Cloud AU's

LTR

Skull's entry into the Mafia was by no means smooth or considerate. It was well-planned, that's for sure, in all the ways that didn't matter for his well-being.

First, he gets a letter that mandates his participation from someone that broke into his home.
Second, when he met the other participants and their host, it became obvious rather quickly that he didn't fit in.

That's not just taking into account the threats he received, but also just the overall lack of experience, violent occupation, appearance and age gap.
They all had some sort of bloody background, were well into their late 20s to 40s and, just, the whole how-what-gives the meeting was actually for.
He'd never had contact with their sorts of illegal activities.

The things he lost, got stolen of and experienced because of the Arcobalenos, were by far too numerous to count. He'd take a truck hitting him off the freeway any second of the day over spending time with those egoistical assholes.

He went to the meeting thinking it's an undercover fan base that was just a little more eccentric than usual, only to find an elitist society wielding colorful hellfire.

And yes, he's implying their devils. Their good-looking, powerful and all-around bastards. He's still fishing for his survival every time he steps out of his room and the garage!
And that's just cause those two rooms are left alone due to an agreement the others made: Privacy in their own quarters. He's glad they allowed him to be part of that, else he's not sure how he could sleep a wink.
He hadn't slept the first week even then. Too tense. Scared. Untrusting of anything and all.
His lungs had seized with every creak in the too large house. He felt like an unwilling participant in a horror-mystery movie with one person being the killer, only it was the complete opposite: he was the sole victim.

He'd tried to run. In the middle of the day he made an off-hand comment that he's gonna leave to one of them - he thinks it's Lal as he remembers her frown. He's not stupid, every single one of them, maybe not Luce, could've captured him, but he dared because, as much as that's within their abilities he figures from the pleasantries of their first meeting that they'd rather be rid of him too. If he leaves of his own accord it's better for them, spares them the effort and time.

He ran for his bike and drove the entire day until he arrived in a run-down motel a ways away from the highway. He still recalls eating his weight in full that evening as he'd been too scared to eat previously, and to sleep without the awareness that killers were breathing the same air as him just past the four walls of his room.

The next day his room door opens and Renato stands there.
He frowns at him. "I thought you were at least smart enough to stay away permanently."

Skull had blinked, an owlish stare fixated on the hitman as his gaze roamed around the room, his room. He was back at the manor. He considers the hitman and poses a single question in denial. "Is this a nightmare?"

Renato's stare narrows, amping the disapproval and intimidation factor to a solid 20, "You didn't return on your own."

Skull's stare must've spoken for itself since the stuntman crumbled into the crook of his knees, hiding his face in the arms over his knees. He doesn't care that the hitman is still standing in the midst of his doorway, he won't enter without permission, else the others would punish him for rule breaking. He knows the other wouldn't do that, if only because his ego wouldn't stand for him to do that when he'd suggested the agreement in the first place.

He whines and sobs, pathetic sniffles shaking his frame.
He wants to leave, yet when he tried he was brought back without notice. He can't escape. He's trapped. He can't return to the circus. He's alone. Nobody here cares about him.

The door closed without his notice as his entire world broke around him.

~

He cries for two days straight, the tears stop on the eve of the third day yet he's still mourning. He's stuck in grief and mourning.

~

He's only brought out by the floor beneath his bed vanishing, causing the bed to fall through below, into the living room.
Lal is there, manhandling him to eat. The others aren't there.

He's not allowed to go upstairs afterwards.

~

"I hate it here." He says one evening, fully intent on ignoring the scientists presence working on the kitchen counter still, having stuck there since dinner.

"It doesn't have to be home." Another voice replies.

Skull is quiet.

~

"What are Dying Will Flames?
I know it's not something as degradingly simple as magic."

The Chinese hums in confirmation. Skull continues.

"And it's definitely only Mafia-Triad exclusive; is it rare?"

"Everyone has it, not anyone can wield it."

Skull takes in the implications of that. "How do you learn to?"

"You have a will to persevere in the face of death, or meditate."

"How do you know you've... done it? That it's there, no longer dormant, you're aware of it?"

Fon smiles, glad to see the Cloud finally coming out of his rut. The realisation of his lack of freedom definitely put a shock to his latent instincts and none of them can give him shit for that. It was either endure his wailing or face the ball of Rage coming back everyday with renewed anger. "You'll know: For everyone is different, though people of the same element have reportedly similar experiences. For some it's heat and life filling you with energy, for others it's a cold awareness that your body's changed.
I've found myself overwhelmed with a temper when I went active, unable to control my tantrums."

Skull's question escapes him before he can stop himself.
"Is that why you regularly meditate?"

Fon inclines his head, slightly amused at the other's none too subtle attempt to gather information on him. He nods, forgoing a verbal answer, rather content in letting the youth come to terms on his own.

~

It's been a long time coming.
Skull learned by himself, trying desperately to awaken his inner strength, hoping to gain an edge over the others.

He learned how he should be because of it, maybe it will give him the strength and courage to act out against them.

Every barbed insult, hit, kick and shove, threat and agitation, Skull curls his flames inwards - a tightly wound cocoon to protect himself.

His greatest wish: beat Reborn.
It's a long time coming until he does so.

It's even more of a surprise when he feels his flames press down down down on Reborn. They unwind from his cocoon in a rush, focusing less on protecting him and more on putting the Sun in its place.

The hitman can only glare down on him if he lets him.

Lifting his head he realizes that everyone has seen him beat his master, the one who'd owned the Lackey of the Rainbow (LtR).

His enemy.

It's  T H R I L L I N G.

Sometimes, even the strongest can poke a cornered beast too many times for there to be no consequences. A beast is a beast after all. The facade may be different, but the ferocity is not.