Decadence -scenes from the life of BAIT as reported by a visitor- by Kristin Huntsman released 5th January 1999 The pattering of the rain was broken by the rhythmical sound of a steady beat on pavement; that of a wooden staff helping balance every step. The eye might track automatically to that sound, size up the girl whose steps it accompanied, and dismiss her. The eye, however, would linger much the longer and more appreciatively on the figure beside her. On that tall, slender figure, the eyes would feast, drinking in the air of culture, elegance, and sophistication. Those eyes would note the fine features, the soft dark hair that fell just so, and the way he carried himself through the rain. Another afternoon, another heart lost to the President of BAIT. Kris was put in mind of a somewhat recent film version of the Baroness Orczy's _The Scarlet Pimpernel_ as she waited with Kyri-sama for the return of Dougie-kun and Simon-san. "'I had a devil of a time finding a suitable basket'," she quoted softly to herself, considering hunting, while they waited, for some kind of something sweet to create a dessert to complement Kyri's wonderful planned dinner. Kyri, hearing her, turned his dark, sharp eyes for a moment from their scanning of the square and looked at the girl. "'I had thought... a picnic'," he responded, his soft voice toned, as always, to seduction. The girl repressed the shiver of fear that sounds like that always gave her. She smiled brightly at the President instead, and wandered off to find some fruits in the marketplace that might be sacrificed to the high gods of fine cuisine. Kyri-sama paid her no mind and waited just out of the rain, ignoring the hearts which sighed at the god made flesh who stood for a day in their midst. "I come to Europe to find culture, and end up with three pretty boys teaching it to me," Kris grumbled as she eyed and dismissed various possibilities. "Kyri-sama the elegant, Subaru-kun the vivacious, and Dougie-kun the sweet. Plus Simon-san, whom I haven't quite pegged where he fits into all this yet, and Sergei-san, bishounen in training. "Why me?" she sighed, "I hate men." And she did. Disliked men with vengeance. Only when men stopped being men and started being people did she begin even getting along with them. And regrettably few ever were able to comprehend the difference. The dinner was exquisite, of course, reflecting the President's impeccable style. Chunks of honeydew melon wrapped in strips of prosciutto were paired with raw oysters for appetizers, followed by a main course of something delicious named "mussels in white wine sauce" with fresh bread, and pears and muscat grapes for dessert, served with white wine for those who drank and orange juice for those who didn't. And music... and then the poetry. Kyri-sama had an admirable collection of books, the girl thought as she listened to the President's voice intoning the lyrics of French poetry, quickly followed by Greek. Then there was Whitman, and she managed to stumble over Thoreau when it came her turn to read aloud. The beautiful text of Milton they hadn't had time to open, though... they'd had to hurry to get to the theatre in time. It was opera, her first ever. She could follow very few of the passages, despite their being in English, but she knew the story well enough to be able to concentrate on the actors and let the music flow through her like water. The costumes and lighting were exquisite, she decided, and was pleased to find during a break in scenes that her beginner's opinion on the actor playing Orpheus was in accord with Kyri-sama's. After, with song still buoying them up, she and Simon-san and the two members of BAIT--Douglas having to have gone and devoted himself to studies after the dinner--went to Haagen Daaz for dessert. "This should be illegal," she commented in melting pleasure after having taken the first bite of her brownie. "What should?" Sergei asked, dark eyes piercing her. "This good of a time," she replied. And life in Europe, with the four elegances known collectively and individually as BAIT, was indeed much like the dessert, Kris decided as she cut a second bite away with her fork: decadent and requiring simple things to be able to balance out the rich, sweet taste of it. --)-------------- The steps shuffled back and forward as she watched; the silver metal clashed; the opponents likely smiled behind their masks, each sure of victory. But beyond that, beyond the dance and weapons, she watched the way they moved. Here, BAIT wore their masks of studenthood, and their steps reflected those masks. Later, when alone, when not having to bide their time before the world, those masks would drop and these three members of the Cambridge University Fencing Club would be their true selves once more. But for now, they were mere students, flawing their styles with a false lack of training until they could rise with the fire of the Phoenix to show the world their skill and glory.... Douglas moved hesitantly, carefully. His steps were measured and restrained. But even here his natural grace shone through and he could not quite hide how natural the sport of duelling was to him. Timofei overacted, or perhaps overreacted. He performed what was, to him, little more than child's play with exuberance, enthusiasm, and vigor.... His love for the art he had not bothered to hide; rather than wallow in a mask of incompetence, he had chosen to magnify his passion and disguise his skill in a more elegant manner. And Kyriacos was ever the student, measuring his way, approaching the steps as if they were a science, working his way to a gradual mastery. But his accustom to these