Yang 9: Moonlight Musings

Enter: A new player joins the fray!

Keys jingled as the door to the apartment opened. Elegant dress shoes stepped onto the brilliant, lush purple welcome mat, and the door closed behind the man. Pale moonlight filtered in through the wall-length, transparent windows in the dimly-lit pent suite apartment; the light was almost as pale as his skin. The man set down his briefcase and removed his elegant, slender black trench coat, hanging it up on the ornately-carved and polished wooden coat rack by the door.

 

Soft, slow steps treaded across the plush carpet as the man took his time, hands in his pockets as he made his way towards the ceiling-high window. His pale yellow scarf trailed behind him in his wake. He passed by the elegant and sumptuous couches placed artistically about the suite, as well as the easels upon which stood canvas portraits -- some done, others waiting to be started. His elegant shoe-clad feet carried him past the smooth, large, obsidian grand piano with ebony and ivory keys turned away from the window, past the materialistic belongings he possessed, instead taking him to the enormous window.

 

The moon shone in all its glory, dominating the night sky with its luminescence. He stared at it, admiring the celestial body; it was truly a magnificent sight, standing out among all its companions in the sky, even though they were stars and it was not. That didn't stop it from shining the brightest amongst all those in the sky, and showing off its brilliance.

 

He usually only had eyes for the moon, but tonight he looked at the other stars. They were bright, to be sure, but they did not hold a candle to the moon. They never could. Most people would consider stars a far more respectable and impressive natural phenomenon than a satellite like the Moon, but he was not most people. He disagreed very much with the majority opinion. The moon was beautiful, brilliant, underappreciated. It was the reason for tides as well, not to mention the obvious benefit of reflecting light and enabling humans to see even at night.

 

Most people simply considered the Sun the better of the two celestial bodies that dominated the sky every day and night. The sun provided warmth and life and light, of that there was no dispute. He simply felt that while the Sun got its due appreciation, perhaps even more so than it deserved, the moon was largely ignored. It was a bit upsetting that so many people chose not to acknowledge its beauty.

 

But, then again, most people were stupid anyways.

 

His dark eyes flickered between the stars and the moon. A small smile came to his face. Something supposedly inferior by nature was ultimately more outstanding than those stars that were born with the advantage of generating their own light. Fitting, he thought, for with hard work, even the born-weak could defeat those blessed with natural disposition towards strength. Just like how the moon now outshone all those stars, a literal brilliant example.

 

"Are you watching this, old friend?" he asked quietly, to no one in particular. No one that could hear him here, anyways. "You were the Sun to my Moon, always shining so brilliantly, side by side. Are you watching me now, as it is my time to shine?"

 

There was no answer; he didn't expect one. Silence reigned supreme in his apartment suite. Cars drove by on the street far below him, headlights shining and traffic lights flashing, but there was no blaring of the horns. No commotion. Most were asleep. When darkness fell, most fell to sleep along with it. Not him, however.

 

The night was when he felt most alive.

 

He admired the night as well. It was generally associated with darkness and malevolence and evil, but that wasn't necessarily the case at all. True, it may be associated with the unknown, but to him, that was simply all the more reason to appreciate it. Curiosity was a glorious thing, especially one as insatiable as his; it drove him to question, to investigate, to contemplate and theorize about everything he experienced. The unknown wasn't a danger to him -- it was a challenge. And he certainly enjoyed his challenges.

 

People tended to shy away from challenges, wanting the easy way out of everything. He personally didn't see the appeal of that. If everything came easy to him, it wouldn't be fun. He was always pursuing fun activities for the sake of relieving his crippling boredom, and challenging activities generally proved far more fun than average, mundane, everyday tasks. He was nothing if not a thrill-seeker.

 

This late at night, he noted how quiet his entire apartment sounded. Even his neighbours and tenants below him made no noise, clearly in the grip of a heavy slumber. He always appreciated times like these; silence, quiet reflection, and peace. The feeling of being the only one awake in the entire world made him feel very powerful, very giddy, almost as if he had achieved inner peace.

 

Almost.

 

Pale moonlight illuminated his already deathly pale, strikingly handsome face. He stared at the moon for a moment longer, gazing intently at the celestial body, before looking away. He would take a shower now. The moon would still be there when he got back, if this wasn't one of the times he stayed in the shower for hours. That tended to happen often, as lost in his thoughts as he usually was.

