A Very Kuro Christmas - Part I (A Gift for Faren)
Suprise my darling Faren! This is a gift for you--a story of KuroFai fluffiness and Christmas, two of your favorite things. :)
I had been planning on writing a 'domestic' KuroFai fic as soon as you told me those were your favorite, but this story kind of took on a life of its own *ahem Mokona* though I did still try to make it as domestically fluffy as possible.
I hope it's alright, as I'm a little rusty on the writing, and this is my first KuroFai fic, but I do hope that it brings you a little holiday cheer and lets you know how much I love you.
And now... to the fic!
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He heard the loud crashing as the boxes fell to the floor. Okay, pushed to the floor. By him.
He pulled at the edges of his hair, trying to keep his anger in check.
He had been in this place for three years, and he still couldn't seem to get the damn Christmas lights right. They were either tangled (even though he swore he always put them away untangled), or one of the impossibly miniscule bulbs was out.
How the things managed to break while being safely tucked away for the better part of a year was beyond him. (Though he hadn't ruled out a conspiracy by the Christmas companies; those bastards would do anything for money.)
The worst part was that the things were too small for this hands, meaning he couldn't replace the bulbs himself. And that usually left only one option:
The mage.
He paced, kicking a box or two as he thought about asking the blonde for help. Maybe there was an alternative.
Doumeki?
He shook his head; no, the mage would still find out somehow.
One of the pork buns?
No--that would be even worse.
He could ask Watanuki, but even though the younger man was finally able to leave the shop, he was still struggling to adapt to the outside world. The last thing he wanted to deal with was one of Watanuki's panic attacks, much less the beating Doumeki was sure to try and give him for causing it.
Plus: how would he get the mage out of the house long enough for Watanuki to come over? Very little escaped the mage's notice. It was maddening: almost as if the man still had a few tricks up his sleeve despite giving up his magic.
There had to be someone else he could ask. There had to be...
"What's wrong?"
Distracted, Kurogane responded without thinking.
"The Christmas lights broke again, and..."
The voice finished his sentence for him.
"And you don't want to ask me for help, do you?"
"Exactly. Wait..." Kurogane looked up from angrily eyeing the boxes on the floor to find a pair of familiar eyes dancing wickedly. He opened his mouth, but anything resembling words refused to come out.
The mage promptly sat on the floor and began checking the lights. Noticing that Kurogane was still speechless, the mage glanced up and said, "it's okay Kuro-pun; even big strong ninjas need help from us weaker folk from time to time." The mage laughed a little at his self-deprecation and continued to run his delicate hands across the lights.
Kurogane was not amused.
He growled back, "you're not weak. And if you call me a ninja one more time..."
"But you are a ninja, Kuro-puppy," the mage responded happily. Kurogane snorted.
"Yeah--a ninja that uses his sword skills to chop up overpriced raw fish for rich tourists who..."
"It's called sushi, remember? And if I recall correctly, who was it that chose to work for a hotel restaurant instead of Japanese restaurant?"
Kurogane kept silent. He had chosen the job as head sushi chef at one of Japan's top tourist hotels over a prestigious Japanese restaurant for the added health insurance.
The years of abuse the mage had put himself through had finally caught up with him, and he required medical treatments that were above and beyond what Kurogane could have afforded working at the restaurant, despite its prestigious reputation.
Not that it would have stopped Kurogane from making sure the mage was taken care of, no matter how many jobs it took. But at least with the hotel he had set hours, and could be at home more to keep an eye on the troublesome bastard.
While Kurogane was sure that the mage already knew most of this, there was no need to say anything out loud, so he answered with a non-committal noise instead.
"Pfft. Those tourists are just easy to impress. They 'ohh' and 'ahh' at the simplest of knife tricks."
"I wouldn't call them 'simple' Kuro-pooch. After all, how many sushi chefs can claim to have been trained in Edo-style swordsmanship in the Edo-period?" He cast a searching look at Kurogane. "And I'm sure that arm certainly adds to the novelty."
