?”
“First thing I want you to do when we get to the hotel is for you to have a shower and wash your hair,” Karasu said, tracing his lower lip with a long finger, smudging the black lacquer that covered them.
Rating: M
Warnings: None this chapter.
Pairings: KuramaxHiei, KarasuxKurama.
Summary: Rule Number One: do not fuck bandmates or members of other bands.
Notes: I apologise to one of my RL friends. I borrowed the name of your guitar for Kuronue.
Previous Chapters: Prologue 1 2 3 4 5 6
--
ZODIAC
Chapter Seven
Second Movement
--
ZODIAC
Chapter Seven
Second Movement
--
“Tack så mycket,” the dark haired man said with a thick Japanese accent, nodding in thanks as the bartender set a bottle before him. He gave her a playful smirk that didn’t really reach his eyes.
The bartender was tall and fair haired, had nice curves and a pretty face. She smiled back at him, perhaps finding him a bit rough but handsome all the same. “Varsågod.”
He scowled at the back of her head as she sashayed back down the bar to serve the other men who rested their elbows against the bar top. A group of women in the corner of the room laughed loudly, the shrillness of their laughter grated along his nerves and almost swallowed the foreign music playing softly about them.
Today wasn’t a good day for him; pretty women did little to cheer him up surprisingly.
He was on the street again. All he had with him was his guitar case and a change of clothes. What little money he had remained hidden inside his shoe, the rest of it in the seams of the hooded jacket he wore now. It was a dark brown, and smelt of beer and really needed to be washed. He lived comparatively simple these days, compared to his life style from before.
He pulled his hood up and turned his attention to the tall glass of beer. God what he wouldn’t have given to taste sake just once more, but half of the people in this country hadn’t ever heard of such a thing. Frowning he lifted the chilled bottle to his lips and didn’t look to the side when a body slid onto the stool on his left.
A big body, to be certain, with a lot of tattoos and scars.
There was a moment of utter silence, where the patrons of the bar and the music that fluttered through their constant noise reigned supreme. His thoughts screamed over all of them. Where would he go next? He’d have to get some money somehow, he only had a little left and he wasn’t about to return to Japan in disgrace.
“Kuronue-san?” a very Japanese voice murmured to his left. The man with the tattoos.
He froze. A drop of the collected moisture on his bottle brushed down his thumb and continued down the glass towards the bar top.
“I haven’t been called that in a long time...” he whispered, not looking up to his companion. The tattoos made him weary. What did he want if he knew that name? How the hell did he recognise him?
“So it is you? Good.”
Kuronue scowled and continued drinking his beer as if there wasn’t a large man beside him who he was almost definitely sure was a Yakuza. With his face hidden by most of the dark hood, Kuronue glared at the man’s hands as they rested on the bar.
“What do you want?”
“My name is Bui. I have a proposition for you.”
“Oh, is that so? What you want me to do something for you, but let me guess, you’re not really giving me a choice are you? You’re telling me out of politeness instead of just dragging me out of here. What’s the matter? Tell me, honestly, what could a washed up guy like me have to offer you?”
Kuronue slammed his bottle down on the bar and turned his head to glare at his neighbour.
Well, he hadn’t expected the bright blue hair. It made him blink a little in surprise. Kami-sama, the guy was huge. And tall, he’d bet. He’d easily dwarf Kuronue and that wasn’t too easy to do, even in this country.
Bui frowned at him a little, a bare twitch of the lips, and his empty eyes bored holes right through Kuronue’s forehead. “A friend of mine wants to ask a favour of you, we believe you will be interested in cooperating with us, considering the target in mind.”
“I have enough of a criminal record, thank you,” he snarled. The Yakuza was what had started all this shit in the first place. Was Youko - no, he just went by Kurama now- still involved with them? Stupid shit wouldn’t ever fucking learn.
It was Youko – Kurama’s fault he ended up here. Homeless and nigh poor.
He hadn’t thought so at first, but after those first few months nursing a bitter Yomi back to health, and then losing him due to the constant arguments – Yomi was too damn proud – they had, he’d come to realise that this had all started because of Youko.
Bui was silent for a long time, but Kuronue didn’t get up and leave so neither did he. He just sat there like a big bulky black cloud.
“Karasu of Ammonium Chlorate, wants you to be his guest for a while. He’ll explain his wishes to you in further detail once we get there,” Bui said, leaving little room for discussion.
Kuronue’s ears pricked at the mention of the cellist. It came from rather left of field when Karasu’s invitation (or order) was relayed to him through...well, Bui. He wasn’t exactly the type Kuronue could see on ads for toilet paper or something. Semi-automatic’s maybe. “Nice to know you have everything sorted out already,” he hissed at him and turned back to his bottle.