moves shone through sometimes, glimpses which to the careful observer proclaimed he was far more skilled than he pretended. The girl had tried one session of the Fencing Club; in addition to causing herself injury, she had known in her heart that she would never master the art, or even hope to approach the level of those who graciously allowed her into their company these days. So she had not gone further, except to watch, and record. So she watched the three figures, the President and Vice-President both clad in the color of midnight and the universe, and the Secretary, whose gentler nature showed in his soft grays and greens; she watched and wrote down what she saw and thought.... The Vice-President of BAIT was giving a masked Halloween ball, and she had been extended an invitation. she thought, knowing full well that she was inexperienced at dealing with BAIT, unskilled in the subtle politics ingrained in European minds, and quite possibly unable to protect herself should the games turn serious. Her mentor had warned her especially about the grand balls hosted by BAIT. she thought, looking briefly at the footwork of the sweetest member of the elite society and scribbling down an adjectival phrase. <....I hope.> The problem, of course, was that she had fully nothing to wear, and was a mere mundane--by the time she was free from work, the shops were closed. As it was, she had received her invitation on Monday; the Ball was on Friday. Not enough time, and her only hope, her sewing machine, was half a world away. Plus, to arrive in attire less than suitable would likely bar her from further admittance to the presences of the members, and additionally it would not reflect well upon her mentor. "You look troubled," Douglas' voice melted into her thoughts. She looked up at him. "The Vice-President's party," she explained simply. "I haven't a costume, and haven't time to get one." "Ah." Douglas sat down beside her, looking thoughtful. "That is a problem." Kyri flexed the weapon in his hands, watching the children around him learn the beginning of one of the Great Arts. The metal warmed to his touch and he studied it, frowning. The weapon was flawed, badly so; warped. It would not do for such a thing to fall into the hands of those around him. If the weapon were to bespell a fellow student of the Art, the results might be tragic and injurious. Still, he hesitated; even so evil, it was a sword dedicated to a higher purpose, shaped to fencing.... But no. It could not be permitted. A small spark of his essence quietly snapped the weapon in two, breaking the darkness held within it. Kyriacos quietly laid the pieces of the blade on the ground and walked away. "You did WHAT?!" the Vice-President gasped, horrified at what his President had done to a weapon of the Art. The President gave his underclassman a look which intimated that he thought the younger was behaving idiotically, grasped him in a headlock and pulled him unceremoniously out of doors, away from the hearing of the other members of the fencing society. The Secretary and the girl looked at one another amusedly and followed. By the time they too had cleared the doors the President's touch had puddled the Vice-President, and as the former released the latter it was all Timothy could do to breathlessly beg, "Please do that again, Kyri-sama," from his position on the sidewalk. The girl resisted the urge to snicker at the proud Vice-President's helpless tone and liquid eyes. He was like melted chocolate, a Dove bar left too long in the sun.... She then paused and shivered at the realization that the President's merest touch had such sensual power contained in it. He was worse than even Touga.... She looked at him and reminded herself of the lesson learnt in infancy: men were not to be trusted. Ice built up a wall and surrounded her; she looked at the three pretty ones through eyes of cold distrust; she was safe there, through the ice. The spells of touch and heat and want couldn't get to her there.... Kyri's eyes caught hers, measured her, and he nodded to her in a kind of understanding, perhaps even a respect. She nodded in return, letting the ice wall melt a small bit. Enough to where the innocent, more innocent than herself even, Douglas wouldn't notice it lurking frozen behind her eyes. Neither Kyri-sama nor Subaru would permit her survival if she disconcerted their young pretty one. She smiled and made polite conversation. --)-------------- For someone who had never painted before, Kris thought she was working fairly well with the black facepaint. Careful lines and then color between them... she hadn't done such a spectacular job on the teardrop beneath the Secretary's left eye, but the sun around his right was proving simpler. It was in tribute to Angel Sanctuary that he had chosen this motif; and the design on his left hand had been taken from Shamanic Princess, another series favored by the four members of BAIT. Douglas was alone in honoring these series; each member had chosen to walk his own path. The President was currently in the process of allowing junior BAIT member Sergei to assist him in changing his black silky hair into a brilliant hard purple shell, styled in a fashion which reminded the girl of the 1920s though she suspected Kyri-sama had chosen it from one of his esoteric films. His face, like Douglas', like Sergei's, was a mask of white, with eyes elegantly lined in black paint and lips done to match. And Sergei had elected for a formal suit, with a red rose in full bloom elegantly decorating his black lapel, a splash of color against his monochrome form. Then there was Douglas, who possessing no black, had