Kurogane rubbed the metallic limb instinctively, sometimes forgetting it wasn't his real arm.
Doing a kind of drum roll on his slender thighs, the mage continued happily, "and, let's not forget the other reason... because you're a ninja!" He said the word 'ninja' with a distinctly Asian flair.
Kurogane grimaced, feeling his already close-to-bursting anger rise to the surface.
"I'm not a fucking ninja anymore, okay?" he said, a little more loudly than he meant to.
The mage winced visibly, but put on a falsely cheery smile and said, "well, you'll always be my ninja, Kuro-pi-pi." The false smile remained but the mage became noticeably distant.
And... now he felt bad. Damn. Why did the skinny bastard always have to make his chest feel like it was being sliced open? He must be getting soft. He needed to go drinking with Doumeki again to talk about manly things. Like sports and stuff.
In regards to sports, Kurogane had become especially fond of watching sumo on TV. And listening to something called 'death metal.'
He also liked the illustrated stories called 'manga,' but he had come to find that talking about his fondness for these stories was not seen as very manly. He could still talk to some people about them without fear--mainly the younger members of his staff at work--but he avoided it when talking to people his age or older.
He didn't understand what these people had against 'manga,' but he figured it had something to do with them being cowards. After all, only cowards ran from battle--even if it was only an illustrated one.
He realized that he had gotten sidetracked and was about to apologize--begrudgingly--to the mage when he heard the man ask, timidly, "do you regret it Kurogane? Choosing this life, I mean?"
The mage didn't look up after finishing his questioning. He suddenly became very focused on the lights in from of him.
Kurogane crossed his arms. "Of course not."
He didn't even need to consider what the mage was asking. They did what had needed to be done. There was no point in thinking about 'what could-have-been' or wishing for something different.
"You really mean that, don't you?" the mage said softly.
The wall between them seemed to melt with those words, and the blonde let out a little laugh that sounded strangely like the swaying of small bells in the wind.
"You're so un-complicated Kuro-pu! How I wish I could be more like you."
He went back to sorting the lights, humming a little tune to himself. Kurogane was sure that it was one of those holiday songs--a 'Christmas carol--about a fat man and reindeer.
With one last look at the mage and his mass of unruly blonde hair, he walked into the kitchen, looking for the pork bun.
While she now spent most of her time at the shop to be with the other fluff ball, she always spent Saturday evenings and Sundays with them.
Though she should have been here by now, either brought by Doumeki, or, having stealthily avoided the eyes of onlookers, arrived by herself.
Had someone spotted her?
Kurogane tried not to panic, but she was almost an hour late. For whatever other faults she might have, the bun was always punctual.
He walked up and down the kitchen, thinking. Should he go to the shop? Go out looking for her? And if he did, how would he ask if anyone had seen her? People in this world seemed to think she was something called a 'stuffed animal.' No one would take him seriously.
He continued to pace when his eyes fell on a shiny object next to their calendar.
The phone.
Kurogane considered himself a brave man, and could never be accused of backing down from a fight, but he and the phone were sworn enemies. The damn thing ensured that anyone could reach him--anyone--at any hour of the day or night.
It was also uncomfortable to only hear people's voices. He was trained to look at people--see what they weren't saying--to discern the truth. The phone didn't let him do that.
Besides, it was incredibly awkward.
He knew that communication wasn't one of his strong points, but damn did the phone make it that much more obvious.
Still, this could be a matter of life and death.
He straightened his stance and walked over to the phone. He could do this. He would do this.
He quickly punched in the number he had burned into his memory for cases like this. The phone rang twice before the familiar voice answered with a deep, "hello?"
"It's Kurogane."
"Hello."
Kurogane immediately felt better. If he was worried about his etiquette on the phone, he was comforted by the fact that Doumeki's was even worse.
"Haveyouseentheporkbun?" The words came out in a rush.
"Which one?" Coming from someone other than Doumeki, Kurogane would have thought the person was being a smart-ass. But, as it was Doumeki, he knew that there was no smartassery intended.
