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Kanaete

A CCS fanfic by Sakura

Standard disclaimers apply.

 

Author's notes at the end.

Tweaked slightly 2004.12.09.

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            Daidouji Tomoyo often had odd dreams. 

 

Once she dreamt about swimming with pale red butterflies under the sea; another time she found herself standing on the edge of a precipice and staring down at a glaring, blinding pathway of stars.  None of it made any sense at all.  She believed that dreams were meant to tell her something, but she could not see what walking around with a petunia on her head and hanging upside-down from an elm talking with a tabby cat could possibly mean.  She decided her dreams were too bizarre to be taken seriously, so she never gave them any thought. 

 

            However, this dream was different.

 

            She found herself sitting at a small table under the shade of a leafy maple tree.  Resting on the table was a thin slab of butter cake and a cup of Darjeeling.  Tea under a tree, she mused.  Not bad.  I wager sometime in this dream a spider will be falling from the tree and landing in my teacup---

 

            Someone coughed across the table and her head shot up in surprise. 

 

            Instead of a big hairy black spider politely tipping his top hat with one leg and feeding himself butter cake with another, her teatime partner turned out to be no one else but her father.

 

            “Tomoyo-chan,” he smiled, “will you kindly pass the sugar bowl?”

 

            She opened her mouth and closed it again.

 

            “Ah,” her father went on, pouring milk into his tea, “it’s been a while since we last had tea together, don’t you think?”

 

            “We never had tea together,” she finally managed to say.

 

            “Don’t be silly.”  His silver teaspoon lightly tapped against the rim of his cup.  One.  Two.  Three.  “When you were young we always had tea together.  Your mother came too.  Sometimes.”

 

            Tomoyo looked dubious.  “I don’t remember.”

 

            “You don’t have to.”  Her father grinned, raised the cup to his lips, and took a sip. 

 

            A gentle breeze started to blow, and the maple’s leaves stirred merrily.  

 

            Her father set down his cup on the saucer and stared at her.  “You’re probably wondering what this dream means.” 

 

            Tomoyo took a sip of her own tea and decided it was too bitter.  She scanned the table for the sugar bowl, but it was nowhere to be found.  She lifted the tablecloth and peered under the table.  “Not really.”  She straightened up, looking at the maple curiously, hoping to see the ceramic handle poking out from underneath a leafy bough.  “I know dreams are senseless.  Especially mine.”

 

            “Not all dreams,” he told her, reaching out to gently cup her chin and turn her face so she looked at him.  “Some are just fragments of nonsense, but some dreams have meaning.”

 

            Tomoyo felt his fingers brush against her cheek and fell silent.  Did he mean this dream was some sort of premonition?  If so, what was supposed to happen afterwards?  “I don’t know what to expect,” she admitted.  “Please tell me what this all means.”

 

            To her surprise, he pulled his hand away and smiled.  “Look in your lap, Tomoyo-chan.”

 

            She did.  Nestled in the folds of her gingham skirt was the sugar bowl.

 

            “I say,” her father picked up his cup of tea and sipped, “this Darjeeling’s superb.  Sonomi bought this, I suppose.”

 

            Tomoyo gingerly picked up a sugar cube.  It was pleasantly rough against her skin.

 

            “I don’t know what to expect,” she said again, this time in wonder.

 

            Her father smiled.  “Expect nothing and be pleasantly surprised.”

 

            She stared back at him for a moment.  “Otousama.” 

 

            His smile disappeared behind the rim of his tea cup.

 

Without a second thought, she popped the sugar cube in her mouth. 

 

It was predictably sweet like caramel, but also gingery and hot like fire, ticklish like laughter, rough like her father’s palm, smooth like the sun in her lap.  The experience was so exhilarating that she decided to eat one more, but just as her fingers fished in the sugar bowl something started rapping against the table like a knuckle against a door, sounding louder and louder and louder---

 

            Her eyes flew open and sure enough there was the same tapping sound, coming from her bedroom door.                

 

            The clock told her it was already half past ten. 

 

Tomoyo groaned slightly and rubbed her eyes.  “Who is it?” 

 

The knocking cheerfully continued. 

 

It’s probably mother, Tomoyo thought with a yawn.  Or maybe somebody bringing breakfast.  She yawned again and lay on her back for a while, staring up at the ceiling.  From outside her window came the soft hiss of the garden hose, the merry chirping of birds, faint laughter.  Few fingers of pale light stole through the half-open drapes and fell on the disarray of sheets and pillows, on her dark curls, on her outstretched pale arms.

