Current mood:	contemplative
Entry tags:	fic, incomplete, sakaki/karasuma, witch hunter robin

[GRAVEYARD] Desiderata - WHR - Sakaki/Karasuma
As outlined in this post over at princess_dexter, I'm going to be taking down most of my incomplete stories from my ff.net account and archiving them here, where they'll be clearly marked as ABANDONED and won't raise anyone's hopes. You're more than welcome to read these attempts at longfics, but you have been warned: they will never be updated.


Title: Desiderata
Series: Witch Hunter Robin
Length: 3890 words, chapter one of who-knows-what-it-could-have-been.
Character/pairing: Would have been Sakaki/Karasuma, but has the rest of the STN-J hanging around.
Rating/warnings: Originally posted on the 6th of October, 2004. I WAS VERY YOUNG.
Summary: POST SERIES. The past resurfaces as the STNJ team struggle to face new adversaries and some very old friends. Power awakens and destiny will not be denied.




There's a cold wind out tonight
The chill of distant eyes
An orbit survey finds...your mind

I will remember
You will remember
The star that came tonight...

There's a thought that fills your mind
A vision of time
When knowledge was confined
And then we wonder how machines
Can steal each other's dreams
From points that are unseen...It's real

From I Will Remember by Queensryche

Chapter One: Vision of Time

Sakaki Haruto ran after the witch, breath coming in painful bursts as he fought to keep up with his remarkably hardy quarry. Streetlamps provided little light in this less than savory neighborhood, often obscuring gaps in the pavement. It was difficult to follow the man – he was obviously familiar with the territory, whereas the Hunter was not, but Sakaki had a job to do. He cursed as the shadows veiled some toppled masonry, and he veered to the left, barely stopping himself from tripping over the jagged cement.

Some twenty meters ahead of him, the witch took a right, diving into the narrow gap between two crumbling buildings. Sakaki followed, just managing to keep the witch in sight. He vaulted over a pile of garbage bags, split at the seams, and narrowly avoided losing his footing in some of the shapeless rubbish that had come free.

A voiced sounded in his ear. "Haruto! Report your situation!" He tried to ignore Michael's order. There was no air to spare, anyway. "Haruto!" Dammit.

"He's in sight," he managed, breath catching in his throat.

"Good," Michael replied. Sakaki heard tapping. "Miss Karasuma is a street to the right of you. She'll meet up with you shortly." He panted a reply. He didn't suppose it made much sense, but the hacker was apparently satisfied, as he didn't question him further.

In the pale light of a single street lamp, he could see the witch come to an intersection. He hesitated for a moment, before choosing the left branch and skidding somewhat in his haste to escape his pursuer. Sakaki allowed himself a small grin, continuing to chase. If Michael's blueprints were correct…

They were. He rounded the corner, to see that the witch had reached the end of the alley. Panting, the other man turned, finding himself on the other end of Sakaki's gun.

"STN-J," Sakaki said, attempting an authoritative tone. It came out closer to a wheeze, but it had the desired effect. The witch raised his hands in surrender, just as Karasuma jogged to Sakaki's side, her heels tapping lightly over the cracked concrete. She took in the situation with a glance before asking him, "Under control?"

He nodded, winded. How did she manage to – nah, never mind. She reached under her jacket and withdrew her own gun, training it upon the witch. "Backup will be arriving very shortly," she informed him in a crisp tone. "It would be in your best interest to go without a fuss."

In reply, the witch let his head fall forward, hair flopping over his face and shielding it from their sight. Arms still raised, his shoulders began to shake. A high pitched keening sounded around them, and with surprise Sakaki realized it was coming from the witch.

He'd taken three steps when he felt a sting. Not wanting to look away from the witch, he paused to distractedly rub the area around the sudden pain. Strangely, the stinging had transferred to his hand…he looked down and gasped, effectively winding himself. Again. Struggling for breath, he tried to warn Karasuma but her attention was elsewhere. He was wondering frantically what to do, when she did the mind reading thing.

Without taking her eyes from their target, she asked him, "Sakaki? Are you okay?"

He coughed in reply. "Mehphyl," he croaked. He could see her frown.

"What was that?"

"METAL!"

It was too late. A bright droplet fell from the fire escape overhead, and landed on Karasuma's gloved hand with a hiss. She flicked her hand in surprise, the gun flying from her grasp and spinning across the cement, coming to a standstill next to the witch. She pulled the smoking glove off and flung it on the ground, rubbing the scorched skin with her other hand.