"White pork... I mean, Soel." He still couldn't get used to the buns' proper name, and only used it in cases like this.
"No... she left almost two hours ago." Kurogane could hear the concern in Doumeki's voice, unwavering as it was.
"Damn." The panic was not reaching a fever-pitch.
"I'll be right there." With that, Kurogane heard the dial tone. The mage, having horrible timing like usual, chose that moment to enter the kitchen.
"Kuro-puff using the phone? My, this is a rare surprise."
Kurogane didn't want to scare the mage, but this was no time for games.
"The pork bun is missing."
He saw the blonde's head swing toward the clock and watched as his expression grew dim.
"Doumeki's coming them?"
Kurogane nodded.
"Then I'll get my coat..."
"No--you're staying here." It came out more harshly than he intended, but it was important that the mage knew he meant business.
"I most certainly am not." The mage straightened to his full height--by no means unremarkable--and looked Kurogane in the eye.
"If you're going to try and pull some crap like 'someone needs to be here when she gets home,' save it: she knows her way in, and she knows how to use the phone. I am coming with you, and there is nothing you or Doumeki can do about it."
He stomped out of the room without waiting for a response from Kurogane. Judging by the direction of his footsteps, he was definitely heading for the coat closet.
Kurogane wasn't sure what would be worse on the mage--the cold, or having to wait here, alone, not knowing what had happened to the fluff ball.
While the doctors might have said 'the cold,' Kurogane never underestimated the damage of stress and fear. He was fairly certain those things were responsible for most of the mage's health problems, and he certainly wasn't going to add to them if he could help it.
The blonde reappeared a few minutes later, sporting a long trench coat in a soft shade of tawny brown.
For a moment, Kurogane found himself missing the pale clothing the mage had worn when they first met. At first, he had thought the clothing was stupid, but they, like the mage, had grown on him.
Though he would never admit it, of course. The last thing he needed was for the mage to go on a shopping spree for clothes similar to those of his home world.
He continued to watch as the mage donned a pair of dark brown gloves and a fluffy cream scarf.
"Hat," he said automatically, mesmerized for some reason by the fluid movements of the willowy man in front of him.
The blonde made a pouty face.
"Now, mage."
The man finally did as he was asked, still pouting.
The blonde's aversion to hats was no secret, having become accustomed to a hood for most of his life. But, as he and Kurogane had quickly discovered, wearing a long coat with a hood in this Japan was a good way to get the wrong kind of attention.
When the mage had worn a hooded trench coat the last time they had gone into the city, some people had thought the mage was a thief, while others asked for pictures, thinking he was 'cosplaying' a character from some video game about an assassin.
After Kurogane had screamed "no pictures!" at some teenager for the dozenth time, he had enlisted a no-hood policy for the mage. The blonde had sulked for days, but had mysteriously let the issue drop after a visit from the black pork bun.
Newly-hatted, the mage re-entered the room at the same moment the doorbell rang.
"I'll get it," he said, turning toward the door.
But before Kurogane could take a step, he felt a sleeve touch his arm as a blur of light brown edged past him, beating him to the door.
Before he had a chance to protest, the mage was already opening the door, revealing a coatless Doumeki.
Instead of a 'hello,' or 'thanks for coming,' the mage instead greeted Doumeki by asking "where is your coat, Doumeki?" in an incredulous tone.
"I left right away," Doumeki responded, as if it was a perfectly acceptable answer to the question.
"Well I'm not letting you leave like that," the mage said, going into what could only be described as 'mother-mode.'
"You wait here and I'll get you a coat and pair of gloves. Then we'll leave."
His statement finished, Kurogane once again saw a blur of tawny brown rush past him as the mage headed for the coat closet.
By the time Kurogane had invited Doumeki in, the mage had reappeared with two coats and two sets of gloves.
Doumeki gave a small incline of his head as thanks while Kurogane quickly grabbed the black leather jacket and gloves, being mindful of his prosthetic arm as he put them on.
When the coat and gloves were fitted snugly around him, he said "let's go" to his companions. They both nodded, following Kurogane purposefully as he headed toward the door.
