#aijima-cecil

"Why would I ever pay attention to Cecil's co-" Tokiya's very annoyed tone of voice was stopped before he could say another word, by a stronger voice that came from a taller man. 

"I have never liked you." Satsuki started, holding the collar of Tokiya's expensive -and very boring- shirt. He had been in his stupidly tidy and gray room for two minutes, and it was already long enough. He needed something, now. "And I'm sure your little fangirls only stand you because of your duck face." The blonde continued, losing control of what he was saying again, his words beginning to have an air of desperation. "If I ruin it for you..." 

"That won't be necessary" said the blue-haired male, voice now strained and eyed obviously fearful of the other. "But I have no information to give you at this point. So please refrain from including me in your search. I just want some peace and silence." 

Satsuki stomped his way out of the concrete-hearted idol's shared room, not even closing the door after him. Where could he be? That's all the man thought, pinching the bridge of his nose while he walked to the gardens again, eyes still open hoping to catch sight of chocolate brown hair and jewel-like green eyed. He had asked everyone that knew Cecil in the building, including the sempais. But after picking a fight with the ice-cold villain who was supposed to care for his lover for not doing so, and that other balloon-headed maracas idiot breaking them up while the can-opener stared and broom-hair screamed 'Fight!' ...he had no one else to squeeze information out of. The composer felt like a child searching for a red-and-white sweater in a sea of drawn red-and-white people. He was literally at a loss.

Who would know that just inside the golden, glimmering, walls decked with gods and angels, un-worldly, un-human beings of light and perfection was so much hatred for mortality, for human life itself. Clean, shining, gigantic walls that rose up to the heavens and only comparable to the holy entities sculpted on their marble and rock. But they were no gods, and they could not even cry to them today. They, only skin and bones, breakable and still or already bleeding, drenching and painting the arena floor, feeding the lions’ thirst, dirtying the white. How dare they die? Their lives valued at only a couple of coins, loose change for some of the voices laughing and calling names, urging the challengers to save themselves, or the animals to attack. This was the un-life of the un-lucky slave; a perishable puppet, transient form of entertainment, replaceable.

☹ Ce- Cecil? No, Satsuki could not mention that name. Not now. Was this some kind of joke? A terrible coincidence? Or ...has Cecil been playing around with his magic book of weird spells again?! The composer remembered the last time the brunette tried a charm of some kind and they were converted into female versions of themselves. Not good.

Well, it hasn't been a long amount of time standing like an idiot, close to where the people were already arriving. But, the fact that he was dressed like a halloween version of Elthon John and had a mask to match his ridiculous ...what was this? A costume? Anyway, it wasn't helping the wait.

'My outfit needs a lot longer to prepare' was what his date for the night -And Satsuki almost choked at that word. Date!- had told him hours before. But like already said, it was hours before! The blonde shook his head, adjusting the thin dark green mask that covered around his leaf-colored eyes. Didn't sound all that funny, unless you ignore the fact that the mask also had some kind of black frill around, and sewn-in beads that made a pattern. Very well, it matched his black suit, same pillowed-like pattern that even though it had minimal embellishments, still was the most 'elegant' thing the composer has ever put on himself. And he hated it. Every single dark green round button that closed the jacket in a vertical way, the careful black-on-black embroidery and most of all, the neckerchief adorned with a single centered ornament that suffocated him.