clad himself again in his customary soft greens... and though to her green meant life, the girl had learned here that there were cultures which gave green the same funeral significance as black. She had been unable to create an appropriate costume for herself and had resorted to unfolding her only dress from where it lay and donning that. She had spread glitter over her arms and neck and applied silver powder to her face. She was little compared to the black-clad beauty of Kyri or the elegantly suited Sergei. She only hoped that their host this evening would find her passable, if not finished. She bit her lip in concentration and finished outlining Douglas' eyes. The Vice-President, she found, had also garbed himself in white and black makeup. She wondered if it was a code among BAIT which she did not know. He wore a white shirt, paired with a black vest and black trousers, with a collar wound round his throat and ribbons around his hands. The only figure more elegant than he was Kyri, a lean form composed of aching lines in black cloth, one hand clad in a black velvet glove which concealed half his face. The other hand held a gold mask over his heart. It was the President's sense of aesthetics, of course, which led to the photography session. And the Vice-President's passion for music which led to the inevitable enthralling dances at the ball. she thought in a giddy whirl of multi-colored thoughts and butterfly masks. And at one point in a private room the Vice-President, a glass of red wine held elegantly in one hand, spoke seriously to his companions, perhaps forgetting that she, a mere mortal, was present. His arguments for the four of them presenting themselves at a local gothic club were directed mainly towards the shy Douglas, who had difficulties with the idea of displaying himself before so many strangers. "Come on, Dougie-kun," Timothy urged. "It will be fun. You should try it at least once before deciding against it." "I don't know, Tim..." the Secretary said hesitantly. Kyriacos looked straight across the room into the eyes of the girl. "And what about you, Kris?" he asked softly. She was almost surprised. "I haven't been invited," she replied. It was kind of the President, or perhaps devious, to think of including her, but it was the Vice-President's plan, and she hadn't been extended an invitation to join them in the excursion. Added to which, Timothy had said in the past that he could not imagine her in such a setting. For her, that made it a simple end and a simple conclusion. Once again, as always, Timothy surprised her; it seemed he had considered her invited all along. --)-------------- It was an uneventful ride, filled with reading. She was alone in her seat, sitting behind the Vice-President, he sitting behind Sergei, on the way to London. And she almost hadn't made it... but she had, and now she read though the copy of Arthur Miller's _The Crucible_ which had been loaned to her by Kyriacos. The book wasn't long, or perhaps she was quick, because it was over before they arrived. And it had been a good read, and she would remember to return it to Kyri-sama that evening, with her thanks for the loan. The President and Secretary had elected not to join them, having made plans of their own (the girl suspected those plans might be "together" but really had nothing solid in the way of proof) and so she was to be introduced to the Japanese resources of London by the remaining two members of BAIT. In all of England, only one shopping center, with one Asahiya.... she told herself. But there were two furuhonya. And furuhonya were valuable natural resources, to be treasured and not taken lightly. Especially when.... "Wai! New Troopers doujinshi!" she exclaimed happily, clutching them possessively to her chest. It had taken her much time and effort to build up her collection of doujinshi, and adding new volumes was never a small thing. Sergei and Timothy smiled at the girl who was so easily pleased. What thoughts they had about her flightiness they kept politely to themselves. The Yaohan, too, was filled with bright pleasures and nice surprises. The London Asahiya had the largest selection of Wings Comics of any she'd ever been in, even if they had neither X11 or Asuka. As in recompense for that lack, however, there were, "Komisch 1 and 2!" Happy, the girl bounded into the candy aisle of the market section of the Yaohan. And stopped, her eyes failing to see what they needed to see. There was, it appeared, no rice candy in England. At that point, the day started to become less than perfect. Though there were nice people at the London Anime Club meeting, and though there were cosplay pics from the latest convention... the perfect, balanced happiness of that morning did not return. The day spun further until it eventually became night and they returned to Cambridge. The seats on the bus were uncomfortable and shaped to accomodate nothing resembling the human body, the driver given to sudden stops and starts of the vehicle which banged her head against the unyielding surface of what was wishfully labelled a "headrest," and to either side of her was Russian, a language whose flow sounded like the shape of the water-rounded pebbles which would rest on a river's floor. She felt very alone. At an eventual point, the two BAIT boys (as she had come to think of them) switched back into English, at Sergei's suggestion that perhaps they were being rude by excluding her from the conversation. Though she didn't add much in any case.... So alone, under the dark sky, in a foreign night in a strange country.... Periodically a tear or two slipped down her face and she scrubbed it away