DISCLAIMER: The characters featured in this fan-fic, as well as the anime itself, are not the property of this author. That is, Count D, Detective Leon, Jill, The Chief, etc., and the entirety of “Pet Shop of Horrors” does not belong to me in any way! Please do not sue my ass; I am but a humble college student who has no money to give! This fic is classified as YAOI LEMON, meaning 2 shonen (men) are involved in a sensual and or sexual relationship. If you find this offensive, please do not read this fic. Flames of any sort will not be tolerated, and be warned, I have been known to post the especially vicious ones and their authors’ e-mail addresses on my website for the amusement of all. Also, as the plot of this fan-fic is exclusively mine, plagiarism will NOT be tolerated! If you want to use this fic on your site, please ask for permission by e-mailing me, Seiya Kou at this address: K_Seiya@hotmail.com. Now, enough with the ubiquitous banter! Enjoy!!
By
Prologue: Mille-Feuille
“In the heart of the city, you will find Chinatown, a mysterious place where rare and valuable commodities are in abundance. Welcome to my pet shop. Tonight, you will find something you desire.”
“Welcome to my pet shop, sir. I am the manager, Count D. Please, won’t you join me in the sitting room?” The alabaster hand, replete with sharply manicured fingernails gestured for the tall visitor to be seated. He looked cautiously around the darkened room, eyes playing over the large oriental screens before focusing on his mysterious young host. The Manchurian leaned forward, smiled thinly between painted lips, and slid him a cup filled with a weak, green tea. The faint amber light emitted by the overhead Chinese lantern glinted dully in the steaming brew.
The young man picked up the teacup with both hands and drank deeply. He never cared much for tea himself, and this particular brand was extremely weak; little more than steaming water. He sipped it loudly, not acclimatized to the customs of his foreign host, nor the protocol for receiving such a delicate drink. The tea scorched his esophagus as it slid down the narrow digestive tunnel, yet, oddly enough; it had a calming effect on his nervous bowels. Heaving a sigh of sedated relief, he placed the delicate container back onto the low table, then leaned back into the soft, perfumed silk of his chair.
“So, please tell me...what is your name?” The young Chinese spoke a soft, unbroken English that was accentuated with the occasional mystique of the Orient. He carefully brushed away a few of his bangs to reveal his calm irises and relaxed expression. Obviously, he had tea with other guests before. His guest jumped a bit at the sight of the two different colored irises, and made a mental note of how the Count resembled some sort of living treasure: Jade and Amethyst set into an immaculate white expression. No doubt, the guests admired the color disparity as well. “Or perhaps, we should begin with what brought you here, my friend? Your expression seems to suggest,” the Count paused momentarily to read his guest’s facial features. “A certain loneliness, yes? As if you’ve just lost something important to you? Something…or, more precisely…someone?”
The guest bowed his head in a desperate attempt to escape the piercing, gentle eyes of the proprietor. “How could he know that…?! She only died three months ago…,” he thought, mind racing. “Perhaps what John said was true…. perhaps this ‘Count D’ is some sort of mystic.”
“Oh my, Heavens no!” The Count’s bewitching eyes widened in amusement, and he let out a soft chuckle. “No, I’m not some sort of mystic, I’m afraid. If I was anywhere as good as my grandfather, I would not be running his simple pet shop.” The Count pursed his darkly painted lips together and gave a faint smile. “I am just a simple young man who sells love and happiness to whomever so desires it.”
In spite of his reticence, the young man laughed as well at his own presumptions and nodded approvingly as the Count offered to pour him another cup of green tea. They sipped the soothing concoction in unison; the guest swallowed greedily while the host peered at him over the rim of his half-full cup. “It’s something about his gentle nature,” he thought, helping himself to a dainty petits-fours. “Something that makes me feel like an old friend.”
“Ah, but we are old friends, my dear visitor. I do not yet know your name, yet I know that you are lonely and that you desire a companion with whom you wish your sincerest affections to be reciprocated.” The Count rose slowly and brushed the creases from the silken material of his traditional Manchurian dress, then beckoned for his companion to follow him to the back of the room, at which stood a pair of thick double doors. “And I think I know what it is you desire. We just had it come in today, as a matter of fact. It is quite a rare find.” The gracious Oriental led his customer down a flight of spiral stairs lit only by the candles in the Chinese lanterns hanging in the wall’s niches. To the guest, it seemed to be an eternity of needlessly winding, narrow stairs down into the depths of the shop.
