Yuuko is Not Entirely Lucid.

Clow has never been her favourite person.

Apparently, he was never meant to be.


Another ficlet written for (absolutely no reason) 52 Flavours, theme #14:

an aspiring villain from the start

It is sometime late into the seventeenth century when she understands that he will be somehow significant, while she is little more than recumbent silk and pallid porcelain, laid out amongst fustian cloths and satin pillows, lucid only in the vague way of one condemned to negotiate many thousands of prospective (never absolute and never coincidental) timelines, and twisted by sinuous, curling blue smoke (once vibrant poppies, now like evanescent, electric jellyfish) and bittersweet drink (it stopped burning hours ago).

A serving boy tips more noxious liquid into her cup, and she regards him through heavily narrowed eyes. Part of her knows that a moment ago, his skin had been a sickly, rubbery yellow, his crown an unusual, off-setting umber, but all she sees now are sharp, pale features and dark hair and glasses and an inscrutable, cryptic smile (disingenuous, as tenuous as the coiling smoke, and just as tangible), and she scowls.

"We…" She slurs, her cup sloshing gracelessly in her grasp, "…we are going to make each other miserable." The cup slides from her fingers, and the boy falters, wondering at her meaning as he stoops to recover it. But she intercepts him, draws him close, until their noses are almost touching. The boy trembles, and all she sees is Clow, grinning.

"You," she hiccups, "are going to make a frightful mess of things, you emotionally-retarded, bespectacled fuckwit, and I…" she blinks, surprised at her own revelation, "…I am going to give it to you, anyway."

"G-give me…?" The boy queries nervously, anxious under her eternal gaze. This is not his usual customer, lazily compliant, stoned, drunk, and incoherent (to be sure, she is all of the above, but in a rather perturbingly cognizant sort of way). There is an eerie awareness in the hazy midnight realm of her eyes, despite the distant vacancy. He reels to be so near such dark knowledge.

"Unfathomable, really, the way these things work." He stares, not moving. She sighs, releasing him and sinking once more into the sumptuous world of down and silk.

Seconds later (or moments, or hours), her cup is in hand again, and she throws the scarlet fluid down her throat, holding the goblet out automatically to be refilled.

"Fantastic." She mutters bitterly. "This is going to ruin the next couple of centuries."


Yuuko in opium den, Sometime Before She Meets Clow. (LOok at ME with my Random CAPITALIZATION and whutnot.) I figure she has to have known she was going to meet our favorite meddling wizard long before she ever actually did. Hence, this fic.

Meanwhile.

WHAT, I wonder, is she going to give to him, anyway...?

Oh, gracious.

I know.

And pieces of other fic I have written reveal it.

ALAS! They are but pieces.

And I remain rather inexorably indolent (alliteration meeeeeeeeehhhh -).