as discreetly as possible. Long ago she'd learned to cry quietly. And the pain of sitting in the wretched seat grew and grew, until it nearly made her weep on its own sake... she who never cried at physical pain. she futilely wished. But finally, at last, the ride ended and they were back in Cambridge. But the loneliness did not get left on the bus; it carried on in her heart like a cold, bleeding wound. "Are you all right?" Sergei asked, his sharp eyes softened with concern. "I'm alright," she gave her standard reply. "I'm always alright." "If people want help, they'll ask for it," the Vice-President rebuked Sergei. She looked at the midnight figure of the Vice-President of BAIT and said nothing. But in her heart there was a little warmth, now that someone had reminded her that she did matter and was not merely an object to be talked around. --)-------------- --------------(-- [Observer's Profile: The President] The President of BAIT. Name: Kyriacos P. Alias: Tzaphikiel. Birthdate: August 17, 1976. Nationality: Cypriate. The number of hearts lost to the President of BAIT is an untallied figure. The most conservative estimates begin in the thousands. The Vice-President attributes the phenomenon to what he calls "Kyri-sama's wild beauty." To concur, the President is a very attractive figure even in the most elegant of societies; he is possessed of a beautifully slender figure, perfectly tousled hair, and can conjure forth a rakish lift of the eyebrows or that grin balanced between casuality and mischief which will make him the immediate object of affection for all around him. He is always clothed in a manner which spells out his elegant habits to even the most casual of observers; a red scarf often drapes around his neck, contrasting wonderfully with his favored black coat. Sometimes he affects small black-rimmed glasses which highlight his eyes and make him look very serious. A man of many talents, the President has impeccable style in fashion as in all other walks of life. Speaking three languages and studying medicine and fencing, his intelligence can clearly be seen in his calm, studious manner. However, if my words have led you to believe that he is controlled upon all occasions, my apologies! The President easily becomes passionate concerning many subjects; poetry, film, art, and cooking name but a few of his diverse interests! Easily described as a Renaissance man, the President engages skillfully in many arts. Having spent time as an military officer, the President has no fear of formal uniforms, is physically the strongest of the BAIT members, and knows well how to wield power and intrigue, though he chooses more usually to watch the games of others until it becomes neccessary for him to intervene. He is currently involved in the training of newest BAIT member Sergei L.; when he cannot be found in his own chambers, it is wise to search for the President in Sergei's, one hall over and one flight up. It is rumored that the training for new BAIT initiates is long and laborious.... Though slightly disaffectionate of the cold country he currently resides in, the President himself is a warm person, casting an aura around himself--on occasions and during situations that do not require his full formality--which leads easily to relaxed and genial conversation. --------------(-- --)-------------- The kitchen was filled with the smells of good cooking. Breads baked, girl cleaned, and occasionally the reddish sauce on the stove made a soft "blup, blup!" /A cordial invitation: /Having a desire within me to return in some small part the hospitality with which I have been presented, you hereby find yourself invited to an evening of food and festivities. /The event shall be held at 7:00pm on Sunday the 8th of November. Dinner shall be served shortly thereafter. The dress code is "merely decadent" or "elegantly casual," whichever suits the preference of yourself more. /Friends; food; merriment and music. /Please come. /Yours most humbly, /Kristin Huntsman/ There were candles on the table, to cater to the Vice-President's fetish, and six full place settings complete with crystal wine goblets and water tumblers, white silken napkins on which gleaming silverware rested. she judged, looking at the place settings again. She saw too easily what was missing: the candles lacked appropriate holders, the wine glasses were alternated because she hadn't had enough of either set, and there were chips on the undersides of a few of the dishes which made her wince. Additionally, she hadn't known the proper order for the silverware settings and the plates were a nearly garish shade of mustard yellow. "'When one is serving BAIT, presentation is everything'," she sighed to herself, the quotation making her smile despite what she could see that was wrong. She knew, too, that she blinded herself to what she had achieved and saw only what she had not. Smiling still, she closed the door of the dining room and went back to cooking. --)-------------- --------------(-- [Observer's Profile: The Vice-President] The Vice-President. Name: Timofei (Timothy) L. Aliases: Subaru, Re-Miel. Birthdate: December 21, 1977. Nationality: Russian, British naturalization pending. The most lively of the BAIT members, the Vice-President tends to get led away by his passions. The President remarks that it should be noted that the title is "'VICE'-President" for a reason. Given to excess, the Vice-President has been noted to be something of a womanizer and sexist; however on some accounts he has remarkably high morals--he abhors the idea of any form of violence against a member of the female sex. Traditionally clad in black, with