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In the weeks and months that followed his meeting with Denebola and Manheimr, Chrysotile went through the motions of being a good little Negaverse agent. He went out on patrol regularly, harvesting enough energy to make his quota along with the extra his superior officer Quartz sometimes (often) imposed upon him. There was no enthusiasm in his duties, though, even less enthusiasm than he'd had before. He made a point of collecting energy from those who were already impaired, like drunks and the homeless and such; people whose debilitation from having their life force drained from them wouldn't be noticed.

But he thought every day about his impending purification. It was the only thing that kept him going. Still, doubts kept creeping into his mind. He wondered if Denebola and Manheimr would remember who he was and what they promised to do for him. He wondered if Hvergelmir had reached out to the Royal Knight Camelot for the actual deed. It wasn't that he didn't trust people to do what they said they were going to do -- it was more that he didn't think they would remember him. In the Negaverse, he was eminently forgettable. And in some respects, it was better that way.

On this particular evening, Chrysotile was prowling the shadows of a city park. He kept tight to the trunks of the trees, his brightly-colored afghan tucked safely away in the pocket dimension that was negaspace. Bright blue eyes scanned the dimly-lit park, looking for likely energy "donors" he could drain. So far, though, he wasn't having any luck. He sighed softly. Oh well, everyone had an off night. Hopefully Quartz would understand.

He snorted. Somehow he doubted it.

The sudden explosion of feathers and branches from a nearby tree startled the hell out of Chrysotile. He yelped and jumped and fell to his butt on the ground, then sat up, summoning his afghan. There went any surprise advantage he might have had against potential targets for draining. He was furious, and when he saw that it was a large black bird -- a raven, most likely -- he grew even more angry. As the bird approached, though, it kept getting bigger, and bigger... and then he noticed the six red eyes.

Oh god. A youma.

Scrambling to his feet, he readied his afghan to fling at it, hoping to distract it so it wouldn't attack. "Not tonight, you," he growled under his breath. No youma was going to take him out tonight.

Chrysotile let his hand holding the afghan drop to his side. "s**t." Even better, it was a smart youma. That undoubtedly meant that it belonged to someone -- with his luck, probably a general. Probably a bad-a** general who would kick his a** seven ways from Sunday if anything happened to his pet.

"Look, I don't want to hurt you and have your master come down on me. Why don't you just go home, or go harass someone else?" The tall lieutenant dismissed his alleged weapon and raised his hands. "I'm just trying to make my quota for the night, and not having much luck with that. What do you say? You go your way, and I'll go mine, okay?"

Chrysotile's blood froze at that last remark, wincing as Koschei's beak nipped at his spiked hair. What if the youma wanted to play? What should he do? Play with it? Somehow he didn't think that would turn out well for him. Attempt to dust it? That might bring its owner down on him -- but maybe he could make an escape before whoever owned the monstrous bird showed up.

Either way, he had to do something before the youma took matters into its own hands.

"You want to play? Okay, we'll play." The tall lieutenant summoned his afghan again and took a couple of steps back. "How about we play a game of keep-away? You try to grab my weapon, and I try to keep it away from you. How does that sound?"

"If you win," Chrysotile replied, thinking quickly and swinging the afghan in his hand, "I don't dust you. And if I win, you leave me alone." The youma was monstrously huge and scary dangerous, with his sharp beak and talons, but the lieutenant felt pretty confident he could win this game.

If the creature accepted the terms, that is.

"Well? Are you gonna take me up on it? You want to play, after all. I'm willing to play, but on my terms." He knew he was taking a risk -- especially if the youma was someone's pet -- but he had to do it. He'd play the game, and dust the youma as soon as a chance presented itself.

Then run very very fast.

Chrysotile's blood ran cold as the monstrous bird laughed. Could it really see how hesitant, how terrified he was? He had to be confident or this thing was going to eat him alive.

Then it called him mouse. Mouse? Was he nothing but potential prey for the youma? He pondered for a moment that he might be getting in over his head, then mentally shook it off. He really didn't have much other choice, did he? He decided to feel anger instead. Yeah, that would definitely help.

"Only the terms I have given you, crow" he stated, still swinging his afghan. "We play keep away with this, you win you don't get dusted, I win you leave me alone. Is it a deal?"

Surprised at the speed with which the youma moved, Chrysotile was barely able to whip the afghan out of the reach of Koschei's beak, which snapped shut over empty air. He would have to stay on his toes around this thing. Keeping the feeling of anger at the forefront of his thoughts (ahead of fear and stress, either of which the monstrous crow-thing could probably smell on him), he relied on his quickness and his basketball training to dance around the open space of the park, keeping himself and his weapon, such as it was, away from the youma. Before too long it became an almost fun game; tease Koschei with the afghan, skitter back out of the way, dragging the afghan away juuuuust barely in time. Just enough to keep the thing croaking in annoyance at him.

It was tiring though after awhile; Koschei didn't want to stop playing, but Chrysotile's legs were beginning to burn from the exertion of dancing around the youma, just out of reach even as Koschei kept hopping after him, cawing and snapping its heavy beak. Suddenly Chrysotile took a bad step, tripping over a large rock; he found himself falling onto his rear on the ground with a yelp. This was a dangerous position to be in! Koschei made what passed for a laughing sound and charged for the fallen lieutenant. Without thinking, Chrysotile picked up the rock he had tripped over and brought it down on the youma's multi-eyed head as hard as he could.

With a shocked caw, Koschei immediately disintegrated in a shower of glittering black dust.

"Yeah! Woo!" Chrysotile whooped, scrambling to his feet. "Take that,, a*****e!" The victory celebration didn't last long though -- almost before the dust had a chance to settle, the Negaverse lieutenant felt a massive surge of Chaos energy, as if from a very powerful aura. And it was coming his way.

Chrysotile swallowed hard. "Ohhhh s**t." Had to be the youma's master. He thought for a moment: who had such a monstrous thing as a personal youma? Then it dawned on him. General Labyrinthite. That man absolutely hated to lose, at anything, and he was vicious and cruel to his enemies -- of which Chrysotile was one.

Or would be if he stuck around and waited for the General's arrival.

Without a second glance in the direction the strong energy signature was coming from, Chrysotile fled. He ran at full speed out of the park and away from the scene of the crime of dusting a General's personal pet youma. He didn't stop running until he was well away and could no longer sense Labyrinthite's aura. Leaping on top of a nearby building, he finally allowed himself to collapse in exhaustion. Hopefully when Koschei rematerialized, it wouldn't remember him...

[[FIN]]