The Truth, The Whole Truth, and Nothing. (Yaksha/Miyu)

For many, the process of waking up always included a few moments of initial confusion; they would roll around, attempting to piece together events from the night before, to remind themselves where they were, to figure out how long they had been asleep, and finally to determine what had happened while they were asleep. For Yaksha, none of that was the case; he simply seemed to go from 'off' to 'on' in the span of a few seconds. His eyes would open, filled each time with that shrewd, canny brightness, and he would grip his sheets, drawing them tight and draping them around himself, like a cape. It had the feeling to it of ritual by now; after a few months, it was hard not to feel ritualistic.

Yaksha had wondered dozens of times before, why he could start his day so quickly, so fearlessly. There was never any concern for the day before, never any worry or doubt that the events of the night prior would somehow bite him in the ass. Even when he'd nearly been slaughtered by a hollow he'd invited into his home, he had awoken without any sense of confusion or clinging doubt. It was as if he awoke each day, completely rebooted; free from those pesky weights and concerns of the day before. It was as if he started each day having shed his self of the day prior. There were those times that such a thought concerned him...but this was not one of those times. Right now, he was too busy humming to himself, and riding the delightful pounding buzz most people called a hangover.

Why was it most humans hated hangovers so much? Yaksha had dealt with worse aches than this for centuries, simply being. The faint, gentle rhythmic pulsing behind his eyes was like a pleasant reminder of his new life, to him. And so it was that he shuffled into the living room, snatching up the bottle of champagne there; the ice it had been in had mostly melted, but Yaksha kept the rooms cool enough that it was still plenty palatable, even a bit old. He swigged down several long mouthfuls, holding back his gassy eruptions for just a moment, before finally shuffling back to the bedroom, to pick out his clothing for the day. Once safely in the privacy of his room, he finally removed the sheet, and slipped free from the confines of his gigai; a suit that had almost gained the quality of a second skin by now. He stared at himself in the full-body mirror there, running sleek, knife-like fingers along his cheeks, as if checking for scars or blemishes. Even now, he could still be heard humming to himself, ever so slightly.

"I will be -riiiiight- with you~!"

He slowly, carefully began to slide into his gigai...or the pile of snow that would soon be his gigai. He'd spent weeks now, practicing the perfect tone of careless insouciance, the just-right sense of negligent reverie. He could even manage it with his own throat, though not for extended periods of time. He shuffled along down the hallway, running one hand along the surface there. It was sleek, ever so faintly ridged, with a delightful texture that left Yaksha's fingers tingling delightfully for moments after pulling his grip away.

He had no guests that had announced their presence, but he also had no illusions that this was a strange occurrence; had he not, in essence, extended an open invitation to the world? It wasn't that odd that someone would come to cash a blank check when a man such as him wrote it. He closed his eyes ever so slightly, envisioning an appropriate garb for today's conversation; a smoking jacket, tied in the front with a cloth sash, and giving him a look of negligent charm, as if he were being caught dishabille, and still made it look good. He raked a hand through his hair, and was still doing so when he opened the door, yawning ever so slightly.

"Don't believe we've met. Was there something you needed? I'd be happy to invite you in if you can abide by the standard contract of host and guest. You know, politeness, courtesy, and openness."

He could already tell, just at a glance, that this woman was here with antagonism as her goal; it wasn't a party interested in hearing his sales pitches, it wasn't a star-eyed fan curious to learn his secrets. This was someone who had already resolved themselves not to fall for his tricks and his glib remarks. He'd dealt with stony-hearted audiences before, naturally; it was hard not to, when you were as prolific as him. But he could already sense, just by looking at her, that this one was going to be especially troublesome.

Then again, wasn't trouble just what Yaksha was seeking out, at the moment?

"A detective! What...fascinating stuff. I'm certain you must have cracked some very big mysteries in your days, if you're knocking on my door so boldly. And you think you can crack me as well, n'est-ce pas?"

