DISCLAIMER:
None of the FY characters belong to me, my family, or anyone I can conceivably
black mail. Alas.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This fic was written in response to the strict guidelines set
down by The Demon Princess' recent fanfiction contest. It's rated "R"
for language and implied rape. There's nothing graphic in it...but, as I
said...implied rape, implied yaoi...er...sort of. Urgh. You'll figure it out.
:) The little stars throughout the piece are reference points to the required
elements in the contest--all are outlined at the bottom of the story. ^_^.
GOMEN NASAI, CHICHIRI-SAN! *sob*
SOUNDTRACK: "Moonless Night" - Akemi Satou, and Tasuki's song,
"Sotsugyou Koneko." But, mostly "Moonless Night." Betcha
can't guess where I found my title... -.-;;
---
"Moonless Nights"
by Ryuen
~ ~ ~
"Chichiri? What's wrong?"
Realizing abruptly that he'd been gazing off into space again, Chichiri
straightened, turned back to face the evening's companion. "Gomen,
Nuriko," he murmured, folding his hands expertly before him and dropping,
again, into a typical meditation stance. "I was...thinking no da."
Nuriko raised an eyebrow, leaning back so his thin shoulder blades touched
against the wall. Chichiri took a moment to study the other man through the
slits of his mask, taking in the thick, silken waves of violet hair tumbling
over his shoulders, the dark, inquisitive eyes framed in a wash of black
eyelashes, and the simple white robe hanging loosely over his body. The robe
itself hung partway open, exposing the confusing flatness of Nuriko's chest,
and was cinched at the waist with a thin length of gold ribbon.
"Thinking?" the younger man echoed, leaning forward slightly. A
moment later, he'd drawn his legs to his chest, was leaning his chin lightly on
the tops of his knees. "Ne...about what?"
The blue-haired monk glanced again towards the darkened glass of the far
window, arms falling loosely to his sides. "Something that...happened a
long time ago no da," he said quietly. His voice was low, solemn...and
certainly not fitting to the man who wore the smiling mask. Sighing softly,
Chichiri reached up a thin hand, gripped onto the edges of the mask and tugged
it free. A wash of cool night air spread immediately over his skin, swept over his
flesh like a soothing balm. He closed his eye briefly, enjoying the
sensation...then, remembered Nuriko and opened it, careful to keep his
expression from betraying too much of his mood. It was difficult to get used to
not having his features hidden beneath the mask...and difficult to return,
again, to the world where it was necessary to prevent true reactions from
slipping onto his face. But, it was late...and after all, it was only Nuriko.
He of all people understood the necessity of hiding self...and the necessity of
letting everything tumble out from time to time.
Perhaps now was one of those times, he mused silently.
He could feel Nuriko's gaze pressing into him but ignored it, instead strode to
the window and gazed through the smooth, darkened glass. The world beyond was
black and thick with the shadow of night, not even the barest flickerings of
starlight breaking through the heavy cloud cover...but he knew that even if the
clouds shifted, even if the cool, dark blue of the sky were visible...there
would be no moon.
"Moonless night," he murmured.
Nuriko was frowning at him...he didn't need to turn around to sense that.
"Moonless night?" the violet-haired seishi echoed. Chichiri nodded
slightly, pressing closer to the window and peering through, his breath making
hollow circles against the cool glass. It was so dark. Even though he knew that
just beyond this window was the subtle bend of the palace walkway, that just
beyond that was a wide expanse of grass, followed by a small thicket of willow
trees and then the imperial gardens...it was so dark that he could've been
anywhere, looking out on any view. He could've been...there...in the forest
from his nightmares... Involuntarily, he shuddered, tugging the warm cotton of
his robe more closely around his body and wishing, suddenly, for the comfort of
the mask over his features...but, of course, it was too late.
"Chichiri?" Nuriko asked quietly, a rustle of cloth signalling the
other man rising from where he sat. A moment later, Chichiri heard the soft
shuffle of Nuriko's feet pressing into the carpeting, drawing the younger
seishi closer and closer to the window...closer to discovering the
truth...because, gods, if Nuriko asked him...he was going to tell him, wasn't
he?
"Nuriko," he said softly.
The young crossdresser paused just behind him, seemed to be raising a
speculative eyebrow. "Hm?"
Chichiri closed his eye, crossed his arms loosely over his chest.