The witch laughed, a shrill whistling cackle that made Sakaki's hair stand on end. He aimed and fired. The shot caught the witch right on the torso, and he jerked backwards, the green splash of Orbo glowing upon his chest. He pulled the trigger a second time but nothing happened. "What the…?" he muttered, trying to aim again. The barrel wasn't cooperating, somehow it kept dropping down despite his steady grip. And it was getting warm…

"Shit!" The gun was melting in his hands. He let it fall and it landed with a sickening plop. Orbo dribbled from the bullet casings and pooled over the molten steel, steam rising where the two liquids met. He resisted the urge to wipe his hands on his pants. Taking stock, he mentally calculated the logistics of subduing this witch with no guns, no Craft and random bits of metal melting all over the place.

Not good.

He stood for a moment, dithering, uncertain of what to do next. The witch had them at a disadvantage. If only they had a relevant Craft – he didn't suppose Karasuma could scry the witch senseless. Their target raised his head again, eyes wild. He was still laughing.

Over the mad cackling Sakaki picked up another sound. Pressure built inside his ears as he felt a push from above. He looked up, eyes widening.

The fire escape was about to come loose. The metal that had fastened it to the wall was dribbling down the bricks, streaking them with silver. The remains of the ladder pooled in the corner of the alley. The landing itself was hanging by a single clip; the bottom end was swinging free. It would give way any second and Karasuma…

There was no time. Unthinkingly Sakaki threw himself forward, knocking Karasuma to the ground and rolling them both to the middle of the alley, just as the fire escape detached itself from the wall. It scraped down towards them, bringing a shower of burning liquid and flying splinters. Dammit, I'm going to die, Sakaki thought indignantly. He braced himself, and felt the wind whistle past and through him before there was a shuddering thump, then silence.

His muscles screamed from the tense anticipation of impact. The witch's laughter had stopped. Tentatively Sakaki lifted his head from Karasuma's back and looked around. Miraculously, the fire escape had missed them. Large scratches in the brick wall showed its course, headed straight towards them…before inexplicably veering away. Just meters above where the two hunters lay, it had come away from the wall and thudded into the opposite one, before hitting the ground exactly where the witch had been standing.

Sakaki stood gingerly and began the automatic check for broken bones. Nothing jumped out at him, but his face was a bit sore. He went to have a look at what had become of their quarry, but could only see a leg twisted at an impossible angle, lying in a slowly widening pool of blood.

Behind him he could hear Karasuma getting to her feet. She came over and crouched next to the pile of shattered wood and witch. She stared at it for a moment, then, swallowing, reached out a hand and placed it on the trousered leg, closing her eyes. A moment later, they snapped open.

"What did you see?" he asked.

She rose and pulled a handkerchief from her pocket, considering his question while scraping the fabric over her palm.

"Fear. Confusion…he was in control and then suddenly he wasn't. Shock . He didn't understand what was happening." She turned to face him and gasped. "Sakaki – your face!"

He raised a hand to his head in bewilderment. His fingers found welts scored across his cheek and forehead. Exploring further, he was surprised by the heat of his skin in those areas. Burns.

"Ow," he said, as feeling returned belatedly to his face.

Karasuma crossed the space between them and lifted his chin with her gloved hand, inspecting his face. Her worried eyes met his own. He readied himself for the inevitable are you alright?

"Thank you," she said softly. Sakaki could only gape in astonishment. No reprimand for acting on impulse? No gentle chiding to be more careful? No concerned mothering?

She gave him a quick smile before stepping back and tapping her earpiece.

"Michael?"

The hacker's voice sounded in their ears. "Yes, Miss Karasuma?"

She turned and walked from the alley, Sakaki following a moment later. "Cancel the backup. Send in the cleanup crew instead."

- - -

Miho rested her chin on her hand, trying to concentrate. It was hard, in the briefing room – the relative darkness kept lulling her to the edges of wakefulness. She was already tired…but thankfully the dimness hid her discreet yawns. Well, she certainly hoped it did.

Lights flashed overhead and images popped up on the screen before her. Michael was trying to make sense of what had happened the night before.

"So the metal was melting, and the fire escape fell down, I understand that part. But you say it altered course? It was coming straight at you and then it just…flew into the other wall?"