The French slipped from between his lips with the effortlessness of true fluency, the cadence and tone absolutely perfect. Fingers drummed against the doorstep, his expression knowing, delighted, flickering with an ever so faint brightness. Yes, this was the game all over again. The delight of knowing he was face-to-face with an entity that he couldn't quite fully predict, someone who was just slightly interesting enough to warrant memorization. He sucked on his lower lip, meeting her gaze with eyes that were a delightful, rich shade of hazel, eyes that seemed inviting and sinfully wicked and completely inhuman all at once.

"There is, of course, just one problem. I've no incentive to agree to an interview, now do I? I like my secrets, thank you very much, and I see no need to go around sharing my hard-earned knowledge for free. Come on inside, have some tea with me, share a meal. I'm thinking risotto today. Rich, decadent, and fluffy. Like eating clouds. Perhaps a bit of bacon in them. Or shark fin. It's incredibly illegal stuff of course, shark fin. Costs an arm and a leg to get. But for the greatest detective ever...well, I think I can eat the cost on this one."

He turned away without a word, walking back into the house, shrugging his shoulders gently, as if he were about to set off on an act of heavy manual labor, or as if he were trying to relieve a great amount of pressure there. His movements were relaxed and had the knife-sharp precision of a natural-born predator; a creature completely confident in its tooth and claw and god-given gifts to take that which it wanted.

"You know, you're already off to a pretty poor start. Your worldview is one I simply can't reconcile with my own. You claim to be the greatest detective, but I'm fairly certain in this opening salvo that you've given away much more than you've gotten. But there is that old adage, I suppose. Have you ever heard it, Miyu? You gotta spend money, to make money. And sometimes, you gotta share if you have any hope of prying the truth out of the lips of another."

"I see, then! It seems I must revise my opinion of you somewhat. Not a...champion of your cause, not in the slightest. No, you don't exhibit a single shred of openness. For someone so honest, I think you and I could get along quite well."

Yaksha had paused for a split second, back turned to Miyu; his hand rose, sliding through his hair once, twice, three times. There was a sense of almost ritual about it, as if he routinely stopped whatever he was doing to stroke his own hair, and style it. He let the words hang in the air for just a moment, leaving the silence to claw and batter at his guest's sternum, a hungry and queerly empty thing that demanded to be filled. If there was one thing Yaksha knew, it was how to say much without talking. And right now he was leaving the ball in her court. For a few seconds, at least. He'd already prepared his own backhand, when she inevitably did begin to speak. He would've cut her off almost immediately, an ever so tiny smile coming across his face as he did.

"You hoard information, in the same manner a dragon hoards wealth. You extol the virtues of honesty and openness, but you know as well as I do how easily one can deceive with simple facts. And you like doing it, don't you? You like using the truth as a weapon. A shield, and a sword. You don't lie simply because it's not in your nature. But you take a very very personal delight in watching people leap to their deaths from their own incompetence, don't you?"

He whirled about, his arms folding over his chest and one leg splaying outwards, as he gave a deep, theatrical bow that was almost staggering to behold. His eyes glanced up towards her, a delightful and pleasant shade of blue that brought to mind deep oceans and thick, faintly glistening ice. He watched her for just a few moments, lips curled up in a faint, knowing smile.

"I apologize for my base and rude accusations. Clearly, that sort of thing wouldn't be in your character. You're clearly the sort who wishes to disseminate information to a place where it can do the maximum amount of good. I'm certain you can see it too, can't you. A glorious, beautiful, perfect world. One where everyone has all the time they could ever wish for, to make their choices. One where every option is fully explored, and there doesn't exist a single person attempting to mislead them, or persuade them that their priorities and their values are...inconsequential. It's really not that much to ask, is it Miyu? For people to ask the right questions? For people to close their mouths for a moment, use the eyes and ears their gods have given them and have an informed opinion?"

He closed one eye slowly, lazily, in an almost languid, teasing wink. It was the wink of a conspirator, a brother in arms, a look shared between two people who in all the world had a secret no one else could understand or comprehend. He inhaled just a bit, rising back to his full height and was it just the imagination or was he an inch or two taller now? Before her head had nearly reached his chest, but now it was only slightly above his navel.

"No lies, Miyu. I give you my word. I will speak to you nothing but facts. It's not my fault if the facts are more misleading than the lies, now is it?"