a-one and a-two and a-three.

Samuel (or, well Mephistopheles; you know a thing or two about unwanted knowledge of names) is a bastard at best. A smart one at that; this motherfucker―

Well, he played it out well enough, Asteroth is the one who actually did it, you wonder why he did it but you aren't supposed to know; you don't ask. Rin can't be that important. But, regardless, he's testing you. Samuel that is, not Asteroth, King of Rot And All Things Undone doesn't really go off anything but rage, which, good for him. But also, like, you'd prefer to not mingle with this many humans―ones that you'll have to get along with anyway. Well. They didn't tell you that Rin is your brother's kid yet, so, well, you'll just pretend that he's the same. He is, to you.

They don't know that your brother is the devil. That will change things.

You wonder if they ever will, wonder if you can shift yourself for the grand reveal, who is AZREAL Bearer of Bad News, Angel of Death, The Fourth Horseman to them? You wonder if they know how real you are. That your siblings will find them, they'll find you too, then, and you'll return to the monotony in Purgatory. You'll miss watching things bleed.

You'll miss Uganda.

It was so pretty, you'll have to tell Jamie, they'll flip, they never left their house because of ― something or other when they were alive. Ava will flip because she never left Germany and you wonder if Dembe'll give you a fill in on all the shit you missed because she's petty like that. Peaceful your ass.

She's worse than your brother, Destroy That Which Controls All That Is Vile and Horrid Such As Sin Decrees. You keep forgetting how long your brothers' names are; he's one self absorbed bastard. Self absorbed, no concept of space.

(Do you bleed blue? Do your cry red? What do fallen angels look like when they die?)

You're a ghost like this, all gold mouths and broken skin,  all soft lies and whispered smiles. You're a ghost like this. Your skin  must've been hollwed to get this kind of knock, rock hard mouth linned like a jin tonic in Jacksonville, Florida. You're gonna get blushed out of your mind when they take you down, so high on nausea and starlight they're going to burn the saint out of you to get to the sinner.

(You grin, all melted skin and nosebleeds.

They're halos melt into their eyes and their wings crumble, their skin becomes leather.)

You are to become an Exorcist, says Mephistopheles, Samuel, Faust. He's got more named than the rest of his brothers. Which is very much like his father. He sits, silly. All hard edges and plastic teeth, like he isn't beyond bastardization. You stand when the car lets you out, you soften your eyes. You pretend you're a tragedy made from an arsonist long dead.

(You must be demented, running away from it all, they must think. You must be afraid, psychotic, and they must be spewing theory upon theory to fit your actions in a bubble.)

You're very bored.

The sky is blue, the sun is gold, god does not care, you are bored. If they all knew, do you think they'd cry?

(Crybaby, crybaby.)

(Do you cry gold then, mister? Like a halo, mister? Do you miss her, mister?)

You sigh.

(Do you bleed blue, mister?)

It begins to rain again.

_

Last year when summer can round you goaded the Okumura brothers into causing chaos with you. And trying Colombian food that you made out of what was at the grocery store. It was too spicy, they said, you called them cowards and no food was ever too spicy again, even when their faces turned red.

You wonder if they'd say that if they knew. All the things you are, they'll ignore it, you're too much.

You are an Exorcist to be, Final Spark, Dying Ember, Last Goodbyes For We Will Not Meet Again. You are a ghost.

Bad luck, bad luck, bad luck Belial. You humm.

You are the Devil's little brother, and Satan has some ego naming two of his children after himself. You read it in one of those Breakdowns of Exorcism, For Dummies books that Samuel  Mephistopheles, John Faust had in his hot pink limousine, and the fucker named his oldest Lucifer and, well, Shmuel and Samuel are just fucking mimics of each other.

Cocky bastard.

You want to hit him on the head for that stint he pulled, what with demon-human half-breeds being basically unheard of ― unless you count the children of greed and lust, they are kin of hell from the womb. He's earned himself his karma, you just hope you get to watch the shitshow that results in it.

There's a space here, for you.

Yukio and Rin get their own dorm because of―well, you were never told. You'll figure it out eventually. You did get enrolled in regular classes, all things considered, and you'll like it. Eat up every book until you can recite each word for word for word.

Knowledge is infinite, that doesn't mean you have no intention of seeing it all.

You want to swallow everything, if you had the choice you'd live in the True Cross libraries forever, note everything in each book until you have enough information to stop a heart by hand. If there is a god of knowledge that exists, truly, you'd sit upon an alter and pray for that. Bend your ego until it is dust for the chance to taste every fruit there is. To test every chemical on your skin and burn every time.

(Do you bleed blue, uncle?

NOT ANYMORE, LITTLE ONE.)

You are smoking with the idea of what monster lies beneath the surface.

This is a family reunion for the millennium. It's the killing of Eve all over again. You smile to yourself, a small little thing all gone up like gold; you wonder if that shits under your skin. You should peel yourself back, too.

(You promise yourself to do it when you find yourself free time alone. You want to know if these human colors come out differently in different places. Do they?)

The air sours.

