The Sakurazukamori chuckled softly to himself as he rinsed the soap lather from his body, showering. He had to repress the urge to sing as he normally did while bathing; but then, he really had no idea how it would come out, anyway. Subaru had a fine speaking voice, but Seishirou had never heard him sing -- the younger onmyouji had been very bashful on that point, as he had been on so many others, tragically.

The shower was an interesting experience in and of itself. Subaru had skin like a woman's; so smooth, so soft and supple over his long, graceful limbs. His hair, though closely cropped, was like down feathers, like fine, raw silk... If Subaru-kun were a normal man, thought Seishirou idly as he reached for a towel, he'd never leave home. He was a sensual treasure all on his own. Seishirou chuckled again. It was really too bad he repressed himself so mercilessly. It was also too bad that Seishirou had little time for that sort of thing right now... He dried himself quickly, rubbing the towel briskly over his body -- his new body -- and then through the fine, short hair of his head, the strands so light that they dried almost immediately. Looking in the mirror, he found that an incongruous smirk had spread itself across his reflection's gentle features. He really would have to repress that -- it was completely out of Subaru's character. But it was very cute, in a perverse sort of way.

Seishirou had not yet ascertained what might be responsible for this... exchange. Given that Subaru was almost certainly experiencing the same phenomenon, Seishirou's first priority should be finding him and seeking a remedy for the situation.

He just hadn't the damnedest idea how he was going to do that.

To make matters worse, the circumstances induced a strange sort of glee in him, the probable source of that stubbornly persistent smirk... it could be very amusing, after all. Perhaps he should make the best of it, while it lasted. Subaru could do little enough harm in Seishirou's own body; merely wearing his body did not give the other the power of Sakurazukamori. Besides, duplicity was not at all in Subaru's nature, he would have no idea whatsoever of how to exploit the situation. Seishirou himself, on the other hand... The smirk widened itself into a grin.

He would track down this body's owner; he would find a way to reverse the process, as he must. But he would also, he decided, have a bloody good time doing it.

He wrapped the towel around his slim boy's hips and left the bathroom, having carefully schooled the rebellious grin into something approaching Subaru's normal expressionlessness. Once, he thought, it had not been so. Once, Subaru's features had been so mobile, his eyes emerald wells of emotion; together they had given such vast range of expression to the feelings that sprang seemingly from the roots of his young soul... No longer. Now, his eyes were mirrors turned outward, reflecting, or perhaps deflecting, the world outside, while Subaru himself gazed forever inward, the eyes of his soul fixed upon one thing...

One Wish... whatever that might be.

As Seishirou headed back down the corridor to Subaru's room (at least, he assumed it was Subaru's, given that he'd woken up there), a long wolf whistle sounded from behind him, followed by a racuous call:

"OoowEEEE! Have MERcy!"

Seishirou stopped, executed a smooth about-face. Another of the Dragons of Heaven hung partially out of his doorway, waving a hand (fortunately, it was the one not clutching the doorframe) and attempting to leer (he was not succeeding in this). Seishirou recognized the tall and lanky figure as the monk from Kouya, Arisugawa Sorata. He favored the other with a moment's impassive regard, then turned to continue on his way --

Only to face another of the Seven Seals, this one the priestess of Ise, perhaps drawn by her comrade's loud antics to poke her head out of her own door. Taking in the appearance of the onmyouji, it was possible that she blushed, very faintly. It was certain that her dark eyes, so still and quiet, nearly so deep as the ones that Seishirou himself now wore, widened slightly before averting themselves gracefully.

"Good morning, Sumeragi-san," she murmured coolly, exiting her own room. She was fully dressed for the day, despite the earliness of the hour. She proceeded past at a sedate walk, eyes remaining veiled beneath thick dark lashes. She rather pointedly did not acknowledge Arisugawa.

"Aw, don't be jealous of Subaru-kun, Miss!" cried the monk as she passed. "You know you're the only one for me!" Arashi -- that was her name, Seishirou recalled -- ignored him utterly.

Now there, thought Seishirou to himself, went a person with dignity... even in one of those ridiculous high-school sailor suits, which she was indeed wearing. Even while being pursued by a lovesick fool, which she was -- Arisugawa followed her down the corridor, proclaiming his fidelity to her at some length, not to mention volume. Seishirou took the opportunity of the monk's distraction to continue his own interrupted journey.

Back in Subaru's room, he eyed the selection of clothing available to him with distaste. Sweatshirts, turtlenecks and jeans seemed to be the order of the day -- indeed, the order of every day -- for Subaru. Seishirou grimaced to himself. Subaru-kun, he thought with some amusement, at least being prey to your late sister's dubious fashion sense gave you a bit more variety... But then, who was he to complain? Being so involved with "work" recently, he'd been wearing nothing but his trademark black suits, of fine make to be sure, but so heartlessly plain.

After some not-very-hopeful rummaging he came upon a black turtleneck and a pair of over-dyed black jeans. He supposed they would do... for now. He drew them on, noting how their darkness made Subaru's thin frame seem nearly skeletal. "The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari". He'd have made a fabulous Cesare, thought Seishirou, and grinned.

