Leucistic [For Armande]

[iprince]

{{ Bad, Emmers, bad! Spit it out!

Emmers: ;-; You all want me to starve, don’t you! –nibbles foot- … mmm. –gnaws foot-

Self cannibalism.}}

A flash of uncertainty ghosted Kaemonji’s eyes at those flailing arms…but he waved it off quickly with a toothy grin, stepping forward as the drunken fellow slurred and tottered across the street. The sudden weight knocked the breath of him in a whoosh of air…but just a jostle, nothing hurt. He fought back the terror that flooded his mind, expelling it from his body with a musical bark of laughter, his hands fluttering up the drunkard’s sides to steady them both…

…mostly himself.

“No, no, it is…okay. Accident, yes?” the foreign accent thickened his tongue and his words, falling like sloth from his mouth. Kaemonji’s English may not have been good, but it certainly wasn’t that terrible. “No drink,” he waved his hands, fingers splayed, before his face, shaking his head with the movement. A drink would bring them back to the bar, and make his…sudden disappearance obvious to any who bothered to peer out into the night. He had to persuade him to near the alleyway.

“Not English, no. Am Egyptian, yes? I know little English,” he curled one hand into a fist, extending his forefinger and thumb and flailing each up and down as if to make a ‘squishing’ gesture,” I am lost, yes? You help me?” The last syllables were not spoken in the same clueless manner, his voice lowered, a purr, and he ducked his chin nearer to his chest, staring up through dark lashes. A tongue slipped from his mouth, wetting his bottom lip. A little gush of air sent a cloud of mist from his mouth, condensing between them.

He stepped forward a little, his lips curving into a smile once again. He pressed both hands to the drunkard’s chest (hoping to the gods and back that his intentions would not be unwelcome) and leaned forward a little,” Then I help you, yes?” His hands slipped a little lower, fingers dancing like spider’s leg over the clothed chest.

“Or...” his voice was a gruff whisper now,”…or I help you first? Then you show me way, yes?” Kaemonji’s eyes flickered over the young man’s shoulder, peering into the darkness of Armande’s little hiding place.

Reassurance. He needed reassurance. And to keep his hand from returning to his own belly. They could not have been harmed by the jostle, could they? His heart was hammering in his chest at the possibility. Eggs. Eggs were so very fragile. Armande must know. Armande simply…simply knew. He’d done this before. By Ra, he hoped this would end quickly.

And without danger. For surely Kaemonji’s actions would not have been easily welcomed by all British fellows. He was a student though. Students were good. For if they were not of that particular orientation they would (the majority anyway) be willing to…experiment. To derive pleasure wherever they could. So long as no notion of their dalliances arose between their schoolmates.

To be drunk made the seduction all the more…

…no, no. Slightly more safe.

He did not want to press his luck with jinxes.

[silverdust]

Armande met Kaemonji's eyes over the drunk's shoulders, reading all the boys fears and insecurities in that single glance. He gave a single nod. Yes, they would be fine. But he would not distract the Puppeteer from his hunt, only assure him so he could continue.

The student's eyes flew open wide at Kaemonji's...forwardness in the matter. But it was either the alcohol or the leonine's foreign musk beginning to weave its spell, for the murky orbs soon softened and the mouth curved into a clumsy smile.

"Egypt eh?" he pressed closer to the young man, hand reaching up blindly and tangling in the raven locks. "Never though I'd see an odalisque so far out 'ere. And lost too...but I'm a good boy, I'll be glad to help."

With a sudden violence his face tipped downwards and caught Kaemonji's mouth in an awkward kiss. He was far too inebriated to do it properly though, only running his tongue lightly over the bottom lip before pulling away and grinning. "Well, that didn't feel too off. Guess it's no problem then, Egyptian."

His arm snaked around the Puppeteer's waist; if he noticed the bulge he didn't mention anything, too busy congratulating his luck on picking up exotic one-night stands. "Are all your people this friendly? I might have been born on the wrong continent."

It was getting slightly harder to keep his place in the shadows. Armande had watched his marionettes hunt before, was familiar with all the games and sacrifices they made. But still, that kiss...he cirsed softly and shook his head. Not the time for petty jealousies. It meant nothing, just part of the hunt, just part of their seductive catch-and-kill. It had not bothered him before, it should not now. It was just his overreaction; he had not felt this affection in a very long time, long enough that it was almost irrationally new.

