SIREN COVE

(By: CLAMPraven)

Disclaimer: In a nutshell, I don’t own Tsu-RC, or any other series referenced within. I don’t do stand-up comedy either, so yes, this is an actual straightforward disclaimer. (Readers: You unsophisticated, humorless wench! How dare you! CLAMPraven:…)

Author’s Notes:

So, here I am, back again to the same section (I might grow roots here after all!)! After writing The Magical Mokona Doll, I didn’t expect to return so soon. It’s mostly because I had thought that I’d be too tired to continue composing fics like these. For, you see, I have been known to procrastinate. A lot. After finishing the gargantuan bulk that was my Fushigi Yuugi fic (which, for the record, tallies an incredible 258,312 words and the sweat and toil of an entire year’s typing), I had informally retired. For months on end, I didn’t return to this website. So what revived my zeal and passion for writing fanfiction?

Tsubasa-RC. Boredom. My big, flaming ego. (Ego: Feed me! FEED ME!! -;;)

In short, all you really need to know is that I am back, and alive again, although somewhat inept at the art. But writing is the only way to become better at writing, and so here I am, in my sixth foray into the genre that is CLAMP!

…I’m not done, damn it. -__-;;

Learning from my mistakes is something that I must constantly strive to do. By examining what I have done in the past, I can make an honest and acceptable effort in the future. And there is a lot to examine, believe me. My last fic was all cuteness and peaches. Right now, I shall proceed to tear it apart. What was wrong with it, you ask? (Confused Reader: Huhwha? But I didn’t ask – CLAMPraven: Shut up! Shut up, damn you! __;;;)

Well, for one thing, I’ve never been very good with writing descriptions of characters from a third person perspective. I’m always trying, but just to be on the safe side, I’d better not do anything in the third person for a while…hence the reason why this fic is in Kuro-kun’s point of view. I know for a fact that I’m better when it comes to writing dialogue and free-flowing thoughts, which allow more of my self-deprecating and otherwise crude and unusual humor to seep through. ^-^ (Angry Reader: WHAT humor??)

For another thing, long fics are great fun to write, but extremely tiring when there’s a weekly update. I cannot afford to go on another yearlong hiatus. So no more than…shall we say, fifteen chapters for this little ficclet? (Now, I know what you’re thinking: a story of fifteen chapters is obsessive and insane, and only proves the fact that I have no social life. I cannot agree more on the latter. ^-^;;)

And one last thing, before you all get bored and leave: my pacing has been known…to suck. ^-^;;;;; Characters fall in love with other characters at an astonishing rate, a serious death scene becomes hilarious in the very next paragraph (believe me, this has happened before), and it all makes for very little sense. Kind of like me. So I’ll attempt to make it more credible.

All right! So, since I’ve confessed all of my previous mistakes, I will expect that, in the reviews, you’d give me some helpful advice on how to fix them if they come up again in this fic! Or at least, just tell me if there’s something amiss. ^-^

Now that that’s settled, I’d better start writing…OOH! Spongebob Squarepants is on TV! (Rushes to television)

Reader: AAAAAAACK!! (Dies from lack of plot substance and common sense…-;;)

PROLOGUE

 Also known as

“The Trouble With Trees”

Part 1

On a tiny island in the middle of nowhere, detached utterly from reality, one could easily forget what’s human…love. Hate. Strife. The ignorance of the masses.

It’s too easy to forget.

I hadn’t forgotten. But I would soon…I could foresee it. It was inevitable, really.

So what the hell was I doing here…?

I’d have given many things to leave this place. My heart belonged where the people were…never mind where I’d chosen to build my damn home. But still, I lived here, on an island, and practically alone. The rolling sea heaved and pushed constantly at the towering cliffs yonder. The gulls yapped everyday, like lonely children, and the flow of the waves and whirlpools were mesmerizing.

Sometimes, from here, I felt as though I’d merged with the sea storms, the rainfall. Sometimes, I wondered if I was even human.

