01: The Stage
By Tortulia
Previous parts: Prologue (strongly recommended that the Prologue is read.)
Pairings: Tsuzuki/Hisoka, eventual MurakixHisoka
Rating: PG-13 here, for nudity
Summary: Our leading men investigate a supernatural auction-house, but are captured. Things of a seedier nature tend to ensue in these kinds of setup. Vaguely inspired by Okane ga Nai, once upon a time, which will be highly apparent in this first chapter.
***
"Collar 'em," was the order.
Men surrounded them, wrenching the two away from the other.
"Hisoka!" Tsuzuki shouted, but was shoved to the ground, arms pinned behind. The man tried to roll over and kick but came face to face with a gun aimed between his eyes. There was a glint of gold as someone pressed the collar around his neck.
Hisoka thrashed and tried to find stable enough footing to barrel through the guards. He had fuda in his pockets, but his arms had been badly charred and were only beginning to knit and heal. Hands grabbed at the injuries, and he snarled in pain – too many people, too many emotions… if he focused enough, maybe he could disappear…
However, before he could do anything, he felt the cool, thin, smooth hoop of metal slip around his throat and quietly snap. His focus waned, and he discovered he couldn't call up his energy – his powers had been sealed.
"Don't move," the guard rasped.
A gun was cocked and the teen felt hard metal pressing against his temple. His arms were yanked back and bits of blackened ash fell off as his skin returned.
"Take them to Awase-sama."
---
They were shoved into a large, smoky room. Red lanterns hung from the ceiling and cast a dim glow on the room's centerpiece: a carved cherry-wood desk. A middle-aged man sat there, dark hair and short beard peppered with gray. "Awase-sama," presumably. He nonchalantly polished the head of his black cane.
"Come in, come in – do you have the intruders?" he said without looking up. He scrutinized his work for flaws.
"We found them in the prep room," someone explained. "The fox – they let it go."
"That's no surprise - the fire alarms in the last thirty floors all went off. I'm sure it's long gone now. Let's see these foolish people." A sharp clack as the cane met the floor. The man stood and finally looked up - Awase walked slowly over, and the air was tense. He studied Tsuzuki and Hisoka, taking note of their appearance, and his eyes lingering on Hisoka's burns.
"Well," he said, after a long pause. His face wrinkled with amusement – if they had been on the street, and if Hisoka couldn't feel the steely intelligence under that gaze, he might have mistaken him for someone's father, or a stern principal. "I'm sure you have a good explanation for your incredibly foolish behavior."
They remained silent, glaring.
"You two have caused quite a commotion," the man said. "You do know that the fox you let escape will make our guests very unhappy – we've been advertising it for weeks. It was destined to be one of our better sales."
"And those people?" Tsuzuki broke in, his voice dangerous and low. "Are they just objects to you? Something to auction to the highest bidder?"
"Them? That's only business," Awase said calmly, leaning gently on his cane. "Not everyone here is looking for cold, lifeless objects. We are merely filling the needs of our clientele - it is a necessary evil in our line of work."
"That's… that's disgusting! It's inhuman!"
"And who are you to speak of being inhuman… Shinigami?" the man intoned, his eyes bright. The partners froze.
"How did you – ?" Tsuzuki faltered.
"The boy survived the fire of that fox when it escaped – what's more, you've completely healed."
Hisoka swallowed a thick lump. His arms were fine now, if dirty. If he hadn't let that fox go…
"There's not a burn mark on you!" Awase continued. He chuckled, a note of admiration in his voice. "I have years of experience in the matters of the other worldly, and I know of only a few things can heal that fast. It's remarkable! It's been years since I've seen a Shinigami and his partner up close – rather, I assume you both are, am I correct?"
Everyone stared at Tsuzuki. The man motioned to a tall guard. "Ichi, please shoot him."
He, Ichi, aimed his pistol and gave the rest of the guard time to move out of the way – and fired.
