Saint Seiya Fan Fiction ❯ 30 Nights ❯ Fourth Night - 'Conversating' ( Chapter 4 )

 

Author: Lauand

Beta: Bookofnicodemus (Sex Slave #6)

Theme: #34 - It's hard not to love you.

Rating: PG for this chapter.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Author Notes: Written for the 30_Nights LJ Community. Thank you very much to Books (you, sexy thing) for the beta-ing.

 

 

 

30 NIGHTS

Fourth Night - `Conversating'

 

 

 

 

Tonight, Milo was planning to go back to the House of Virgo with another tray of (borrowed) tea and tons of witty conversation.

 

About smart-ass remarks, he had always plenty of stock, but the tray was another story. He had left his in Shaka's shrine and it would be quite inelegant to go and retrieve it before coming back again with (Mu's) freshly brewed tea. If in anything, Milo believed in theatrical entries and no less dramatic exits, and to have paused last night in his cool departure to take back the untouched tea set, juggling afterwards his way back to his Temple would have somehow ruined the effect. Contrary to popular belief, Milo had discovered soon in his life that seduction wasn't an art you succeeded in with meaningful, transcendental gestures, but caring for the most superfluous, irrelevant details.

 

What led him to his current predicament: where did he get another tray from? The answer was so evident that Camus didn't even miss a beat when Milo presented himself at his door.

 

“Of all the stupid ideas you not only come up with, but also try to carry out, this is, if not the silliest, at least one of the most annoying.”

 

“Camus, you're a sweetheart.” Milo greeted back unfazed as he let himself into his best friend's Shrine.

 

Not as austere as Virgo's one (Camus at least owned furniture), the Temple of Aquarius was anyway quite sober and functional. The spacious Hall was not very different from the ones his colleagues had, but the living section, far from luxurious, consisted of fastidiously clean rooms with scarce pieces of furniture that followed the same elegant, simple-lined style and were always situated in their exactly right place. Milo much preferred the chaotic state of his own living quarters, he had always thought that mismatched socks scattered around the room infused a place with life, gave away that the space was indeed inhabited and cared for, but in a way, he felt at ease at Camus' place because he felt as if the rooms were the reflection of his friend's ordered, pulcre mind.

 

Taking a seat without being directed to do so, Milo waited as his French colleague followed his cue.

 

When he spoke, Camus' tranquil, deep voice didn't carry the tones of a question, just a bit of hopeless resignation.

 

“So, what do you need of me this time.”

 

One of the points that made the Knight of Scorpio consider Camus his closest comrade was the fact that the cold Knight knew him as if he had given him birth and in spite of it, he was still in speaking terms with him.

 

After updating his colleague of the events of the night before, Milo watched the other Knight shake his head.

 

“And if I refuse to lend you a tray, will you steal it, as you did with Mu's tea?

 

Milo frowned at that. He hadn't mentioned that particular detail of the story.

 

“How do you…?” he paused in mid-sentence and discarding the question as irrelevant, insisted about the main object of his visit, instead. “Well, so you're giving me the tray or not?”

 

Camus usual conversational tone wasn't exactly what you would call a party, but Milo knew him well enough to notice the slight change in his speech. His low-pitched, serene voice suddenly sounded even graver than accustomed when he next spoke.

 

“Don't do it, Milo.”

 

The Knight of Scorpio knew perfectly well that his friend wasn't referring to the tray.

 

“And whyever not?”

 

Camus sighed.

 

“Because you would hate to lose that bet, but you don't want to win, either.”

 

Scorpio scowled at that.

 

“You're speaking in riddles again.” Milo accused. For obvious that the reply to his testy question should have been, Camus had a way of making the simplest things turn into obscure and twisted.

 

“No, I'm not.” The Knight of Aquarius denied. He was still deadly serious. “Think about it.”

 

With that, he palmed Milo's knee and stood up to resume whatever he was doing when the Knight of Scorpio arrived. Still with a puzzled frown adorning his brow, Milo called after him.

 

“Hey! Then… you lend me the fucking tray or not?”

 

 

Another of the points that make Milo consider Camus his best friend was that, however the links that bound them were, they were not of a parental nature. Camus was not his mother, nor tried to act like one.

 

Milo reflected about it as he headed down the stairs with two cups of tea carefully balanced on the borrowed tray.

 

For some unfathomable reason, Camus believed in Milo's capacity of knocking himself off with his own mistakes and standing up again afterwards somewhat wiser than before the hit. Strangely enough, the Knight of Aquarius refused to acknowledge that some people (of who Milo was surely the Captain), just never learned.

 

The Temple was exactly as it was the night before. Empty, except for the lonesome figure in the lotus position glowing at the end of the Hall. Because, yes, Shaka was glowing.