----000----
They walked out to the street and saw the brightly lit city in the distance. As much as he hated the noise of the city, Kurogane had to admit that it was captivating at night, even more so with the ornate Christmas decorations that he could spot twinkling throughout the mismatched buildings.
As they re-traced the route that the bun would have taken, Doumeki filled them in on what had happened when the pork bun had left the shop.
"I offered to go with her," Doumeki said, his breath making little puffs in the cold night air. "But she refused."
The mage wrapped his scarf more tightly around himself as Doumeki continued.
"I planned to go with her anyways--or follow her, at the very least--but Larg got in the way."
"Got in the way?" the mage asked questioningly.
Doumeki gave a nod. "Flailing in front of me about food and sake."
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Kurogane couldn't help but snort, adding, "so the usual, then?"
Doumeki shrugged, saying, "by the time I was able to get past him, Soel was gone."
They walked in silence for a few minutes, each of them thinking about what Doumeki had said.
He wasn't sure why, but something about the whole thing felt wrong to Kurogane--like something was off. While the black bun wanting sake and snacks was nothing new, he knew that even the bun--ravenous as he was--wouldn't put food over the safety of the other butterball.
Before he could say this out loud, he heard the mage utter a soft, "oh no..."
When Kurogane saw what the mage was looking at, he felt his stomach drop.
There was a Christmas festival smack-dab in the middle of the route the bun took to their house. If she hadn't been paying attention...
Kurogane immediately leapt into action, barking out orders.
"Split up. Search the stalls. Say your niece lost her favorite stuffed animal. Ask them if they've seen it."
Doumeki and the mage nodded gravely. They each walked toward a different section of the festival, approaching each stall as they went.
It wasn't as if the bun hadn't been seen by other people before. But she was usually with one of them, and they could either hide her, or explain her away as one of those 'talking toys for kids.' But her flying--well, more like floating--was a different matter entirely. No matter how teach-savvy the person, no one would believe that a toy like the pork bun could fly. And if someone had seen her...
No, he had to focus. He had to find some kind of clue about what to do next.
----000----
And now to Part II!
I had been planning on writing a 'domestic' KuroFai fic as soon as you told me those were your favorite, but this story kind of took on a life of its own *ahem Mokona* though I did still try to make it as domestically fluffy as possible.
I hope it's alright, as I'm a little rusty on the writing, and this is my first KuroFai fic, but I do hope that it brings you a little holiday cheer and lets you know how much I love you.
And now... to the fic!
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He heard the loud crashing as the boxes fell to the floor. Okay, pushed to the floor. By him.
He pulled at the edges of his hair, trying to keep his anger in check.
He had been in this place for three years, and he still couldn't seem to get the damn Christmas lights right. They were either tangled (even though he swore he always put them away untangled), or one of the impossibly miniscule bulbs was out.
How the things managed to break while being safely tucked away for the better part of a year was beyond him. (Though he hadn't ruled out a conspiracy by the Christmas companies; those bastards would do anything for money.)
The worst part was that the things were too small for this hands, meaning he couldn't replace the bulbs himself. And that usually left only one option:
The mage.
He paced, kicking a box or two as he thought about asking the blonde for help. Maybe there was an alternative.
Doumeki?
He shook his head; no, the mage would still find out somehow.
One of the pork buns?
No--that would be even worse.
He could ask Watanuki, but even though the younger man was finally able to leave the shop, he was still struggling to adapt to the outside world. The last thing he wanted to deal with was one of Watanuki's panic attacks, much less the beating Doumeki was sure to try and give him for causing it.
Plus: how would he get the mage out of the house long enough for Watanuki to come over? Very little escaped the mage's notice. It was maddening: almost as if the man still had a few tricks up his sleeve despite giving up his magic.
There had to be someone else he could ask. There had to be...
"What's wrong?"
Distracted, Kurogane responded without thinking.
"The Christmas lights broke again, and..."
The voice finished his sentence for him.
"And you don't want to ask me for help, do you?"