"NO!" Hisoka tried to launch himself at him, but the guards held him secure. He could feel the agony coming from his partner as blood blossomed and dripped from the hole in his chest. "You bastards! Tsuzuki! Tsuzuki!"
The Shinigami sagged as his body tried to recover. In under a minute, the blood had stopped, and the wound just… faded away, leaving new flesh peeking through the suit's hole. Tsuzuki gasped, straightened, and raised his gaze to Awase again.
"Is that all?" he said through gritted teeth.
The teen didn't dare to blink away from the scene – he was horrified. He realized he was shaking.
"I'll kill you," Hisoka snarled at Awase.
"Not a threat to be taken lightly, coming from one of you," he answered gravely.
"Hisoka!" Tsuzuki said, tone sharp.
"He can't do this to people!" he snapped back, green eyes furious. "He's behind all this! The people, the objects, the auction, even this… this place!"
"My great-grandfather, actually," Awase added, like an aside. He rapped his cane, and all the guards came to attention. "But it's decided! For the troubles you've caused, you two will be taking the fox's place in our auction."
"What?!"
"I'm sure our guests won't mind the trade-off – powerful, legendary creatures that are also quite beautiful, if I may say? And two of them? It will appeal to all our clients."
"No – wait!" Tsuzuki interjected. "Anything – I'll do anything! But please, let Hisoka go!"
"I'm afraid you don't have much choice in the matter," Awase said with a mild look. "Take him – Tsuzuki, was it? – to storage for now. With his looks, he can be the main event once we have a few nights to advertise. However…"
The old man turned, and Hisoka grew cold. The world began to move around him, faster than he could keep up with.
"…Take the boy to the stage."
A flash of black, and suddenly a guard was flung to the opposite wall.
"No!" Tsuzuki growled, fighting the men surrounding him. He was strong – very, very strong. People were being tossed to the ground and hope glimmered prematurely in his chest, when two shots rang out – pain. The Shinigami clutched his stomach and sank on his knees. The gray men recovered and hauled him back to his feet, blood staining the floor anew.
"Shoot him again if you have to," Awase said as he returned the pistol to Ichi. "He'll be fine. Now enough of this! I have an auction to see to."
"No! Let him go! Hisoka! Hisoka!" Tsuzuki cried weakly as they were dragged in opposite directions.
---
If it weren't for the knot of cloth suddenly forced and tied around his mouth, Hisoka would have screamed back.
---
The guards chattered, almost amicably.
"I've never seen one before… he looks so normal. A bit pretty for a boy," said Tall.
Baldy angled his face. "You sure he's a boy?"
"You should know – you see them every night!" Smoker said, his voice booming with a deep laugh.
"I dare you to kiss him."
"I'd probably die."
"Shinigami, huh? You sure the boss thinks it's a good idea?"
"If they were out to kill you, you'd probably be dead."
"But if weren't for the collars…"
They descended through the building again, this time in an elevator. It probably exited close to that storage room, if he thought about it. And Hisoka did try to think about it – he tried to think about something else, anything else, except the way the elevator stopped but the doors didn't open. He didn't think about the rough, mechanical way the men began stripping him, checking for weapons or trinkets, and crumpling up his fuda like trash. His burnt suit-jacket came off, then the damaged shirt ripped away.
"Do you think we should get him cleaned? There's soot everywhere."
Tall nodded. "We'll have some time."
He shivered against the hands brushing the leftover ash off of his skin. They took off his shoes and socks, and forced his legs apart when he refused to give up his slacks. Panic clutched him and he kicked, but someone held his ankle.
"Easy there, kid. We ain't gonna do anything. That's up to the highest bidder."
"See? He is a boy."
"Obviously. Not bad… you're, what, sixteen? Seventeen? Or, no, you're immortal, right?"
"Shit, he could be thousands."
