Daiki, Part 12

by Geri ([email protected])

My homepage: http://www.geocities.com/geris_petshop_fics/index.html

Rating: R (actually, mostly PG-13, but R for one steamy scene in Part 1, and for Leon's bad language throughout)

Pairing: Leon/D

Author's note: {} Indicates character's unspoken thoughts

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Matsuri Akino and Yumiko Kawahara. No money is being made off this story; consider it a little wish fulfillment on my part.

Sequel to: This can be considered a continuation of my earlier series of stories (Revenge, The Day After, Spirits, Blodeuedd), but it can stand on its own as my version of what happens after Book 10.

SPOILER WARNING: Contains spoilers for Book 10 and the Shin Petshop of Horrors series currently running in Japan.

Summary: A crossover between Petshop of Horrors by Matsuri Akino and Dolls by Yumiko Kawahara. An artist receives a commission to paint one of the Plant Dolls; this story is based on "Rainy Moon," the fourth chapter in Book 1 of the Dolls manga.
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Raphael Van Horne was walking through Chinatown late one night, reluctantly heading towards the Plant Dolls shop. It would probably be closed by the time he got there, but he had deliberately timed it that way. He just wanted to take a look at the dolls in the shop window before he decided whether or not he would accept the commission he'd been offered.

Catching sight of his reflection in a plate glass window, he smiled with ironic humor. The image that smiled back at him was that of a tall, handsome man with shoulder-length black hair--partly due to vanity and artistic affectation, but mostly due to the fact that he couldn't afford luxuries such as a haircut. Most days, he was just barely able to scrape together enough to pay the rent and keep himself fed; occasionally he went hungry when he couldn't afford both. He was clad in faded jeans and a long-sleeved shirt that had originally been black, but was now faded to gray--he probably wouldn't even be allowed into a high-class place like the Plant Dolls shop dressed like this. It was, however, an appropriate outfit for a starving artist.

Raphael sighed and continued on his way. He wasn't quite starving yet, but he would be soon if he didn't get another job lined up. So he supposed that he would have to take the geezer's commission whether he liked it or not, and the stubborn old coot probably knew it!

The sky, which was already cloudy and overcast, began to rumble ominously. Raphael sprinted for the dubious shelter of the awning hanging over the Plant Dolls shop, but he was soaked to the skin by the time he got there.

But it turned out that the shop was not closed after all, because the lights were still on, and the door immediately opened. "Oh my," said the most beautiful man Raphael had ever seen in his life. "Please come in, sir, and get out of the rain."

Over Raphael's polite, halfhearted protests, the shopkeeper briskly ushered him into the shop and pressed a change of clothing on him. The shopkeeper left him alone in a small antechamber off the main room, and Raphael changed into the Chinese-style shirt and trousers that his host had given him. Presumably, they belonged to the shopkeeper, who was a bit more slender than Raphael, but they were loosely cut (and Raphael was underfed), and the clothes fit comfortably enough. When Raphael emerged from the antechamber, the shopkeeper gave him a towel to dry off his hair, and then seated him at a table next to a statue of a fierce-looking dragon; the statue was so tall that the top of the dragon's head reached nearly to the ceiling.

While Raphael had been changing clothes, the shopkeeper had laid out a pot of tea and plates of warm dim sum on the table. Raphael shook his head in amazement, not just in surprise at the fact that the shopkeeper would offer a feast to a passerby who had gotten caught in the rain, but that he was able to prepare such a feast so quickly. Perhaps he was used to having customers stop by at all hours of the day and night.

"I feel bad," Raphael said apologetically, although his stomach rumbled hungrily at the sight of the food. "I'm not even a customer, and all this...I just got caught in a downpour."

"It can't be helped, this time of year," the shopkeeper said pleasantly, with Raphael's wet clothing draped over his arm. "I shall hang these to dry over there."

"Yeah, thanks," Raphael said, feeling a little embarrassed by his growling stomach and his shabby clothes. "Sorry for the trouble, letting me borrow clothing, even."