"Hotohori-sama told me something about you once no da. He said it was a
story you told him after Miaka went back to her world...and after Tamahome
left, too, no da."
Nuriko was suddenly very still, his breathing soft and quick.
"Hotohori-sama was missing Miaka very badly no da," the young monk
continued, still not turning from the window, "and so you told him about
someone you were missing very badly no da."
The younger man drew in a sharp breath, seemed to take a step backwards.
"He...told you about that?" he breathed.
Chichiri inclined his head, tried to ignore the subtle waver creeping into
Nuriko's voice. "Hai. He told me that he thought you'd understand no
da."
Nuriko was silent for a long moment, the soft rustle of him shifting his weight
the only sound to betray the stillness of the room. "I...I don't
mind," he said at last. "But..." He trailed off, shook his head
slightly. "But, why did he...why did he tell you about Kourin? How did it
even come up?"
Drawing in a long, deep breath of the cool night air, Chichiri at last let his
eye flicker open, turned to face the younger man. Nuriko stood just as he'd
envisioned, those slim arms crossed lightly over the pale flatness of his
chest, a look of confusion and a bit of anxiety marring his smooth features.
"Because," the blue-haired monk explained quietly, "we are very
much the same no da. And, now that I know your secret no da..." He
hesitated slightly, fighting against the insistent voice of reason within
him...then drew a deep breath, let it out slowly through his nostrils.
"You have a right to know mine."
---
It was...so dark. The jagged lines of the scar still pulsing painfully over his
left eye, Houjun tugged his meager belongings closer to his chest, tried again
to find his way back to the comforting lengths of the trail...but, gods, it was
no use. Feeling weak, fragile, and almost painfully hungry, the
eighteen-year-old stumbled over a tree root, fell again to his knees on the
ground. The forest was thick with briars and thorns, most of which he managed
to collide with every few steps, and the trees themselves were heavy with a mass
of low branches and stinging vines. This was hell.
Wishing, and not for the first time, that he'd been fortunate enough to be
swallowed up by the flood before the waters retreated, the boy sank again to
the ground, pressed his cheek against the moist soil, and squeezed his eye
closed.
//Maybe if I ignore this...it'll all go away. Maybe if I close my eyes...I'll
wake up in my own bed, find that this was all some horrible nightmare...maybe.
Gods, why can't it be that simple?\\
The sound of rustling branches nearby made him freeze where he lay, reflexively
reaching for the dagger he knew was no longer at his belt. He raised his head,
brushing vaguely at the thin, dirtied strands of hair hanging in his eyes, and
peered out through the darkness. At first, there was nothing...no sound, no
light, nothing but the darkened shadows of the forest and the far-off chirping
of crickets...and then, suddenly, there was the crinkle-thud of booted feet
stamping through the underbrush, the warm, reddish glow of a lantern flickering
through the trees...
He sprang to his feet almost before the sight registered in his mind, grabbed
his belongings to his chest and began to run. Thank Suzaku, he was saved! No
more wandering aimlessly through the forest, no more struggling to pry enough
berries from the bushes to keep himself alive until he could reach the next
village, and--most of all--no more fighting his way through the darkness.
"Matte!" he called, moving as quickly as he dared through the dense
underbrush.
He stumbled as he moved, nearly smashed his forehead into the rough trunk of an
oak tree, but caught himself at the last minute, somehow managed to keep
moving...what if they hadn't heard him? What if they were going onwards,
leaving him behind? Leaving him in the darkness? He was reminded, suddenly, of
Faye Valentine*...floating aimlessly through the cold, icy darkness of
space...alone...untouchable...lost... He shuddered.
"Matte!" he repeated in a louder voice. As he drew closer, he could
make out the forms of a few dark figures behind the glow of the lanterns, could
hear the soft murmur of male voices, the low staccato of a few brief snickers.
He wondered, briefly, just who he was shouting out to, just who might be
strange enough to be out wandering through the forest at this time of
night...but he found, also, that he didn't much care. No matter who it was--no
matter if it was a group of monks out for a late-night meditation or a mob of
bandits come to pillage the nearest town--they were something DIFFERENT, something
that would take him out of this forest, out of this darkness, out of this
hell...one way or another.
"Oi!" an authoritative voice called back, echoing darkly through the
thick line of trees. "Who's there? Oi, you one o' those fuckin' travelers,
lost his way?"
