Hey everyone! I'm baaaaaack~
Just some notes before we start:
Il Bosque Oscura is the name of the club (it means 'The Dark Forest')
The Varia is a group of models; as are the Vongola, and pretty much every group in the anime. :D I've never read a modeling fanfic for the Varia (probably with good reason .') so I decided to make one myself.
This IS rated mature for a reason; for language and hopefully some smexyness between the characters (I'm not gonna chicken out this time, promise ^_^')
And lastly, I don't own KHR. The characters belong to Akira Amano, but the story line IS mine.
Hope you like it! Enjoy~
The bedroom was dark, the lights off, drapes closed. There was hardly a sound to be heard, other than the soft, regular breathing of someone asleep. A silvery crown hung from the bedpost, shimmering dully due to lack of light. The bed itself was lavish, with dark draperies hanging from the top, hiding its occupant behind waves of crimson.
Murmurs from the other side of side of the door caused the covers to stir, and the top of a blonde head peeked out from under them.
"Bel….going out…asleep…..wake him?"
Go away…stupid peasants, go away…
The silence was shattered, and the blonde cursed, pulling the covers back over his head as his door burst open and the lights were slammed on. Loud footsteps sounded, coming closer to his bed at an alarming rate. The blonde had only seconds to tighten his grip on the covers before they were torn from his grasp, causing him to growl in annoyance. He sat up instantly, grabbing the crown from the bedpost and settling it lopsidedly on his head on one swift motion. He glared darkly through his bangs at the man in front of him, and although the silver haired man couldn't see the other's eyes, the piercing feel of the gaze made him take a few steps back.
This was why disturbing Bel was a bad idea.
The silver haired man recovered quickly, though, launching almost immediately into a barrage of noise. "VRAIT! Get up Bel, we're going clubbing!" The blonde hissed beneath his breath and proceeded to flop himself back down on the bed defiantly.
"VRAAAAIT! TRASH! I SAID –"
"That I'm not going, Squalo. You'll have to make me." Bel giggled into his pillow, half hoping that Squalo would take him up on the obvious challenge. He needed to cut something.
Squalo rolled his eyes but said nothing. He was hotheaded, but not so much so that he would willingly fight with Bel. Blonde's got a fucking knife fetish. No way am I stepping into that minefield. He shrugged and made his way to the door. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bel raise his head in confusion and – Squalo thought – disappointment. The silver haired man snorted and rolled his eyes again. Freak.
He turned his head over his shoulder, gracing the blonde with one more comment before he left. "We're leaving in ten. If you aren't in the hall by then, I'll let Xanxus know why you're skipping out on his suggestion. I'm sure our manager will be pleased as punch to know you're PMS-ing again." He had just enough time to make it out the door before a knife embedded itself in the doorframe, trembling ominously.
Bel's voice floated from the open doorway. "Shi shi shi…don't insult me, peasant. I'm a prince."
Squalo snorted again, hard, nearly choking on the harsh intake of air. "Yeah? Well you'll be a dead prince if you don't get that modeling ass of yours down in ten minutes. Well, nine minutes now. Better hurry."
Sixty seconds of cursing later found Bel standing in front of his closet, contemplating what to wear. Sweeping his gaze across the huge rack of stylish clothes he had obtained through various modeling gigs, he decided to play it classy. He closed his eyes and ran his hands along the hangers, settling on one and pulling it out. He then did the same again, being sure to pick a pair of pants rather than another shirt. He opened his eyes and looked at his hands. A satisfied smirk spread across his face.
The blonde stood with one hand on his hip in front of the floor length mirror in his room, smirking devilishly at his reflection. He boasted a green and black striped long sleeved shirt that slid off one shoulder, a black pair of skinny jeans with silver crosses on the front, a simple white belt that settled diagonally across his hips, and a pair of white boots that laced halfway to his knees. He readjusted his crown so that it was even more tilted to the side and smirked into the mirror. The image in front of him reminded him why he had become a model in the first place.
He turned on his heel, grabbing a black leather trench coat off of a chair on his way out the door. He cast a glance at a clock as he shrugged the jacket on. 9:39.
He took his time walking to the main hall.
Squalo made no outward comment as he watched the blonde slide down the banister of the master staircase, merely raised an eyebrow and covered a smirk with his hand. Not going my ass. The self-proclaimed prince loved clubbing. He was just upset because – No. That's why we're going out tonight. For a replacement. Bel can deal.