He pressed the side of his worn runners against his guitar case, feeling the comforting hardness through the thin material of his shoe. Mother Superior, he called her. And she was. His guitar ruled him, body and soul. No woman, no man, could ever touch the amount of love and respect he had for her.
A bit stupid really, but she controlled his life; brought his fame and took it.
Kuronue was anything but snide. Okay he had his cunning moments, and he was sure as hell no angel, but he wasn’t sure he’d like to dip a toe into a world that had destroyed Swan Song. He tapped a stubby finger against his bottle in thought.
“What does it have to do with me?” he asked, his voice matching his ire automatically.
Bui sighed quietly, in a frustrated kind of way. “He has a plot in mind to take down Kurama. They are competition, you see. You’ve heard of his new band, Spirit Virtuoso, no doubt?”
What a sickeningly Youko name for a band.
Kuronue scowled, glaring at his hands for a moment, then turned in his chair completely and fixed Bui with a stern look.
Kurama had ruined his life. Why could he not do so for Kurama?
“Alright,” he said, and slid off his stool to reach down and pick up his guitar case lovingly. He faced Bui, as he too slid off his stool. Kuronue was right, the man must have been seven feet tall or thereabouts.
“Since I am going out of my way to do as...Karasu wishes...I think all my expenses should be on him.”
Bui didn’t look amused, however he didn’t look angry either. He merely gazed down at Kuronue impassively and then turned on his heel, curling a finger at Kuronue as he stalked towards the exit of the bar.
“Well it was worth a shot,” Kuronue muttered under his breath and trudged after the blue haired man.
At least it wouldn’t be hard to find Bui in a crowd.
--
Karasu’s fingers gliding along his jaw lifted the black veil of sleep from Kurama. He opened his eyes to find himself face down on Karasu’s large hotel room bed. They’d gotten so carried away previously that even the sheets of the bed where in disarray, pulled up from the edges of the mattress.
His body ached pleasantly, reminding him of their actions. His throat was still hoarse, he wouldn’t try to speak yet.
Lifting his head and turning his eyes up to the dark figure of Karasu himself, standing fully dressed beside the bed, Kurama groaned. Tomorrow he had to leave for Venezuela and meet up with his own band with plenty of time to spare for rehearsals and general catching up.
Karasu’s black painted lips twisted into a smile as he gazed down at him. His fingers trailed from Kurama’s cheek to card through Kurama’s hair. “Such filthy hair...”
Kurama dropped his eyes to the clock on the elegantly carved table beside the bed and then looked up at Karasu. He wasn’t usually up this early.
“I have business that needs attention,” Karasu murmured, seeming annoyed at having to leave for the moment. However there was an edge of amusement in his words.
That said, Karasu covered his eyes with a pair of black rimmed sunglasses and waltzed out of the room, his black jacket trailing after him, and his footsteps nigh silent on the soft carpet.
The sound of the hotel room door closing was just loud enough for Kurama to catch. He also noticed that Karasu had also taken the room’s key with him. There was only one, and the hotel did not provide duplicates. If Kurama wanted to go out, he’d have to ensure the door never closed. He’d rather not risk allowing easy access to his room.
In essence, he was stuck in here until Karasu decided to return, and he kindly hadn’t left a time at which he thought he’d return.
Kurama rolled over onto his back and sighed heavily. The sheets smelt like sex, blood and Karasu. The three seemed oddly synonymous in his mind.
They were obviously synonymous in Karasu’s mind.
That was a good thing, right?
At one point in his life, a long time ago, he had thought so.
He rolled out of bed slowly and gingerly made his way to the bathroom. He washed his hair first and then the rest of his body. There were three shampoos to choose from in the two person recess.
Kurama glared at them for a while before plucking one off the shelf fitted into the wall.
Hiei hadn’t been amused with his leaving to make the trip to Bolivia with Karasu. He’d said as much, and Yusuke had cottoned on soon enough. No one in Spirit Virtuoso seemed to like his choice in bedmates, although Kuwabara seemed to think it was none of his business to be busying himself with the affairs of others. At least, that was what he said aloud.
Kuwabara had made it clear from the beginning that he didn’t like Karasu.
He’d need to sort this out before it all lost control.
Clean in every aspect, Kurama shut off the taps and stepped out of the recess, catching sight of himself in the mirror.
Long limbed and delicate featured, though obviously male. He turned his eyes away from the mirror before he lingered for too long, reaching for a towel.
He was meant to leave with Karasu tomorrow, and his body seemed to want him to remain on that course of action, however his band was splitting in half and he was not about to let it fall apart if he could stop it. He’d go to Venezuela today, this afternoon if there was a flight available, and he would meet them.
Once he’d gotten his clothes on and brushed his hair he called Botan as he gathered his things.
He didn’t leave a note for Karasu.