a silver ankh around his neck, the Vice-President practically embodies the masculine principle stated by literary scholars. His sun-kissed hair is usually slicked back and he radiates life and good health. It is unastounding that the Vice-President attracts so many adoring fans; he is magnetic and vibrant, with unplumbed heights and depths. Often mysterious, usually enigmatic, he finds himself surrounded by followers. Rather than choose among his devotees, however, he prefers to pursue the difficult and chase the unobtainable in a quest which is partially spiritual, partially animal in origin. In his third year of mathematics study, the Vice-President speaks two languages and is studying a third; duelling is his sport of choice. Among his hobbies are the passionate devouring of books, listening to many styles of music, and the playing and translating of Japanese-language video games. An intellectual since birth, the Vice-President was sent to the best of schools since an early age and was advanced several grades even within those academic establishments. Occasionally frightening, his intelligence is put to frequent and various applications; games of politics are second nature to him and others can never be quite sure if he is being honest or simply laying another level of trap for them. It is a wise person who knows to tread cautiously around the Vice-President of BAIT. --------------(-- --)-------------- The girl drowsed, pain migated into sleepiness by some mechanism she didn't understand, and watched as ghosts floated in the blackly firelit room. They were part of another world; so was she, and she was safe from them. This whole place was another world. People cowered before the spirits, clergymen shouting for them to depart, offering blessings and imprecations as if they could have any effect on the dead. And then a voice demanded silence of the gathered. Somehow the entire day had seemed so strange that viewing it through this haze was perfectly normal. The girl smiled the smallest bit, comforted now that the game was likely nearing its end. Gods knew that the day had been less than gentle; after a 2am arrival (in a packed minibus with first a heavy-metal countdown and then Monty Python sketches racing in the tape deck) she had huddled underneath blankets, sleeping badly due to the cold. She'd eventually woken and dressed and fashioned her hair into something resembling period (or at least something quaint enough to possibly pass as something related to the twelfth century), she'd begun her first LARP, guest of the Vice-President of BAIT. Entirely new and abandoned to this type of play, she'd quickly been lost, overwhelmed, and on her knees in a cold stone hallway, unable to breathe through fear, pain carving through her lungs and the ache of tight-corded muscles running wet down her face. She frowned and squirmed, uncomfortable with even remembering the panic attack. She hadn't had one in so long, and hated herself for them. She didn't like being weak. It had subsided before she'd blacked out, fortunately, and a few concerned people had taken mercy on her and helped her start to find her way through the game. The other players gathered now before the Abbot on the far side of the room from her, and she moved through her drowsiness to see a little closer. The chalice on the mantelpiece shone as the Abbot explained the walking of the dead. The game had gone well after she had found help, and though the addition of a sweater to the costume hadn't been exactly period, she'd been more concerned with not getting cold-sick than with staying in perfect costume. Somehow she'd ended up inducted into the Knights Templar along the way, and found out that there was indeed an occult side to the game.... It had made the objects of her game a bit more difficult than just keeping the peace with the other kingdoms, a bit more difficult than just retaining her throne, when she'd been asked to help her allies in the Knights Templar to find the Book of Judas. Some of the players who had the roles of clergy were very enthusiastic about finding heretics and killing them. Just asking about the book was dangerous. "I have many names," the Abbot said in answer to a question. "Would one of them be 'Morningstar'?" someone else asked in reply. Morningstar? That explained a good many things, she decided. For one, their host, the Abbot, being so kind. And for another, his being so pretty. And she recalled, from her character sheet, the mention of his once having been a nobleman.... Well-crafted, she decided. She smiled, still in the half-dream, and remembered fondly standing by the river which ran past this castle, talking to Master Limius, her chief reeve in this game, and King David of Scotland, watching the salmon jump. "If it had been a Scottish salmon," King David had decreed, "it would have been this big!" He held his hands far apart. "'I see centuries of ice have done nothing to cool Scottish arrogance'," she'd quoted at him. Ah, but Kyri-sama would perhaps be disappointed that she'd not used any quotes from his beloved _Dangerous Liaisons_ today. "I'm not kneeling to you!" one man declared, and stood. "You are not kneeling to me, but to the Grail," Lucifer Morningstar explained, gesturing towards *the* Chalice, now illuminated and held in the hands of one of the walking dead. He asked for a champion to achieve the Grail, one who was counter to Galahad--one who had committed all seven of the deadly sins in one night in the name of the greater good. The girl wasn't surprised to see a certain nobleman, Warden of the Northern Marches, step forward. A man who spoke with a soft Russian accent. The