 

He crossed the room in a few strides, his signature pale scarf billowing out behind him, his long legs treading silently as they always did. He began unbuttoning his crisp white dress shirt as he strode towards the bathroom door, turning the doorknob and entering the bathroom, flipping on the light as he entered. He closed the door behind him, not bothering to lock it. No one would bother him, assuming they could even get in his suite. No one was awake to.

 

He pulled the shirt off him, letting it fall to the floor. He glanced at the mirror, admiring his slim and toned physique for a moment, before unbuckling his dark black, pure silver-buckled belt. He unhitched the clasp, pulling the belt off in a single deft hand movement, extending his arm far out from his body. He tossed the belt aside, not paying attention to where it landed. His exquisite shoes clacked sharply against the tiled floor of the bathroom as he walked towards the mirror. He ran a casual hand through his hair, detangling some of the messy, raven black locks. His unkempt, perpetually shaggy hair remained in such a state regardless of how he tried to tame it. He had accepted it, though, and was amused at its stubbornness -- how very fitting for his hair to be as stubborn as himself.

 

His thoughts drifted back to the shower he longed for. He stepped on the back of his right shoe with his left, and extracted his bare foot from the shoe. The man noted unpleasantly how cold the tiled floor was, but said nothing. He then used his bare foot to mimic the same movement, this time on his left foot, discarding his other shoe. Both feet were now bare and touching the cold, shiny surface of the linoleum-tiled floor. He turned, unzipping his refined, jet black dress pants and utilized gravity to his advantage, the pants dropping immediately and crumpling to the ground. He raised his right leg then his left leg out of the pants, stepping before the pants and putting them behind him. He glanced back at the mirror for a second, admiring his nigh-nude form. He assessed himself to be rather handsome, as objectively as he could; this was reinforced by the comments of everyday pedestrians and passerbys. He often politely turned down the phone numbers of women and numerous men, as he had no interest in romance. It was just a distraction, as far as he was concerned.

 

He realized his thoughts drifted off track yet again. He chuckled lightly, almost under his breath, noting that he shouldn't be so easily distracted. He hooked his fingers under his black boxer-briefs, and let them drop as well. All that was left on him was his scarf.

 

The pale, handsome man kept the scarf on, heading to the large, see-through glass container that was the shower place. The ground was cold to an uncomfortable point, but he ignored it -- he'd soon be enveloped by heat. He pulled open the glass door, stepping inside before putting it back in its original closed position.

 

His slender hand reached for the ornately-wrought glass handle, grasping onto the one with a thin band of blue-switching-to-red around it, indicating it controlled the temperature of the water. He turned it all the way to left, to the highest degree, turning it to the hottest setting. The water that shot out from the showerhead above assaulted him with a blast of bone-chilling cold water, but he waited patiently. Within seconds, the temperature changed drastically, becoming hotter rather quickly. His muscles relaxed soon enough; hot showers had an immense calming effect on him.

 

He tilted his head up, eyes closed, facing the onslaught of scalding water face on. The water pounded against his face, the pressure welcome, water droplets cascading down his face to continue their journey down his svelte, pale body. His hair immediately flattened and tangled, plastering itself about his face. His scarf became damp and clung to his body, taking on a darker shade of yellow due to the absorption of water. Awake, alone, night showers. It gave him joy like no other.

 

He thought about what he did today. He'd sent quite a few people on hapless goose chases, looking for a culprit to an unexplained murder; in truth, he was the perpetrator. The beggar boy had been blathering on about how his life was miserable and how he wished to end his life. He obliged him, offering him a cheery smile and a consoling hug before snapping his neck with a rather nasty crack. The boy had slumped to the ground, and the man had smiled down at him, noticing how peaceful his face was. To end the suffering of another, he considered that a good deed. The boy, perhaps, not so much, but he was had begged. And beggars couldn't be choosers.

 

The police had questioned him when they saw him nonchalantly leaving the scene, walking away at a leisurely pace. He had been cooperative, and told them he had seen a young woman rushing away from the scene, carrying a guitar case that he believed to have belonged to the homeless boy; "a method to pander up some money from generous pedestrians, no doubt," he had told them with an apologetic look on his face. "The poor boy not only had his life stolen, but his livelihood as well."

 

The police had been grateful for his information, dashing off in the general direction of the woman he claimed to have seen her disappear off towards. They were ignorant of the fact that he had spoken to the woman before as well, advising her to get away from the scene as soon as possible, lest the police arrest her instead of the actual culprit. "They tend to do that, nowadays, as corrupt as they are," he said, frowning slightly. "When they have no suspects, they do whatever they can to assure the public they've done something, and, little miss, I'm afraid that you just may qualify as something."

