5-

 

Seoru, more commonly called Sage, was an extraordinarily good-looking young man of about twenty-one, with naturally aqua hair and purple eyes that constantly reminded the observer that he was not only tough, but also a pervert, and not ashamed of either fact. He took pleasure in others’ misfortunes, rivaled even the newly discovered Aidenai for regaining the position of Most Annoying Person on the Planet, and was also someone Locke had known since childhood in Tormiad’s capital of Ivis. In a way, the two had grown up together, as they’d met at ages seven and eight and been around each other on and off ever since, but both had already seen themselves as adults at that age. Sage had been secretive, and Locke had no past to speak of, so their relationship had politely skimmed over so many things that, although they knew the person, they didn’t know the life.

 

Sage had remained secretive through the years, and even now Locke had no idea what the man did for a living, why he’d been in Ivis, or even what his last name was. He had no idea how someone could manage to naturally have that sort of pigmentation in their hair and eyes (“says Mr. Maroon,” Sage had added smugly when he’d finally asked), had no idea why he hadn’t been forced into the military like most every young adult in the world, and had no idea why the young man was there in Vascun.

 

“What do YOU want,” Locke groaned, and Sage smirked.

 

“Oh, baby. So forceful. Don’t make me jump you right here and now,” Sage drawled.

 

Another regrettable fact was that the first and only time Locke had ever gotten drunk, Sage had managed to steal his virginity (although he SWORE it was consensual, although not entirely lucid and although he was many things untrustworthy wasn't one of them). The blue-haired man had yet to let him live it down, and Locke had needed to use ten years worth of blackmail against him to swear Sage to secrecy.

 

“Actually, I’m here for Grig,” Sage sighed dramatically, and Locke tensed. “No, not to bring you in or something stupid like that. I’m supposed to…how’d he put it? Ah, yes. ‘Talk you down’, although from what I have NO idea.”

 

“Huh.” Locke simply said, waiting for his friend to commence.

 

“But first…who was the sexy thing in the white trench coat, eh?” Sage grinned lecherously.

 

“NO,” Locke pressed down upon him. “BAD Sage. Leave him alone.”

 

“Awww, come on,” Sage whined. “I come all the way from Ivis and you expect me to be CELIBATE?”

 

“I’m not THAT stupid,” Locke muttered, glaring. “He’s off limits.”

 

“Fine,” Sage sighed dramatically. “Guess it’s either you or some other good-looking yet unfortunate soul.”

 

“Seriously, why do I put up with you?” Locke demanded as he turned from the alley and into the city streets, Sage right behind him (no doubt enjoying the view, Locke growled in his mind).

 

“Because, Sweet, I’m about the only person who can put up with YOU,” Sage said, and Locke could just hear the grin in his voice. “Where are we going?”

 

“I need chocolate,” Locke growled, feet on autopilot towards The Hidden Flute.

 

“Ah, yes,” Sage added…well, sagely. “Your greatest love, and your greatest weakness.” Sage’s fingers clamped down on his shoulder. “Do I really upset you that much?”

 

“Bad day,” Locke stated, refusing to turn around and see Sage actually showing he cared about his best friend. “Actually, more like bad couple of days. Maybe even week.”

 

“At least it’s not up to month,” Sage said good-naturedly, and Locke shuddered.

 

“Don’t make me smack you for jinxing it.”

 

“Hey, at least you’ve got something to blame now,” Sage shrugged, hand dropping with the motion. “Scapegoats are heaven’s gift to us poor earthbound creatures. Without them, we’d have nobody to take the fall for our own mistakes.”

 

“Was that supposed to be poetic, or a really vague definition?”

 

“Hah. Hah. Your wit, it cuts me so deeply.”

 

“Weren’t you here for a reason, Sage?” Locke asked as The Hidden Flute came into sight.

 

“Two, actually. The first is, of course, that Uncle Grig wants me to convince you to come back,” Sage said, following Locke through the drab wooden door. “The second, also just as obvious, is to try and get you drunk again.”

 

“CHOCOLATE,” Locke shrieked, and Palma came running as he sunk into his usual booth seat, trying to ignore Sage’s gut-wrenching laughter and the morning crew’s stares. “LOTS and LOTS of chocolate!”

 

As soon as Palma was within distance, Locke had snatched the ice cream away from her, devouring as much as he could as fast as he could. Her concerned green eyes settled on him. “Are you okay? This is the second day in a row- it’s barely been nine hours since your last batch!”

 

“WHAT?” Sage snapped, purple eyes glaring at the barmaid. “How many helpings did he have last time?”