Kaemonji had the prey caught, effortlessly. Now all that was needed was the kill, and it could not come soon enough.

((Hee, jealous!Armande <3))

[iprince]

That single, simple nod washed over Kaemonji like a wave of good fortune. He was safe. His…the naga’s offspring were fine. His smile softened, and widened, just for a moment, encased in sincerity just for Armande. But the expression did not last long, and his attention quickly returned to the drunkard.

He felt the fingers twine in his hair, the musky scent of alcohol breathed putridly over his own face. His nose wrinkled involuntarily at the smell, but the student’s lips were pressed to his before the action could be made noticeable. He smiled against the kiss, lips quivering, and let him have his taste. Kaemonji’s hand crept up from chest and collar to rest against the boy’s neck, long fingers stretching out to trace circles over his cheek.

“We are not all so friendly.”

That finger slipped about, pressing against the drunkard’s lips. Kaemonji made a quick shushing sound and glanced exaggeratedly from side to side.

“We do not do this here, yes? English people not all so friendly too.” He turned about against the student’s embrace, back and rear pressed cloth to cloth, skin to skin, against his prey. A coy smile flit itself over his lips, shot to the student from over a smooth shoulder. Kaemonji’s hands wrapped about the Englishman's and he stepped forward, toward the alley, hopefully tugging his prey in tow.

Kaemonji did not wish to make the kill himself. He could not do so quickly, not in this form, and he knew not what excessive struggling might do to the naga’s offspring. Any manner of violence could break out, and worse yet, a myriad of repercussions.

His eyes danced toward the shadows, once again seeking out Armande’s form. Kaemonji would not risk a killing blow. Surely, with such experience as his gentleman had, Armande would understand what he was doing?

[silverdust]

Eagerly, the boy stumbled after his lovely foreigner, completely unawares of Death's hand at his throat. Armande slipped deeper into the shadows. Perfectly executed; in all his Marionette hunts the game was the same, the elegant, silent killing that he had grown so fond of. He watched with lidded eyes as the pair slipped into the alley darkness.

Bolder with the new sense of privacy, the student grasped at Kaemonji's shoulders, spinning the light form around to face him, back against the wall. His lips fell hot against the Puppeteer's neck, half speaking and half breathing his words. "So, where is it that-"

Armande was painfully quiet in his method, swift as the finest assassin. One hand clamped over the young man's mouth, jerking the skull skyward and exposing the serpentine bend of the throat. His claws cut through skin and vein like paper, so gracefully that there was no time for a scream, only the wet sound of blood splattering against the wall, staining it like red oil. He held the corpse a few moments longer, till the struggling stopped, then smiled lightly at Kaemonji.

"You play an excellent Marionette," he complimented quietly, so perfectly charming even with his face and nails smeared crimson with gore. "I hope I didn't impose too much upon you."

He picked up thier prey, cradling it as if it weighed nothing more than a feather, his eyes scanning the deeper darkness. It would not be wise to feed here, so close to the tavern lights, still in hearing distance of the bell's accusatory alarm. With a brief flick of his head, he motioned Kaemonji to follow him, into one of the side alleys, away from prying eyes. There the boy could feed in peace, with no danger to him or his nagalings.

Armande would make sure of that much. He wasn't going to slip again.

[iprince]

Kaemonji was limp and unresponsive under the drunk’s last ministrastions, his eyes glimmering past the boy’s taller form, seeking out his gentleman amid his hiding place. Armande seemed to materialize like a ghost, that spray of blood shooting into the air like an overture. Kaemonji’s eyes fluttered shut and he let his head fall back against the wall, tongue snaking out of his mouth to catch the droplets that flickered there.

Immediately his hunger reared to the forefront of his mind, and his stomach contracted with its emptiness. Ah, be it only food that creates the lust for more food! A man could go days without a morsel and his hunger would dissipate with his mind, but the first taste of something raw and edible would send him into spasms of pain. We only lust for that which we can recall, after all.

But Kaemonji had never felt such hunger as this before. Or…he had always indulged himself. Tonights happenings had not permitted him such, so he…so the naga’s offspring were probably keening in their shells for something to fill their little bellies with.

At Armande’s words Kaemonji lifted his eyes, eyes creaking open with a soft curve of his smile,” Thank-you Armandejah. I learn…from the best. Is that the saying?”

