Disclaimer: Nah, I don’t own Malice Mizer. Though, I wouldn’t really mind if they handed themselves over to me. *laughs*
Mana: Me?
Puff: Yes, you.
Mana: Couldn’t be.
Puff: Then who?
Mana: Gackt!!!
Gackt: I’m the one with the bruises for crying out loud!
Chapter Three
“I suppose neighbors will be over to greet us today,” Gackt said offhandedly, lazily watching Mana finish the last curl in his pigtails. Mana nodded, setting the curling iron on the white marble counter top. He picked up his white headpiece, placing it directly above his straight black bangs and tying the silk ribbon underneath his chin.
“Do you think I should change into something a little nicer?” Mana questioned nervously, gesturing at his immaculate dress. The midnight black mid-thigh jumper was paired with a crisp white shirt with slight frills at his throat. Lace gloves, black tights, and five-inch high-heeled platform shoes finished the look.
“No, Mana, you look great,” Gackt objected sweetly, pulling the guitarist away from the well-lit mirror, “I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to show off your dresses.”
“If you say so,” Mana said in a slightly suspicious tone, flicking the lights off. They went down the white-carpeted stairs, each pausing to glance into the many mirrors that lined the stairwell. Two pairs of blue eyes danced across the dimly lit living room before they wandered into the brighter kitchen. Mana’s heels clicked against the highly polished ebony wood floor.
“Should we prepare an appetizer dish of some sort?” Mana asked, leaning against the white tiled counters. Gackt set himself down in a chair, one out of the four with clawed feet arranged around the kitchen table. He fiddled with the blood red roses in a silver pitcher on the center of the table.
“No, we can just give them liquor,” Gackt stated jokingly, plucking a small red petal off of the table, “If anyone asks, we can just let them eat some of that vegetable tray in the refrigerator.” Mana smiled a tiny little grin, snatching the wine glasses out of the cabinets. He set the sparkling prisms out, holding each up to the skylight to test the cut of the crystal. A few seconds after Mana finished his unnecessary task, a light pounding on the front door signaled they had guests.
“I’ll get it,” Mana said quickly, walking towards the entrance hall as he smoothed his dress over. His slender fingers dexterously undid the antique brass locks, letting the heavy door swing open.
Three couples stood on the porch, each of the women holding out multi-colored jell-o molds. People blinked slowly, staring at the image of female perfection in front of them. Mana batted his long eyelashes carefully, completely oblivious to their obviously shocked expressions.
“Would you like to come in?” Mana inquired innocently, holding the door open wider. He stepped back, bowing slightly. The neighbors mechanically walked in, their eyes glazed over at the sheer amount of wealth that filled the house. Just as they were beginning to calm down, Gackt walked in.
The vocalist was clad in leather pants, so tight that it looked like they were painted on. His shirt consisted of a black fishnet; his shoes were almost as high as Mana’s and his auburn hair was gelled into slick strands. Gackt automatically walked over to stand beside Mana, draping an arm around his lower back and letting his hand rest on the guitarist’s skirted hip.
“Let me take those for you,” Mana said helpfully, reaching for the platters of jell-o that were still held out at arm’s length. The women’s lax grips allowed Mana to simply pull the plates out of their hands. He walked off in the general direction of the kitchen, slightly annoyed at the jiggle the molds possessed.
“Thank you,” the three women muttered together, gaping at Gackt. The thin man smiled in an almost apologetic manner, glancing around for his lovely Mana.
“Let’s go into the living room,” Gackt suggested, ushering the six people down the hallway and into the room lit only by a few low burning candles. Gackt, noting the odd looks scrawled across his guests’ faces, turned on the overhead glass chandelier. Quickly, people settled themselves onto the leather couches, their fingers running over the finely tanned hide.
“Would anyone like something to drink?” Mana queried brightly, hovering in the arched doorway. Murmurs of agreement resounded around the tastefully decorated room.
“I’ll help,” Gackt said quickly, growing uncomfortable with the females’ stares despite the fact he was a major celebrity in Japan and shouldn’t have been unnerved. The pair vanished around the corner and instantly low-level word feuds developed.
“You never help me!” one of the women snapped, hitting her husband’s arm with her purse. Her husband held up his hands in defeat, blocking his head and neck area from her assault.