"Exactly. Wait..." Kurogane looked up from angrily eyeing the boxes on the floor to find a pair of familiar eyes dancing wickedly. He opened his mouth, but anything resembling words refused to come out.
The mage promptly sat on the floor and began checking the lights. Noticing that Kurogane was still speechless, the mage glanced up and said, "it's okay Kuro-pun; even big strong ninjas need help from us weaker folk from time to time." The mage laughed a little at his self-deprecation and continued to run his delicate hands across the lights.
Kurogane was not amused.
He growled back, "you're not weak. And if you call me a ninja one more time..."
"But you are a ninja, Kuro-puppy," the mage responded happily. Kurogane snorted.
"Yeah--a ninja that uses his sword skills to chop up overpriced raw fish for rich tourists who..."
"It's called sushi, remember? And if I recall correctly, who was it that chose to work for a hotel restaurant instead of Japanese restaurant?"
Kurogane kept silent. He had chosen the job as head sushi chef at one of Japan's top tourist hotels over a prestigious Japanese restaurant for the added health insurance.
The years of abuse the mage had put himself through had finally caught up with him, and he required medical treatments that were above and beyond what Kurogane could have afforded working at the restaurant, despite its prestigious reputation.
Not that it would have stopped Kurogane from making sure the mage was taken care of, no matter how many jobs it took. But at least with the hotel he had set hours, and could be at home more to keep an eye on the troublesome bastard.
While Kurogane was sure that the mage already knew most of this, there was no need to say anything out loud, so he answered with a non-committal noise instead.
"Pfft. Those tourists are just easy to impress. They 'ohh' and 'ahh' at the simplest of knife tricks."
"I wouldn't call them 'simple' Kuro-pooch. After all, how many sushi chefs can claim to have been trained in Edo-style swordsmanship in the Edo-period?" He cast a searching look at Kurogane. "And I'm sure that arm certainly adds to the novelty."
Kurogane rubbed the metallic limb instinctively, sometimes forgetting it wasn't his real arm.
Doing a kind of drum roll on his slender thighs, the mage continued happily, "and, let's not forget the other reason... because you're a ninja!" He said the word 'ninja' with a distinctly Asian flair.
Kurogane grimaced, feeling his already close-to-bursting anger rise to the surface.
"I'm not a fucking ninja anymore, okay?" he said, a little more loudly than he meant to.
The mage winced visibly, but put on a falsely cheery smile and said, "well, you'll always be my ninja, Kuro-pi-pi." The false smile remained but the mage became noticeably distant.
And... now he felt bad. Damn. Why did the skinny bastard always have to make his chest feel like it was being sliced open? He must be getting soft. He needed to go drinking with Doumeki again to talk about manly things. Like sports and stuff.
In regards to sports, Kurogane had become especially fond of watching sumo on TV. And listening to something called 'death metal.'
He also liked the illustrated stories called 'manga,' but he had come to find that talking about his fondness for these stories was not seen as very manly. He could still talk to some people about them without fear--mainly the younger members of his staff at work--but he avoided it when talking to people his age or older.
He didn't understand what these people had against 'manga,' but he figured it had something to do with them being cowards. After all, only cowards ran from battle--even if it was only an illustrated one.
He realized that he had gotten sidetracked and was about to apologize--begrudgingly--to the mage when he heard the man ask, timidly, "do you regret it Kurogane? Choosing this life, I mean?"
The mage didn't look up after finishing his questioning. He suddenly became very focused on the lights in from of him.
Kurogane crossed his arms. "Of course not."
He didn't even need to consider what the mage was asking. They did what had needed to be done. There was no point in thinking about 'what could-have-been' or wishing for something different.
"You really mean that, don't you?" the mage said softly.
The wall between them seemed to melt with those words, and the blonde let out a little laugh that sounded strangely like the swaying of small bells in the wind.
"You're so un-complicated Kuro-pu! How I wish I could be more like you."
He went back to sorting the lights, humming a little tune to himself. Kurogane was sure that it was one of those holiday songs--a 'Christmas carol--about a fat man and reindeer.