 

"They'd arrest me because I was at the scene, even if I'm innocent?" The woman couldn't have been more than 20, and an aspiring musician by the looks of her guitar case. For some reason, he had a slight suspicion she was more competent than most people. Competent people were pleasant, except when they meddled in one's plans. He actually was appreciative of the stupidity displayed by most people in that facet; it usually meant his plans went off without a hitch.

 

He considered her a thread that needed to be snipped. Giving her a friendly smile, he responded, "They've been known to do such. I'd get away if I were you." She thanked him for his words and ran off, just as the police arrived moments later. He had considered calling in a mercenary to hunt down both parties for an extra twist, but he dismissed the idea. Seeing what happened by itself would be far more fun, and he'd meddled enough in such a meaningless misadventure.

 

Surprisingly, the woman hadn't been caught, so he assumed she was even more competent than he had first suspected. She may become a player in his game later on, but for now, she was no more than a pawn to be ignored. She wasn't important, at least not now. Maybe later, but he had a sneaking suspicion that she would be. He preferred living in the moment, however, so later did not concern him, at least in this instance.

 

Piping hot water continued to splatter onto him and all about him. Of all the mischievous things he had done today, that was the most lackluster. Snapping a child's neck and framing the murder on the girl and misleading the police wasn't exactly thrilling. He considered it a slow day. Derailing a train and causing a catastrophic, fatal collision between it and another one was only marginally more amusing. Aiding an elderly woman cross the street but dropping her to the ground when a truck happened to roar by made him smile slightly; it was one of his better ones, explaining to spectators that she had begun to experience a seizure and "slipped from my grasp". Then, saying he was running late for the delivery of his wife's child, he bowed and swiftly sauntered away, his pale yellow scarf billowing about behind him majestically.

 

He noticed a change in the temperature of the water -- it was slight, a bit cooler, but he still was aware of it. He suspected he'd been in there for an hour and a half, mind wandering to lost thoughts. Glancing down, he saw his penis. He considered playing with it, his pale palm ghosting lightly over his crotch. He withdrew his hand, unamused. Ultimately, he was uninterested in any sexual or pleasurable stimulation; that is what his 'mischievous behaviour' brought him.

 

The events of the day bored him, if he were true to himself. It had been years since he'd actually pulled off a caper that thrilled him to the core. He had had a partner in crime, or, as they had preferred, "a match in mischief." It had been with him that they had orchestrated the single most fulfilling and thrilling event he had taken part in.

 

But that was neither here nor there. That memory sometimes brought him unpleasant feelings, along with some bitter nostalgia, so he left off his recollection at that point. The water had turned cold perhaps half an hour ago, but he had been too absorbed in his thoughts to care. That particular thought always managed to deprive him of his awareness, something he seldom allowed.

 

He brought a pale, unwithered hand to the glass handle and turned it all the way to the right, shutting off the water. For some reason, his hand and feet never took on that pruny, elderly look as most people did when in water for too long. He took amusement in that little ability. The glass shower place had fogged up, but he could see there was no one on the other side. He pushed open the glass door, stepping outside as the air in the room chilled him, almost as much as the damp scarf that wrapped around his slender neck.

 

A dark purple towel hung on the rack attached to the wall near the door. The man strode over to the rack, extricating the neatly folded towel and unfolding it with a single, deft hand movement. Now unfolded, the towel revealed an elegantly embroidered, lavender italic letter G, followed by a period, in a unique font. The initialed towel shook as he quickly dried his body, toweling his hair with fast, furious strokes. His hair was still slightly damp, and hung in a mixture of loose threads and thick clumps. He considered drying his scarf as well, but he left it as was. It would dry soon enough without his assistance, as it always did. He released his grip on the towel when he was done, letting it fall to the ground. His clothes were still scattered about the room, but he left them as they were. Sometimes they felt a bit too restricting, fond of them as he was.

 

He turned off the light with a lazy flick of his finger, closing the door behind him. Right away, he could tell that the air in the room was different, not as it had been a couple of hours ago when he stepped into the shower. He knew this peculiar feeling all too well, and he knew what it meant. Nevertheless, he walked into the living room, past the portraits and paintings he had created in his idle boredom. There were several finished works �" one in particular was of a brilliant, blazing bird surrounded by darkness. Another was of a circular enclosing, twelve animals painted into equally divided quarters within. Yet another depicted a rather creepy-looking, elegantly-dressed child who held a cat in his hands. He was quite the artist, and those paintings were unique in a way that benefited him very much so. He never denied himself the luxury of painting when the feeling struck him.