From the best indeed. From Jiarokumo of all creatures.

He shook his head in response to the question and waddled after Armande, rubbing absently at the blood spatters that had been flicked across his face.

The darkness seemed to be waning in the sky. So deep into the night that it was nearly morning, but only the paler shades of black had flickered over the bare horizon (skewed and uneven from the backdrop of buildings and smokestacks). It would be morning within hours.

There would certainly be no Jiaro today.

Kaemonji’s hand strayed to his belly, his smile faltering.

Perhaps there would not be a Jiaro tomorrow. What would his cousin think of this?

And more importantly, what would he do? His eyes rose briefly to the back of Armande’s beaded head. He could not tell his gentleman, of course. He would have to, but he could not. Not yet. Although Kaemonji did not fear Jiaro’s wrath against his…the naga’s offspring, he certainly feared other things.

Malice was not the only sin, after all.

[silverdust]

Armande knelt and propped the body against the wall. The image of Kaemonji's face, caught in the rapture of sated bloodlust, still imprinted itself on his mind's eye. How entrancing, the line of Jiarokumo's blood, and strange how they could divide between the pure and the savage. He straightened, shooting a quick smile at his young companion, before moving past him and into the mouth of the alley way.

"I will keep watch. Go, eat."

They hadn't alot of time left to spend together; the thought arose quite suddenly as he took in the smattering of light against the horizon. He toyed idly with his beads, winding the strands around his fingers. Kaemonji would seek Jiarokumo soon, perhaps in the next few hours, and he might become nothing more than a shadow on his memory. He was a Director; he entertained no shallow illusions of their camraderie becoming anything more than that. It was far too complicated for that now.

"You will go to find Jiarokumo's theatre, won't you?" the question was neutral, betraying nothing of his feeling or intention. Almost like casual conversation.

[iprince]

Compliant and obedient, not only to Armande, but to his hunger, Kaemonji nodded his head and sank against the weakening darkness of the alley, legs folded beneath his body. Normally he would not be so eager to dig into a meal, especially not with such a high-ranking gentleman at his side…but his stomach rumbled and his limbs quaked with renewed need. He had neither the will nor the desire to argue.

Kaemonji stripped the loose robe and shirt from his chest and shuffled awkwardly out his pants, discarding the clothes messily beside him. Hunger prevailed over the desire for neatness. With a shiver that wracked him from the roots of his hair to the ends of toes, his slender, humanoid form slid back into the glistening white leonine shape. He shook his mane, forcing the last bits of length to trail out over his chest, and with a flick of finger-like paws he slid the twisting, golden serpent up the length of his tail. Finally ready, he turned to the corpse and thrust himself over it, mouth enveloping sweet, warm flesh.

"You will go to find Jiarokumo's theatre, won't you?"

Kaemonji froze, his throat seizing around a chunk of meat. He flicked his ears back and swallowed, a hard motion, with his throat fighting against it every step of the way.

“I…I do not wish to.” He would lose his companion now. “Not…not with them,” he glanced toward Armande and the dim sunset colors that filtered through the alleyway,” I do not know what he will do…”

[silverdust]

((frickin sweet, I tis a concubine now *glee*))

Idiot. Now he had caused even more worry for Kaemonji; but at the same time there was that guilt-tinged relief. Not today, then, but certainly it would not be avoided forever. Jiarokumo. Why couldn't he let go of the feeling that the young leonine stalked off to his doom? He did not even know the full depth and intricacies of their relation, surely something precious enough to be pursued through continents wide. Something precious enough that the boy now bore the last of a race in his flesh.

He sank down against the alley wall, wrapping an arm loosely about his knees, eyes giving a brief and reassuring flick back towards Kaemonji before again turning to survey the murky shadows. Much finer, graying to mist in the new light. "I did not mean to worry you. What you choose to do should be your decision and nothing else."

There was nothing to do now except to wait. Wait for Kaemonji to finish, wait for dawn to come, wait to see how the tale would finally unfold. He wondered just how much longer he would be allowed to be an actor in this drama. It wasn't as if it was the first time he played the one to love and let go. Far too altruistic; he smiled a touch bitterly, though careful to hide it from his companion.