With one last look at the mage and his mass of unruly blonde hair, he walked into the kitchen, looking for the pork bun.
While she now spent most of her time at the shop to be with the other fluff ball, she always spent Saturday evenings and Sundays with them.
Though she should have been here by now, either brought by Doumeki, or, having stealthily avoided the eyes of onlookers, arrived by herself.
Had someone spotted her?
Kurogane tried not to panic, but she was almost an hour late. For whatever other faults she might have, the bun was always punctual.
He walked up and down the kitchen, thinking. Should he go to the shop? Go out looking for her? And if he did, how would he ask if anyone had seen her? People in this world seemed to think she was something called a 'stuffed animal.' No one would take him seriously.
He continued to pace when his eyes fell on a shiny object next to their calendar.
The phone.
Kurogane considered himself a brave man, and could never be accused of backing down from a fight, but he and the phone were sworn enemies. The damn thing ensured that anyone could reach him--anyone--at any hour of the day or night.
It was also uncomfortable to only hear people's voices. He was trained to look at people--see what they weren't saying--to discern the truth. The phone didn't let him do that.
Besides, it was incredibly awkward.
He knew that communication wasn't one of his strong points, but damn did the phone make it that much more obvious.
Still, this could be a matter of life and death.
He straightened his stance and walked over to the phone. He could do this. He would do this.
He quickly punched in the number he had burned into his memory for cases like this. The phone rang twice before the familiar voice answered with a deep, "hello?"
"It's Kurogane."
"Hello."
Kurogane immediately felt better. If he was worried about his etiquette on the phone, he was comforted by the fact that Doumeki's was even worse.
"Haveyouseentheporkbun?" The words came out in a rush.
"Which one?" Coming from someone other than Doumeki, Kurogane would have thought the person was being a smart-ass. But, as it was Doumeki, he knew that there was no smartassery intended.
"White pork... I mean, Soel." He still couldn't get used to the buns' proper name, and only used it in cases like this.
"No... she left almost two hours ago." Kurogane could hear the concern in Doumeki's voice, unwavering as it was.
"Damn." The panic was not reaching a fever-pitch.
"I'll be right there." With that, Kurogane heard the dial tone. The mage, having horrible timing like usual, chose that moment to enter the kitchen.
"Kuro-puff using the phone? My, this is a rare surprise."
Kurogane didn't want to scare the mage, but this was no time for games.
"The pork bun is missing."
He saw the blonde's head swing toward the clock and watched as his expression grew dim.
"Doumeki's coming them?"
Kurogane nodded.
"Then I'll get my coat..."
"No--you're staying here." It came out more harshly than he intended, but it was important that the mage knew he meant business.
"I most certainly am not." The mage straightened to his full height--by no means unremarkable--and looked Kurogane in the eye.
"If you're going to try and pull some crap like 'someone needs to be here when she gets home,' save it: she knows her way in, and she knows how to use the phone. I am coming with you, and there is nothing you or Doumeki can do about it."
He stomped out of the room without waiting for a response from Kurogane. Judging by the direction of his footsteps, he was definitely heading for the coat closet.
Kurogane wasn't sure what would be worse on the mage--the cold, or having to wait here, alone, not knowing what had happened to the fluff ball.
While the doctors might have said 'the cold,' Kurogane never underestimated the damage of stress and fear. He was fairly certain those things were responsible for most of the mage's health problems, and he certainly wasn't going to add to them if he could help it.
The blonde reappeared a few minutes later, sporting a long trench coat in a soft shade of tawny brown.
For a moment, Kurogane found himself missing the pale clothing the mage had worn when they first met. At first, he had thought the clothing was stupid, but they, like the mage, had grown on him.
Though he would never admit it, of course. The last thing he needed was for the mage to go on a shopping spree for clothes similar to those of his home world.
He continued to watch as the mage donned a pair of dark brown gloves and a fluffy cream scarf.
"Hat," he said automatically, mesmerized for some reason by the fluid movements of the willowy man in front of him.