There were times when I’d merge with nature, the thick, leafy shrubs and the gurgling black pools. I’d think that I was a part of the worldly greatness, as light as the ever-shifting clouds and as swift as the tempest. I’d feel that. I hadn’t seen civilization for years…I didn’t really know how to think for myself. I didn’t believe that I am special…just a part of the world soul. A part of everything that is and will be…that’s what I was.

I lived alone, for God’s sakes. There was nothing in the world that I wanted. I was free from the trouble that politics and power bred. 

There were people who dreamed about the way I lived, free from desires and the give and take of common society.

But what did I dream about…?

I dreamt about living. Not this kind of useless merging with the elements, mind you, but really living. And you can’t really live unless you immerse yourself with people, even if it is only to realize that they’re dreary and bothersome, and cast them aside again.

I dreamt about being full of greed and guilt. I dreamt about the smog of the city, about thundering down the highway in a motorcycle, breathing fuel and flame. I dreamt about riding on that monster, with somebody’s little girl clutching at my waist. She had…well, she had to have a pretty face, untainted and innocent, and she had to clutch onto me tightly as we mowed down the obstacles in our way relentlessly. Above all, she had to hold me like I was the only one she trusted in the goddamn forsaken world...

Love. Greed. Satisfaction.

In essense…I dreamt about uniting myself with the devil. No matter what I forgot about the world that existed outside of this little island, I did know that…

…Hell, it had to be more gratifying than being alone here.

And no, having Sorata’s company didn’t count.

-

“Oh, spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou, that notwithstanding thy capacity receiveth as the sea! Nought enters there, of what validity and pitch soe’er, but falls into abatement and low price even in a minute!”

Arrrgh…!

“SORATA! Would you shut up? Some people are trying to sleep!”

“Now, now, Kurogane…!” Momentarily ceasing the tired Shakespearian prose, Arisugawa Sorata (my well-meaning but incredibly annoying friend) put the receiver of the phone aside for a second, to give me an innocent and mildly offended look. That guy…! He’s like a persistent dog! “Shakespeare’s words can’t hurt you! Very few people I know take offence to his poetry the way that you do! Besides, they are my first and last resort whenever I’m reciting rhymes of love to my honey.”

He grinned stupidly, his face flushed with joy and his eyes glowing proudly. I grunted, whapping him with a pillow before falling back onto the sofa’s worn arm.

Now, of course, this wasn’t new. Sorata breathed poetry. Sorata lived romance. Sorata’s deformed little head was full of quotes from cheap paperback novels and kitschy soap operas. And I had to look at that guy’s face every single day, and grin and bear it. And believe me, it was exactly as frightening as it sounds. Someone would have hell to pay if I end up being anything like that sentimental asshole after I get married…!

“Shut your mouth. I didn’t get any sleep last night with the emergency duty and everything, so I’m sleeping it off right now. You keep reciting that clichéd love crap to Arashi and the kids, and I’ll wring out your neck.”

“Why are you always in such a bad mood…? Honestly…” Chuckling, he sighed, returning to his phone call. “Hello? Yeah…hi, dear…I’m sorry. Where was I, now? Oh, right, right…yeah, it was Kurogane just now…perceptive, aren’t you? Yes, he is loud…but it doesn’t bother me! I’ll live…”

I shut my eyes, clenching and unclenching my fists.

Think calm thoughts, Kurogane. You’ve been seeing a therapist since you were six years old. You’d wasted most of your time in counseling and detention when you attended school. You’re a grown man now, with slightly more sense. So think calm thoughts, damn it. Creative visualization. Pretty butterflies. Immaculate rainbows. Singing waterfalls…

My eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets.

Holy flaming crap.

“Goddamn it! I forgot to water Hinoto!”

-

The island was previously uninhabited. It was so far away from the shoreline that most food supplies would’ve taken days to get transported there, and it was expensive by boat or plane to deliver them. But more to the point, the isle was puny. There was hardly enough area on it to walk a dog.