Sakaki nodded. He looked awful. Gauze and bandages covered the entire left side of his face. One eye was bloodshot and a couple of clumps of hair had been badly singed. Guilt plagued her. He was injured protecting me. I'm the senior partner, I should have been looking out for him.

Doujima had laughed in surprise when she'd first seen him.

"Oh, don't you worry," she'd reassured him, "you can hardly notice. Your hair's too thick for it to make much of a difference." He'd just nodded tiredly and walked to the briefing room without a word.

Doujima watched him go, shocked. "What's up with him?"

Miho frowned. "I'm not sure…" She let the sentence trail off while her eyes followed his shuffling progress.

"Miss Karasuma?"

She came back to herself with a start. Michael and Doujima were staring at her. Sakaki was looking at his lap, fingers twining restlessly. "Yes, Michael?"

Behind the tinted glasses, the hacker's eyes were worried. "I said, did you notice anything? You scryed the Witch, did you pick up information from him?"

She shook her head. "I did sense a couple of emotions, but nothing out of the ordinary. He was as surprised by the change in direction as we were."

They sat for a moment in silence, when suddenly Doujima piped up. "You don't think it had anything to do with the Orbo, do you?"

Miho hadn't considered the possibility. In the three months since Factory's collapse, SOLOMON had been able to analyse the make-up of Orbo. In fact, Doujima had been offered a lucrative position back at headquarters, as a reward for her part in obtaining the data. Inexplicably she'd declined, electing to stay on at the STN-J.

Once the composition of the substance had been determined, SOLOMON began work on reproducing Orbo, this time with a synthetic basis. Miho wasn't certain on the scientific principles behind it, but she knew it had something to do with artificial plasma and biochemical engineering. She looked down at her Orbo pendent and shivered.

It had become one of those moral dilemmas. There seemed to be no end of them, in the medical field. She recalled the debates surrounding the medical breakthroughs made during World War II, by Hitler's doctors, and whether or not it was ethically sound to use results obtained in so heinous a manner.

Yet, the sacrifice those poor Witches had made could not be disregarded. Miho supposed they were obliged to use something that had cost people their lives. She reached up and rolled the pendant between her fingers. They'd changed the style of the design, somewhat, and for that, she was glad. Fewer memories. The liquid was a paler green than before, and bubbled innocently in a teardrop case suspended on a thin steel chain. The shape, she felt, was oddly fitting.

The Orbo pulsed.

She snatched her hand back and gasped, startling Sakaki beside her. Doujima was explaining something to Michael on the other side of the bench. Sakaki gave them a quick glance before asking her in low tones, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she replied swiftly, dropping the pendant. It thudded lightly against her chest and rested next to her racing heart. He looked like he was going to continue when Kosaka strode into the briefing room, the lights playing over his shiny crown. Miho blinked.

"The police have sorted out last night's little mishap," he interrupted without preamble, "so there's no need to keep going over it."

Despite the low lights she could see Sakaki flush and bring a hand up to his bandaged face. Little mishap? The sharp spike of guilt returned and she had to force herself to look away.

"Michael," the new Director addressed the hacker, "any recent reports?"

Michael shook his head. "No sir."

Kosaka nodded, as if he'd expected that response. "Good. Then I'll have the pleasure of seeing you catch up on some of the older cases, shall I?"

Doujima groaned, but walked out to the office with the rest of the staff. She threw herself into her chair with a dramatic sigh. "All this work!"

Miho frowned. "That is why you're here, Yurika."

The blonde girl gave her a serious look. It always surprised Miho, to see this side of Doujima. After all that time knowing her in the role she had played, it was hard to accept the reality of the intelligent woman she'd kept hidden. It was…confusing.

"We just can't handle the work with only three hunters," she replied.

Michael's head tilted back and he gave her a pointed look.

"Alright," she said, in answer to his unspoken comment, "four STN-J employees. We're going to need some replacements, and soon."

No one appeared to be inclined to speak, after that. As one, they got to work.

- - -

Hours later, Miho pushed back her chair. Her vision was becoming blurry after staring at her monitor for too long. And for what? she asked herself with an uncharacteristic trace of bitterness. Old cases, long since discarded, and more recent ones with no leads. If she didn't have a coffee now, she'd fall asleep on her keyboard.