 

And all the while the soft but persistent knocking continued. 

 

It was starting to get on her nerves.

 

“Who is it?” she asked again, but there was no response.  Finally she got up with a sigh and unraveled herself from the tangle of sheets and pillows, running a hand through her disheveled long dark hair and thrusting her feet in fluffy white slippers. 

 

Knock knock knock knock.         

           

“I’m coming,” she called out wearily, padding over to the door.  Fumbling with the lock and yanking the door open, she found herself staring at a pale face, piercing dark blue eyes, tendrils of dark hair, and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses.

           

Very closely.

 

            “Eriol?” she gaped.

 

            He smiled.  “Good morning.”

 

 

 

 

Chapter II : Deai to Wakare

 

 

 

 

            A long piercing shriek, followed by an audible slam of the door, sounded throughout the Daidouji mansion. 

 

Daidouji Sonomi looked up from the newspaper.  “My goodness, what on earth was that?”

 

            “It appears that Tomoyo-sama is finally awake, Daidouji-sama,” answered a servant, pouring coffee into a cup. 

 

            “Oh.”  Sonomi’s lips curved into a knowing smile.  “I see, is that so? ”

 

“Shall I take her breakfast upstairs?”

 

“Please do,” Sonomi replied, reaching for her cup, “and add some tea and biscuits for that darling Eriol-kun.  This is the first time somebody actually made Tomoyo get up before lunchtime on a Sunday.  That boy deserves a reward, don’t you think?”  

 

 

           

 

            “What are you doing here?” Tomoyo demanded loudly, quickly tossing pillows here and there and frantically straightening her bedcovers.  “Aren’t you supposed to be at home reading a book or playing the piano or something?”

 

            “Perhaps I should’ve called first?  I’m sorry, where are my manners--”

 

            Screw manners, she thought, glaring at the door before pulling the sheets over her mess of a bed.  No matter how apologetic he sounded, she knew he enjoyed every minute of her flustered frenzy.  You’re cute when you panic, he told her once, when she found herself so busy with work and student council papers and choir practice that she had to dash madly from one end of the school to another.  She had almost crashed into him just as he was leaving the teacher’s room with a tall pile of books.  He managed to grab her arm and steady her, before his dark blue gaze drifted up and down her poor harassed self and he smiled --- you’re cute when you panic. 

 

            Idiot, she hissed back.

 

She grabbed a hairbrush from her drawer and started yanking it through her hair in murderous fashion. 

           

“Actually,” he was saying, “I was just wondering if you’d be needing any help.”

 

            The brush halted in mid-stroke.  “Help?”

 

            “With the tapes, I mean.”

 

            Tomoyo glanced at the door to her video room, where she kept her video equipment, her projector, the huge movie screen, as well as her video collection --- seven big boxes of V8s, all containing footage of her best friend and the card captor, Kinomoto Sakura.

 

            Her whole video collection, which she had just volunteered to donate to the student council for the school festival.

 

            Eriol continued.  “I was just wondering if you needed help --- taping or packing or carrying or anything…  You did mention that you

had five boxes, didn’t you?”

 

            “Seven,” she answered. 

 

            “Seven boxes?” he echoed in surprise. 

 

            “I started taping over some of them last night, but I wasn’t able to finish.” 

 

            “I see.”  There was silence for a moment.  “You wouldn’t be needing any help, then?”

 

            “Actually,” Tomoyo paused to consider, “I think I could use an extra hand.”

 

            “Oh.”  He sounded relieved. 

 

            She slipped the brush back into her drawer and walked up to the door.  “So tell me, did you come all the way here just for that?”

 

            “Just to spend my whole Sunday sitting on the floor and removing labels from plastic cases?” came his reply.  “Perish the thought.  I had to escape from another afternoon of curry rice.  Ruby Moon’s been cooking it all week.  And,” he dramatically paused, “it goes without saying that I wanted to be with you for the rest of the afternoon.”

 

Tomoyo was not touched.  “You just wanted to see if you can annoy me out of bed.” 

 

“Ah, yes.”  He sighed.  “A glimpse of you in a soft satiny nightgown.  The vision is enough to drive one mad with l---” 

           

“Eriol!”  She glared at him through the door. 