Sorata and I lived on this island, in a little two-story shack that was built in the old days before the Rebirth. It was somewhat crooked, being slanted slightly towards the right, and over a long period of time, we speculated that it woudl probably fall down like a pile of weatherworn toothpicks. We two lived in the left rooms of the house only, for fear that if we moved the furniture over to the other side, the sad old thing would tip over. We didn’t usually use the right-side rooms, except for one, which we reserved specifically for Hinoto. But I’ll get to that.

Before I discovered this island, I wasn’t well off financially. Put one way, I chose to pursue my dreams as an artist with all the ambition of an aloof child. Put another way, I ended up, like most artists, having to scrounge around for laundry quarters. So when I finally had to move out of my parents’ house and find my own place, I immediately signed up for this floating dungpile in the open sea.

It was reopened after the government decided to reconsider labeling it a danger zone, and after the sludge from the recent oil spill was finally cleared off of it. Moreover, it was cheap. What the hell…I decided that I would give it a shot. But after arriving on the island (which still smelled terribly like oil) after an excruciatingly boring 4-day ferry ride, I laid eyes on the thing that – in all likeliness - made it so damn cheap.

I’ll give you one guess as to whom.

Sorata’s optimism and romanticism made him the bane of my existence, but it was forgivable, since we split the maintenance costs on the house. Surprisingly, when I arrived, he’d only lived in it for a month or two, but actually managed to make the place hospitable, including setting up the cable and stocking it with apropos furniture. He was quite happy to have someone whom he could chat away at, and he talked about everything, with no particular sense of continuity.

Because of his intense admiration and respect for the fairer sex, I got the feeling that he would’ve sold off my ass for a chance to live with a pretty girl…which was probably the only sentiment we shared. I voiced this right away, of course. He laughed, and told me that he already had a wife who lived on the mainland, Arashi. She couldn’t join him on this little island, because evidently, she had a career, and he…he just had a problem (Arashi’s very capable; she actually enabled television to be broadcasted to him over the sea, so you can imagine my surprise when I realized that she’d married him, of all people).

He also had a few kids. God blessed him with two little girls, and…well…at least he was happy about it. Personally, I found them high-pitched, easily excitable, and fairly simple-minded…and that was just from listening to them over the phone. They were a lot like Sorata, to be sure. The worst thing was, combined with Arashi’s wit and Sorata’s ambition, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that the two munchkins would become famous, impossibly rich, and scar the entire world someday.

Yes…Sorata and Arashi made a comfortable living together, even while supporting two very demanding children. So why was Sorata even living on the island?

Believe it or not, Sorata was a writer. A writer, for God’s sakes.

I lived on that crappy island because I had no other option, and he lived there for the inspiration for his next story! It was almost enough incentive for me to pummel the asshole, when I found out that he was working on a romantic novel. Frickin’ bastard!

The redeeming factor was that he didn’t pity me, like my folks did, so I could tolerate that. At least we have a mutual respect on some level or another.

So, anyway, after the two of us grew accustomed to living in the same house, and after Sorata had the gall to try naming said island (he wanted to call it Illyria, the dumbass…no, I didn’t let him), we had another permanent resident stop by. A guy named Saiki Daisuke traveled to the island by ferry a few days after I had completed unpacking, and told us that someone else would live with us, also, should we accept. He told us that it was a woman.

More specifically, she was a tree woman. 

-

“What do you mean, you forgot to water Hinoto?” Sorata’s voice was fierce with disbelief, as he ransacked the kitchen for the medicated water bottles reserved for her. “I just reminded you an hour ago!”

I hissed, and covered my eyes, unable to face him. I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten, either. “Damn it…I know. I’m sorry, I - ”

“You know how she gets when someone forgets about her! Remember the time when I neglected to give her the monthly injection? Who knows what she’s up to now?” Frantically grabbing a bottle from the lower shelves, he dashed across the hall to the stairs. I followed, dazed and clumsy in comparison, but swiftly chasing after him as he descended nonetheless. I wasn’t prone to anxiety by nature, but seeing the normally chipper Sorata nervous dismays me. 