Vice-President, who had invited her to join this game. she thought to herself with a vaugely ironic smile. Recalling the dinner feast at which that particular challenge had been issued, the smile of the erstwhile Queen Matilda widened just a bit further. The girl's only wish was that she had been able to help prepare it. Flat bread trenchers, rather than plates, were heaped with dish after dish of every possible kind of meat, it had seemed to her, with huge bowls of mashed and steamed and mixed vegetables passed around the long horseshoe of table, with more bread for eating, and flagons of mulled wine. They'd eaten with their fingers and what knives they'd brought. It had been utterly delicious. And... there had been "entertainment." King David had called the Vice-President's character "the WOMAN of the Northern Marches" and challenged him to a duel for the right to the title. The girl supposed she should have been glad of it; after all, Subaru's character was on the opposite side from her, while King David was an ally. She did know that she had *wanted* to see the duel. Regrettably it appeared to have been waylaid in the game. The abbot--Morningstar--began listing off the seven great vices, asking his champion at each turn whether he had committed them that night. To each one, the answer was "Yes." The noble in black achieved the Grail, holding the glowing Chalice reverently in both hands. He was immortal, but only for so long as he stayed within the Abbey's grounds, Morningstar warned. The moment he ever stepped off of them, he was considered "fair game." Lucifer granted the Abbey to his champion and smiled, perhaps pleased, then vanished into darkness, though not before one wandering friar could make the sign of the cross and say to the startled bishounen, "Morningstar, bless you." --)-------------- --------------(-- [Observer's Profile: The Secretary] The Secretary. Name: Douglas S. Alias: Kazuhiko. Birthdate: September 19, 1977. Nationality: British. The tallest of the BAIT members, the Secretary is also the sweetest and the mildest. The Vice-President calls him "cute and fluffy." Indeed, on the basis of personality, it has been noted that the Secretary should perhaps have been named the Treasurer; as the members of BAIT occasionally identify themselves with the Student Council members from _Shoujo Kakumei Utena_, the similarity in personality between the Secretary and blue-haired Miki has been noted and remarked upon. Another theory, however, identifies his personality more with that of Subaru Sumeragi as shown in _Tokyo Babylon_, though that begs the question of who might be cast in the role of Seishirou Sakurazuka of the same series. Intelligent, the Secretary like the Vice-President studies mathematics and fencing. Not as adept at languages as the other members of BAIT, the Secretary is often able to infer what is being said in mangas from the images, though he prefers confirmation to blind guessing. Despite denials, from all evidence he has an ear for music and a gift for dance so long as the tune is familiar to him. The Secretary does not easily give himself over to strange situations, though on special occasions he has been known to "let his hair down" and be led blind by the preferences of his associates. Wonderfully British in character and accent, it is no wonder that the Secretary has many fans; even those who have not met him in person cannot help but fall prey to his reserved charm and genuine gentleness. He smiles easily, laughs often, and is infamous for his blushes. Usually dressing in soft greens, he prefers comfortable (though not completely casual) clothing. Protective of the ones he considers close to him, the Secretary is a wonderful defender of those weaker than himself, and a good friend to those he chooses to name as companions. Though preferring avoidance to confrontation and considering discretion the better part of valor, the Secretary is not above the occasional lightsaber sparring match with the Vice-President.... --------------(-- --)-------------- She received the news quite happily. "Wai, Ariane-dono is coming!" "There must, of course, be a feast," the President announced. The President's words led into a discussion of menu and somehow from there to the local Sainsbury's (one of the larger British grocery store chains) and the bishounen the President had found working there. "His movements were just so *languid*!" Kyri said enthusiastically, demonstrating. "He returned my card to me like this, and he just looked so bored...." The President put on a look which spoke of apathy. The girl and the Secretary smiled, already sympathetic with the bishounen. --)-------------- Kris almost ran. She was late, she knew she was late. The Secretary had said to meet him at a place she wasn't entirely familiar with; she'd had to stop under streetlamps to check her map a few times. Her calves ached from the fast pace she kept. She shouldn't have left so late, she berated herself as she approached Saint Catharine's College just as the bells rang the hour, marking her a minute or two late by her own clock. She saw the Secretary waiting for her just out of the ring of light cast by a streetlamp. His back was towards her. Kris paused. she mentally pleaded. Concentrating on silent footsteps, she walked up behind him, then pounced. He started and whirled as she grinned, unrepentant. "Hello!" she said cheerily. The Secretary got his breath together. One of these days, she mused, she might actually give someone a heart attack by pounce-huggling them. The thought was somehow pleasing, and she smiled at it. "Hello," Douglas replied, smiling just a little bit himself. "Shall