AqwaGaurdian
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- Posted: Wed, 27 Jan 2010 01:10:20 +0000

M i t s u k i - R y u u i j i Alice of Sound


A nineteen year old male laughed as one of his friends made a joke about one of their professor. His short black hair and dark eyes made his name a perfect fit for the young Japanese man. Kuro shook his head as he began to walk as the light turned red. He stopped as if he heard something before a familiar face caught his attention. There on the other street was a man two years his junior leaning against one of the stone buildings. Eyes the color of the night filled with pain looked back at him. He was…familiar, but Kuro was sure that he had never seen this person. “Hey Kuro,” A voiced called out from ahead of the college student, “you coming?” Kuro looked over to his friends who had reached the other side of the crosswalk. He glanced back at where the younger man had been, but saw nothing. Shrugging it off, he ran to catch up before the light changed color again.
Mizuho stood on top of an old building, his black wings lowered as he watched his former lover continue on with his life. His life without any memory of Mizuho. But that was the way he made it and the way it should be. He didn’t know why he had called out Kuro’s name, it had been two years since the incident and there had never been any slip ups. He was okay with the choice he had made so why did it still hurt? Kuro. Mizuho reached up and grabbed a handful of his own hair as if a sudden headache had come on. Memories swarmed around his head, most weren’t his but those who he had taken them for. They finally settled down, but not before the image of himself standing over the dead body of a Fallen female appeared, a bloodied chain whip in his hands. A bitter laugh escaped from the male who would forever appear seventeen. That’s right, he shouldn’t even be watching Kuro, even if it was a distance. This would be the last time, he needed to move on. Mizuho watched as the male he had been watching disappeared into a restaurant before turning away. He needed to get to work.
“Hey everyone!” Mizuho yelled out as he swung the door open and pranced into the room that the band used for practice and meetings. His guitar was strapped to his back and a large pair of sunglasses blocked his eyes, allowing no one to see his midnight colored eyes. Pushing them up onto his forehead, he grinned at the other two members of their band. “Hey guys,” He said in a slightly higher pitch than his real voice before walking over and throwing his arms around Dahlia, “Happy Birthday.” Being one of the older fallen, Mizuho liked to know things about the people he worked with and wanted them to know less about him. It really came in use when you knew random trivia about someone who was supposed to be helpful. Today was the day of Dahlia’s death, making it her birthday in a sense. It was way less creepy than calling it a Deathday. He turned around sharply and headed over for Yoh, wrapping his arms around the taller male’s neck.
“Didn’t forget about you, Yoh.” He said with a happy smile. Mizuho was a very active person, or at least had the appearance of one, and always seemed jumping for one place to another. These greeting weren’t considered all that odd for him. Turning his head, the guitarist saw the secretary they had meet before and walked over to her and hugging her. “Kyoko, you’re so cute today!” He said excitedly before letting go and strutted his way to one of the empty chairs.
Mizuho stood on top of an old building, his black wings lowered as he watched his former lover continue on with his life. His life without any memory of Mizuho. But that was the way he made it and the way it should be. He didn’t know why he had called out Kuro’s name, it had been two years since the incident and there had never been any slip ups. He was okay with the choice he had made so why did it still hurt? Kuro. Mizuho reached up and grabbed a handful of his own hair as if a sudden headache had come on. Memories swarmed around his head, most weren’t his but those who he had taken them for. They finally settled down, but not before the image of himself standing over the dead body of a Fallen female appeared, a bloodied chain whip in his hands. A bitter laugh escaped from the male who would forever appear seventeen. That’s right, he shouldn’t even be watching Kuro, even if it was a distance. This would be the last time, he needed to move on. Mizuho watched as the male he had been watching disappeared into a restaurant before turning away. He needed to get to work.
“Hey everyone!” Mizuho yelled out as he swung the door open and pranced into the room that the band used for practice and meetings. His guitar was strapped to his back and a large pair of sunglasses blocked his eyes, allowing no one to see his midnight colored eyes. Pushing them up onto his forehead, he grinned at the other two members of their band. “Hey guys,” He said in a slightly higher pitch than his real voice before walking over and throwing his arms around Dahlia, “Happy Birthday.” Being one of the older fallen, Mizuho liked to know things about the people he worked with and wanted them to know less about him. It really came in use when you knew random trivia about someone who was supposed to be helpful. Today was the day of Dahlia’s death, making it her birthday in a sense. It was way less creepy than calling it a Deathday. He turned around sharply and headed over for Yoh, wrapping his arms around the taller male’s neck.
“Didn’t forget about you, Yoh.” He said with a happy smile. Mizuho was a very active person, or at least had the appearance of one, and always seemed jumping for one place to another. These greeting weren’t considered all that odd for him. Turning his head, the guitarist saw the secretary they had meet before and walked over to her and hugging her. “Kyoko, you’re so cute today!” He said excitedly before letting go and strutted his way to one of the empty chairs.

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nonexistent hum and quickly began to crescendo until the source of the noise could be seen. A sleek Yamaha R1 Black gracefully took the corner, allowing the early risers to catch a glimpse at its black leather clad rider. A black tinted helmet hid what the rider truly look like as he or she sped past the people. The sounds of the engine began to grow faint as the bike disappeared around another corner. After a few seconds everyone went back to doing what they had been before. “People these days” an old man muttered as he watched from his doorframe. “riding such nosy things so early in the morning. No respect.”