 

“Yes?”

 

“Let’s not get any funny ideas, shall we?”

 

            “Yes dear,” he cheerfully answered.  “Which reminds me, do you intend to keep me standing here outside your door for the rest of day, or will you be letting me in?”

 

“Look,” Tomoyo sighed, “my room’s a mess, I just got up from bed, and I haven’t had any breakfast yet.”

           

“If you let me in,” his tone was hopeful, “I can do a little picking up for you.” 

 

She stuck her tongue out at the door.  “I’ll do that on my own, thank you very much.” 

 

“If you say so.”

 

“Anyway, give me thirty minutes to get ready and I’ll let you in.”

 

            “Thirty minutes.”  She heard him shifting his feet.  “All right, I’ll wait.” 

 

            And there was silence.  Tomoyo started to move away, thinking that he had left, but his voice suddenly rang out again.

 

“Tomoyo?”        

 

            “What?”

 

            There was a pause.  “Do you mind my being here?”

 

            Words from a dream drifted back to her ---  

 

Expect nothing and be pleasantly surprised.

 

            “What I mean to say is,” he fumbled for words, “would you rather I hadn’t come at all?”

 

            She smiled at him through the door.       

 

            “I’m glad you came,” she softly said, “and I’d be happy if you stayed.”

 

 

                       

***

 

           

            “Irresponsible idiots,” Spinel Sun grumbled, slipping a blue-gray paw under a plate full of crumbs and lifting it off the table.  He flew over to the sink and set the plate down on top of the tall pile of dirty dishes.  Irresponsible beings, he thought, turning on the tap.  You’d think the ones who have hands and fingers would easily place things where they were meant to be stored --- cups in the cupboard, spoons in the drawer, dirty dishes in the sink…

 

            But no, it was he who had to put everything where it belonged.  It was he with the paws and wings who had to clean up after both of them --- a junior high school student with half a sorcerer’s soul, and a tall winged creature that looked human and female but was neither at the same time.  (That probably didn’t make much sense, but Spinel never really bothered figuring out what Nakuru was.) 

 

Nakuru was Nakuru --- unmade bed, red dress dangling from the side of the laundry basket, drapes hung askew, bits of biscuit trailing from the breakfast table and into the living room.  While he sometimes played the good housekeeper and did the laundry, cleaned house, and baked cookies (mostly to feed Spinel and watch him spin drunkenly around the room afterwards), he was mostly unmindful of his room’s state and the drops of tea on the tablecloth.  “Suppiiiii,” he crowed a few hours earlier, jumping up from his seat after setting his cup down on the saucer with a crash, “I have to go to the library for some research.  We’ve finally run out of curry paste so just take out the chops for lunch, okay?  That and oh, maybe some vegetables for a side salad.  Eriol likes tomatoes, so be sure to put in lots, okay?  Jaaaaa ne.”

 

And without carrying his dishes to the sink, he danced out of the dining room, humming a tune.

 

Irresponsible idiot.  Spinel grumbled, putting all the cups in a tub of soapy water.  He could’ve at least told me where he kept the dishwashing liquid refills.  He sighed and dug his paw into the soapy mass, scrubbing a cup.

 

And what about Eriol?  He was usually helpful around the house, but that morning he had slipped out of the house even before the toast was ready, saying he had to go somewhere.  He didn’t say where he was going, but it was easy to figure out where he was headed.

 

Well, Spinel thought, reaching for another cup, Daidouji-san would most probably give him breakfast.  The question is, will he be having lunch there, or will he coming home for the chops and the salad?  If so, the chops had to be brought out from the freezer --- but not until the dishes were done, the front steps swept, and the laundry collected. 

           

Spinel sighed and looked up at the sunlight wafting through the open window.  The cloudless sky was a brilliant shade of blue.  The empty house was silent, save for the slight tinkle of dishes at the sink, the tick-tocking of the grandfather clock in the hall.  It was the perfect opportunity for curling up in a chair with a book.  If only I didn’t have to do this, Spinel thought with a sigh, putting all the dishes in the tub of soapy water.  And just as he was trying to fit the forks and knives in between the saucers, the doorbell rang.

 

            Spinel blinked.