The shopkeeper hung up the wet clothing on the wall near a heater, which presumably kept the shop warm for the benefit of the delicate Plant Dolls. Raphael used the opportunity to get a better look at his host: he was a beautiful young man in his late teens or at most, early twenties, a few years younger than Raphael, with a graceful, willowy build. His features looked Asian, but his skin was porcelain-fair and his wavy hair was golden-blond, tied back in a short tail with a blue ribbon. He was clad in an ankle-length robe with a mandarin collar; it was made of deep blue silk decorated with wispy white clouds on the front and a golden dragon on the back--serpentine and wingless, in the Asian fashion, much like the statue that Raphael was sitting next to. The robe was slit up the side to the waist, revealing that the shopkeeper was wearing blue silk trousers a few shades lighter than the robe, and dark blue slippers embroidered with clouds and dragons. The man was beyond handsome; he was positively beautiful, like an angel--almost frighteningly so, but two things humanized his appearance slightly and made him less intimidating: a pair of gold wire-rimmed glasses that gave him a scholarly look, and the blue ribbon in his hair that was tied in a jaunty, comical-looking bow.

Raphael suddenly remembered his original purpose for coming here, and with great difficulty, tore his eyes away from the young man and turned towards the display window, where a beautiful blonde doll with stormy dark gray eyes was staring out the window intently. She was dressed in a gown of pristine white silk and frothy lace, with a strand of pearls around her neck and white silk flowers in her hair. Cradled in her lap was a little doll that had obviously been crafted to look like her, and it was dressed in a matching outfit. A doll for a doll--Raphael wasn't sure whether to find that amusing or a little creepy.

"Its name is Rainy Moon," the shopkeeper said, having finished hanging up Raphael's clothes. "It's the Plant Doll that glows most beautifully on a night like this one." And then Raphael noticed that her skin--which was nearly the same perfect porcelain complexion as the shopkeeper's--seemed to glow in the moonlight, as did her hair, giving the illusion of a golden halo above her head.

"Does the doll please you?" the shopkeeper asked, giving Raphael a friendly smile as he poured cups of tea for both of them. When Raphael hesitated, he did not wait for an answer, but continued, "I believe your clothes will be dry by the time the rain lets up."

"So I can feel emboldened to stay until then," Raphael said.

"Please, there's no need to hesitate," the shopkeeper said kindly.

Raphael supposed that a starving artist couldn't afford to be too proud. Besides, there were far worse ways he could spend the evening than having tea with a beautiful young man. Even if that young man was probably as far out of Raphael's reach as the dolls were. He took a sip of tea, letting it warm him, and then appeased his stomach by eating a spring roll, which tasted delicious and freshly-made, and not at all as if it had been warmed up in a microwave. Most of the Chinatown restaurants were already closed for the evening, and Raphael wondered if the shopkeeper kept a private chef on the premises.

"Actually," Raphael said, "for a long time I've wanted to come into this store for a leisurely gaze at the dolls. I'm an artist, if you can call it that. But as a poor artist with no money even to hire models, I felt awkward."

"Aah," said the shopkeeper, smiling gently. "I thought it might be so."

"Huh?" Raphael said, somewhat taken aback. "Do I look that poor?" Well, yes, he probably did, but he was surprised that the shopkeeper had known that he was an artist.

"From the moment you entered, I guessed as much," the shopkeeper replied. "You see, a few days ago, I was contacted by an elderly gentleman. He said he would like to have Rainy Moon painted."

"What?!" Raphael cried indignantly.

"Furthermore," the shopkeeper continued calmly, "he stated that an artist might come visiting in the near future, so to treat him well. That was the gist of his conversation."

"That old geezer, jumping the gun!" Raphael shouted, pounding his fist on the table in anger. Although truthfully, he was not just angry at the geezer's presumption, but because the beautiful shopkeeper had apparently not welcomed him solely out of kindness. All this--the clothes, the tea, the food--was not for Raphael himself, but had been provided because the shopkeeper had been ordered to treat him well. {Well, what did you think, you idiot?} Raphael bitterly chided himself. {That he was infatuated with your good looks?}

"What do you mean?" the shopkeeper asked, looking puzzled but not perturbed.

"I haven't accepted the job yet!" Raphael snapped.

