Series: Code Geass / Kuroshitsuji / Original.
Rating: R (for violent content). Angst (Angst will be until the end, weak and feeble hearts, do not read).
Chapter: 1 /?
Disclaimers: The boys CG does not belong to me, even the base environment, but as it will be chock full of things I learned or that I love, I'll take 50% of the copyright. We gain nothing.
Note1: E ' the following Monsieur Red . I have no idea of the times that I need to straighten it all, however, the general plan is completed. It is not betato since my Beta is hyper-presissima from work. ^ ^
Note2: not know why the title until we reach the final. Rather, I do not really know a lot of things until the final, so be patient. ^ _ ^
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The sun had risen recently. The light does not even touched an old door, before which stood a human presence. Psicopompo, shinigami, death god. Building, invisible, translucent, like the illusion of boundaries distorted due to the immense heat of midday. Men were moving around, without touching them. From the depths of something prompted them to stay away ..
The old door was open halfway. Two guys carrying away a corpse in a black cloth closely. A cart was waiting. The horse was nervous: he used to drag the lifeless carcasses morgues, but there, a few meters, the same death he was secluded, quiet and fearful. He had blinders on, the animal. Would not have turned in all cases. The owner tried to calm him, but everything was just uploaded shied away faster than usual: it was a lazy beast rinomatamente. Only then will the shinigami blinked, coming back to watch. He was dressed all in white shirt, vest, shirt and jacket from the long tail to the knee, shoes. Green eyes stood out on light-colored skin, blurred only contracted by the turn of the eyes, and eyebrows.
so troubled by forgetting himself ...
; ; the bass in it to the sky
Mon to er to a reddish sort
those night
The moon the color of passion.
full moon, raising the tides, down to the harbor.
that filled the black tiles, opening roads to other worlds.
A cat among the advanced slopes of houses close to each other. He had a coat so red that seemed to come to bring fire on earth. Advanced without looking around: he knew the road. On reaching his destination, he sat down, folded his tail around his paws and purred. Unique gentle sound of the noises of the night.
A human form is glimpsed from the windows of dull, dirty glass door, the wood creaked a few times before giving in and open up.
- you come again tonight ...
A woman's voice, the girl grew up too soon, took him into the house closed and oppressive. Some candles were lit in a corner, sewing unfinished on the table.
The girl took the bread to dry without a pantry door, I licked a bowl of water, sparse, like every full moon night, when the cat arrived on the balcony caught between the walls of the houses were dark. Like every time, put him in a low saucer, poured some drops of milk, and laid him on the ground.
The red-haired cat was not eating.
But she sacrificed a few drops of milk and bread because it was the only way to thank him for his return.
As always, the animal bent its snout on the food offered (and on the clean plate), he meowed at her glad that she had sat back to work, walked toward her, to her no attention to anything else , the rubbing on her legs, sliding them down the old socks and routes, carrying over the knee, then jumped in his lap. She had red eyes red as the hair of the cat, looked at him and smiled, the eyelashes are moistened, they resumed their hands to sew nonostrante tremor of fatigue and emotion.
Then she began to talk about everything that had happened, which was resolved in the same story. Sewing, not to starve. She was good, and it would have been even more if they had taught.
She loved sewing, it was his pride.
No woman bear the sight of his right hand burned from the boiling water. So, not taught her to sew. Alone learn, improve, and more become skilled hands, was more admired and envied.
If only his mother had not constantly disturbed during the day, he could work more quickly. His mother sick, weak and bedridden, she worked to heal and maintain.
sacrifice themselves for her revenge on her, of that burning that had done when she was a little drunk. The mother was alone now, and depended on her. She obtained a lot of work, thanks to a sick mother, and skilled hands. Although the right was monstrous.
sewing quickly.
spoke, and slide the names of the fabrics and techniques of which he had heard from other women.
precise sewing. The needle disappeared, returned, bringing with him the line, clutching tissues, giving them shape.
the cat purred in her lap, looking at his sly work.
The front of the girl, who kept blacks and dirty hair in a bun behind her head was beaded with sweat. Most of the blood, in the light of candles.
She loved sewing, it was his pleasure.
ended the thread, the knotted, folded corner of the skirt and I speared the needle.