Breathing heavily from the exertion and fighting against the weariness already
weighing heavily against his limbs, Houjun somehow managed to stumble the last
few feet onto the welcome lengths of the trail...and into the warm glow of the
lantern light. He was immediately surrounded by dark, questioning faces, a
flurry of voices swirling around him...was the world spinning? He felt suddenly
dizzy, watched as a heavy curtain of darkness began to claw at the edges of his
vision...and, before he could regain control, he'd fallen to his knees on the
ground, was lying in a curled heap on the dirt. The air rushed painfully in and
out of his lungs, and the scent of alcohol and moist earth filled his nostrils.
Dimly, he was aware of strong hands pressing against his shoulders, dragging
him to his feet...but, the fatigue of the last few days was all flooding over
him now, leaving him barely able to think or speak or stand. So, he let his
body do what it wanted, let his arms go limp and his legs drop out from under
him...and a moment later, he was consumed in a soft, cool darkness...and forgot
all about the forest, the empty depths of the night sky, and the soft murmurs
of his rescuers.
The moonless night swallowed him into oblivion.
---
Something thudded into his ribs. "Oi," came a sharp voice from the
darkness. "Oi. Wake up."
Groaning and clutching reflexively at his ribs, Houjun curled up into a ball on
the floor, gradually became aware of a few things at once. Firstly, there was a
bright light very near to his eyes, echoing searingly against the backs of his
eyelids and sending the pain in his skull soaring to new heights. Secondly,
someone was standing very near to him--so near, in fact, that he could hear
harsh breathing just a few inches away. And, thirdly...his wrists were tied
together. Cautiously, vaguely aware of what felt like the toe of a boot again
nudging against his ribs, Houjun let his eye flicker open...and tried to focus
on the world around him.
The first thing he saw was a smooth, cold grey floor and a mass of straw, on
which he seemed to be lying. Second in his clearing vision was the sight of his
own hands, pressed tightly together by a thick length of rope, the strands of
which rubbed harshly against his wrists, left thin scrapes of crimson against
his flesh. Wincing, he let his gaze wander further...and caught sight of two
small, dark boots, a pair of tight-fitting leather trousers, a wide belt, and
two slim, fisted hands pressing against thin hips. He winced, suddenly feeling
dizzy again, and lay back onto the straw. His eye closed.
"Oi," the voice repeated, sounding slightly impatient. The boot
thudded into his side again, harder this time. "Oi, wake up. You've been
asleep for three fuckin' days already. We don't got time for this kinda shit
right now...so, c'mon, wake up. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner
you can leave, 'kay?"
Grimacing against the pain, Houjun somehow managed to crawl to his knees,
vaguely aware that his hair had come loose from its ties, was now hanging in
thin strands over his eyes, masking most of his face from view. "Where am
I?" he managed. He'd planned to ask more, but was startled by the harsh
rasp of his own voice...he'd been out for three days, he'd said??
The faceless visitor nodded, glancing briefly in the direction of the candle
burning brightly on the floor a few inches away. "Damn idiots," he
muttered. "Coulda knocked that thing over, burned the whole fuckin' place
down..." Shaking his head slightly, then, he took a small step back, drew
in a thick breath. "You're at Mount Leikaku," he announced...and it
was only then that Houjun noticed the boyish timbre of the visitor's voice, the
thin, short lengths of his legs and arms...a child?
The boy cleared his throat slightly, seemed to shift his weight a bit
uncomfortably. "We're the Mount Leikaku bandits," he stated quickly,
"an' you, I guess, are our prisoner...but, oi, don't fuckin' ask me why.
Our leader's off on some trip to Eiyo, gods know why...so, Barek's fillin' in
for him. Barek likes you...got special orders from him to get you over to his
room as soon as you fuckin' got up from the dead. So, oi, ya think you're up
for the trip, or do ya need me to drag you over there myself?"
Frowning slightly and feeling more than a little uneasy, Houjun climbed to his
feet, struggled for a moment to get a better look at his visitor...but, the boy
had already turned and stepped out the door, was gesturing a bit impatiently
for him to follow. Houjun glanced around himself, took in the cracked,
neglected walls, the cold floor, the general smallness of what was, in effect,
a cell...and decided that anything--even a confrontation with the leader of the
Mount Leikaku bandits himself--was better than staying here. Besides, hadn't
the boy said something about letting him leave?