 

            A visitor?                                      

 

Brushing his paws against a dishrag, he flitted out of the kitchen, ignored the remnants of breakfast on the table, and flew down the long corridor and into the front hall.  There he promptly sweatdropped at the sight of a dozen letters, flyers, and telegrams jammed through the slat in the door.  Some were scattered on the doormat and looked as if they had been trampled on.  It was apparent that Nakuru had forgotten to retrieve the mail before he had left.

 

“Irresponsible idiot,” Spinel muttered again, shaking his head.  He wearily grabbed at an envelope and pulled.  Poof!  The mass of mail in the slot suddenly gave way, scattering themselves in a frenzy all over the carpet. 

 

Spinel looked down at the thin white letter in his paw.  “Uh-oh.”  The envelope was partly torn.  Eriol would have a fit.  Praying that his master wouldn’t notice, he tried to smoothen the envelope out with his other paw.  Doing so, he spied a familiar-looking stamp.

 

England?

 

He quickly turned the envelope over.

 

The letter was from Mizuki Kaho. 

 

 

 

***

 

 

            /Sword!/ screamed Sakura, hitting the card with her staff.  There was a flash of light and in Sakura’s hands was a long gleaming lance.  Her fingers tightened around it as she jumped off the roof with a cry, lunging at the giant teddy bear to attack.  The monstrous bear tried to hit her with a thick brown paw, but Sakura was too quick --- there was a metallic swish, a scream, and suddenly the bear’s left ear sailed through the air.  Sakura managed to land safely on the ground, watching the bear grow smaller and smaller…  A small wrinkled ofuda trailed from the dismembered ear and landed on the ground near her feet.  /Hoe?/ Sakura asked.  /What’s this?/

 

            “A spoiled trick, that’s what it was,” came the muttered reply from somewhere in the darkness.

 

            Tomoyo smiled from her seat behind the projector.  “Do my ears deceive me, or is Hiiragizawa Eriol actually sore about having his big fluffy minion defeated?”      

 

            “Big fluffy cute minion,” he added sourly.  “I was actually proud of the idea.  Sakura-san never suspected a thing.”

 

            Tomoyo laughed.  “Well, you know Sakura-chan; intuition was never her strong point.”

 

On screen, Sakura rushed closer to the camera, her green eyes wide.  “Yue-san!  Tomoyo-chan!  Are you two all right?”

 

            “I’m fine, Sakura-chan,” came Tomoyo’s reply.  “What about you, are you all right, I was so worr---”

 

            Click!  Tomoyo suddenly turned off the projector.  The room fell into complete silence save for the machine’s soft whirring, which eventually stopped.  In the darkness, there was a squeak as Eriol got up from his chair. 

 

            “Well,” he said.  “If you’re really up to recording over every single tape you have here, I think it would be wise to start now.”

 

            She nodded, feeling stupid as she did so.  It was too dark to see anything, but she thought she glimpsed him watching her again, an undecipherable myriad of thoughts reflected in his dark blue eyes.

 

            It’s not too late to back out, she knew he wanted to say.  You can always tell the student council you had a sudden change of plans.  

 

            “I made up my mind.”  The words suddenly tumbled out of her mouth, ringing out dully in the darkness.  “I made up my mind and no

one can stop me.”

 

            There was a pregnant pause before he sighed in defeat.  “I know.” 

 

Click.

 

The room was suddenly flooded with light.  Tomoyo swiveled around in her chair and found Eriol standing by the light switch and regarding her with solemn dark blue eyes.    “Well,” he remarked, “shall we begin?”

 

           

***

 

 

            “And then?” Syaoran prompted.  “What happened next?”

 

            “There were two figures,” Sakura paused, “and I didn’t know who they were.  One of them said something like goodbye; I don’t really remember what was said at the time, but it seemed really sad…  And well, after that, there was a kiss, I think, and the other one just walked away without looking back…”

 

            Syaoran eyed his companion curiously.  “Then that was all?”

 

            “That was all,” she nodded, still looking apprehensive. 

 

            “Hmm.”   He shifted in his seat, glancing outside the window at the cloudless sky.  Li Syaoran had thick unruly chestnut-brown hair that kept falling into his eyes, which were amber and now narrowed at some point outside the window, making him appear as if he were glaring at something.  Across the table from him brown-haired green-eyed Kinomoto Sakura cupped her palms around her frosted glass of iced tea and stared into its golden yellow depths worriedly.  

 

            “What do you think?” she asked.  “Should I tell Kero-chan about it?”