“You don’t hold me in front of people like that,” another woman growled at her husband, who cautiously attempted to wrap her in an embrace, “Don’t hurt yourself!” She turned away, snubbing the poor man.
“Our new neighbor still wears his wedding ring,” the third woman snarled, “Where’s yours?” She snagged his collar and pulled his face towards her so she could torment him a little bit more.
“This is a nice Burgundy, so you should enjoy it,” Mana cooed as he walked in, three glasses of wine in each hand. Gackt held their pair of the glittering glasses. The musicians didn’t seem to notice, or care, the rather brutal positions their neighbors were in. Mana and Gackt settled themselves down on a darkly brocaded chaise longue, with the vocalist leaning against the seat back and Mana leaning against him.
“We should do introductions,” the woman who had whacked her husband with her purse said cheerfully, “My name is Terri and my husband is John. We live across the street from you.”
“I’m Melissa and this is Scott; we live in the house to your left,” The woman who had snubbed her husband explained.
“And we’re Helen and Anthony,” said the third woman, whom had begun to choke her husband, “We live on the right.”
“I’m Mana and my husband’s name is Gackt,” Mana chimed, pushing his hair further behind his shoulder.
“Mana and Gackt?” Melissa questioned incredulously, eyeing the pair like it was some kind of joke. Mana nodded his head in approval of her pronunciation, thinking that she just wanted to be sure that she was saying their names right.
“So, um, Gackt, what do you do for a living?” John questioned, stumbling slightly over Gackt’s seemingly odd name.
“Well, Mana and I both come from wealthy families so we don’t really have to have normal jobs, but we do a lot of investing. Researching the stock market daily takes up a lot of time,” Gackt elucidated casually, pausing to sip from the crystal wine glass, “Of course Mana has her projects that take up her time, as well.”
“Oh, what kind of projects?” Helen inquired eagerly, leaning towards the doll-like guitarist.
“I do a lot of sewing, embroidery, supervising the tailors,” Mana said harmlessly, not thinking that anyone would get interested, “Simple things like that.” Eyebrows shot skyward.
“Tailors? You have people that make your clothes for you?” Terri asked sharply, suddenly without her friendly edge. Mana’s blue eyes widened slightly, his dark lashes curling against the fragile skin of his upper eyelid.
“Most of the time,” Mana responded coolly, rapidly narrowing his eyes dangerously. His black lace covered fingers curled under his palms, the unnoticeable gesture one of near anger. Gackt clandestinely stabbed one of his indistinctly sharpened nails into the back of Mana’s neck, where a bit of pale flesh was exposed.
“Relax, we’re here to relax,” Gackt pacified in Japanese, speaking into Mana’s ear, “Not to cause cat fights.” He caught the droplet of blood that had spilled from Mana’s wound, wiping the crimson liquid on the cloth that covered the seat.
“I know, Gackt, I’m sorry,” Mana apologized sadly, continuing the exchange in their native tongue. The six other people in the room eyed them apprehensively, very confused since the pair had been speaking extremely fast in a foreign language. They looked up, the sapphire like eyes of Mana and Gackt glittering when they realized how they must have offended their company.
“Sorry, we just came from Japan,” Gackt explained elusively, watching the spot off to the side of Mana’s flawlessly coiled locks, “We’re very used to speaking Japanese.”
“It’s quite alright; we understand,” Helen crooned positively, beaming at the very noticeable pair seated on the chaise longue. Mana’s pale blue lips curled into a half-smile; outwardly friendly but, if you stared long enough, sinister. The oak grandfather clock situated in the deep shadows of the room chimed eleven.
“Eleven already; we all have to fix lunch for our children,” Melissa said in a highly surprised tone, standing up and gently brushing her dark blue jeans off. The others followed suit, walking out into the hallway and towards the entry hall. At the door, the three women paused and looked at Mana.
“Mana, you’re a little on the small side, but speaking of children,” Terri began pointedly, reaching out to catch the guitarist’s lacy hand, “The last couple that lived in this house had kids and it’s a very child friendly block. We would like to know if you and Gackt are thinking of having children in the near future.” Gackt had just taken a small gulp of his Burgundy and nearly choked. Mana, despite his naturally pale face and white powder, flushed a pale pink. The pair stared at the twelve eyes locked onto them.