Squalo cast another glance up the master stair, this time searching for the last addition to the group. After all, it had been his idea, but he still hadn't shown up. Squalo wondered aimlessly if he should go look for him, but before he could frame the thought, the missing member had already appeared, clad in nothing but a tight pair of black leather pants. Although his skin was beautifully tanned, it was heavily scarred from a life of growing up in the streets. The clothing choice for tonight – or, rather, the extreme lack of – showed off much of his skin, emphasizing the air of enticing danger that surrounded him. Squalo trailed his eyes across the man's exposed body, not noticing that he was openly staring until the man was standing right next to him, looking down at him with a smirk. His red eyes gleamed darkly as he grabbed Squalo by his silvery hair and dragged him out the door.
"Let's go trash. We're late."
"VRAAAAAAAAAAAIT! Whose fault is that?" A sharp tug on his hair nearly pulled it all from his scalp. "VRAAAAAAAAAAAIT! XANXUS!"
It was in this manner that the group left their mansion: Squalo kicking and screaming, Bel following behind, snickering incessantly. The last two members of the group followed behind, covering their own laughter with their hands as they climbed into a limo and sped off into the night.
10:00 p.m., Il Bosque Oscura
Music pounded throughout the dimly lit building, some estranged dance beat that apparently didn't sound right unless it was played at ear bleeding decibel level. The teen who was leaning against a wall in the far corner of the room rolled his eyes and winced, covering his ears in an effort to actually enjoy his few moments break. He was clad in dark grey skinny jeans, the type that hugged his body in all the right places, and a shirt that was so torn you couldn't even tell it was a shirt. The tears in the fabric exposed leaps and bounds of his pale, creamy skin to anyone who cared enough to look, and judging by the amount of stares he was receiving tonight, they appreciated what they saw. The teen sighed, pushing his light green hair out of his face and making his way to a long counter situated at the very back of the room. It was time for him to get back to work.
The man behind the counter looked up as he approached, a look of annoyance on his face. "Bout time you showed up. Here, these go to table 15." He slid a tray of drinks across the counter into the teens waiting hands, returning to his work without so much as another glance in the boy's direction. Rolling his eyes again, the teen turned sharply and made his way towards the designated table, weaving through the masses of writhing flesh with ease. Seriously, you call that dancing? Half these people don't look appealing enough to be moving like that. The teen shook his green head, careful not to let his disgust show on his face. Pitiful.
If they're pitiful, a voice whispered at the back of his mind, what does that make you?
The teen scowled slightly before returning his face to an expressionless mask.
Desperate. That makes me desperate.
10:05 p.m., Il Bosque Oscura
Bel rested his cheek on his hand, gazing out onto the dance floor with extreme disinterest. He knew why they were here; his companions hadn't made it very difficult to figure out, even without his genius IQ. They were here to find a replacement. Simple as that. They needed to fill the void left by Mammon, their top model, even better than Bel. He had everything; mysterious look, a slim build, and a guarded attitude that made everyone fall for him. With Mammon on board, the modeling group called the Varia rose to the top of the charts. Without him, they would fall quickly, and the rival group who had claimed the purple haired teen would soon rise to take their place as number one.
So they needed a replacement.
Simple as that.
Bel picked up a butter knife from the table, carving random doodles into the old , scarred wood in front of him. He had his own knives, of course, they never left his person, but he didn't want to sully them on such a disgusting piece of wood. The entire club reeked of mediocrity, and the self-proclaimed prince couldn't wait to leave.
"VRAIT! About damn time!" Squalo's roar caused the blonde to glance up for an instant at the slim waitress who was standing next to them, a tray full of drinks in hand.
"Drinks for table 13?" She said in a sweet, innocent voice. She had bright hair, the color of it so close to orange you couldn't really call it anything else. She had wide, innocent brown doe's eyes, and she wore a completely modest black dress, complete with actual sleeves, and fell past her knees. If it hadn't been completely unreasonable, Bel would have sworn that the girl had no idea what kind of environment she was working in.
As she set the tray on the table and began distributing the drinks, Bel decided he was fed up with being bored. He tapped the girl on the shoulder, smirking when she turned to face him.