[iprince]

Kaemonji’s face fell passive, lax, under the guise of the pale shadow, lengthening with the light. His eyes moved briefly toward the corpse, before trickling back to Armande. He left it, half eaten as it was, and padded slowly toward his gentleman, pausing before him and letting his chin fall against his shoulder.

“You do not worry me.” He had already been worried. Jiarokumo was an ever present image in his mind, every thing he had done up until this point had been the sole purpose of finding him. Every repercussion a price to pay to see his cousin once more, to whatever end.

Armande was, perhaps, the only unworrying thing he had.

“You cannot worry me.” But he was a stranger still, wasn’t he? Oh, but Armande was all he had now. All that he wanted. The only real source of…of happiness he’d found in such a long time. He did not want to leave him.

But surely he would not stay with him until Kaemonji made his decision to find Jiaro? However long that might be... But one night, one night in comfort. He could sacrifice that much, couldn’t he? If Kaemonji were kind and meek enough to gain one last fairwell-favor from his gentleman.

Dawn was coming, and it would not be safe to linger near a body.

“May I sleep with you?” he stirred and looked away, feeling foolish for such a childish question,” I…will only stay once. I do not wish to be burden any more, but there is no time.” No time to find a proper refuge for rest until the moon made her sweet return.

{{Teehee ^-^ Ye-es. Couldn’t leave my lovely SD out, could I?

I love language barriers. Poor Kaemonji knows not the implication of ‘may I sleep with you’}}

[silverdust]

Armande stiffened slightly as the chin descended onto his shoulder, but relaxed quickly. With a half-smile, he lifted his hand and caressed the leonine's forehead. "Thank you, Kaemonji."

Why must he live in the past and the future when the time now was so perfect and precious? Right now the young Puppeteer needed him, walked at his side, and something more beautiful he could not have asked for. Both a punishment and a gift.

“May I sleep with you?”

Armande blinked, and it was almost audible. But...his mind wasn't guttered enough to take it at face value, especially considering that he had not forgotten Kaemonji's foreign tongue. Still, he could not help the small chuckle that rose from his throat, nothing malicious or teasing, just...true. There were no masks to wear with the boy, other than the hiding of his own deeper affections.

"You may stay with me, longer than a single night if you so desire," he tilted the leonine's face back toward him, shaking his head softly. "You are not an imposition in the least, Kaemonji. For the time we are together, everything in my power I offer to you."

After a pause, he smirked lightly. "And, for future reference, 'sleeping with' can acquire a different meaning in our language. It is basically what you offered to do with our foolish prey. Just so you do not ask something that you do not wish."

((lolz, awww, *pets Kaemonji*))

[iprince]

Kaemonji leaned into Armande’s touch, flicking his tail about his hind legs with a gentle, huffing purr,” Thank-you.” He would let him stay…for more than one night if need be. As long as he liked? Kaemonji could only hope, but such a thing was probably futile. He’d be more harm and hindrance than help, even if he could continue to aid in hunting.

Armande’s explanation sent a flush of color to Kaemonji’s face. He shrank back at little, his ears flattening themselves against his mane. Oh dear…he certainly hadn’t meant that. But Armande understood, or he would not have corrected him. Kaemonji nodded his head and stepped away, tail twitching between his hocks.

Just so you do not ask something that you do not wish.

The tail ceased its nervous wagging, laying still against his legs. And what if he meant it? No…no….not like this. Certainly not like this. No matter how kind Armande was, Kaemonji could not afford…relations. It was probably improper (perhaps dangerous) in his state, anyway. It…if…if at all Armande’s comforting led to that, would have to wait, just as Jiarokumo would.

“I am sorry,” he said it with a quirk of a smile,” My English is still not so good.” He turned away and peered about the edge of the alley. Firey sunset hues bathed him, turning white to flame and black to golden-edges.

“Where will we go?” Surely an alley was not a proper place to sleep.

[silverdust]

Armande caught his breath again as the sunrise turned the pale boy into a vision of gold and fire. From Egypt indeed, Sekhmet's son haloed in solar radiance. How well he remembered, the gods that had died to him. With a bittersweet smile he rose to his feet, touching his fingers lightly to Kaemonji's shoulder, guiding.

"This way."

He had hunted here before, and while the theatre he resided at was far from the decrepit mess, he knew by heart the backwards alleys that would take them there without notice. They would stalk through grime and shadow, but the Maharajah's abode would be well worth the walk. Damn, he should probably inform Kaemonji of that as well.