 

And, as it just so happened, he felt the desire now. Navigating his way through the dark room thanks to the moonlight that streamed in through the window, he picked up a palette with a variety of bright and subtle colours, as well as a brush and a jar of water. He ignored the paintings portraying grim and nightmarishly macabre scenes and events, as well as people, instead opting to select an easel upon which stood a blank canvas. With smooth, deft hand strokes, he began to paint almost out of compulsion, his eyes focused upon the canvas as it began to slowly transform from white and empty to bursting with colours and creatures. His eyes glittered with something like knowledge as he continued to paint a picture that became more and more clear to him.

 

A short while later, he was done; it couldn't have taken him more than fifteen minutes from start to finish. He placed down the palette, glancing at the end result. A smile, wider and more genuine than any he had smiled in a long time, tugged at the corners of his lips. This looked to be promising. He didn't know exactly what it was, or what it meant, but he would in time. He always did.

 

He sighed contently, gazing at his creation. A thought occurred to him, one he had almost forgotten. At the bottom right corner, in a brilliant shade of purple, he replicated the elaborate G that had been embroidered on his towel. He stepped back to look at his handiwork, smiling. "How macabre."

 

Turning to the moon once more, he sauntered over the sinfully soft carpet to the seat positioned before the ceiling-high window, before the still brilliant moon. He gazed at it in silence for a few moments, before speaking softly.

 

"How long have you been there, Gin?"

 

White slippers shuffled over a linoleum floor as a young man barely out of his teens appeared, approaching from the shadows. He was dressed in a black butler suit, complete with a white dress shirt and black bow-tie. His dark hair was parted and slicked to the side, giving him a refined, distinguished look. His face was youthful and comely, but his stormy gray eyes and arching eyebrows served to make him look rather intimidating. He stepped forward, coat-tails flapping about behind him, bowing and placing one white-gloved hand across his chest as he did so.

 

"Not long," he responded crisply, straightening up. He made no reference to his master's nudity, a habit he was long used to by now. "Perhaps an hour. I've prepared your favourite White Dragon tea, fresh from the supply you brought. I shall pour some, if you'd like."

 

"If you would." He held out his hand, and an elaborately-painted saucer was placed in it, carrying the fancy china tea cup full of the beverage. He brought it about to his chest, saucer exchanging hands, before picking it up with his left. He sipped the tea, all the while gazing at the moon. He placed the cup back on the saucer, pausing for a moment, before speaking again.

 

"You know, most employees of mine refer to me as 'Sir.'"

 

Gin almost smiled. "I'm not most employees, sir."

 

He chuckled. "That you aren't, Gin. How fares our mischievous friends?"

 

"More or less the same. I've received no reports of any malevolent or treacherous misbehaviour. They remain loyal, as you said they would."

 

The pale man almost seemed upset, his free fingers twiddling about in his pale yellow scarf. "It's a pity. I had expected them to at least try something. It's a bit disappointing, really. You'd think they, of all people, would be the ones up to some naughty behaviour."

 

"They do, sir. Just not as 'mischievous' as your standards would expect. You expect too much of them."

 

"Perhaps. As for Alabaster...?"

 

"His day off. He's on-call, however."

 

“And where are Luce and Ombra?”

 

“They are with Alabaster, as well. They are being tended to with the utmost care. I could summon for him, if you’d like.”

 

"I have no need for him now. He'll be in tomorrow, regardless, as will you." He gestured over his shoulder to the painting he had finished recently. "Make sure no harm comes to it, nor is it misplaced. It's quite valuable to me."

 

Gin glanced towards the fantastic albeit dreadful painting, eyeing it with slight interest. "It looks no different from your others, aside from perhaps being even more macabre than usual."

 

"Nevertheless, make sure no harm comes to it. It will prove pivotal in the future. You may go."

 

Gin bowed before turning to leave, almost making it to the door before his master's voice stopped him.

 

"Wait a moment."

 

Gin turned to look over his shoulder, slight amusement in his eyes as he considered what the matter was. A second later, he asked, "Yes?"

 

A few seconds passed in silence before he got his answer.

 

"Isn't the moon looking especially glorious tonight?"

 

The young butler paused for a moment, amused at his employer's fascination with the celestial body, before responding. "Yes, sir, it looks lovely."

With that, he swept from the apartment, closing the door softly and leaving his master to his silent musings by moonlight.