"I'm coming," he said quietly. His voice was still raspy, barely
recognizable as his own...but, it was louder, at least, now...stronger. Yes.
Stronger.
As Houjun stepped out into the torchlight of the corridor, bound wrists hanging
loosely in front of him, he caught a glimpse of flame-red hair moving swiftly
down the corridor in front of him, had to take a few skipping steps to catch
up. When at last he did, the boy didn't even bother to glance back at him,
seemed merely to assume that he was following.
He considered, briefly, trying to escape...perhaps, overpowering this thin,
weak-looking boy, trying to find his way to the nearest exit...but, almost
immediately decided against it. Not only was he weak, malnourished, and barely
able to keep himself moving down the hallway, but surely the Mount Leikaku
bandits wouldn't be so stupid as to leave him in the hands of a completely
incompetent boy and nothing more. Yes...either the boy was more than he
seemed...or there were other eyes watching him, other hands ready to grab him
in case he tried anything.
So...better to follow, keep silent--watch and learn as much as possible.
Besides. He was nothing more than a weary traveler, no one of importance. He
had nothing valuable, no real monetary worth at all--not even a family to
ransom for his return. What would bandits want with him?
"It's just up here," his guide announced, offering him a quick glance
over one darkly-clothed shoulder.
Houjun merely nodded...and waited as the boy led him to an intricately-engraved
wooden door, came to a halt just in front of it. As he did so, the
eighteen-year-old was able to get a better look at his guide, to see more than
just the fiery tufts of his hair. He was tall, thin-boned...but, carried
himself with the kind of strength and power one would expect from a seasoned
veteran. Also, the boy seemed to possess a certain confidence that seemed
somehow out of place on that small, smooth-skinned face--and, the grin that
pried at those lips...crooked, mischievous...it almost seemed like too much,
like the boy was struggling his hardest to make himself into something he
hadn't quite achieved yet.
The boy thudded his fist against the door, breaking Houjun from his thoughts.
"Oi! Barek! I got the prisoner for ya!"
There was a moment's pause, then the sound of shifting furniture, the thud of
footsteps. The door swung open, then, and a tall, broad-chested man gazed out
at them, hair hanging in darkened tangles far past his shoulders, eyes dark and
wide and lecherous. Clad only in a loose-fitting pair of trousers and scuffed
boots, the man called Barek stepped out into the hallway, gave the younger of
the two boys a seemingly-affectionate smack on the side of the shoulder.
"Genrou!" he exclaimed, sounding pleased. "Good boy, good
boy." The dark gaze shifted, drew the shivering eighteen-year-old into
it...and those thick lips lifted into a positively-wicked smile. "Good
job," Barek murmured, moving a step closer to the blue-haired prisoner,
nodding approvingly. "Good job." Abruptly, the man slipped back into
the doorway, made a quick, beckoning gesture. "Oi, Genrou. Bring the kid
in here, wouldya?"
Feeling an immense sense of foreboding pressing down upon him but knowing he
had little choice, Houjun braced himself and followed, Genrou walking just in
front of him. The room they entered was large and tastefully-decorated, a vast
wash of red velvet carpeting sweeping out under their feet, providing the
perfect background for the smooth oak of the corner desk, the plush round of a
large, circular sofa near the center of the room. Various items of clothing lay
scattered in dirtied heaps about the room, drawing only subtly away from the
warm sophistication of the decorating. Forcing his gaze away from the decor and
wondering, briefly, if he could manage somehow to rip his hands free of their
binds, Houjun came to a halt just behind the boy Genrou, drew in a long,
difficult breath.
Barek was standing in front of a small bar in the far corner of the room,
sloshing various liquids into a glass. "Genrou," he commanded after a
moment. "Close the door, eh?"
Genrou nodded, walked briskly to the door and began to step out into the
hallway--
"No, no," Barek called, turning and offering a lecherous grin. The
amber depths of the drink swirled in the glass as he moved, and some of the
liquid sloshed out, trickled over his fingers. "Kid, you're stayin' in
here. I'm gonna be...uh...needin' your services."