With your hands free, grabbed the cat gently in her lap, as if to wish him tear heat, or even a hiss of pain. The cat was left abandoned under the her fingers, looking happy cuddle energetic and desperate girl, until flashed on the legs, lifting the rear, rubbing his head on the neck.
- My only friend ...
pressed it to his chest, rubbing the fingertips on the surface smooth and fragrant, soft and incredibly smooth. He got up and lay down on the bed, a stone's throw from the desk, holding it against him.
She knew that she understood that cat.
came there to see it work. Since he was there, in her life, she had begun to change: he wanted to become even more clever, they would came to her as the red cat that came from who knows where to look and be with her.
was a sign from heaven. His new inspiration, the only being who could not see her as the servant of the devil, because of that hand.
She loved herself more, because he had chosen. Sure, a cat, a cat just like those who are killed and cooked in the taverns, or remain under the carriages, but something told her that the lu was special .
made her shudder, his presence filled the world with fire.
watched his hair red, beautiful in the candlelight.
He loved the red, since he was there.
He was only the night light to watch it, but the mantle of that cat was fire, did not want the light of day.
's why they call R ouge .
The arms were tired, the cat slipped through there, walking on his chest with his nails out of the soft pads, piano she moaned, looking into his eyes. Were gold, and more intense than those of any man.
- I'll bleed, Rouge ...
murmured.
A strong wind made her jump. Wind blew out the candles. She got up to go to close the window securely in the dark room. Before he could stretch his arms to the light of the moon, someone stopped them to him with his own, a hand over her mouth to prevent her from shouting.
At the same time, a man's voice.
to fear a. N o M a i pi ù paur a.
She turned toward him, he could make out the scarlet eyes.
His name died on the lips off with a kiss, which kindled another fire. There was more
nothing is off and died that night.
And Death visited the home, later: he looked like a frail little girl, pink hair in two pigtails, the curls that touched his shoulders. Shinigami named Anya.
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The sun had risen.
The light faded extolled the crusts of old door lintel.
Suzaku had crossed the street dirty, that could stain his white robes, with no color like the sky of dawn, the door to another world, a symbol of eternal pain and mourning. It was a white man who hurt, as were his sharp eyes.
He had occupied him for that soul. A death that should not have come so quickly, hastened by a demonic hand. Anya had been informed by: the girl had told him apathetic, as he often did when he saw strange things, and too many details in that story had made him shudder.
no need to be sure, he knew who it was. It was over in the human world to see for yourself. With a leap he was on the balcony, he recognized the its odor, which smelled of dried red petals and gilded with spices from distant lands. It was a faint trace of him could not forget.
Some men littered the room, talking amongst themselves. One
moved, a girl was standing. Eyes blacks, blacks long hair, wavy, long up to the kidneys. A red glove on his right hand.
on her face, tears.
The men, police, reassured her. One noticed the beautiful red ribbons hanging from the dress ready. He asked her what she wanted, she shook her head. He bowed, asking for forgiveness, but he left an address and the name of his wife, who was a seamstress for a Countess.
From that day the girl's life would change.
With false eyelashes wet with tears, hearts corrupted by a demon.
He wiped his eyes with his red-gloved hand, thanking the officer. They believed
to the devoted daughter, a mother killed by a heart attack.
They could not know that the passion he had made a murderer.
The white-shinigami did not enter the room until they were all moved elsewhere. He laid his eyes everywhere, looking for a further sign, but apart from the smell, nothing betrayed what had happened in that house. He took physical form, dodged the covers of the bed of the girl.
The signs of the night, visible in his eyes divine, were repugnant. The fingers of the shinigami twitched, then returned to touch the fabrics, with fascination. Nothing was more intense in him the desire to rip those sheets, destroying them. Jealousy, frustration, inability to understand. He found nothing, if not more reasons to torment.
was clear what he had done: he had seduced, released from the brakes, turned a fire smoldering under the ashes of a life gray.
He had touched with skilled hands and careful of those who in life had been a doctor (and murderess ), had kissed the soft lips, her soft and had long hair tickled his neck.
's face framed by dark red, caresses brimming with desire and tenderness, inviting voice.
Absinthe pure.
's task was to conduct a shinigami in the world. They were not to operate in the course of human affairs, did not know neither good nor bad. They had to intervene, but when someone else interfered .