"But I have already received payment for the modeling fee," the shopkeeper said.

"Damn geezer!" Raphael shouted, slamming both hands down on the table this time, causing the tea cups to rattle in their saucers and nearly tip over.

"Do you not like the Plant Doll?" the shopkeeper asked, looking a little hurt.

"That's not the point!" Raphael shouted. "How dare he go ahead without my okay!"

"Is there a problem?" the shopkeeper asked, smiling at him sweetly.

Raphael sighed, his anger draining away in the face of the shopkeeper's unflappability. He also felt rather guilty about taking out his bad mood on the young man; after all, he hadn't known that Raphael had not accepted the geezer's job yet. And he had no way of knowing that Raphael was gay and might be attracted to him--not that possessing such knowledge would place any obligation on the shopkeeper, of course. Raphael wistfully wondered if the shopkeeper was gay; surely no man that pretty could be straight! Not that it mattered, since someone so rich and beautiful could have any lover he chose, and it wasn't very likely that he would choose a scruffy starving artist.

"So...you took the money?" Raphael asked. "You agreed to this?"

"That is correct," the young man replied serenely. "And...?"

Raphael sighed again. Well, he needed the money, and at least the job would allow him to spend more time with the beautiful shopkeeper, although it sort of made him feel like a penniless child with his face pressed against a candy store window, staring longingly at treats that he couldn't afford.

"Then it's a contract between you and the old man," Raphael said in a resigned voice. "It's not my place to butt in."

"Shall we start over?" the shopkeeper asked with a charming smile that Raphael could not help but return. "I am Daiki Orcot, the owner of this store."

Raphael shook his outstretched hand and replied, "I'm Raphael Van Horne, starving artist; nice to meet you."

"An appropriate name for an artist," Daiki said, his eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief behind his glasses. Raphael suddenly noticed that his eyes were a peculiar golden color that matched his hair and the gold wire frames of his glasses; surely it must be a trick of the light...

Raphael's fingers trembled slightly, practically itching with the desire to paint Daiki's portrait, to try to capture the porcelain color of his skin and the golden glow of his eyes...but of course it was impossible. He wrapped his fingers firmly around the teacup to keep them occupied, and said lightly, "My parents weren't artists themselves, but they were art lovers, which I suppose is why they stuck me with such a flowery-sounding name. It got me beaten up plenty of times in the schoolyard, I assure you."

Daiki smiled sympathetically. "I was teased by my classmates as a child, too. But fortunately, I learned how to defend myself, and I had some very good friends who always protected me."

Raphael could well imagine that Daiki must have been picked on in school, if he had always been so androgynously beautiful, and especially if his parents had made him wear those Chinese dress-like robes to school. Raphael hoped not, for the sake of the young Daiki in the past.

"Still, my parents supported and encouraged my choice of careers where most parents wouldn't, so I'm grateful to them," Raphael said. But he thought to himself gloomily that it would have been better for them if they hadn't.

"You are very lucky, then," Daiki said, giving him another charming smile, and Raphael did not bother to correct him; there was no need to burden the shopkeeper with his tragic past.

They ate in silence for awhile; Daiki projected an aura that was welcoming yet not demanding, so that the silence felt perfectly natural and not at all awkward. Raphael supposed that was part of what made him such a good salesman--that he anticipated and responded to his clients' moods with such ease and skill.

He did enjoy the meal--the best he'd had in weeks--and the company of the beautiful and mysterious shopkeeper. As they ate, Raphael covertly snuck a look at Daiki's hands, searching for a wedding band or promise ring, admiring his long, elegant fingers, which moved smoothly and gracefully as he sipped his tea or picked up a morsel of food with his chopsticks. He wore only a thin gold ring on his left pinky that matched the small gold hoops in his ears. It could be a lover's gift...or it might be a simple piece of jewelry with no emotional significance.

Raphael reminded himself that it didn't matter; he was here on business, not to court a man that he had no chance with, anyway. "Can I come starting tomorrow night?" he asked, when he had finished eating.

"Of course, Mr. Van Horne," the shopkeeper replied politely.