She got up and crossed the room to the cubby where the drink things were kept. The others ignored her movement and she felt disinclined to interrupt them while they, at least, were working with an iota of attentiveness. She rubbed her eyes tiredly.

Waiting for the water to boil, she reached for one of the serviceable white mugs to inspect its cleanliness. Hattori left them spotless but Michael…hygiene apparently wasn't his forte. She smiled as she picked it up –

only to be sucked into a vision. A hand, reaching for the cup. The cup, falling. Shards of porcelain scattered across the floor. A woman's leg, blood dripping from a shallow cut. A –

Miho slammed the cup back onto the sideboard and stepped back, shaking. What was that? It had felt like she'd been using her Craft but the images had never been so clear, so distinct. And why? She wasn't some green amateur. She'd stopped having random flashes years ago. Control was a very important factor of any Craft, but when you could pick up idle thoughts from everything…well. Suffice to say it had been the first thing she'd learnt.

Leaving the mug on the counter – she didn't want to come in contact with it, again – she knelt, and brought her face close to it. She inspected it for any signs of cracking but the porcelain was flawless. It really didn't make any sense. Shaking her head, she pulled a tea towel off the bench and picked up the mug with trembling hands. She deposited it next to the sink and stood looking at it.

She was still staring at the cup when Sakaki came into the room.

"Oh, Miss Karasuma!" He started at finding her here. So, he had been engrossed in his work…well, his thoughts, at least. She'd caught him gazing off into the distance on more than one occasion this morning, but under the circumstances, she felt she could be somewhat lenient on him. His face was – and his hair –

"How are you feeling?" The question was out before she could stop it, even though she knew what his reaction to any offerings of concern would be.

His face hardened and he looked away.

"I'm fine." Yep, that's what I thought he'd say. The mysterious affair of the mug momentarily forgotten, she gave him a cool look.

"Are you sure? Something happ-"

"I said, I'm fine." He dismissed her worry as Amon would have, and the brief comparison brought a sharp pain to her chest. She stifled a gasp. No. She wouldn't think about him, them. She'd think about –

Sakaki had stepped forward; intent on fixing himself some coffee but at Miho's muffled sound he'd glanced in her direction, hand still outstretched. Completely by accident, undetermined by fate, the cup was –

- falling –

and then it landed with a clatter on the tiles

- shards of porcelain scattered across the floor.

She couldn't look away. She couldn't tear her eyes from the jagged fragments of mug, arranged across the ground in a crazy mosaic pattern with a fine layer of ceramic dust lying in between. She could hear Sakaki asking her something but his voice seemed to be coming from a great distance and she wondered hazily if the placement of the broken tea-mug was anything like the divining powers of tea-leaves when a color that wasn't white bled into her field of vision.

The cup was white. This was red. Almost fearful, she looked down. Blood snaked a crimson line down her calf –

- dripping from a shallow cut –

The Orbo pulsed again.

It was then that Karasuma Miho discovered she had no idea what was happening, no handle of the current situation, and that she was more than a little scared. She pushed awkwardly past a bewildered Sakaki and made for the elevator, deciding that she'd had enough for the day. She had to think about this. And sleep on it.

And home was where the sleeping pills lived.

Jabbing the "G" button with a viciousness it probably didn't deserve, she rested her forehead against the cool iron grating, watching the play of shadows as the cage made its way to the bottom floor of Raven's Flat.

What the hell was going on?

- - -

The hidden chamber was well-lit, candles clasped in sconces scattered across the walls. Quartz deposits in the stone caught the flame and held it, sparkling innocently, masking the true purpose of this underground meeting place.

She watched them shuffle in, their coarse, unbleached robes a stark contrast to their status in the outside world, a throwback to ancient Japan. Strange how just outside, the hustle and bustle of modern day Tokyo went on, unaffected. The ignorant fools – the general populace – had no idea that these powerful people led double lives. Bankers; actors; media moguls by day and occult dabblers by night. Every person here had paid for the privilege, handing over currency that wasn't just coin.

She wondered at the state of her own soul.

But there was no time for introspection, and reflection. This was her life now. The only one she had. She'd lived another, long ago…but then she'd lost everything. Better not to dwell on the past, as today marked the beginning of a new future. An upheaval of society. And this time the ones with power would rule the world.