 

            “That stuffed animal doesn’t need to know about anything,” Syaoran retorted.  “It’s just a dream, after all.”

 

            “But my dreams aren’t just dreams,” Sakura argued, “they always mean something.  Like when I dreamt about a long-haired woman on Tokyo Tower and met Mizuki-sensei the next day, or when I saw three beings in shadow and sure enough there were Eriol-kun and Spinel-san and Akizuki-san…  And what about the time I---”

 

            “I understand,” Syaoran cut her off gently, “your dreams are usually premonitions, I know.  But this time it just doesn’t make any sense to me.  You saw two people together and one of them said something like goodbye and there was a kiss and that was it, right?”

 

            “It makes perfect sense to me!” Sakura insisted.  “It means a relationship’s about to fall apart.”

 

            “If you ask me, I think you’ve been watching too many dramas…”

 

            “Syaoran-kun!”  Her sudden outburst rose above the din, making a few people’s heads turn.  The pair flushed in embarrassment and bowed their heads, pretending to scrutinize the scratched tabletop under their palms.

 

            “Syaoran-kun---” Sakura mumbled.

 

            He looked up.  “What?”

 

            “If those two were us…I mean,” she backtracked, “if that dream was a premonition about us…  What if it means that we won’t be together for long?  What will we do?”

 

            “Don’t say that,” he scoffed, stabbing at his slice of chocolate cake.  “It’ll take more than a silly dream to keep us apart.”

 

At that, Sakura had to smile.  “Ne, Syaoran-kun?”

”What?”

 

“Don’t you think you’ve been watching too many dramas yourself?”

 

At that Li Syaoran promptly flushed ten shades of red, dropped his fork, swallowed a bit of cake the wrong way, downed

Sakura’s glass of iced tea in one gulp and coughed to cover his embarrassment.

 

 

 

***

 

 

            “Promise me something.”

 

            Tomoyo stopped peeling the label off a tape and looked up. 

 

            In the dimness of the video room she could barely make out Eriol perched on a stool and hunched over the projector, seemingly preoccupied with his task. 

 

            “Did you just say something?” she asked.

 

            “I said, promise me something.”

 

            “What is it?”      

 

            “Promise me you’ll keep one for yourself.”

 

            Tomoyo looked down at the label she was peeling off.  Sakura-chan, it read, class play : Sleeping Beauty.  Her fingers closed over the thin piece of paper and pulled.    

 

            “Splendid camerawork and costume design,” Eriol droned on, more to himself than to her, “needs appropriate background music.”

 

            “Thank you.”  The label came off easily, as if it were meant to be replaced with something new.  As if it were not something meant to keep.  Tomoyo reached for another tape and gingerly brushed the edge of her nail against the sticker.  It lifted obediently, responding to her touch like magic.  

 

            “I can’t imagine someone taping the school festival over something like this,” he spoke.  “Sakura-san looks splendid.  Perhaps she should pursue a career in showbusiness.”

 

            “Sakura-chan hates the camera.”

 

            “Oh?”  He lifted his head in surprise.  The projector reflected a bright sheen of light in his glasses.  “And here I thought she was such a willing subject; what with these seven boxfuls of tapes on her.”

 

            “She put up with it,” Tomoyo laughed, “because she didn’t have the heart to refuse me.”     

 

            “That’s not true,” Eriol softly said.  “You’re just impossible to resist.”

 

                       

***

 

 

            /What?/  Sakura blinked at the camera.  /Did you say something, Tomoyo-chan?/

 

            /I said,/ rang out Tomoyo’s voice from behind the camera, /I only have fifteen seconds left!  Do something, Sakura-chan!  Smile!  Dance!  Use a card!  Sing!/

 

            /Sing?  Lemme at it!/ sprung Kero-chan from nowhere, flexing a small yellow arm.  /Make way for Cerberus, the karaoke master!/

 

            /Mou, Kero-chan!/  Sakura grabbed the small lion-like creature, pulling it away from the camera.  /Tomoyo-chan doesn’t want you singing on her tapes, it’s embarrassing!/

 

            /Whaddaya mean?!/ Kero-chan demanded.  /I sing good!/

 

            /Only five seconds left!/ Tomoyo wailed.

 

            The camera zoomed in Sakura’s face, capturing her cheerful smile. 

 

            Her last cheerful smile.