we go, Oneechan?" "Of course, Kyoudai-kun." She followed where he led. The invitation for that evening had been to a Christmas caroling at the Great Saint Mary's Church. The two of them went with another friend of the Secretary's, to sing and be preached at. The girl didn't care much for churches or preaching, but she did like carols and singing, so she'd been happy to be asked. Somehow, it turned out that there were actually a few carols she didn't know, which surprised Kris. She wondered if it was because they were more European than the ones she'd learned, or because they were church carols where she was decidedly lacking in Christian faith. She listened carefully and was able to join in on the last choruses of the songs. The preaching she wasn't able to tune out and ignore as she'd have liked to have done; she found its threatening message distasteful and the English major in her decreed its contents poorly organized. But there was nothing else to pay attention to. Finally, the service ended and the three of them walked out, entertained if not illuminated. After half an hour or so, the Secretary and the girl parted from the Secretary's friend (the girl now knowing more than she needed to about higher mathematics and less than she wanted to about the impossible stunts pulled by Cambridge students past and present) and began the walk back to their respective homes. He smiled as she told him about the figure who had run past her as she was coming to meet him: a young man in full tuxedo shirt and jacket... and white boxer shorts. The girl looked before them and blinked. "Doug," she said, "ninja." He looked up as well and saw the black-clad figure bicycling towards them. Only the narrowest slit of eyes was visible between two swathes of dark cloth. Over the left shoulder was visible the handle of a--sword? A badminton racket? They were silent as the ninja passed them. "You know," she said eventually into the puzzled silence, "you see the *strangest* things in Cambridge...." The Secretary laughed in agreement. --)-------------- --------------(-- [Observer's Profile: Bishounen-in-Training] Bishounen-in-Training (likely position: Treasurer). Name: Sergei L. Aliases: Allen, Sergeil. Birthdate: February 6, 1979. Nationality: Russian, naturailized British. Little yet has been written about the Bishounen-in-Training. His training still in progress, he has yet to become a complete member of BAIT. The President insists that this cannot happen until Sergei takes the next step himself. Nonetheless, he is a valued comrade of the three current BAIT members, is included in all their meetings and plans, and efforts may be afoot to initiate his full induction with ceremony. Having lived in Britain since age nine, the Bishounen-in-Training has an accent more akin to the Secretary's than to the Vice-President's. Fully at ease speaking in either Russian or English, he studies Computer Science and is arguably the most "normal" (if such a thing may be considered either permissible or possible) of the BAIT members. Soft-spoken and curteous, he seems thus far untainted by the decadence and subtle plottings of the President and Vice-President. It may be added as a side note that he also has yet to begin studying fencing due to prior commitments which must be fulfilled before he is free to learn the Art. With proclivities leaning towards techie toys and anime, the Bishounen-in-Training has distinguished and varied tastes running from _Magic Knights RayEarth_ to _Key the Metal Idol_ to _Marmalade Boy_ to _Tenkuu no Escaflowne_. When not in training under the President or indulging in the finest of Cambridge collegiate traditions, he is often found in the company of disciples of his own, initiating them in the art and appreciation of anime, with frequent Jellybabies (courtesy of disciple Alex) floating around the room. --------------(-- --)-------------- The girl sat with the President, going over a menu for the feast. First they chose his recipe which had been so delicious at her initial feast in Cambridge, the mussels in the white wine sauce. Then the President mentioned a seafood appetizer created of crabs, caviar, and oysters which he could create, so that was of course added to the menu, as was the pears-and-Muscat-grapes fruit salad the girl had contributed to the first feast. Next came a sponge cake whose recipe he thought looked attractive, and the garlic and sage bread he preferred the girl to make. She added a salad and a potato bake; he added a Thai prawn soup. They looked their selection over and realized it contained too much seafood. The mussel dish was changed to a leg of lamb. Dessert chocolates were added as a final touch. They decided to ask Ariane to procure the chocolate for them, so that it would be good quality. She wouldn't be told anything about the feast. The other members of BAIT were all sworn to secrecy. Smiling, the girl looked up at the President and suggested that they give the feast a name. "Decadence," she said. --)-------------- Ariane arrived. By some strange coincidence, so did the cold weather. Late that first night, walking home from the Vice-President's suite in the strong Cambridge moonlight, the girl and the Secretary tested a puddle with the toes of their shoes. The puddle was more ice than water, and the night remained yet young. The moon, just past full and still much too bright, shone down eerily and kept its cold secrets. The girl wondered what relevance her mentor's arrival had to the strange perversities of the weather. She was sure there was some connection; nothing around Ariane-jyou, particularly in relation to her dealings with BAIT, was