 

“He left before he could finish his first one…”

 

Locke just ignored them, trying to get as much chocolate into his system as was possible, not caring about Palma’s concerned frown or Sage’s intense glare. He just concentrated on the luscious, sweet, intoxicating glory that was his ice cream.

 

And then, in a moment, his ice cream was gone, a furious Sage holding it in slender, white-knuckled hands. “I’m sorry, miss, but would you excuse us for a moment?” he asked cordially, biting every word dangerously, and Palma nodded, scurrying away to serve coffee to the more normal people of the world. Locke just glared.

 

Sage glared right back. “Start talking, or the chocolate gets tossed out,” he snapped.

 

“It’s none of your damn business,” Locke growled.

 

Sage snorted, a finger dipping into the lovely brown concoction, swirling about, and then being raised to his lips. Purple eyes never leaving maroon, his finger delved into his mouth, a devilishly pleasured expression emerging on his face. “Mmmmmm…that IS good…”

 

“And it’s MINE,” Locke hissed.

 

“Really, now? How are you paying for this delicious dessert, Sweet? Where do you get your income from nowadays, again?” Sage asked coolly, but Locke just glared some more. The blue-haired man sighed. “If I give you back your ice cream, will you at least tell me what’s bothering you?”

 

“You owe me at least another batch, too, for contaminating it with those fingers of yours,” Locke muttered as Sage slid it back towards his best friend. “Never know what- or WHO- they’ve been in. I’m amazed every day you wake up STD-free.”

 

“How sweet, you really care,” Sage added dryly. “Now, talk.”

 

Locke took an enormous gob of chocolate into his mouth, savored it, and swallowed, taking time to sort his thoughts out.

 

“…You’ve seen a dead man before, right?”

 

“Yes.” No circumstances, no questions. It was the way they’d worked together for so long, after all, and neither really saw a reason to change it. Sage was fully aware Locke had a rather shady job, just as Locke knew Sage had some uncommon job in the government.

 

“Well, I saw one last night, which is actually pretty common in a place like Vascun.” Another spoonful of chocolate ice cream. “That wasn’t the freaky thing. The freaky thing was when the bastard WOKE UP and started talking to me.”

 

“…WHAT?”

 

“I KNOW! He just looks up at me with those pretty eyes and goes, ‘can I help you’? And long story short I end up jumping out the window, and the bastard jumps after me, and we get in this big fight and-”

 

“The PROBLEM, Locke, not the event,” Sage snapped, effectively reorienting his friend.

 

“Right.” As another gob of chocolate was thrown down the hatch, the thief sighed, staring morosely into his ice cream. “I don’t like not knowing what’s going on, and this guy, he just…gets to me, you know? I don’t know a damn thing about him, but he’s constantly on my mind just because I don’t get him, and he…it’s weird.”

 

“Yes, it is,” Sage stated. “This the corpse guy we’re talking about?”

 

“Can’t you just let me mope and drown my sorrows in chocolate by myself?” Locke whimpered.

 

“Aww, where’d the fun be in that?” Sage asked, and actually winked at Locke. “I like watching people suffer, as you know.”

 

“Compassionless slut,” Locke muttered.

 

“Obstinate asshole,” Sage sighed. “Come on, Sweet. I can’t help unless you tell me.

 

“I don’t know what to say! There’s this corpse-man thing, and there’s the thing with Uncle Grig, and I keep getting c-” Locke cut himself off by habit.

 

Sage’s knowing eyes met his own. “Getting the dreams too?”

 

“No,” Locke answered, shaking his head. “Not the prophetic kind, at least.”

 

Sage sighed, scooping another finger-full of ice cream out before Locke could chop his finger off with the cold metal spoon they seemed to leave in the booth for him. “Sounds like you’re just stressed, plain and simple.”

 

“STRESSED?!” Locke shouted. “THAT’S your brilliant diagnosis? That I’m STRESSED?”

 

“Well, let’s see,” Sage started, sarcasm lacing his words as he began to tick things off his fingers. “You’re stressed because you’re scared you’ll explode people, scared of Uncle Grig trying to kill you again, scared of Mr. Pretty Dead Man Walking-”

 

“I NEVER SAID HE WAS PRETTY!”

 

Sage rolled his eyes. “Are you STILL in denial? Face it, Locke, if you’re thinking about the guy this much it’s probably not just curiosity, leaving the fact you haven’t figured him out yet separate from the current examination.” Purple eyes stared him down. “You think he’s hot. Get over it, get on him, and move on.”

 

Locke’s head found its way into his hands. “Not everyone’s got your raging libido, Sage.”