 

`I must not be the only sucker here for dramatic effects, after all.' Milo thought amused at the visualization of Virgo's softly burning cosmos.

 

“Hi” Scorpio cheerfully greeted when he reached the sitting man.

 

At the null response he got from the other Knight, he kept on trying.

 

“I've brought tea again. Would you mind making a pause in your (surely terribly important and life-saving) meditation and entertain yourself in a social visit? You know, that thing normal people do… having tea… conversation…”

 

Shaka cocked slightly his head at that. Milo couldn't decipher if the gesture was so subtle due to the Buddhist's natural elegance or to the high collar of the Virgo Armour.

 

“Conversation.”

 

“Hell, yeah, conversation.” Milo replied at Shaka's doubtful remark. “As in… eeerr… you know, `conversating'.”

 

If Shaka hadn't already his eyes closed, he could have probably blinked in front of Milo's eloquence. As it was, he just pressed nearly imperceptible his lips and plainly retorted:

 

“Right.”

 

Milo interpreted that as a signal for him to sit down and make himself at home. Which wasn't so easy a task while wearing his full Armour, but he was determined to prove that if Shaka could bend enough to perform his stupid yoga poses, he could at least get seated with a respectable amount of grace.

 

Thinking it wasn't a wise move to directly prompt the other Knight to do anything, Milo took one of the cups of tea hoping that Shaka would let down his defensive walls and followed his example, showing that he was starting to relax even in the presence of his uninvited visitor. The Knight of Scorpio was already sipping the horrendous beverage when his companion softly asked:

 

“And what would you want to talk about, prey tell?”

 

Milo fought to find a trace of amusement in the words, but couldn't be sure there was an expression at all in Shaka's neutral voice. Damn, the man was difficult to read. Letting the cup down, he hummed a little as in thinking and he finally posed his question.

 

“How come you have such girly looks?”

 

Shaka raised a brow at that. Well, Milo thought, it was a reaction…

 

“If you're trying to compliment me, I must admit that, at least, you're achieving to be original.”

 

“You know, it's in the handbook.” Milo answered with a grin and a playful wink. “Ask people to talk about themselves. They will enjoy the theme and you'll get valuable information.”

 

For some reason, Shaka didn't seem much impressed.

 

“Uh-huh. It's in the handbook, too, to make the overture with an insult?”

 

“Naaa… that's just my personal touch.” Milo's grin grew wider. He took another distracted sip and insisted, “so, how come?”

 

Shaka, who hadn't touched his cup, answered as calmly and quietly as he did everything else.

 

“I was born that way.”

 

Milo nearly pouted at that.

 

“I kind of expected a longer story.”

 

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

 

“Yeah, you look devastated.”

 

“I am.”

 

This time, Shaka's apparent inexpressivity was which granted his sentences a fine sense of humour that Milo couldn't help but appreciate. That was the first time the Knight of Scorpio realized that Shaka was not as neutral and godly as he was supposed to be. He just used a different language. And in that moment, Milo made a vow to learn it and understand all those little signals that Shaka unconsciously emitted. He made a vow to figure the Knight of Virgo out.

 

With a wince at the bitter taste (tea was simply atrocious), Milo gulped down the rest of his drink and started to stand up. It was time to go back to his own Temple. He wanted Shaka to get accustomed to his presence and a bit intrigued maybe, not tired and sick of his constant flirting and prodding. Skittish animals responded well to constancy and bad to pressure.

 

The Knight of Scorpio hesitated for an instant: the situation required somehow a sign of departure. Like a good-bye kiss after a first date. However, Milo suspected that Shaka wouldn't react positively to that kind of contact, yet. He wasn't particularly attracted to the idea of banishment from the Shrine of Virgo unless it meant instant teleportation through the endless stairs to his own Temple, and he had the feeling that Shaka wouldn't be so kind and considerate if he felt forced to expel a pushy foreigner from his own House.

 

So, what to do?

 

Slowly, he crossed the short distance that separated him from the Knight of Virgo and crouched beside him, feeling how the blond Knight gathered his cosmos just in case he had to make it burn, even if outwardly he was giving no reaction at Milo's bold approaching.

 

Calmly, making the movement obvious to give Shaka time to warn him if Scorpio was really crossing a line, Milo reached for one of the long tresses whose ends rested on the floor. Carefully to choose one of the farthest away from the now tense Knight, he picked up the soft lock from the ground and tenderly, without tugging, he caressed it with his thumb.

 

Then, he abruptly got up and with a swish of his white cloak, he turned heels and walked out of the Temple, resisting the urge to look back even once to glance at the beautiful Knight and the possible expression (or lack thereof) in his pretty face.

 

As said, Milo was such a sucker for melodramatic departures…