 

/Tomoyo-chan!/  She waved. /Bye-bye, Tomoyo-chan!/

 

            The screen went black.

 

            Click.

 

           

***

 

 

            Tomoyo didn’t realize how tired she was until the moment she lay down on her bed and felt her eyes getting heavy.  She wondered what she was all tired for; it was Eriol who did most of the work, practically spending the whole day inside the projector room.  When he finally emerged from the room it was already half past ten in the evening, and Tomoyo insisted on walking him as far as the corner and making him bring home a cake for Spinel and Nakuru (‘to apologize for keeping you this late’, she said).  He called her up three hours later to thank her for the treat, telling her that Spinel and Nakuru had a tiff and somehow Spinel ended up falling into the cake, face first.

 

            “He’s still whizzing around and singing old English ditties,” he was saying, “so I’m here under the desk taking cover.”   

 

            “Goodness,” was all she could say.  She flung an arm against a pillow and felt herself relax. 

 

            “I’m sorry I won’t be able to help you carry all the tapes to school tomorrow.” 

 

“That’s all right,” she said, “at least we got everything done in time.  Thank you so much for your help.”

 

            “Don’t mention it.” 

 

“Will you be attending the student council meeting tomorrow?”

 

“I’m afraid I’ll have to pass.”  He coughed.  “I have to meet someone.”

 

“Lucky you.  Anyway, you’ll be coming in the afternoon, right?  I’ll fill you in on details then.”          

 

“Thank you.”

 

A comfortable silence passed before Eriol finally spoke.  “Well, I’d better hurry catch Spinel before he runs into any bookcases.”

 

            “All right,” Tomoyo yawned in spite of herself.  “See you at school tomorrow, then---”

 

            “See you tomor---”

 

            “Wait,” she suddenly said.  “I just remembered something.”

 

            “And that is?”

 

            “I kept my promise.”

 

            There was a pause.  “`Promise’?” he asked, confused.

 

            “You’re so forgetful.”  Tomoyo sighed, and shifted the receiver to her other ear.  “Remember what you said a while ago?  I set aside one tape --- just one tape out of the whole collection --- for safekeeping.”

 

            “Oh.”  He sounded surprised.  “You did?”

 

            “Of course I did.”

 

            “And what tape was that?”

 

            “That’s a secret,” she laughed softly.  “Now hurry up and get some sleep; it’ll be a long day tomorrow.”

 

            “Right.”  She heard the smile in his voice.  “Sweet dreams, Tomoyo.”

 

            “Good night.”

 

 

           

 

            The Daidouji mansion was completely silent.  All lights were out; everyone was tucked in their beds and dreaming.  Everyone was asleep --- save for Tomoyo, who curled up with a pillow in the darkness of her video room. 

 

Shelves that housed boxes of countless V8 tapes were now completely bare. 

 

Everyone was gone. 

 

All except for one.

 

The projector whirred softly, steadily as it played that one tape Tomoyo chose to keep. 

 

On screen, Sakura turned on her heel with a gasp.  “Who’s there?”

           

There was a sudden terrible gust of wind, the confusion of leaves, before the camera panned up to reveal a boy standing on top of the shrine gates.  He was dressed in long robes of blue and gold and black that rustled softly as he raised a hand to acknowledge their presence.

 

            “Present name, Hiiragizawa Eriol,” the boy spoke in a deep, unfamiliar voice.  “Past name, Clow Reed.”       

 

 

[ end chapter 02 ]

 

Author’s Notes (old):

 

            Overkill. -_-

            I spent so much time on this act, it’s crazy.  I’ll never get used to writing anything longer than a oneshot, I swear.    

            ‘Deai’ means ‘meeting’ while ‘wakare’ means ‘parting’.  I personally prefer writing it down in English as ‘hello and goodbye’, even though it’s definitely not a good translation.

            Nakuru probably isn’t that scatterbrained, but I expect him to not help around the house every once in a while…  I probably overdid his irresponsible side.  Will make up for it by putting him in the kitchen in the next act or so.  Or something. *sweatdrop*

            How Eriol managed to record over seven boxes of V8s in one afternoon is beyond me.  He most probably used a spell. 

            Many thanks to Jae-san.  I owe her lots. ^_^  

 

Up Next : a glimpse into the past, Kaho.

 

Author’s Notes (new):

 

            Old fic is embarrassing.