Default Pic


Musings Of A Meitantei

Mayhem, Chaos, Disorder, Anarchy and Common Misconceptions

Previous Entry Share Next Entry
White Knight
l1fe_go3s_0n wrote in kuroshiro_fics
 Pandora's Rebellion

Stage 01:

White Knight

Shinichi's eyes fluttered open still glazed from sleep as he let out a loud yawn, nose twitching at the delightful smell of brewing coffee floating in through his bedroom door. He snuggled down into the warm dark blue covers of his bed with a sleepy grin, happily inhaling the heavenly aroma permeating the air, his chin resting on the silky pillow curled up against his chest as he wrapped his arms around its soft curves.

His blue, blue eyes trailed over the plain walls of his bedroom, taking in the many tiny chips and thin cracks in the off-white paint as well as the pair of pretty pale green eyes staring up at him in lazy curiosity. He closed his eyes tightly, lashes damp and spiky against his cheek, and groaned out a tired, "What?"

"I hope you don't mind but I stole your phone," A bemused smile broke across the woman's features as her fingertips skittered across his cheek teasingly, whispered voice low and quiet, "and had Agasa-Hakase pick us up in his car."

Milky white flesh rubbed against his bare legs, the cotton material of his boxers twisting between his thighs, as Sherry's smooth calf slipped up higher with her knee bent in a way that was particularly distracting to a healthy young male like Shinichi himself. His fingers tightened their grip on her waist, digging into the muscle beneath her soft skin, as he sucked in a breath of air, allowing it to settle thick and cloying in his lungs, before releasing it in a heavy sigh.

He didn't quite know what to make of her; she was beautiful, yes, but one of the most irritating people he'd ever met. They'd only known each other for a few hours, probably around a day if he counted the time he'd been unconscious, and yet here she was sleeping in his bed with him. Shinichi would have bet his priceless Sherlock Holmes collection, all of the original hard-cover books signed by Conan Doyle, that she had only slipped in with him because he'd been the first person she had met since being placed inside that capsule…her prison…

Shinichi felt a small pang of guilt, knowing that he shouldn't begrudge her for wanting some meager form of comfort. She had taken the time to call his guardian after he had passed out and probably got him out of the underground area in Shinjuku while she was at it. Considering that he was quite a bit taller than her, and had been nothing more than deadweight at the time, it would have taken a lot of effort just to move him at all little own get him to someplace safe enough to make the call from without rousing suspicion.

With a soft sigh he pushed himself further unto the folds of his quilt, small, sleepy smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he murmured in a tired slur, "M'kay…"

A warm, coffee scented puff of air flowed out over his face and a slightly chill nose nuzzled at the underside of his jaw as Sherry snuggled back against him, eyelashes brushing over his sensitive skin as her eyes closed. Shinichi sighed again and buried his face in her russet curls, his tired mind dipping downwards into sleep again. If she was still there when he got up next, he'd talk about sleeping arrangements then.
Don't try to look mysterious.

Kaito growled around the head of his toothbrush, toothpaste foaming at the corner of his pursed lips, as he stared critically at his reflection in the mirror attached to the door of the small wall cabinet hanging over his white ceramic sink. His vivid violet eyes flashing with irritation as they locked onto the sight of wild dark brown hair sticking out in an untamable mess from the top of his head.

He tugged his toothbrush out of his mouth and shoved it beneath the steady stream crystal clear water flowing from the stainless steel tap, his nimble fingers rubbing at the bristles with short stroking movements as the frothy white paste dissolved. Kaito placed the brush in the round holder sitting innocently beside the tap before, smiling bitterly to himself, cupping his hands under the still flowing water and splashing it across his face in a quick jerking movement.

With a soft sigh of irritation he pulled the fluffy towel from around his waist, tossing it on top of the small pile of clothes stained a rusty-red from the, now neatly bandaged, bullet wound on his shoulder. The silky material of a pair of specially tailored trousers and a matching suit jacket lay in shreds over the bathroom floor, a cheery red tie and dark blue button up shirt breaking up the pool of stained white.

His feet moved silently over the cold white tiles as he waked, stark naked, towards the door leading out into the adjacent room. Smooth hands closing over the knob and twisting it an even quarter turn to the left as he leaned against hard white-painted wood of the door and forced it open, ignoring the protesting screech of the old, rusted hinges, before walking with swift and confident strides into the adjacent room.