A boy with everything and nothing to lose walks past you. His eyes glaze you over like Yukio did. He's hell touched, you think.

Though, the people nowadays call it Tempted you've always prefered the  other way, inhumane as you are. This is a ghostly little hollow you've carved yourself, and you'll be damned if it ends this far in the act.

You're petty and you've planned this out, you've got more baggage than what you can legally bring on an airplane and enough spite to kill your father. Well.

Well.

This game of yours might be the best one you've ever played. Gold will drip from your teeth like a holy sign, a sight from the ugliest heaven.

There is a boy in your dorm.

(Do you bleed blue, mister?)

"Oh!" He says, turning to you. "Your my roomie, right, you're in the Exorcist Program too?"

He's like a puppy, you think. Like Jamie, vaguely. In the way Jamie is like a puppy.

You put on your mask, your suit. Tighten the tie like a medal, meshed with that gold necklace of yours; you're sure you look divine, purity in it's own damned form, rotting away. This is an act and you know the role like you know your own skin.

You made this face, you made the act.

"Uh, yeah. Tsubaki Kiku. I'll be part of the Exorcist Program, uh?"

"Shima Renzo, a pleasure!" He grins. And―it looks like some botched version of Samuel's. Maybe someone else. Too coy to be human, and you know human, you are anything but, after all. "So, what're you planning?"

You look at him. "Dragoon's are cool―might be an Aria, though. Or a medic―or ah. A Tamer, but I haven't tried a summon yet."

He looks almost silly. "I think that's a section." He looks like he's faking it, though. Vaguely. "What normal classes are you going to?"

"Agk―I'm on the second year curriculum―you look like a baby though."

"Old man!" He sticks his tongue out. "Yeah, I'm a first year, you're a transfer, right?"

"Hm, yeah. Nobu High."

There's an unnerving hollowness in Shima's voice. "That's in uh."

"It isn't really important." You say. "I'm here now."

(I'm going to kill God, you don't say. I'm going to destroy the devil at HE WHO ART HOLIER THAN THOU.)

You make your face softer, childish - naive. "I'm gonna beat all the bad guys for my little brothers."

He raises an eyebrow and―

And there is it.

You know he took that from a face he wasn't supposed to. You are The End of An Era, you know an angels fall before it happens and this boy is not holy but he had fallen nevertheless.

He smiles like a warped version of Lucifer the Second in that picture from the limo. You're almost sorry about it but, like your teacher said, you've got the empathy of a dead cat.

(Your brother has the naming skills of one.)

You smile, all awkward limbed and dreary.

"So the extracurriculars are starting in, like, twelve minutes."

He stops staring. "Shit, really? We gotta go, dude."

_

Rin is already there when you walk in. He's sitting with a dog in pink that smells like menthol. If they gave him a pet he should wash it. Save that smell for your domain and all that.

(You're made of that menthol shit, it sticks from your gums like ink. Whelving your secrets and smiling over them like a bad rendition of the act your brother played―Luci―well, you have to call him Satan ― an awful name, really ― now. You're half dreaming it from here―all saturn smiles and menthol memories.)

You want to save it all, it's yours because they gave it to you. With their fear and guilt.

(You are human as them, you are them, their monsters, you are all of humanity. Too sharp teeth― you're nightmares fuel and it's what you were made for. The hourglass is cracks, you put others sand in your glass. The end of an era. You are godless. You are death and that smells of dry-rot and menthol.)

Fuck you, dad.

This is the nicest vacation you've ever had. It's conventional, right there. Technically against the rules that were never written down because holy ones are dumb as fuck.

You're a kid like this, you'll be one. Desperate for attention and glory. You like this place, this privilege of immortality you've given yourself and the right you've donned. The audacity for this thing to smell like your home―

Paku walks in.

You tilt your head. She notices you and her smile drops, her smile drops and she looks away. The purple haired girl next to her looks at you and glares. She clicks her tongue.

You don't like her.

It's not too hard to dislike her, you find. 

She's sour like the boy with a dyed mowhawk. She glares at you when Yukio walks in―

When Yukio walks in?

(When the fuck?)

"Hello," he says, like Rin isn't half a second from combustion. "my name is―"

"Yukio!" Rin growls. "What the hell―"

"Yes, like Okumura-kun said, my name is Okumura Yukio and I'll be your―"

"Yukio! Listen, whatever―"

"Okumura sit down."

(What the fuck―)

You watch with a lopsided smile. Paku's friend is still glaring at you. You'd tell her to leave you alone but you don't really feel like it right now. This argument your nephews are having is like a telenovela from Caracas. Maria wrote them out once just so they could have any semblance of entertainment. You made a stage and everyone had a role in a play and―

You miss them, you suppose. Some deep dead part of you.

(Marco'll hit you upside the head for denying it, he'll say that Venezuela is the best country in all of America del Sur and Luz will counter that with a whole argument about Colombia and then Manuel would pop on to say Spain is superior while Jamie laughs with Ava about something that happened in the telenovela-play.)

Yukio tells you all to leave when the vial crashes. You sit outside and ignore the fight inside. Shima is meandering toward you. You fix that lopsided smile back on and his smile gets wider.