"I look around for my father when someone calls me that," Raphael said with a smile. "Please just call me 'Raphael'. Or 'Raf'; that's what my friends call me."

"Then you must call me 'Daiki,'" the shopkeeper said, giving Raphael a smile that nearly caused him to melt into a puddle at Daiki's feet. The only thing that kept him intact was the feeling that the smile, as dazzling as it was, seemed curiously impersonal. He was a salesman, after all, Raphael reminded himself. It was probably an automatic reflex to charm his customers, even though Raphael wasn't really a customer.
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Raphael returned the next evening, a little earlier, since he was actually going to be working, but still late enough that it was past normal business hours. His reasons were twofold: first, he thought it would be best to capture Rainy Moon's likeness when she was most beautiful, glowing in the moonlight as befit her name; and second, it gave him a chance to spend time alone with Daiki, when he didn't have to share the shopkeeper's company with his customers. He knew he had no chance with Daiki, but still, surely there was no harm in allowing himself the small indulgence of spending a little time alone with a beautiful and charming young man.

It was raining again (this time Raphael had brought a raincoat and umbrella), and Rainy Moon was staring out the window as she had the night before. Daiki generously provided tea and food once again (or perhaps the geezer was paying for it), and Raphael ate a light meal before settling down to do some preliminary sketches of the doll before starting the actual painting.

"He's been wanting this doll so very much," Raphael explained to Daiki as he sketched. "He moans about how a haughty shopkeeper just refuses to nod yes."

"I do not believe it," Daiki said coolly, looking just a touch miffed, and Raphael had to laugh, pleased to see something besides the charming professional persona of the shopkeeper. "This Plant Doll is very hard to please," Daiki sighed.

"Yeah, I can see that," Raphael agreed.

"No matter who entreats her," Daiki continued, "she remains asleep. But on rainy nights such as this...especially on nights around a full moon...she awakens and stares intently in one direction, just as she is doing now."

"At what?" Raphael asked curiously.

"Who knows?" Daiki replied, shrugging slightly. "Perhaps...at herself?"

"Makes sense," Raphael said. The doll was certainly lovely enough to be forgiven a little vanity, with her lush golden hair and her cool, clear skin, pale as if reflecting the light of the moon. "Her eyes are colored like the night sky when the moon shines bright," Raphael murmured. "A doll that gazes only at herself." He laughed, a little mockingly. "An old geezer with unrequited love for that doll. The artist--that's me--who draws a portrait of the doll for that geezer. And the proprietor of a doll store who pours tea for that artist. A chain of fools."

"You seem rather unwilling," Daiki observed.

"When I paint portraits, my subjects die," Raphael said flatly, his discontent finally provoking him into speaking the truth. Besides, he supposed that the shopkeeper deserved to be warned about the possible consequences of the portrait. Daiki said nothing, but only stared at him, his golden eyes unreadable. "But a doll?" Raphael continued. "I wonder..." He would have expected Daiki to laugh in his face if he didn't believe him, or to immediately kick him out of the shop if he did, but he just remained silent, watching Raphael work.

Finally, to break the silence, Raphael cleared his throat and asked, "Hey, just for my information, what happens to dolls that are bought by a customer they don't care for?"

"That would never happen," Daiki replied firmly. "However, there are cases when they become incompatible with their environment. Still, if we are notified, we can care for it before it wilts--we do guarantee complete after-care service. And well...we try to prevent it, but sometimes the doll will 'grow up' if it is not cared for properly."

"'Grow up'?" Raphael asked.

"Yes, it will become an adult," Daiki said distastefully.

"Huh, what's wrong with that?" Raphael asked. "I'm sure the old geezer would be happy even then. Why don't you just sell it to him?"

"We do not know whether it would 'grow up' or 'wilt,'" Daiki replied gravely.

"Ah, I see," Raphael said. "It's complicated, huh?"

Daiki just smiled ruefully at him in response.
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Raphael continued coming to the shop every night to work on Rainy Moon's portrait. He made detailed sketches of her at the shop, and did the actual painting at home in his apartment. It would have been impractical to bring the large canvas down to the shop--the finished portrait would be nearly life-sized--and besides, he didn't want to get paint all over the beautiful carpets and furnishings.