The boy's eyes narrowed suddenly, and he took a small step back into the room,
still holding tightly onto the door. "My services?" he echoed
carefully. "What the fuck would ya need *my* 'services' for, Barek? I know
what you do with these damned pretty boys you get up here, and I don't want no
fuckin' part of it--"
Abruptly, the smile coasting across the man's lips vanished. With no more
warning than a slight huff of air pulsing through flared nostrils, Barek
charged forward, swept towards the younger of the two with an angry grimace
twisting at his lips. A moment later, the bandit was clutching tightly onto
Genrou's arm, dragging the boy more fully into the room even as he kicked the
door shut behind them. "I'm the boss," he whispered in a low, angered
voice. "I'm your commander, kid...and what I say goes. You got that? Now,
you ain't a bandit yet...and gods help me, kid, if you don't do what I
say..." His eyes narrowed, and a trace of a thin, haunting smile twisted
at his lips. "Then, let's just say, you might get into a little...accident
before our good ole leader comes back, ya know?"
Scowling, Genrou ripped his arm free, took a few steps back from the tall man.
"You're a fuckin' nasty guy," he spat. "I don't want no part in
this, you got me? I don't care what the hell you do to me, Barek..."
Barek's eyes were dark and narrow, his voice thick with tension and what could
only be described as a sadistic kind of pleasure. "Really," he said
slowly. He leaned back on his heels, shrugged mock-innocently. "Okay. I
won't do a thing to you, then. The leader likes you too much, anyway. But, your
friend Koji..."
Genrou's eyes flared with anger. "Damn you, you leave Koji the hell out of
this!"
"Koji's not quite as good lookin' as you, of course, Genrou...but, hell,
he'll do." Those dark eyes narrowed. "I ain't picky."
The boy's fists were clenched at his sides, shaking with rage. "You're
fuckin' nasty," he whispered in a low, shaky voice. "Fuckin'
nasty...!"
Barek strolled leisurely back to the bar, leaned against it and sipped at his
drink. "You'll do what I say," he murmured, smiling. His gaze shifted
almost violently, came to rest on the shivering, blue-haired boy standing a few
feet away from the door. "And, you," he mused. "Oh, you're a
pretty one. But..." He frowned, set the drink down on the bar, and strode
quickly across the room. Genrou, meanwhile, crossed angrily to the far window,
stared out it as he fumed.
As Houjun watched, frozen with horror and disgust, the man stretched forward
one thick-fingered hand, lifted the thin ribbons of hair from in front of his
face. "Agh," Barek grunted after a moment, wrinkling up his nose.
"That's one beauty of a scar, boy..." He paused, frowned. "I
don't like it. Oi, Genrou...grab that mask off the wall, wouldya?"
Fuming visibly, Genrou stomped over to the side wall, grabbed something from
it, and hurled it in the general direction of the older man and his prisoner.
Barek scowled briefly, but bent to retrieve it from the carpeting, was soon
holding it in his thick fingers just in front of the younger man's face. Houjun
stared at it dully, still not quite grasping what exactly was going on.
The mask was made of a thin, flesh-colored material, with two narrow slits for
his eyes. The mask itself covered only to the end of the nose, leaving the
nostrils and lower half of the face exposed...but, it still looked like it
would be uncomfortable...and it was. A moment later, Barek had pressed it
tightly against his face, tied the thin strings around the back of his head.
"There," the man said approvingly, taking a short step back and
smiling. "Much better. Now...let's get started, huh?"
Finally gathering enough will to speak, Houjun shook his head, strained to see
through the slits of the mask. "I don't understand**," he said
quietly. But, he did. Deep within, deep in the cold part of his heart, the part
that had died the moment his best friend and his love passed from this
world...in that part, he knew. Perhaps had always known.
Barek grabbed tightly onto his arm, then, dragged him to the round of the
sofa...and threw him violently onto it. Houjun hit the soft cushions on his
side, felt a brief wash of darkness slide over him and nearly passed out
again...but somehow, he managed to hold onto consciousness, to fight against
the blackness tugging at the edges of his vision.
"Now," said Barek in a low, sly voice, "I get some
entertainment." He turned, raised his voice. His thick hands pressed
heavily against the eighteen-year-old's shoulders, held him firmly in place on
the sofa. "Genrou! Get the fuck over here!"
The boy didn't move for a long moment, cheeks flushed crimson with anger, hands
balled into fists at his sides. "Why me, damn it?" he demanded.
"What the hell's wrong with you doin' it yourself, you dirty piece of
shit!?"