--
After having collected his guitar (he couldn’t keep it as carryon luggage, unfortunately) they headed straight for the ominous black limousine just outside of the Arrivals entrance. The driver opened the door for them, and Kuronue was aware of the looks they were attracting as he slid in naturally.
Bui looked like a thug if not a plain criminal, and Kuronue didn’t look too clean or healthy these days. There was a man inside already, seated before them, having a seat all to himself, with a glass of golden wine in one hand. He didn’t sip on it, merely swirled it in an absent minded way.
He appraised Kuronue with flat empty eyes before nodding to Bui.
Karasu, or who Kuronue assumed to be Karasu anyway, seemed to be their antithesis.
Kuronue settled himself, feeling oddly naked without the guitar case by his feet. She was in the boot of the limo, of course, but he lamented her momentary loss. He pushed the hood of his jacket back, and stared at the very pale and bleak man across from him, who stared back.
They pulled away from the curb, leaving the airport and heading south.
Kuronue cleared his throat, shaking his head a little to get the hair that fell in his eyes out of the way. It was cooler inside the limousine’s leather-bound confines than he’d expected. “Karasu, I presume?”
The man nodded, the waterfall that was his black hair rippling through the movement.
“I suppose you have a good reason to fly me all the way over here, and with an entourage.” Kuronue’s odd coloured eyes slid sideways toward Bui, who sat next to him, hands on his thighs, staring out the window as the buildings and cars passed them by quietly.
“Yes, I do. No need to act coy, Bui told you why I needed you. I paid for your flight here, and will pay for your living expenses and further travel fees for as long as I need you.” Though little expression passed over Karasu’s face, his eyes seemed to gleam for a moment.
That made Kuronue a little uncomfortable. Either Karasu was loaded or he really needed him that much. “What exactly do you need me for?”
Karasu’s eyes flicked to Bui.
“He wants conformation,” the other man said, still looking out the window.
Karasu’s eyes returned Kuronue. “You’re wise not to trust him, and myself. What has he told you so far?”
Kuronue leant forward and spread his hands out, palms up. “Not a great deal. Something about Youko – Kurama now. You want to break up SV?”
“Hm,” said Karasu. He turned his eyes down to his own resting in his lap and thought for a moment, leaving Kuronue to raise an eyebrow at him.
Were they going to tell him or not?
Finally, Karasu looked up. He set the half empty glass on the slight table to his right and leaned back in his chair, placing his hands in his lap. “Youko, as I understand it, is the reason Swan Song broke up. The accident was mostly his fault. You blamed your current, inebriated states on him. Hard not to do with such a corrupting creature leading you by the hand down such a dark path...”
“You’re very poetic,” he murmured dryly as he leant back in his seat. Then again, he was a musician. He should have expected it.
Karasu continued on as if he hadn’t said anything. “I wonder if you blame him still. You’re here obviously, has life been easier for you and the last bandmate of Swan Song with his absence? I understand you were intimate. All of you.”
Karasu’s eyes had taken on an emotionless blank edge as he spoken in a soft monotone bluntly.
Kuronue’s hands fisted and he bit his tongue to force down the indignant rage that swelled at Karasu’s clinical blundering over a raw nerve.
“Of course, his betrayal and departure was more than a mere kick in the teeth for you. Do you not wish for revenge, Kuronue?”
Kuronue glared down at his fisted hands, resting on the leather either side of his thighs. His dirty hair hung in his lap, brushing against the dark jeans he wore. “What grudge do you hold against Kurama?”
There was near silence for a moment, in which he could hear Karasu chuckle quietly. “Grudge? I hold no grudge against him. I have a mere want to see him in shatters. Past that, it’s none of your concern. Do you want to aid me, or shall I dump you on the street right now?”
Of course, ‘I’ meant ‘Bui’. Kuronue doubted a twig like Karasu won fights due to his physical strength. It was a threat and Bui looked to be all to accommodating in the manner of opening the limousine door and kicking him out onto the highway without slowing down the limousine itself.
But he hated Youko.
He hated him so much he found himself considering Karasu’s offer.
“Yo-Kurama has ruined my life.” He lifted his head to glare at Karasu, his lips pressed into a thin line and teeth clenched to keep himself from raising his voice. “He caused the deaths of Torvald and Nori, Yomi’s blindness...shit he hasn’t been the same since. He’s just bitter and...focused on proving him wrong, though he won’t admit that’s why he’s turned into such an asshole.”
Karasu’s eyes were gleaming again. “Then yes, I desire the destruction of SV. I want Kurama at his knees before me, and though for different reasons, I assume you wish for that too.”
Kuronue sighed heavily and looked out of the window. “What do you want me to do?”
“First thing I want you to do when we get to the hotel is for you to have a shower and wash your hair,” Karasu said, tracing his lower lip with a long finger, smudging the black lacquer that covered them.
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Next?