The blonde made a pouty face.
"Now, mage."
The man finally did as he was asked, still pouting.
The blonde's aversion to hats was no secret, having become accustomed to a hood for most of his life. But, as he and Kurogane had quickly discovered, wearing a long coat with a hood in this Japan was a good way to get the wrong kind of attention.
When the mage had worn a hooded trench coat the last time they had gone into the city, some people had thought the mage was a thief, while others asked for pictures, thinking he was 'cosplaying' a character from some video game about an assassin.
After Kurogane had screamed "no pictures!" at some teenager for the dozenth time, he had enlisted a no-hood policy for the mage. The blonde had sulked for days, but had mysteriously let the issue drop after a visit from the black pork bun.
Newly-hatted, the mage re-entered the room at the same moment the doorbell rang.
"I'll get it," he said, turning toward the door.
But before Kurogane could take a step, he felt a sleeve touch his arm as a blur of light brown edged past him, beating him to the door.
Before he had a chance to protest, the mage was already opening the door, revealing a coatless Doumeki.
Instead of a 'hello,' or 'thanks for coming,' the mage instead greeted Doumeki by asking "where is your coat, Doumeki?" in an incredulous tone.
"I left right away," Doumeki responded, as if it was a perfectly acceptable answer to the question.
"Well I'm not letting you leave like that," the mage said, going into what could only be described as 'mother-mode.'
"You wait here and I'll get you a coat and pair of gloves. Then we'll leave."
His statement finished, Kurogane once again saw a blur of tawny brown rush past him as the mage headed for the coat closet.
By the time Kurogane had invited Doumeki in, the mage had reappeared with two coats and two sets of gloves.
Doumeki gave a small incline of his head as thanks while Kurogane quickly grabbed the black leather jacket and gloves, being mindful of his prosthetic arm as he put them on.
When the coat and gloves were fitted snugly around him, he said "let's go" to his companions. They both nodded, following Kurogane purposefully as he headed toward the door.
----000----
They walked out to the street and saw the brightly lit city in the distance. As much as he hated the noise of the city, Kurogane had to admit that it was captivating at night, even more so with the ornate Christmas decorations that he could spot twinkling throughout the mismatched buildings.
As they re-traced the route that the bun would have taken, Doumeki filled them in on what had happened when the pork bun had left the shop.
"I offered to go with her," Doumeki said, his breath making little puffs in the cold night air. "But she refused."
The mage wrapped his scarf more tightly around himself as Doumeki continued.
"I planned to go with her anyways--or follow her, at the very least--but Larg got in the way."
"Got in the way?" the mage asked questioningly.
Doumeki gave a nod. "Flailing in front of me about food and sake."
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Kurogane couldn't help but snort, adding, "so the usual, then?"
Doumeki shrugged, saying, "by the time I was able to get past him, Soel was gone."
They walked in silence for a few minutes, each of them thinking about what Doumeki had said.
He wasn't sure why, but something about the whole thing felt wrong to Kurogane--like something was off. While the black bun wanting sake and snacks was nothing new, he knew that even the bun--ravenous as he was--wouldn't put food over the safety of the other butterball.
Before he could say this out loud, he heard the mage utter a soft, "oh no..."
When Kurogane saw what the mage was looking at, he felt his stomach drop.
There was a Christmas festival smack-dab in the middle of the route the bun took to their house. If she hadn't been paying attention...
Kurogane immediately leapt into action, barking out orders.
"Split up. Search the stalls. Say your niece lost her favorite stuffed animal. Ask them if they've seen it."
Doumeki and the mage nodded gravely. They each walked toward a different section of the festival, approaching each stall as they went.
It wasn't as if the bun hadn't been seen by other people before. But she was usually with one of them, and they could either hide her, or explain her away as one of those 'talking toys for kids.' But her flying--well, more like floating--was a different matter entirely. No matter how teach-savvy the person, no one would believe that a toy like the pork bun could fly. And if someone had seen her...
No, he had to focus. He had to find some kind of clue about what to do next.
----000----
And now to Part II!