Every night Daiki would serve Raphael tea and watch him work, observing quietly for the most part, but one night he said, "You seem quite unwilling to do it."

"That's not completely true," Raphael replied. "Once undertaken, it is a job. What's not to like about the chance to draw such a beautiful doll and getting paid by a patron to do it?"

Daiki peered over Raphael's shoulder as he worked on his sketches. "It does not look much like Rainy Moon," he said musingly.

"In other words, you're saying my drawing isn't very good," Raphael said with a faint smile, making light of the criticism.

"That is not true," Daiki demurred, leaning down to examine the sketch more closely, frowning slightly in concentration. "You are very skilled, but..."

"That statement annoys me even more than the first one," Raphael said, trying to keep his voice light, although a hint of irritation crept into it. He might be poor, but he was proud of his artistic skills. "In that tone of voice, it doesn't sound like praise at all." He added almost defiantly, "But I don't care. I'm drawing this for the old geezer." Calming down, he realized that Daiki's observation was actually quite perceptive. The sketch was not a photo-perfect image of the real Rainy Moon, with her intent but strangely blank stare. Instead, he had drawn her smiling, a look of gentle affection in her eyes.

"What the old man wants isn't a doll looking at who knows what," Raphael explained. "No, he wants a pretty girl...one that will gaze at him and smile. See the difficulty?"

"I see," Daiki murmured thoughtfully.
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A few nights later, Raphael noticed that Daiki was not his usual charming, professional self, but seemed to be brooding about something. "What's wrong?" he asked. "You look troubled."

"Did you not notice?" Daiki asked quietly. "It seems to be...'growing up'. It began around the time you started drawing."

Raphael looked at the doll; now that he had mentioned it, she did look a little more mature--not like an adult, but maybe more like a seven or eight-year-old girl than a five or six-year-old one. Her face had grown just a touch slimmer, losing a bit of its childish fullness and roundness. It was odd that he hadn't noticed it before, with all the time that he spent sketching Rainy Moon, but perhaps that was because he had been drawing her to look older than she really was. In his first sketches, he had drawn the doll as she appeared to be, a child, but he had decided to paint her in the portrait as a young woman instead of a little girl. Because it was all about love, really--he wasn't painting a doll, he was painting a fantasy bride for the geezer.

Poor, foolish old geezer--but perhaps no more foolish than Raphael himself. He was dreading the completion of the portrait, and not so much because of the fatal result that was bound to follow it, but because it meant that he would have no excuse to stop by the shop and see Daiki every evening. Raphael smiled with bitter amusement; he had thought that he had given up on love when he had lost the people most precious to him, and yet here he was, pining over a mysterious young man who was as beautiful and remote as one of the dolls in his shop. Maybe this was his punishment for mocking the geezer.

"So what?" Raphael said, and Daiki looked disturbed by the callous and flippant tone of his voice. "If it matures and becomes an adult, you can just sell it off to the old man. It'll make him happy...if he's still alive then."

"So is this really due to your portrait drawing?" Daiki asked.

"Who knows?" Raphael said with a shrug. "I've no idea. It's just that for some reason...every single person that I've drawn has kicked the bucket. My dad, my mom, my little sister...everyone."

Daiki stared at him in shock, but Raphael could see in his eyes that the shopkeeper believed him. At this point, most people who heard his story usually expressed disbelief, saying that it was simply a tragic coincidence and he mustn't blame himself. Of course, none of those people ever volunteered to let him paint their portraits...

He thought he saw a hint of sorrow and compassion replacing the surprise in Daiki's golden eyes, and he turned his head away; even more than disbelief, Raphael hated seeing pity in people's eyes when they looked at him. "Now do you understand why I'm so poor?" Raphael asked with a resigned smile. "Nobody rushes out to exchange his or her life for a portrait. Although once in awhile...there are those with that kind of attitude." He sighed, thinking of the geezer. "That poor old man. He's nobility, you know, or he once was--a prince in some little European kingdom that's since been overthrown. His family managed to flee the country with their fortune, so he's still as rich as Midas. But his childhood was all about the imperial teachings and everything, and he didn't even have time for love. Can you believe it? That old geezer fell in love for the very first time in his life. And to top it off...he fell in love with a doll."