"What's your name?" He peered up at her through his bangs, delighting in the light blush that dusted her cheeks.
"I-I'm Kyoko. Pleased to meet you, sir."
Bel grinned, and Squalo shot him and unnoticed – or ignored – glare.
What's the bastard do–
Kyoko screamed shrilly as the blonde sliced the butter knife across her arm, exerting enough force to cut cleanly across, leaving a bleeding streak of crimson in its wake. She screamed again and backed away, turning and running towards the back of the club. The sheer noise of the music drowned out her screams, as well as the blonde's maniac laughter.
Squalo turned to the blonde, cursing loudly at him.
"VRAIT! Some genius you are! Why'd you do that you stupid freak! Now we don't have a waitress! You IDIOT!" Squalo was, of course, not concerned in the slightest about the waitress herself, but rather the lack of one their table now boasted. Bel giggled and grinned in an insane manner, kicking his feet onto the tabe and leaning back in his chair, knocking over almost all of the drinks in the process.
As Squalo continued to rant at the blonde, Xanxus silently reached across the table from his place next to Squalo and grabbed the only remaining drink. Sipping it quietly, he tried to block out the noise of the arguing not two feet from him. However, when someone next to the table coughed loudly to grab someone's attention, he moved his gaze to the side. Raising an eyebrow, he nudged Squalo in the side with his elbow – none to gently, it seemed, as the silver haired man choked on his next words and held his side in pain. But when Xanxus nodded his head toward the newcomer, Squalo turned away from the boss and toward the new waitress.
Kyoko's screams permeated the room behind the counter, as one of the other employee's cleaned up her arm and sent her home for the night. The man frombehind the bar, the one who organized the waiter system, caught the green haired teen watching from the doorway. "You!" He snapped, "Go grab another tray of drinks and take it to that table. You take over Kyoko's shift tonight. Do it!" Without a word, the teen slunk back out to the club area, another ear shattering song just beginning to play, some song by Ke$ha. The boy paid it no mind, grabbing five drinks at random off of the bar and walking slowly across the dance floor. He really didn't want to meet this insane knife wielder, but if that's what got him his paycheck…
As he neared the table, he could tell they were arguing. Well, two of them were; an effeminate man with long silver hair and a very non-feminine voice, who seemed to be the source of most of the noise, and the blonde knife wielder, who was by now notorious in the teen's mind. He didn't raise his voice much above a normal conversational level, but his words seemed to enrage his silver haired companion. He stood next to the table quietly, waiting for someone to notice him. The other occupants of the table seemed unaware of the yelling, conversing quietly amongst themselves or ignoring it altogether. He cleared his throat loudly, hoping to draw some attention. The only one who noticed was the silent shirtless one, the one who seemed to be in command; he had a frightening air about him, and the waiter took a small step back when he caught the man's gaze.
He elbowed the silver haired one; that's what it looked like, anyway, and then there were two staring at him. The teen was beginning to feel more uncomfortable by the second, and took another small step back. He should have just set down the drinks and run, but it was too late for that now. Even the other two quiet ones were staring now, drawn in by the sudden lack of noise. The only one who didn't seem to care was the blonde, much to the boy's relief. He didn't have much of a hankering to get stabbed tonight.
Clearing his throat again, he closed the small distance between him and the table and set the drinks down softly. He handed them out just as quietly, a murmured "Here are your drinks" the only indication that he even had a voice. Why are you so frightened? They're just customers, you have customers every night. Why are these ones any different?
As he set the last drink in front of the blonde, he nodded to the rest of the table and turned to leave.
The blow sent him stumbling forward, and the feeling of ice cold liquid running down his practically bare back made him shiver violently. A maniac laugh behind him caused his expression to darken before smoothing into a perfectly neutral mask. He straightened, using his hand to shake any remaining shards of glass from his hair, and trying not to gag at the overpowering stench of alcohol. He turned to face the table, and was greeted with a group of shocked expression, save one, who was grinning like a maniac. The blonde was the only one without a drink in front of him, leaving little doubt as to who had thrown his drink at the teen's head.
The boy gritted his teeth, his annoyance winning out over his previous fear. Without a thought, he strode over to the table and slammed both hands down on the old wood, leaning in toward the blonde, his face still expressionless.