"Guys! This is Tsubaki!"

Shima drags a kid-sized teenager with him. Well, not in Japan, people are really small here for no understandable reason. Or for one you don't care to find out, you're far more interested in space these days. Space and how these silly little human brains work. It's so interesting, really, you can't help it.

"Heyo," you say. "Tsubaki Kiku, at your service." You tip your head to them like an English gentleman. The boring sexiest ones.

Alexandra told you about her husband, and her sisters husband, and her father. You find you're glad to be here when it's all modern. Funky little times with funky little people. It's fun.

"I'm, uhh," his face goes red. "Konekomuru Miwa!"

You nod. The last of them introduce himself, sour boy with dyed hair, "Ryuji Suguro."

"Cool," you say, dropping your bag and your body the the ground. You find yourself comfortable in criss-cross applesauce (as they call it in the states) while you wait for the Okumura's one and two to finish whatever it was they were doing. "say, what're you guys planning on?"

"Aria." Sour-boy says.

"Same," Shima says. "Konekomeru wants to become a tamer!"

"Whaa!" Konekomeru shouts. "No I don't! I want to be an Aria like you guys!"

Shima laughs in all his plastic glory. "Course you are!" He says. "You're the best of us." He says.

You're not going to touch that with a ten meter pole. It would be a bad idea to meddle in human affairs like this, your other nephew (Azazel, boy is your brother creative) did and―

Humans tend to call them dark ages just that. You'll keep your nose out of it.

(Mister, my dad says that―)

You turn your head off. You're in the mood for a nap (these splendid little things humans do in the middle of their days to restore energy, they do it at night as well, but that is called sleep, Jamie said that). You can't at the moment, though; so you're stuck waiting for classes to end.

You wonder if humans get like this, too.

Tired.

_

You're all dismissed when Yukio (Yukio-sensei?) comes out of the room. The family drama was too much, and he calls the people in need of Temptants. You think about it for a second, but no low-rank demon would scratch you.

(You don't remember it well, you think you went on a rampage after a high-rank bit you.)

(The BLACK DEATH is the worst plague of human history.)

(You were angry, then. Angry and so, so sad.)

You walk to Shima and his posse, walking like a ghost behind them. Then, then there's a tap, on your shoulder, you feel it in your head, you don't like it.

"Kiku?" Ah, that Paku; you turn around.

"Yeah, Paku?" You say, silver tongued and greyish.

"I'm sorry," she says, rubbing her wrist. "it's just that―"

"It's okay," you say. "you don't really care about me, I get it. Neither of us had friends, it was mutually beneficial."

She looks.. hurt, all the sudden. Like she wasn't expecting it. You don't really care, she's boring, like you.

"Hey! Take that back you dead piece of trash! You should be glad Paku's your friend, you ungrateful―"

"You're Izumo, aren't you?" You say. These human pleasantries are fun, an act you've improvised the lines of. She might hate it, you reason, but you don't really care at all.

She nods. "So what?"

"You're Paku's best friend," you say. "not me, you comfort her, she never liked me to begin with."

She fumbles, but you don't care.

"Rin!" You shout, running toward him, away from her. "What the hell were you thinking? Did you want to start a fight? Dear dad you're a mess."

"You're speaking another language, Kiku."

"Shut up nephew, I know that, you think I don't? Fucking half-breeds."

"Japanese, Kiku." He says, eyebrow twitching.

"I don't feel like it."

He groans. "Whatever! Speak gibberish―"

"Deutsch, Rin."

"Stop sayin' it like that!"

"Nein."

"What even is that!?"

"German, dipstick."

He screams and runs off but you don't mind. Pissing him off is so much fun―it's like your brother, but when he was little, when he was throwing tantrums because you built the stars wrong. You don't know how you did it, you burnt a universe once and it smoked up but nobody told you why. Everything you did fucked it up, apparently, everyone taught you how to did it  wrong, you're  a fuckup as it goes, you didn't fall for war, you feel for fearing instead of loving and now you hate hate hate―

(They took it away your favorite star, the one you built from mortar, sand, and ash, Father said you had to learn grief and you did. He made you grieve like he couldn't have killed your wings for it except―)

You aren't but yourself anymore . 

"Whatever, Kiku."

"Okay, Rin-chan."

He groans again. "Stop! That makes me sound so girly!"

"Rain-chan, my name is Kiku, you aren't special." You say matter-of-fact, like you didn't pick it out yourself. Like you haven't used that variation of a name in every country you've been in. 

"Why's your name Kiku, anyway?"

"I was born in Japan but my Ma―Mother didn't really know Japanese and my Mother wanted to name me something real me." You don't tell him, the rest of that, its not yours. You're mushing together everyone else's stories into something that looks like a mortal version of your own. 

You don't know why they believe you. They aren't supposed to. 

"Sorry for asking."

"Nah," you say. "it's all in the past, Rin-chan, if I don't think about it, I can pretend it never happened."

He looks down. "I guess."  His voice cracks.

Ah, right. You forgot. Fujimoto is dead.