At that moment, his belly, so frighteningly flat it was practically concave, decided to rumble viciously. He was absolutely ravenous. Didn't that boy ever eat? First off, he'd have to get some breakfast... Of course, this meant he would now have to roam the sprawling Imonoyama mansion for gods alone knew how long in order to find something. He doubted he could simply stop someone and ask directions.

This was proving to be more trouble then he'd expected. He wondered if Subaru was having the devil's own time, as well... He sighed, put on his best Subaru face, left the room --

And nearly ran down another of Subaru's comrades. He stopped short, taking in a slight boy's frame, permanently tousled black hair, violet eyes -- and, most importantly, an incredible sense of potential psychic power.

Not a Dragon of Heaven, but the Dragon of Heaven... "Kamui" himself.

The closet was filled with white shirts and black suits.

"Work clothes", Subaru thought, grimacing. Still, he supposed their plainness and apparent normalcy acted as a type of disguise... to the unwary eye. To those with the sight to see it and the wit to do so...

Subaru terminated that thought, selected a suit from amongst its brothers, and began to dress himself.

He had never thought he'd need to draw upon all his discipline as an onmyouji for the sole purpose of avoiding death by embarrassment. Or so it had felt, as he'd sternly repressed all the shameful thoughts that had plagued his mind as he'd attended to the body he was inhabiting. He'd had plenty of practice in that sort of mental discipline, true, but never had the source of the trouble been so... immediate. In his own body... well, no use thinking in his former frame of reference. He was stuck here for the moment, he was just going to have to deal with it.

The tie gave him some trouble. It had been so long since he'd last worn one... better not to think of that, either. He had all but forgotten how to tie one of the damned things. After perhaps ten tries, he got it into reasonable shape -- that is, it no longer resembled a sad, wet noodle flung carelessly around his neck.

Next came the jacket, and over that, the long black trenchcoat... Subaru regarded himself -- his other self -- in the mirrored closet door.

He had to admit, Seishirou-san certainly was a handsome devil. The past nine years had left very little evidence of their passing. The face was a bit leaner, its planes more defined, distinguished-looking. Tall, broad-shouldered, well-toned... he could feel the strength inherent in each movement, a sense of solidity sadly lacking in his own body. Of course, he'd grown so used to distancing himself from his physical body and its impulses that he was really only half-present in it at the best of times. It was fragile, became exhausted so easily, probably the results of his own habitual abuse of it. This body, on the other hand, had deep reservoirs of strength; conditioned to obey, it felt like it would do anything he required of it.

At the moment, it was also feeling a distinct desire for a cigarette. Subaru hesitated, then searched the pockets of the trenchcoat. He found a set of keys and a black lighter in the left. In the right, a pair of sunglasses and -- aha -- a pack of cigarettes.

Mild Seven Select... some things never changed. Subaru felt a sudden twinge of sad nostalgia, a ridiculous ache at the back of a throat that had probably never felt such a thing. Useless, to ponder a thing beyond recall, a thing that had never truly been. Subaru sighed deeply, then tapped out a cigarette and lit it up.

The image in the mirror drew his eye -- an image that was complete, now. Fascinated, Subaru watched his reflection bring the cigarette up to its lips, take a drag, exhale a plume of smoke. He made the motion, but it was Seishirou that moved. He stood gazing at himself, his own reflection... but it was Seishirou that he saw. The man he'd loved, hated, longed for, feared... It absorbed him, induced a strange wonder, woke an eerie, serpentine excitement that coiled secretly somewhere in his soul... a somewhere he'd thought hidden deeper within him. He was Seishirou. It was the world's most perfect game of dress-up.

Some inner defense mechanism made Subaru drag himself away before he became completely absorbed, too deeply immersed in this sickly fascination. He absolutely had to get back, somehow. That was his first priority. And if he was here, then there was really only one place his equal and opposite could be... He thought of the Sakurazukamori running loose through the compound of the Dragons of Heaven in his newly-acquired Subaru suit, and had to restrain a shudder.

Has Seishirou orchestrated this? It seemed unlikely. Such an exchange of psyches would require tremendous power -- and for what? The Sakurazukamori might have free run of the Seven Seals' stronghold, but Subaru himself roamed free in Seishirou's own apartment, in Seishirou's own body. No, he doubted that Seishirou was the culprit. But who else, then? Who could possibly have enough power to do this to the two strongest onmyouji in existence, yet remain themselves unknown?

There was only one way to find out, and one way to attempt to get himself back where he belonged. He was going to have to seek himself out, his own body, which had to be inhabited by Seishirou.

He only hoped Seishirou wasn't doing anything awful with it in the meantime.

"The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari" is a classic silent horror film, a great German Expressionist flick with bizarre props, somnambulists and madmen. Cesare is the somnambulist, very skinny with deeply shadowed eyes, dressed all in black. He's on that Bauhaus poster for "Bela Lugosi's Dead", dragging along a woman in loads of mascara and white lace. I'll see if I can't find a pic to go along with it...