They were chanting. It irritated her because power should need no words. The gift of Craft was all that was required, all that was necessary…but the majority of those assembled weren't even Seeds. They were useless, save only for their wealth and positions – things that were imperative for the realization of her dream.
She wished they didn't need them. Stupid, selfish, pompous…well. And yet she couldn't help but be surprised how easily they'd become accustomed to the way things were. They'd acquiesced with startling alacrity, and most of them hadn't blinked at the occult practices…making her wonder if their comfort and wealth had been obtained through entirely natural means.

Then again, her boss was a very persuasive man.

He'd inspired her, allowed her to break free of the fetters of her old life, and she'd never looked back. He was a man that had her best interests at heart, and her heart in his hand. They shared a dream and she would do anything to see it come true. Even…even this.

The last of them arrived. They sat now, cross legged in a circle, each with their left arm forward, and she was reminded suddenly of that children's game, the one where one walks around the perimeter tapping each participant on the head. What was it? Oh yes. Duck-duck-goose. She supposed in a way it was oddly fitting, for these unknowing pawns to be compared to poultry. She had as much respect for them as she would for an insignificant bird, anyway.

And then, he was there. Perhaps he'd been there all along, waiting for his flock to gather, watching from the shadows. She couldn't tell. She never could, with him. An enigma, and a powerful one at that. Her lip curled, almost of its own accord. He didn't need words.

They were his weapons, in spite of that. He used them, not like a pistol or a whip, but like a gentle, insidious poison that clouded the minds of his victims and made them unable to refuse him anything.

And so it should! He was destined for greatness. So it would be, for all their kind. Witches would once again dominate and those weak, insignificant humans would come to realize that this was the way it had to be, that this –

"We will begin the ritual."

His voice. So smooth, like a caress. He spoke to the assembled group but it was as if his words were for her alone. She took them like the command they were and pulled the avatar from her sleeve, walking forward in the manner prescribed by the ritual scroll and handing it to him. He took the ceremonial dagger, hand lingering upon her own for a breath longer than she felt was necessary, and then stepped through the circle, kneeling in the center. She withdrew, bereft of his touch.

He spoke. The language was unfamiliar and the vocal fluctuations were strange, but it was still beautiful. The words had power…no, they were power…they swirled and eddied through the room, raising the hairs on her arms. She shivered as he got to his feet and made his way around the inside of the circle, carefully drawing the keen blade of the avatar across each upraised palm. Blood dripped steadily to the ground.

When he had completed the circuit he returned to the center again, crouching and extending the dagger, scraping it around his body in a rough circle across the floor. The point of the blade cut through each of the droplets, linking the blood of every participant. Before closing the circle, he gave the blade a quick, hard, squeeze, and she could only watch as blood spilt over his clenched fist. Letting go, he smacked his palm to the ground and the circle was complete.

Light flared from beneath his fingers. It moved through his body and shone from his eyes and ears, flaring from his mouth when it was wrenched open in a soundless scream. He bucked uncontrollably, the power wracking his body. Tendons snapped taut on his neck. His arms and legs flailed about in a frenzied manner and dark liquid seeped from his ears, staining his cheeks with more of the blood price.

She wondered, distantly, if the coven were locked in place by fear…as she was.

His muscles shuddered, and he was shoved back again, spine arched from the surge of power. What if he can't contain it? What if –

And just as suddenly, it was over. With a last defiant burst, the light winked out of existence, leaving the coven speechless. The silence was broken only by the wet thud of his body hitting the ground.

She ran to his side, kneeling before him.

"Wha-" Her mouth was dry, tongue still thick from the sudden, paralyzing fear. The candles flickered and she noticed with some kind of detached alarm that his nose was bleeding as well, mingling with the blood from his ears on his cheek. His robe was rent and torn and his arm twitched in her grasp…he'd certainly seen better days. But what amazed her, and disturbed her, if truth be told…was the beatific smile on his face. After all that… She tried again.

"What did you learn?" He turned his eyes upon her and she recalled them glowing, a moment ago. She repressed a shudder.

"She has awakened."

The whisper was barely a breath, but she heard him, as clearly as though he had shouted it. Nodding, she bit her lip and smoothed back a sweat-soaked lock of hair from his forehead. He hadn't finished.

"The oracle lives once more."



The thanks for beta-ing this (way back in the day!) went out to azileath, zinthos and misora. AND I STILL LOVE YOU GUYS! <3