 

“Well, they should.” Sage ignored Locke’s groan. “Now, leaving your tendency for sexual tension and all that hormonal angsting aside, you’ve also got me popping up in your life, some of your dreams coming back, and I’ll assume you were going to say you got close to overloading, am I right?”

 

Glumly, Locke nodded, grateful Sage was talking in a lower voice than he normally did.

 

“Well then. Sounds to me like all your power problems are from your stress level,” Sage shrugged, scooping a bit more ice cream onto his finger and sucking it off. “My prescription is lots and lots of alcohol and an orgy with myself, you, and Mr. Dead Man.”

 

Locke choked on his ice cream. Sage ignored him, probably too busy fantasizing. When his coughing was finally over, he decided to commence the pleasantries.

 

“So how’s your life coming along?”

 

“Oh, I guess I can tell you now, since it’ll hit the fan in just a few hours,” Sage sighed. “I’ve been Acknowledged.”

 

Locke’s face screwed up at the phrase. “What’s that mean? Like, some equivalent of Emper Acknowledged? You’re gonna be someone’s successor?”

 

“Yeah,” Sage said, and grabbed more ice cream.

 

“You know, I could get you a spoon,” Locke frowned, and Sage grinned at him.

 

“Oh, no, this is way better,” he said. “It’s kind of like licking something you licked, which is kind of like licking you, which makes me happy. Except it tastes like chocolate, which is almost better than your mouth, since your mouth tastes like chocolate but with left-over smoke-”

 

“I do NOT need to hear this!” Locke snapped, and Sage shrugged.

 

“Anyway, yeah.”

 

“Yeah what? Who Acknowledged you?”

 

“The Emper.”

 

And Locke just stared at him. “Please tell me you’re shitting me.”

 

Sage frowned at him. “Where’s the fun in that?”

 

“Who the fuck would give you control of THE ENTIRE CONTINENT OF TORMIAD?!”

 

“Lef.”

 

Locke blinked. “Wait a minute…all this time, Lef’s been…EMPER LEFTERIA?”

 

Sage shrugged. “Yeah, basically.”

 

“The drinking games, the pranks, the…oh SHIT, the-”

 

“Locke. Relax.” Sage snapped. “And shut up, too. Do you KNOW how loud you get when you’re excited?”

 

“Now is NOT the time for insinuations, Sage!” Locke snapped. “Why the hell are you here in Vascun, with ME, when you’re about to be named successor to the THRONE OF TORMIAD?”

 

Sage shrugged. “Grigorsen asked, and how could I pass up an excuse to come chat with my favorite family-figure…who I have incestuous thoughts of. Bad analogy.”

 

“Very, very bad analogy,” Locke agreed.

 

“Oh, right, so Grig doesn’t want to kill you any more,” Sage said, snapping when his train of thought finally connected to the station it needed. “Doesn’t even want you back as his scary, sadistic pet Major. He just-”

 

“You read my file!” Locke said incredulously. “I can’t believe you! You read my file!”

 

“Hey, I was bored and missed you,” Sage defended. “And it was just sitting there anyway!”

 

“JUST SITTING THERE? I’ve been in the file room, Sage. ‘Just sitting there’ means under about seven THOUSAND other files!”

 

Sage just rolled his eyes. “Back to the POINT, Grig just wants your help, and to talk.” He shrugged. “Dante’s here too, and he’s missed you just about as much as I have.”

 

“Oh fun. A family reunion,” Locke sighed acerbically.

 

“Damn right,” Sage chuckled. “I admit I don’t know all there is to know about what Uncle Grig wants from you, but I’m pretty sure he’s not so keen to murder you in your sleep as when you left.”

 

“Well, THAT’s reassuring.”

 

“Isn’t it? Plus, Dante and I’ll have your back. Or, maybe one in front and one in back. Hell, I’m open to new ideas, after all.”

 

Locke groaned, trying to ignore how tempting Sage was making it sound as he shoveled more chocolate down his throat. “Listen, can I think about it?”

 

“Sure,” Sage shrugged nonchalantly. “I’ll be around.”

 

“Why does EVERYONE say that?” Locke muttered, and Sage grinned.

 

“Because it’s true. Don’t splurge too much on the chocolate- eventually there’ll be a warrant out for your arrest if you get any more infamous.”

 

“Well then, it’s a good idea the future Emper of Tormiad wants in my pants, isn’t it?” Locke ground out sarcastically.

 

Sage winked. “Do I ever. See you around, Sweet.” Locke just nodded at his best friend, who grinned and turned out of the door, heading out into the streets of Vascun.