How did I forget something so obvious? Every other day, I have to water and feed Hinoto. Every other day. Every other day, and whenever Sorata’s away. It’s on the goddamn calendar! In red marker: Sorata…Friday. Kurogane…Saturday…

Sorata bounded down the steps two at a time, and thrust open the door that led to Hinoto’s cold, bleached chamber. His eyes widened, as he staggered back, nearly knocking me over from behind.

“Holy…”

-

A tree woman, you might ask?

You see, in the mainland, about a decade ago, it wasn’t as empty as it was when I’d moved out. The economy was bustling, tourism was abounding, and there was an organization of genetic scientists who worked in the old power plant. They called themselves the Clover Project, and they’d experimented with chemical compounds and radioactivity. It was never made clear by the news what they were doing, shut up inside the factory day and night, but the government had stated that, evidently, they were experimenting with genetic mutation, attempting to find something that would alter the human gene and cross it with the genes of animals and plant subjects.

Bunch of radicals, evidently. The government probably knew exactly what they were doing, and didn’t want to get the full blame, so they withheld most of the information regarding the Clover Project, but…in my personal opinion, I think that they must’ve used live subjects for their methods of testing. Obviously, it wouldn’t have done well, to reveal this to the public.

But one day, there was a leak in the power plant. Contagious gases filled the air, and spread all over the mainland. They could hardly be contained…it was a national crisis. The Clover Project had gone too far in their experiments, and blown a fuse. The genetic compound that they’d been testing was released into the air…and it remained in the air for years and years to come.

I suppose they would’ve been pleased to see that it had worked to their satisfaction. They had discovered, with their last attempt, the formula that would cross the gene pools of humans and nature. It was a horrifying thing they did, but they would’ve been proud.

The terrible accident had been labeled the Rebirth, which was fitting, since a new, decrepit lifestyle had begun soon afterwards. Now, the mainland has practically no business. All the tourism companies filed for bankruptcy after its horrified clients discovered that they had been exposed to the power plant gases, and were beginning to mutate. The economy collapsed onto its knees. The gases had started to change all the citizens who lived on that coast near the sea, and those on all the isles yonder. Everyone was a victim, and even later generations experienced the defects of the chemical imbalance.

Some simply happen to be more affected than others. Hinoto was one.

After the Rebirth, citizens started to grow various appendages that were inhuman. They began to lose the feeling in their human appendages, becoming numb. Their brains and central nervous systems rapidly deteriorated, depending on the gases that they’d inhaled or were exposed to. The gases that had been released into the air were not toxic, but there had been several different kinds. Some were the results of experimentation of fish genes, some of bird genes. These gases had been carried in varied directions by the winds, and many people were only exposed to one type of chemical, but some were exposed to many. Some people survived it. Others eventually lost the ability to control their bodies, became senseless, and succumbed to disorder and lunacy.

Even the people who were born long after the Rebirth experienced similar disorders, its severity depending on whether they lived close to the abandoned – and permanently closed – power plant. Most of the children who grew up on the mainland are now weaker, dumber, or suffer from terrifying new disabilities.

Sorata and I were as affected by it as anyone.

However, Sorata was never there for the incident, having only lived on the mainland for a couple of years before changing location, and only suffered minor damage to the brain. By moving away from the shore, the effects were significantly lessened…no wonder he felt he could write better on this island. He was slowly transforming into a fish.

I saw his back bared before, when he was changing clothes. There were a couple of crudely shaped fins sprouting out, dull and sickly to look at. He said that he was getting gills around the neck, too, but the doctors had given him some injections to help them fade away, as well as to keep his tailbone from growing longer. But in the meantime, he wore baggy, shapeless clothing to cover up the defects. 