Daiki remained silent, so Raphael continued, "From the get go, it was a love that could never be requited. He was even denied the right to have her nearby. And so he wants to achieve happiness, even if only in a painting. How can anyone blame him? And very literally, he'll take that happiness to his grave."

Daiki finally spoke. "That picture you speak of..."

"Want to see?" Raphael asked. "I can show you the portrait and serve you some tea to repay your kindness, although I'm afraid that the stuff I have is very poor quality compared to yours."

"I am sure that is not so," Daiki demurred politely. "I would be honored to accept your hospitality."

So Daiki locked up the shop, and they drove over to Raphael's apartment. Raphael did not own a car--he couldn't afford one, so he usually walked or caught the bus to Chinatown, unwilling to spend his hard-earned money on cab fare even though the geezer had paid him in advance. But Daiki did own a car--a very nice one, of course. He said that he rarely used it outside of work, but that he was often called upon to make deliveries or house calls to his clients.

Raphael felt a quiver of excitement run through him at the thought of having Daiki in his apartment, although of course the shopkeeper had only come to see the portrait. He served some tea as promised, although it was only made from cheap tea bags bought at the grocery store and not from the fancy imported stuff that Daiki served at the shop. Raphael thought to himself ruefully that he was getting a little spoiled and that he would miss drinking the fine tea when the portrait was finished, although he would miss Daiki's company most of all.

Daiki graciously thanked him and sipped at the tea, but they both knew that he hadn't come for the tea. So Raphael led Daiki into the living room, which functioned as his studio, and revealed a nearly life-sized portrait of a smiling young man in a suit, and Rainy Moon drawn as an adult, clad in a wedding gown and veil. The couple was posing beneath a tree in the gardens on the geezer's estate. The background had already been completed, while the portrait of the couple had not been fully painted, but he had finished enough of it for the happiness in their faces to be readily apparent.

"Drawn nicely, isn't it?" Raphael asked. "The doll, I mean. And do you recognize this man here?" He gestured at the painting. "It's the old man in his youth, of course. And at the same time as this painting's completed...I bet the old geezer's going to croak. I wonder about the doll..."

For a moment, Daiki looked stricken, and Raphael felt guilty, and yet strangely exultant at having provoked him into showing true emotion. That cool, serene air that he normally maintained drove Raphael crazy at times, making him want to break through it. What he wanted most was to see Daiki truly smile at him, of course, but Raphael would rather see anger or hurt than indifference--which he supposed made him a real bastard. But God, sometimes he wanted to grab Daiki by the shoulders and shake that sweet, charming, and utterly impersonal smile right off his beautiful face!

But Daiki did not shout or rage at him, nor did he plead tearfully with Raphael to stop painting. He just said, quietly and calmly, "I assume it would be useless for me to ask that you stop painting?"

Raphael was a little disappointed by his subdued reaction, but at the same time pleased that Daiki understood him well enough to know that he wouldn't stop painting. "I already told you--once undertaken, a job's a job. Isn't it the same with you? Don't you treasure your merchandise above anything else? Sometimes I think that in a sense, I'm making these people happier than anyone else could. Even if their lives fade, within the painting they remain eternally happy. That's why I don't stop my work. But you...what you do with your work is up to you."

"Well then..." Daiki said, smiling pleasantly. He snatched up a palette knife from the table where Raphael's painting tools were laid out, and slashed it across the portrait. The dull blade, which was normally used for mixing paints, was not sharp enough to cut through the canvas, but it did cut through the paint, gouging a line across the smiling faces of Rainy Moon and the geezer.

Raphael gasped in shock, and Daiki continued sweetly, "If that Plant Doll were to wilt, it'd be quite unprofitable. That modeling fee nowhere near covers that cost."

