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Snippet #2369386

located in Cross Academy, a part of Vampire Knight: The Devil's Dance, one of the many universes on RPG.

Cross Academy

None

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Asuka Fujiwara Character Portrait: Sora Tsukino
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ā€œItā€™s not like I want to keep your secrets, you know. Butā€¦ I ainā€™t gonna go running my mouth, if thatā€™s what youā€™re worried about. Whoā€™d I tell, anyway?ā€



Huh. The owl had a sense of humor. Whoā€™d have thought? Fujiwara hardly did, though he had a feeling that was just an affectation on her part. The note about the festival surprised him a bitā€”it wasnā€™t like he kept up with school gossip or anything so frivolous as that. Heā€™d have to keep track of this, though; it would make moving about tomorrow a bit harder to do unnoticed.

He had no idea what the creature was talking about when it spoke of that side of Fujiwara, though. The only side of her he had any dealings with was the sarcastic spitfire one, not that he minded that. It was fun, or at least less boring than everyone else he knew. Well, perhaps it wasnā€™t the only one he knew, now. He had just discovered that she was the violinist, after all. Did that change things? Should it? Probably no to both. It was a footnote, a curious little fact, and he didnā€™t have time for those right now. Maybe one day, heā€™d be able to live for something other than his vengeance, but that day was not today, nor could he foresee it. Not even Sachiko could, or at least not that sheā€™d told him. Too many factors, sheā€™d said, to properly know where his future led just yet.

That was fineā€”heā€™d never liked spoilers or talk of fate.

He was on his way back across campus when something caught his attention: still beyond the treeline, a small foxlike creature was nudging something white that lay on the ground. Hold on, wasnā€™t thatā€¦? Stepping silently closer, he identified the owl, and his brows descended his forehead, resting heavily over his black eyes. It had been fine no more than a few minutes ago; what gave? Adjusting his gait so that he could be heard, he approached the two, crouching near the owl. The fox-not-fox (they didnā€™t look quite like that, normally) had a faint trace of a smell on it that he recognized.

Scowling, Sora carefully scooped the owl up in his arms. The least he could do was sniff out Fujiwara and take him to her. Turning to the fox (it was his roommateā€™s, he was sure of it now. Distinctive smell on that guy), he addressed it brusquely, but bereft of any real rudeness. ā€œIā€™ll take care of it. You can go back to whatever you were doing if you want.ā€ He lifted a single shoulder in a shrug, surprisingly careful not to jostle the creature in his arms, and took off at a dead sprint.

Fujiwaraā€™s smell, unusual as it was, was easy to pick out, by comparison to just about anyoneā€™s, and he angled himself for her location, doubling his speed when he picked up the smell of bloodā€”human bloodā€”on her. The hell have you gotten yourself into, woman? He thought. For once, Sora didnā€™t bother to calculate the reasons for what he did, or what it was going to mean for him, he just acted. A bit like he had this morning, chasing off the creepy groupies. Some thing just werenā€™t optional, anyway.

He found her in a clearing, folded in on herself so as to make herself as small as possible, from the looks of it. He could detect the tremor in her limbs even from this distance, and he slowed his pace, moving closer at a pace she could properly register, scuffing his feet on the ground on purpose to make sure he was audible. Sora crouched in front of her, Snow the owl still held carefully to his chest. He was breathing normally enough, just unconscious. He must have hit the tree or something, which should have been amost impossible for an owl, let alone an intelligent familiar. Something was up, and he didnā€™t like it.

Sighing heavily, the young vampire shifted his hold so that he was cradling the bird in one arm, and used his now-freed hand to reach up, a single index finger extended, and press the tip of the digit to the center of the girlā€™s forehead. ā€œMessed up, did you?ā€ he asked bluntly, though something in his tone was almostā€¦ sympathetic. It was probably a good thing he wasnā€™t really listening to himself, more interested in her, and as always, his surroundings. If heā€™d heard the steely flint in his voice recede even a little, he would have withdrawn from the situation.

ā€œYou canā€™t make amends sitting here scared, Fujiwara. Youā€™ve gotta stand up and face your problems. Head on.ā€ He withdrew his arm, and smiled, his usual feral grin that carried equal parts mischief and danger. ā€œIf you need to punch something first, I promise I can take it.ā€ Hell, violence was sometimes what you needed to fix a problem or get over a hurdle, and he understood this in a way that most people never would. Granted, heā€™d never volunteered to be a punching bag before, but then, heā€™d never been in a situation where it seemed like a good thing to do for somebody. Heā€™d also listen if she had to vent at him, but then he already did that pretty often (when her irritation with his taunting turned into irritation more generally, heā€™d usually stick around and let her lay it on him), so he was pretty sure sheā€™d know.