I myself had been slowly becoming a canine throughout the years – slowly, since I left the mainland often in order to try and seek out new opportunities. My teeth are slightly longer than the average man’s (they had to be truncated regularly, or else I would have to pull them out), and it’s always been troublesome for me to maintain a healthy diet, because eating vegetables had always made me feel ill. They’d told me in my annual check-ups that my body would probably reject vegetables altogether by the time I turn forty…not that that’s much of a problem, compared to everything else. I had to shave constantly, and exercise my lower body more vigorously than my upper body, for fear that one day I would end up succumbing to the need to crawl on the ground. It is in my wolfish nature to be prone to outbursts, and…well, at least my brain was left well enough.      

But Hinoto…

Hinoto was different than either of us. Sorata and I were average cases, but hers was much more severe, because she had actually lived to see the disaster. She’d experienced it first-hand.

She’d worked within the Clover Project staff.

After having been arrested for the incident, the doctors certified that Hinoto had been working dangerously close to the test tubes that had exploded. In fact, had she been any closer, she would’ve been dead. But instead, she lost almost all her senses, and started to mutate rapidly days after the police had started keeping her in custody. The process had occurred so startlingly quickly - the elongation of her limbs, the disappearance of vital organs – that the doctors couldn’t develop an anesthetic for her shifting condition to counteract this process, leaving Hinoto to face the agonizing pain and horror alone.

It was all too quick. Within months, she was paralyzed, virtually unable to speak or move. She had to be fed by workers at the penitentiary, and she could no longer accept solid food. She had almost completely transformed into a large willow tree, with her skin hardening into white bark and her facial features merging with whorl patterns. It was becoming more and more difficult to distinguish her face. Her hair had become brittle, some splitting into long undulating tangles of leafy foliage.

Her feet had split into several branches of root and, for fear that she would permanently implant herself in her prison cell, the wardens placed a powerful drug in her water, so that she would perhaps be inclined to move more often.

But the effects of the drug was too strong, and it startled her; her system rejected it violently, and after vomiting up blood and dirty saliva, she proceeded to attack the wardens and rip off the bars of her cage. She began to swing her branches around forcefully, her struggle unrelenting and outraged. Her roots had dug into the layers of bedrock and cement beneath her, and she crushed the tile floor and a water pipe below with ease. From what I’d heard, it took almost the entire staff to contain her, and prevent her from uprooting that section of the building.   

When she’d finished serving her sentence, they’d sent her to a therapist, where she was deemed incurable. Because the overdosed drug had been a hallucinogen, it remained in her body, and even years after the incident, she would repeatedly see terrible visions and her wrath would be invoked again, every once in a while…particularly when she felt weak from lack of food or water.

Daisuke told us all this when he brought Hinoto over across the sea. From the rickety boat, two assistants, Hien and Souhi, carried out a large cage. There was a hunched over willow crushed inside, and they immediately released her, whereupon she seemed to breathe more easily. She was a beautiful old thing. Back when I first saw her, I could distinguish the two whorls that had once been her eyes…they aren’t that visible anymore. But she is still an amazing thing to look upon.

“Take care of her well,” Daisuke had told Sorata and me, when we decided to accept her into our house. He’d paid us a ridiculous amount of money to take care of her, after all. “Never forget to water her or feed her. Give her a shot every month; it’s her medicine, to help her control her rage and to dispel that hallucinogen permanently from her system…though that may not happen for a few more years. Make sure she is kept in a room with a window, facing the sun. And be careful who you show her to; the government may still give you trouble if you create a lawsuit regarding her condition.”

And we’d nodded, and smiled, and like two regular idiots, we vowed to take great care of her. We put her on the right side of the house, in a little room on the first floor. Even though we wanted to keep her on the left side, so that we could check up on her more easily, the right side of the house was the only place where she could actually face the sun. She seemed to like it well enough – though you can’t tell with tree women, really – and we figured ourselves to be real nice Samaritans.

Of course, if Daisuke could’ve seen us now, he would’ve probably kicked our Samaritan asses…

Well, quickly! Leave or go on to the second chapter! (Shoos readers)

You know, that is, if it’s there… ^-^;;