"I do not live alone in the theatre," he said, glancing over his shoulder with an apologetic look. He wasn't sure what the boy was expecting, but he hoped it wouldn't be too much of a discomfort for him. "There is another Director, and technically it is his domain. However, it is only him and his daughter, and they have their own wing. They will not bother you; he has no interest in others."

Indeed, in the paltry months he had been there, he remembered crossing paths with Mahareja only a handful of times, and never more than a word had been exchanged between them. His daughter was a different matter, but she knew the bounds of privacy. Strangers sharing a theatre, but really there was no better arrangement he could think of.

[iprince]

Kaemonji followed compliantly and in silence, wobbling beside Armande was a slow, clumsy gait, in fear of give himself a cramp after such a large meal. Slowness was better than no movement at all, as it were. Grime and muck were nothing new to him. Such dirty, sootiness was expected in this English city. He had seen little else since he stepped foot on the shores of England. At least, in the inhabited places. Their countryside was as beautiful as the endlessly shifting dune of Egypt.

Not alone? The end of Kaemonji’s tail flicked vigorously at the prospect. He did not want the attention of others, but so long as…so long as Armande was sure they would keep to themselves, he supposed it would not be too much of an inconvenience. Kaemonji cursed himself for being distraught over such a trivial manner. Armande may very well have been in a cast! He could have been intruding on a groups personal territory. Any fate might have taken him if that had been the case.

“I do not mind.” Did that sound impertinent? He hoped not. A lowly puppeteer should not be making so many a demand on his director.

Theatre. Oh, it had been long since he’d stepped foot in a proper theatre. And never once had he yet to lay eyes on an English one. Excitement rippled through him at the prospect.

This was good. If he could keep his mind in the present, in the now, on what was happening, rather than what had happened, what was inevitable, he would…he would be fine with this. There couldn’t be much to…to bearing children, could there? The process of taken care of them once they were born would be much more taxing, would it not?

…what would he do then? They could not come with him to see Jiarokumo. They could not. And Armande…Armande could not be with him that long.

He would have no choice but to find himself a cast, or…or a mate. Someone willing to share the burden of watching bebes. Bebes not their own, and with such knowledge in their mind. He couldn’t cuckold anyone with such…unusual offspring swimming in his belly.

But…pregnancy. Pregnancy should be easy, should it not? Compensation for the difficulties ahead, surely.

“Armandejah?” Kaemonji’s voice was a whisper, fearful of gaining the attentions of those who should not hear them,” I would…” he stopped, unable to go on without a deeply inhaled breath,” Can we speak of…” what was the word? Pr… “Pregnancy? If it is all right?”

[silverdust]

It was alright, but Armandejah could sense just the tiniest hint of apprehension. It was understandable though; had he been in the leonine's position, he would not have welcomed the prospect of being paraded about before strange individuals. But Mahareja and his daughter...they were not of that kind. Indeed, during the day they escaped to the worlds of their mind's eye, surrounded by all those rare and exotic treasures the Subconcious coveted so. The physical realm, as it was, held no lure for them.

Finally those broken alleys opened into the straying rays of dawn, and there the theatre, tucked away behind abandoned antique shops. It was one of those themed affairs that had since gone out of style, mimicking the build of the ancient near east in sandstone and warm wood. Behind the boarded windows there flicked the stir of silk cloths, the only testament that this theatre may not be so abandoned. Armande smiled and turned to escort the leonine further out, when the final question was brought to his attention.

He paused a heartbeat, suffering, as most males did, the total derailment of thought that came with such inquiries. But it was not the first time, he reminded himself, and it was his responsibility, in a way, to tell the young boy what he might expect. He gave a nod, half to himself, and rested a hand against the silken mane. "Of course, come, we will talk inside."

After all, the alley was no place for a topic such as this. He stepped quickly out across the empty streets and up the low steps of the entrance, pushing open the door and motioning the leonine inside. The interior was shadowy still, but bathed in a light glow from the cracks between boards and glass, turning dust into fine gold sand. There was a scent from the inside, the vague musk of the East, enticing, inviting.

Armande wondered vaguely if it was something Kaemonji would recognize. While Mahareja was more concerned with the material wealths, Schehera had a taste for the sensual aesthetic. Seldom was there a time when the perfume of incense faded from the twisting halls.