"...given the current state of affairs, I do suppose that 4.5 billion of their solar revolutions is quite enough..."

"Yes, they seem to have made something of a mess of it all. Though it has been so interesting, really. And I must say, these last pieces have become my personal favorites."

"I agree. They really are amusing. Although recently there has not been much activity between the two sides..." The first being who had spoken waved a delicate hand in a negligent gesture, enjoying the novelty of the sensation, the simple movement of air across flesh; indeed, physicality itself.

"True. Perhaps we should do something to remedy that." The second being tapped a very long, slender finger against the side of its face, thoughtfully and somewhat pretentiously.

The first being gestured languidly toward the playing surface. A faint amusement came over its features, features it wore only as an affectation -- physical existence being considered such, and an affectation of dubious taste, at that, tied as it was to the baser nature. Of course the mind ruled over the body, but the body sent its subtly disruptive signals along so slyly, and corruption must only be a matter of time -- so it was thought.

"I have a small idea. I'm afraid it's nothing much, but it shall most certainly have interesting ramifications."

The second being listened to the proposal of the first, considering its merits. Presently it began to share the expression of amusement, regarding the other over steepled fingers.

"It is not the most original of ideas." The first being inclined its head in acknowledgement and acceptance of this criticism. "However, I agree that it could indeed yield some interesting results. Let us implement it at once."

They seated themselves, facing one another across the Board. As they did so, delicate strands of pale, ice-blue light latticed over each. Over and through this ghostly network came a still and measured voice, heard by the ears and by other senses, calmly precise:

"Awaiting command."

There came no answering voice, no clicking of keys; indeed, no maneuverings of the physical sort at all - merely the glide of impulses over the space of neurons, signals responding to the impetus of thought. A stretch of time passed, measurable only in the dance of electrons.

"Program complete."

The programmer spoke to its opponent once more. Physical speech, physical bodies -- amusing playthings, whims, neither being strictly necessary.

"I am the initiator," it said. "Therefore, the selective options are yours."

The other inclined its head graciously. Again, there was the silent whispering of thoughts in the ether.

And the ephemeral "voice", like a ripple through cool, clear water:

"Implementing."

Waking is almost invariably a somewhat disorienting experience, shreds of dreams intermingling with slowly coalescing realities, a slow drift into consciousness. So it was that Sumeragi Subaru initially thought very little of the fact that the ceiling seemed... not quite right.

He'd slept unaccustomedly deeply; he still felt rather groggy, his vision slightly blurred, his body heavy. Perhaps he was becoming ill. In his youth, he had been prone to fevers and myriad other minor ailments. It could be that he hadn't entirely outgrown that predilection. Pondering this, he fell once more into a light doze. Presently, surfacing once again from the swimming depths of sleep, he stretched and yawned deeply.

In fact, entirely too deeply. And the stretch was somehow... wrong. His eyes fluttered open again, and widened. The ceiling lamp was square, rather than the round globe of his room in the Imonoyama mansion. But that was not the worst of it. He could not tell where it was. Generally, a ceiling gives the impression of being some feet above one's head. This one could have been anywhere from a foot to a mile above him, and it appeared weirdly flattened. Flattened... having no depth cues for his brain to interpret.

Or, his eyes could not provide these cues.

Feeling kind of foolish, he closed his right eye experimentally. There was no change, beyond the fact that he now winked at the indefinite ceiling. He opened the eye again. No change. With some trepidation, he closed his left eye.

Darkness.

He quite clearly felt that the right eye was open -- he could feel the air on its surface, feel the lid sweep over it when he blinked. His mind raced over possibilities, selecting and discarding. Some kind of psychosomatic reaction, induced by that ancient guilt? It seemed a bit late in coming, if it were... At length, he came to a conclusion that was inevitable as it was preposterous. There was really only one way to test this hypothesis. Subaru rose, every movement alien, awkward, not his own. He did not care to examine himself too closely just yet, but he did take a quick survey of his surroundings.

He was in a room of (to his afflicted vision) indeterminate size, obviously someone's bedroom. To one side, there was a large window, blinds drawn against the grey daylight. A few potted plants stood here and there, ferns spreading their lacy greenery to relieve the plainness of the walls. There was a large closet with a mirrored sliding door, which stood half-open; within he saw the suggestion of hanging garments, a mass of black and ghostly white. There were also two normal doors, one of which was open slightly, revealing the gleam of tile and porcelain. He made his way to this door, hitting a hip on the corner of the bed in passing and bumping a shoulder against the doorframe as he entered the small bathroom. Subaru sought out the light switch with unfamiliar hands, the tile smooth and cool under his seeking fingers. He switched on the light, and raised his eyes to the mirror over the sink.

He was somewhat proud of the fact that he did not scream aloud. He was rather less proud of the fact that he nearly fainted dead away. Clutching the cool porcelain rim of the sink, taking slow, deep breaths, he willed the darkness that rushed into his brain to recede. It was reluctant to do so. After what seemed like an age, he felt somewhat capable of meeting that reflection again. By increments, flinchingly, he pulled his gaze upward --

To finally meet its own disconcerting self: one eye a deep, golden brown, the other a flat and milky white. They were unmistakable, set into handsome, regular features, accented by sardonic, arching brows, framed by thick and slightly waving black hair.

"Seishirou-san..." he whispered, his voice an unaccustomed light baritone, very different from its normal soft tenor. His hands -- which were not his hands at all -- ran over the face, so different from his own. He felt its planes and angles, these being harder than what he was used to; felt the slight difference in skin texture, the faint rasp of new beard --

Subaru dropped the hands abruptly, feeling the warmth of blood rushing into his face. He saw that the cheeks of his reflection were now stained pink. It occurred to him then that he'd never seen Seishirou-san blush, and this caused the pink to bloom into sudden scarlet. He wrenched his gaze away, hot prickles of embarrassment racing down his back to gather at the base of his spine. His frantically averted eyes lit instead on the white tank of the toilet, and the fluffy blue towel hanging nearby.

Two things struck him in rapid succession, sending the blush hurtling throughout his body and nearly paralyzing him with embarrassment. The first was that he was certainly going to have to bathe and dress himself --

The second was that he REALLY had to pee.

OK, so here's my first big attempt at a fanfic... (dammit, I'm an artist, not a writer!!) The idea just sort of sprang up and rampaged through my brain like the Mongol Hordes on crack, I had no choice, really, don't blame me for it!!

Ahem. Anyway, C&C's are welcome, I can't stop you from flaming me if you want but I warn you I will be very displeased. (You don't want that. Trust me.) ^_^

And don't ask, "Well, who are the weird pretentious aphysical guys in the beginning?", 'cause if you keep reading then you'll find out!! Have fun...