"I'm sorry sir, is there a problem?" The boy spoke through a practically closed mouth; he feared if he actually opened it, he would say something he shouldn't to a paying customer.
The blonde laughed.
"Shi shi shi…the drink was not what the prince ordered. Fetch another, peasant; and get it right this time. Or I'll make you bleed." He laughed again – giggled, really – and leaned back in his chair, obviously expecting to be obeyed.
And, in truth, he should be obeyed. He is a paying customer, after all. The teen sighed and removed his hands from the table. "I'm sorry the drink wasn't to your liking. Unfortunately, I have no idea which drink you are referring to. Would you mind telling me exactly what you want?"
The blonde grinned, a silver crown in his hair glinting in multiple different colors due to the strobe lights on the dance floor. "Shi shi shi…nope."
The teen felt his face furrow in confusion for an instant, but he smoothed it out before anyone saw.
"I'm sorry, what?"
"I'm a prince. A prince doesn't have to tell the peasant anything. Now go get me my drink."
Without a word, the teen hooked his foot around the leg of the so called prince's chair and tugged sharply. The blonde had been balancing the chair on two legs, so the sharp tug was all it took to send him unceremoniously to the ground.
The stunned silence of his companions went unnoticed as the teen stepped on the blonde's chest and leaned forward to stare into his bang-covered eyes.
"Listen here, fake prince. Just because I'm a waiter in a dingy club like this doesn't mean I take shit from people like you. You think you're better than me? You're not. You're nothing to me. No, you're worse than nothing. You're useless. Just a useless fake prince who needs to bully others in order to feel like a king. Get your own damn drink."
With that, he removed his foot and stepped back, picked his tray up off the floor where he had dropped it, and turned to the others at the table as if the blonde wasn't even there.
"While I'm here, would any of you like another drink? The margarita selection is –"
He never finished his sentence. A stinging pain in his arm caused him to cry out, his expressionless mask forgotten in his surprise. He struggled to wipe his face of emotion, but his attacker was making it difficult. He kicked his legs out from under him, causing both of them to fall to the floor. The teen hit the back of his head on the floor, the previous wound caused by the blonde's glass opening wider and beginning to bleed sluggishly. The blonde in question was straddling his hips, a strangely shaped knife in his hand. Grinning crazily, he lowered the knife again into the teen's arm, and the boy had to fight to keep silent as pain laced up his arm.
The blonde frowned at the lack of noise, and twisted the blade a little, and a little more when the boy remained stone silent. With a scowl, the blonde removed the knife from the teen's skin, only to stab in the same place again an instant later. "Come on, you stupid frog, scream." With his words, Bel twisted his knife fully around in the teen's arm, splattering blood all over his hand, and the boy's pale skin.
The noise seemed to startle the blonde, and he froze in his actions. A look of confusion swept across his face as he stared at the boy beneath him. Tears were streaming silently down his cheeks, his teeth clenched in silence and his green hair plastered to his skin with a mix of alcohol and sweat. His face, though tense and shaking, remained expressionless, even when faced with pain. He showed nothing, seemingly felt nothing. Another tear forced its way out of the corner of his eye, and the blonde quickly captured it on his finger. He licked it off his finger, the look of confusion deepening.
The teen opened his eyes, he lips moving to form words between clenched teeth.
"No. Not Mammon. Fran. My name is Fran, you bastard."
Bel slowly became aware of the people around him. Squalo had a strong grip on him, pulling him off of the teen and towards the door of the club. Lussuria had rushed over to the fallen boy, starting to tend to his wounds. Levi was keeping the crowd at bay, foe everyone had stopped to watch in horror, and was now in a frantic frenzy. Xanxus did nothing but observe, looking at the boy with the same expression he always wore; a bored, uninterested look, tinged with slight anger. He shrugged and returned to his drink.
He barely registered Squalo yelling at him on the walk home. He was slowly coming back to himself, slowly coming down from the insanity that had gripped him in the bar. The boy had so resembled Mammon in that instant; his hair style, his skin, even his tears had tasted the same. Mammon, too, was the only one who ever spoke to him the way that boy had.
But it wasn't Mammon. Mammon was still gone, turned into competition. And this kid was all that was left of the model. Some green haired, snot nosed frog who didn't know when to keep his mouth shut.
It had only been a few minutes since he heard it, but Bel decided he hated it already.