The pair was soon met with the blinding clarity of a pure, white light that splashed onto the basement floor from two small rectangular windows. In spite of his muscular build, the taller man was shocked at how cold this small capsule of a room was, and how his host, no doubt frail, thin, and weak, could stand the subzero temperature without so much as a shiver. The Count slid his hand inside the generous arm of his embroidered cassock and wiped away the frost and ice crystals that decorated the window frames, before beckoning his client to take a glimpse.
Slicking back the short, red bangs of his hair, the man leaned forward and peered inside what he now recognized to be a large refrigeration unit; the kind of walk-in freezer restaurants used to preserve their meat caches. To his horror, past the frosty mists sat a delicate young maiden clad entirely in pure white wedding kimono. To her left stood a white lacquered table, upon which sat an iron incense burner and a small wicker basket with a lid. His mind no longer tried to grasp the rational just as his hand broke the taboo of all stores and laid itself upon the heavy door’s handle. “Good Gods, Count D, you must let her out of there or she’ll die of exposure!”
“Ahh, yes, frostbite: the kiss of cool death that portends the sleepy demise of any mortal creature. But I bid you to look closer at the merchandise. Some pets, such as this one, require extreme cold to survive. To take her out of her element would surely result in an unpleasant end,” said the Count in an even voice.
“What sort of pet is she? There’s no way she can’t be human!” The tall man pressed his face against the cool glass to steal another look. The woman sat there plainly, with icy blue eyes focused straight ahead on the tempered steel hinges of her escape. She seemed to be pleading for it, pleading for her release and warmth. His gaze fell momentarily upon the Count, then just as quickly turned back to admire the creature in captivity. “She’s so beautiful…I’ve never seen anything that exquisite before. All the art I’ve seen…all the music I’ve heard…my dead wife…. their pulchritude cannot even begin to compare. Her features…so finely chiseled…” thought the tall man, eyeing her blood-red lips. The Count smiled and placed one of his delicate hands on the customer’s shoulder.
“She is a rare subspecies of albino butterfly that resides in the cold of the northern climates. Only one Yuki-Onno breed occurs per millionth generation.”
“Can they not be artificially bred?”
“Indeed, modern genetic science and cross-breeding technology can yield the same result, albeit briefly. You see, when the albino butterfly is bred in a laboratory, it survives as such for only an hour, then turns black as soot and perishes rather quickly. Science has determined that the albinos in nature survive only because the chromosomes used to breed them are filtered down through the generations. What you have here is a curiosity; her successor will not be born for another hundred years. And I hear that because of this, the albino becomes excruciatingly lonely,” The Count kept his voice even, his mismatched irises pleading his case. In his hand he held a small piece of paper covered from top to bottom with the meticulous elegance of calligraphy. The Count smiled and held the document and a pen out to his guest.
“What’s this?” He asked, perplexed. Sure, he wanted the damn thing…but he had to sign for it first?
“It’s a contract of terms, as well as a release form. I will sell you the Yuki-Onno butterfly, but only if you agree to abide by the precautions described therein. One, you must purchase a large oriental screen and allow her privacy whenever she retreats behind it. Two, you must never succumb to the temptation to open the basket that comes with her. Three, you must never, under any circumstance, show her to anyone else, be it friend or relative.” Incensed with the prospect of possessing such a rarity, the man furiously scribbled his signature onto the document. The Counts silly precautions meant nothing to him now that he had become its sole caretaker. “If you breach any of these terms, the pet shop can not be held responsible for whatever consequences may arise.”
But it was too late. The contract was signed and Yuki-Onno was whisked out the freight entrance before the Count could so much as bat an eyelash. A smile crossed his delicate features as he made his way back up the stairs and into the tearoom. “They always do break their contracts,” the Manchurian sighed, feeling his little yellow rabbit-bat crossbreed plant its tiny feet on his shoulder. He reached up and gently rubbed under its chin with a curled up index finger, eliciting the familiar squeak. “And he won’t be any different.”
END OF PROLOGUE