Switchblade Serenade

Interlude I









Aya wandered the stalls of the flower market. Usually Omi did this chore, but the blonde needed a little extra time to prepare for exams and their workload had interfered with his studying. The redhead didn’t mind this particular part of their job, as a matter of fact strolling the various stalls had a calming effect on his nerves. He had already chosen several different colors of roses, cattelya orchids, freesia and some gentian. Somehow, their personal flowers always played a large part in the numerous arrangements that they did. He neared a shadowed part of the building; most of it still in the shade. The sun had just crept over the horizon. This was Aya’s favorite part of the day; the city’s noise level stayed at a low hum and could be easily ignored and the heady scent of the myriad of flowers hung heavily in the air. Hands reached out of the gloom, covered his mouth and pulled him into the fragile privacy.



: Good morning, Katzen,: a nasally voice said into his head. : How goes it?:



“Mastermind,” he hissed, struggling to get away from the insane flame-tressed assassin.



: Calm down, Katzen. I just have a question for you.:



“And that would be?”



“How’s Balinese?” Schuldich whispered into his ear. His tongue snaked out and traced the delicate shell-shaped orifice. He pulled the resisting form tight against his groin and moaned at the delicious contact.



“And how would you know Yohji?”



“You really need to take some fashion advice from him, Abyssinian,” the taller man stated, clucking his tongue in distaste. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that someone with your hair color really shouldn’t wear that shade of orange? You look like you’re color blind. Or at least that you’ve got very poor taste.”



“Again, how do you know Yohji?” he growled, becoming still in the other man’s arms.



“Let’s see, an emerald and gold god wandered into a discothèque, joined up with a flame-haired sinner and they spent a night of redemption at a local hotel.” He grinned down at the motionless, taciturn man in his arms. “Got the point.”



“His birthday!” Aya snarled. “His fucking birthday! The night that I waited all night for him to come home and he was screwing around with you?!”



“Ja. But don’t feel too bad,” Schuldich murmured into his ear. “He was pining after someone else the whole time. But don’t you worry; I’ll make sure that he doesn’t think about that certain somebody special too often.” The man let Aya go, causing him to stagger into the dimly lit pathway. All that could be seen of his attacker was the white of his pants and the shimmer of the bandana that kept his hair off his face. “Oh by the way, Ran, your sweet, luscious Yohji has a thing for redheads. Maybe you should talk to him.” He blew a kiss at the silently fuming man. “Ta-ta for now, beautiful.”



Pain in Aya’s hands caused him to look down; the thorns from some of the roses had bit into his palm, causing it to bleed. He scowled at the blood, turned on his heel, paid for his purchases and left. When he got home, a certain Eurasian would bleed out his last on the end of a katana.