Bright golden sunlight streamed in through the wide window across from the bathroom, lighting up the strange off white—one could say it was a pale cream in color—walls of his bedroom and scuffed hardwood floorboards. A moth eaten sky blue rug was spread out over the ground and his toes curled into the almost fluffy material as he stopped before the large chest of drawers sitting in the far corner, just to the left of the window.

He reached out and quickly pulled open the top drawer with silent hiss of discomfort, the torn muscles surrounding the wound in his shoulder throbbing at the undesirable movement, and grabbed the annoyingly black gakuran jacket and matching trousers that he'd been forced into in order to attend the charming 'co-ed' school known to the population at large as Teitan Academy. A school that accepted both the 'Honorary Britannians' and the, extremely well off, children of the 'Native Britannians' as students and gave them an education that was suitable to their station in life, and society, in exchange for the hard earned money of the attendees.

Kaito grunted in displeasure at the very thought of wearing the starchy thing before letting out a terribly over dramatized sigh of long suffering and slipping into it, a soft white shirt—with kanji embroidered on the front in blue—that was hardly part of the regulation uniform hidden under the jacket. He allowed the disgust to show clear as crystal on his face—still faintly pink from a vigorous scrubbing, one aimed at removing the blood from his skin—and grunted again as he quickly exited his room, skipping stairs as he rushed towards the front door of his small townhouse.

A pair of plain teal—he believed they could be called greenish blue but his best friend Aoko argued that they were definitely a dark shade of teal—sneakers greeted him as they sat obediently by the doorway on the raised wooden platform that he had covered with a rubber mat in a similar color to the rug in his bedroom. He actually found himself surprised when a familiar grin spread on his face at the sight of something so simply Japanese, Kaito loved the thought of having something traditional and he begrudgingly had to admit that having his uniform styled after a gakuran was nice as well, and tugged them on all the while studiously avoiding anything that could force him to have to untie and, by extension, retie the long white laces that he had knotted into neat bows just the day before.

Smile widening slightly in anticipation, Kaito began to whistle the very familiar tune of a popular children's nursery rhyme known to every Japanese native born before the war that claimed their fair country as part of Britannia's territory and sauntered out into the street with his cold hands shoved carelessly in the pockets of his trousers. The happy little song repeating over and over like a recorded tape in his head, a deeper yet very pleasant tenor joining with a lovely saccharine soprano to sing the words he knew better than the back of his own hand.

Eventually, about twelve minutes of brisk jogging and half an hour's bus ride later, he let out another sigh and allowed his gaze to focus on the large school campus spread out before him. Long stretches of lush green grass mowed to a perfect length and probably springy like heather or some kind of moss and gravel scattered neatly to make a wide pathway leading through the centre of the school.

A head of glossy russet hair caught his eye and Kaito felt the growl bubbling up in his throat long before he heard it, the soles of his sneakers crunching and squeaking against the gravel beneath his feet as he jogged over to the young woman lounging against the wall of the gym—or, what he assumed was the gym by its size and proximity to the goal posts—with a smirk on her face.

"Are you lost Kohai-Kun?" That familiar voice crooned, a gentle exhale crystallizing and evaporating before her face as it flowed from parted lips into the cold morning air.

"You can't be serious." He breathed, indigo eyes widening and lips quirking into an incredulous smile. "I almost can't believe you let yourself be captured like that Shiho."

"Who's to say I wanted to be captured by them?" Shiho merely laughed at the look he sent her way and continued on, a smirk plastered on her face, "Maybe I was just minding my own business, taking a nice midnight stroll through the corridors of the viceroy's palace, when those nasty guards got a hold of me."

"Find anything interesting on this stroll of yours?"

"A boy," She hummed, examining her nails with a critical eye and drawing his gaze towards the slightly chipped polish coating them. "He's in your class if my sources are to be believed."

"Is that right," He smirked. "Is he gonna be any good?"

She reached out to scratch at the soft skin behind his ear, as if he were a kitten in need of a good rub, and whispered, "He's already good." Here she gave a playful wink and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "He's going to be perfect."

He almost purred.
Smile, and let people wonder what the joke is.


Log in