coincidence. The next day snow fell. At first mere slivers, it soon turned into a dizzying downwards flurry of large soft flakes. The girl sipped tea and looked out her window as she waited for the President and entourage to arrive with the remaining ingredients for the feast. Her bread was already baked, and soup simmered on the stove to turn the half hour's cold walk to her residence a bit warmer for those who had to return. It seemed forever, but eventually Kyriacos, Douglas, and Sergei did turn up. She fed them the hot soup before Douglas had to run off to the printers' and retrieve the final menus for the evening. Sergei stayed to help with the creation of the cake and chocolates. He left only to go distract the wonderings of Ariane-jyou as to where everyone might be. The President attacked the seafood. The girl finished the chocolates. The cake baked, then cooled. The leg of lamb had its fat trimmed, was treated with rosemary and garlic, was bathed in lemon juice and oil, was slipped into the oven. The potatoes were sliced and seasoned, then joined the lamb. Time ran close; the soup was assembled; the table set; placecards given. The President kept at the seafood, the crabs' recaltricance proving his bane. The guests arrived; the music started; the dinner began. Ariane was surprised. The girl worried that her mistress might be displeased at her part in the duplicity and preparation of the feast. She hoped her punishment wouldn't be too dire. --)-------------- Eventually the term came to an end, as all things were prone to. The girl accompanied the President down to London the day before he was to fly back to his native Cyprus. She missed the leave-takings of the Secretary and Bishounen-in-Training. The Vice-President remained in Cambridge. Except for him, there was silence. No voices to surround her, to fill her, to state her path and guide her... there was only herself. Always and only Kris, now that there was no sound to say otherwise. She had time to sit back and think, now that she was alone. For the first few days that ache of aloneness was barely appeased by memories: --she and the President discussing the "Cambridge School for Gifted Boys" and her response about how pretty the uniformed British boys in the school just up the road from the President's residence were (the Secretary had laughed nervously and made note that the girl was, after all, known for writing yaoi fanfics of CLAMP Campus schoolboys; she suspected the diversion to have something to do with his history of being a pretty British schoolboy)-- --Goth Alex and Jellybaby Alex-- --having a burger and chips (French fries, her American mind always insisted, but here they were served with vinegar on them, which was quite good) at the Van of Life-- --the Vice-President's weekly anime meetings, and then the meetings after, the discussions there-- --dinners with the President and Secretary at Pizza Hut-- --the Bishounen-in-Training showing animes, or the interesting things he'd found on the 'Net or created on his own computer-- --the President's quest for dessert places open late at night-- --going with the President to a lecture on human deformities, or to see his favorite film, _Chasing Amy_, at the Arts Cinema-- --an evening at Pizza Express, otherwise known as 4A Jesus Lane, gourmet pizza heaven-- --a Shakespearean play, _The Taming of the Shrew_, her favorite, with the Secretary-- --the Christmas gift they'd all conspired to give her, just before they left-- --and silence. The ache fell away, like a scab beautifully peeling off a wound. "If I cannot be myself when alone," she mused aloud into her empty, messy bedroom, "then how can I expect to be anyone when with them?" The room didn't answer back, but she hadn't expected it to. The girl turned to her computer and went back to work at her novel, exploring bits of herself. Perhaps tomorrow she would go talk to the Sainsbury's bishounen. He was very pretty, after all, and she knew how he must feel at that job if he was any kind of intelligent creature. --)-------------- She waited in some small, slow way, in a patience-ruled corner of her mind, for BAIT's eventual return. She wondered who she might be when they came back, who they would find. She rather looked forward to meeting that person, to knowing the Chiboushin she had yet to become, as she knew the Chiboushin she had been and the Chiboushin she was now. It was a name given to her by the Vice-President long ago, one she had adopted into her heart as it very well expressed her. It tasted of warm summer and mother love and things she was and things she wanted to be and poetry and wine and the smell of fresh hay and the way strawberries spilled across one's tongue.... She'd seen before, in dream or premonition, the woman she would one day become. In this moment's break from ruling forces, she could take another step closer to that person. In silence, herself. She smiled. ************** Author's Notes ************** Given that Ariane-jyou has already begun a more detailed report of her most recent visit to Cambridge, I have not chronicled the scenes which I believe she will narrate to her audience; of that visit I have merely covered the planning and preparation of the feast. Her text, I hope, will sufficiently excite and appease the appetite of readers as to what happened in those few days. As to the rest of this history, it is ninety percent true; the ten percent is those few scenes where I could not remember word-for-word how it occured. Insofar as I could make it, the events in this story are *verbatim* to real life happenings. The saying is correct, at least in Cambridge: truth is stranger than fiction.