Raphael was torn between anger at seeing his painting ruined--because he did, as he had told Daiki, treasure his work--and a sense of relief that he wouldn't be responsible for deaths of the geezer and the doll after all. But more than that, he felt excitement and triumph at the brief flare of passion he had seen in Daiki. He might have expected the mild-mannered shopkeeper to try to talk him out of completing the portrait, possibly even try to buy him off, but for him to actually slash the painting like that was completely out of character from what Raphael had seen of Daiki so far. And despite the calmness of his voice and the cool, faint smile on his lips right now, his golden eyes were still glittering intensely. It was worth losing the portrait to see that look of passion in Daiki's eyes, but Raphael wished that it could be directed at himself instead of the dolls. But at least he knew that he had read Daiki correctly when he had guessed that the young man treasured his merchandise, that the dolls were more than just a source of income to him--in spite of Daiki's complaint that the modeling fee would not cover the price of the doll.

Raphael let go of his anger and laughed, "How impressively stubborn you are."

"You are too kind with your praise," Daiki replied, a hint of mischief and laughter glimmering in his eyes.

"Well, fine," Raphael said with a shrug. "I've already been paid, anyway. This isn't my fault."

"Thank you for the tea," Daiki said. "I should be getting back to the shop now."

"Of course," Raphael said, sorry that the job was now finished--although not in the way that he had planned--and that he would not have a chance to unravel the complexities of the mysterious young shopkeeper. "It was an interesting job. I enjoyed it, in spite of the way that things turned out." He saw Daiki to the door and regretfully said, "Goodbye."

"Goodbye," Daiki said, then paused for a moment as he stepped through the doorway. "I have enjoyed your company these past few weeks," he said casually. "The dolls, while beautiful, are not exactly good conversationalists. Please feel free to stop by the shop for tea anytime."

"Really?" Raphael asked incredulously, hardly daring to believe his luck. Did he really mean it, or was it just a polite offer not meant to be taken seriously?

"Really, Raphael," Daiki said, giving him what seemed to be a sincere smile. "So long as you promise not to paint any more of my dolls."

"I promise," Raphael said lightly. "A starving artist never passes up an opportunity to mooch free food--or tea--off someone. I just hope that you don't get tired of me and regret your offer."

"I am sure that I won't," Daiki laughed. "Besides, my father is always sending over more food than I can eat. He seems to think that I will starve if left to fend for myself."

Raphael felt a pang of sorrow as he thought of his mother, who had treated him much the same way, before he had unintentionally sealed her fate by painting her portrait. But he just smiled and said, "Well then, I'll be glad to help you out."

"I hope to see you soon, then," Daiki said. "And if the gentleman is angry, please send him to me. I will take full responsibility for the destruction of the portrait."
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But the geezer was not angry when Raphael delivered the ruined painting to him and told him what had happened, and neither was he despondent. He only stared at it thoughtfully as he gazed at it from his sickbed, then politely thanked and dismissed Raphael.

A few days later, Raphael stopped by the Plant Dolls shop, and was gratified when Daiki seemed genuinely pleased to see him. "I wonder if it is a case of being able to do anything once you give yourself over to being dead," Daiki said thoughtfully as he laid out cups of tea and plates of food. "The elderly gentleman is completely reenergized. Once again he comes to visit almost everyday."

"Get out!" Raphael said, surprised but pleased at the news. He had been afraid that the old man would lose hope and give up on life when he was denied not only the actual doll, but even the illusion of happiness in the portrait. "That's one tough geezer."

"We helped a person in need, did we not?" Daiki asked, with a charming, slightly smug grin. "Well then, let the old gentleman do his best!" Daiki exclaimed, and wrote something in beautiful calligraphy on one of the placards that he normally used as receipts. "Today's thought of the day," he said dramatically, holding up the card.

Raphael had taken some Chinese language courses in college, and he choked on his tea as he read the message: "Rain falls...a love renewed".

"Ah, you can read Chinese!" Daiki said, sounding surprised as Raphael coughed and wiped his face with a napkin. "You are a man of many talents."

"So are you," Raphael said, a bit wryly. "That was very poetic."

"Well," Daiki said, flashing another charming grin, "after all, the best nourishment for a Plant Doll is love."

"This is some seriously wacky business!" Raphael laughed.
 

Part 13

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