Barek smirked. "Never send an adult to do a kid's job***," he offered
in a low, lecherous voice. "Come on! I don't have all fuckin' day! And, if
you won't do it, you know I can always find somebody else who can...maybe
somebody I won't be as nice to as you...NOW, COME ON!"
There was a shuffle of booted feet, then, the sound of harsh, angry breathing
nearby.
Houjun closed his eye, thankful that the mask concealed the angry, frustrated
tears welling beneath his eyelids, that it covered the look of absolute horror
and helplessness sliding over his features...he was silent. Silent and strong...beneath
the mask. Beneath the mask. He squeezed his eye shut more tightly, felt the
tentative touch of warm, shaking hands latching into the buttons of his shirt,
ripping them free.
"I'll hold 'im," Barek said. "You do your stuff, kid. And, make
it good...or you know what'll happen, eh?" He laughed, a long, hideous
laugh. Houjun shuddered.
The rest of the night was a painful, agonizing blur...for which he was
immensely thankful. Afterwards, there wasn't much he could remember but the
blur of fiery hair and the uncomfortable heat of unwilling flesh against his
skin. But, the boy...Genrou...he never once looked him in the eye, never once
looked at him at all. And, even as he found himself burning with hatred for
this boy who touched him, who hurt him, who dragged away the last shreds of
dignity he possessed...he couldn't bring himself to hate the boy...not when he
caught a glimpse of those anguished amber eyes through the slits of the
mask...not when he saw the angry tears welling at the brim of his eyelashes...no.
There was no hatred there...but, there was shame. Oh, gods, there was shame.
When he was released the next morning, he took the mask with him...because, it
hid the shame well.
And, as he trudged down the hill away from the darkened rise of the bandits'
lair, blackened and in pain and wanting nothing more than to be swallowed up
into the darkness of oblivion...he walked, rather, with the blank face of a
wanderer out for a leisurely stroll, the soft weight of his second skin
pressing down over his eyes, hiding the glitter of his tears from the world.
"You can't break me****," he whispered fervently, glancing back over
his shoulder at the large wooden structure of the bandits' hideout. Catching a
glimpse of fiery hair at one of the windows, he turned away again, focused on
planting one foot on the ground, then the next, then the next.
He shook his head, felt the burning streak of a tear trickling down one masked
cheek. "Not ever."
---
Nuriko's fingers were pressed tightly against his lips, his eyes wide and
pained. Having been expecting such a reaction, Chichiri turned back to the
window, drew in a soft breath and let it out, very slowly, through parted lips.
"Tasuki," Nuriko managed at last, his voice rough and hoarse.
"Tasuki...Tasuki actually..."
Chichiri closed his eyes. "He wasn't given much choice no da."
"But...but, still...!"
"I doubt he even knows that it was me no da...if he did, I'm sure he
would've...said something." He paused slightly, tilted his head a bit to
the side as if in thought. "And...things were different then. We were
both...a lot different then. Besides," he added, offering a soft,
bittersweet smile. He reached to the nearby table, hefted the mask. "He
gave me this na no da. No matter what he may've taken away...he gave me
this."
Nuriko could only stare, blank-faced and shocked, as Chichiri lifted the mask
in his slim fingers, pressed it lightly against his face. "See?" he
whispered, peering out through the curved eyeslits. "Even on moonless
nights...I'm smiling no da."
Then, the blank face of his second skin pressing tightly over his features,
Chichiri gathered his things to his chest, crossed to the door, and tugged it
gently open. "Goodnight, Nuriko," he called softly over his shoulder.
"And...arrigato no da."
Nuriko could only stare after the older man, a slight chill running up his
spine. The unerasable image of a young, vulnerable Tasuki stung vividly against
the backs of his eyelids, made him hug his arms to his chest and long very
suddenly for the warmth of his bed.
//Even on moonless nights...I'm smiling no da...\\
Nuriko shivered.
---
~end.~
REQUIRED ELEMENTS:
* - Reference to anime. Cowboy Bebop, episode 3 (?). Faye is trapped in a ship
without fuel, floating aimlessly through space.
** - Chichiri line: "I don't understand."
*** - Quote from Spy Kids. "Never send an adult to do a kid's job."
And, I do apologize HEARTILY for that one. :)
**** - Chichiri line: "You can't break me."