"We'll still need to get you cleaned, here – " Smoker gripped his waist, suddenly. " – and back in here." A pair of hands slipped down his back, and parted his cheeks slightly. His face burned red.
"You don't suppose Shinigami eat, do they?"
---
The "cleaning" was brief, clinical, and professional - if it could be described that way. He'd never felt more humiliated in his life.
---
"-- And finally, we have something very special for you here tonight, ladies and gentlemen," the announcer said through a thin smile, each turn of her head causing the short curls of hair to spring like wire.
"Not just a young man, for those looking for companions, but something of a rare sight that maybe most of us will only see once we have moved beyond this world – a God of Death."
Hisoka could feel the buzz of excitement through the room, and his stomach soured.
Feeling violated in more ways than one, Hisoka was marched out on to the stage, scrubbed clean, still gagged, sporting golden cuffs and chains on his hands and feet to match the collar – and nothing else. His hair was slightly wet still and droplets of water dewed his body.
"He is one of two our hosts have captured – a very special occasion. Their bodies are perfection - they can heal from any wound that may be inflicted."
Hisoka squinted at the spotlights, trying to turn away from the stifling crush of so many people and emotions. He felt mortified, maybe even shy, being seen like this. However, his guards - Smoker and Baldy – forced him to kneel. Baldy grabbed his hair and made him face the audience.
"With a catch like this, you can have him at your side… forever! Gods of Death… Shinigami… not living nor dead, so they will never age. He will stay young, and beautiful, for generations after generations."
His eyes widened at the announcer's words. He struggled, bit at his gag, but the guards spread his knees apart for leverage, giving the crowd a full look at him. Darkness danced across his vision, and the emotions feeding into his empathy left his ears ringing. Somewhere, he could feel a heavy, dreadful presence…
"He is worth much more than ten of our human stock."
The guests murmured, consulting. It was hard to see anyone from the stage with all the lights, but Hisoka knew some were considering very seriously.
"Who would like to start the bidding? Please convert all currencies into the Japanese Yen."
His head hurt, like a spike had been driven into his temples.
There was a tense pause – for him – as the audience deliberated.
"One million," someone called out, which there was a short laugh at.
"A standard bid for ordinary stock – but this is much more special. Please, raise your voices!" That ice-breaker seemed to trigger the rest of the guests.
"Four mil."
"Five mil!"
"Seven – "
" – and a half!"
"Nine."
Maybe, Hisoka thought desperately, he could pretend to be weak. When he would be taken away, he would wait until they turned their back, and he would… fight them. Knock them down, knock them out. Surprise could be his only advantage.
He refocused his attention back on the bidding, which rose even higher.
"Thirty!" The sound of fists pounding on tables. The crowd was excited at the bidding war.
"Fifty." It was getting into dangerous territories – he could feel a spike of annoyance from the sea of emotions.
"Fifty-one."
"Fifty-three!"
"Fifty-three and a half!"
"Eighty million yen," a deep, deceptively soothing voice said.
No…
The audience roared to a stop, trying to find the man who spoke.
Recognition hit Hisoka, and suddenly he needed to get away. His captors were momentarily surprised by the new ferocity he fought them with – he thrashed and jerked away, getting up on his feet and trying not to trip over the long chains. Then the other guard, Tall, rushed out from the side wing and grabbed him across the chest; lifting him up so the other two could take his arms and legs.
Not paying attention to the stage, one of the spotlight-men searched around the audience for their high-bidder and finally came to a man just standing - a man dressed in all white.
"But you must understand…" he said, adjusting his glasses. "I've already marked this one as my own."
Hisoka could see no one else – not the politicians, the businessmen, the minor celebrities or audience. The rest washed away in a faceless sea the moment Muraki looked up and met his gaze. They were alone, just the two of them, the smell of flowers choking and withering. It was cold, but hot, and there was pain.
The lines of his curse crackled to life, painting his body in red.
His mind screamed, and somewhere, faraway, maybe Tsuzuki heard him.