He turned, the sun striking the shutters. All the windows were filthy, except one. Lit, was the sign of the lips, which had deposited on the cold glass of the night, print their heat.
was on the window without even realizing it, angrily canceled the imprint of the lips of the demon, with the back of a closed hand.
A kiss given with a cruel smile.
He had left there because he saw him.
He felt called elsewhere, did not waste any more time in that place for him meant nothing but destruction. If the demon wanted to play, he would give the game of his life.
Sunset grinding his teeth, flashes red, the color of the sea lead. The road running along the water was unusually deserted. Not even a wisp of wind crept in small squalid streets. Croaked the old door, close it. The girl's hand was delicate, but the wood was too worn to support also the slightest movement.
The road on pe r 's hell or to know
the sun or the devil, the road on
pe r' s n o t e r inf s in the open and
or invokes
She wore her dress with red ribbons, a red glove in his right hand, and looking anxious. Slightly improved. A month had passed, with black clothes of mourning. Now a dark suit like the feathers of a crow bands life, and she was pretty. The velvet ribbons intertwined like snakes on her.
's or the hell, or is under the sea, is the the anthill, and empty the
s in the streets here,
close them g eyes:
walked down the hill, distracted. Yet he noticed a man, a very handsome man, with deep green eyes and sad, along the quay. He had a sword on his right side, a little 'bent, from the decidedly unusual.
... you or your heart e.
He stopped humming to himself, composing. He must be noble, and rich. But infinitely poor in the heart: how else to explain so melancholy? She was in good spirits, and he was beautiful. The label came up when the permit, relying on the ground that the suitcase he was carrying.
- Sir, forgive the impertinence. Looking for something?
He turned toward the sun, which was still intense enough to disturb the eye. Not his, though, that remains fixed.
That strange man. Maybe he was mad. Or maybe he wanted to kill or get killed.
- Someone, actually.
- Oh - he felt relieved to be able to do something, to extend that speech - then we can help. I am moving today, but have always lived here. How has this person done?
- There is no way to describe it. And 'as if there were, and at the same time was everything. She
blinked, confused and at the same time dragged by the words of the man. Why echoed inside her, like a buzz? And why those green eyes, now focused again on her, looked through her heart? He put a hand on his chest, as if to defend himself.
- What's your name?
- Do not know his name.
- So I do not know - took a few steps back, frightened by the sight of the man - You a cop?
He sighed, looked at her with inexpressible sadness, he advanced, she took away even more.
- No.
- So what do you want?
- I can not forgive that person. I know for a long time, and it does terrible acts, and must be stopped. I understand, Miss? And it's partly my fault, if it has become what it is now.
She shook her head, took breath to speak again. Something moved in the chest, a growing malaise. Her eyes became bright.
- Or maybe you want to be so, sir. Perhaps it is her nature to be ... bad. What made you?
- She stole my heart.
started, study, and thought it was really be so, it was a plausible reason for the sad aspect of that boy.
- Then you should stop loving this person.
- I can not. I can not forgive her.
- Everyone does what they want, or ... you can go back.
For a moment flashed the image of his mother, and for some reason, holding my breath, walked to the unknown.
- You can only go forward. And start over.
- can you believe it?
- Repentance, yes.
- And if one does not want to do?
- And if you were completely discharged to the wrong we have done? Would it matter?
- But you are not willing to forgive.
He smiled, so disarming, almost sweet.
- I'm not a good man.
She knew that she could not look away from him not even wanting to.
- Who is in this world, sir?
- There's always time to repent.
- If only ...
He paused. The sun blinded her, the screen with one hand. With closed eyes was hit by something, stunned by a noise. Broke something, something that did not have time to leave marks on her. A moment, and saw the desk, the streets, his life, then had no more eyes to look, or voice to scream.
M amm to have screamed.
But did not have time.
He found himself on his knees, hands, ears, tearless sobs that shook. Confused, he looked around, a glare struck: a sword blade. The sword of the man. Drawn. Something moved on the metal, such as pictures, fading quickly. He heard sounds of horses, wheels, and Yosi excited men.
lifted his head.
They were not human eyes man dressed in white (They were the absolute bottom of what always escapes, in life), his movements were blurred, and he placed the sword in its sheath. He took her hands, pulled her up like a speck of grain. Ripped from the land, already cold and arid.
W hat happens?
S and the dead.
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