RinORourke
What is the Alternate Name for Group 14 of the periodic Table?
| The Carbon group |    |
11.1% | [ 1 ] |
| The Silicon group | |
11.1% | [ 1 ] |
| The Tetrels group | |
77.8% | [ 7 ] |
| The Lead group | |
0.0% | [ 0 ] |
| The Germanium group | |
0.0% | [ 0 ] |
| The Tin group | |
0.0% | [ 0 ] |
| The Tetrahedral group | |
0.0% | [ 0 ] |
| The Diamond group | |
0.0% | [ 0 ] |
| The Graphite group | |
0.0% | [ 0 ] |
| Total Votes: | [ 9 ] | ||
RinORourke
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- Posted: Thu, 22 Mar 2012 19:41:22 +0000
It had finally ******** happened.
He had finally reached the point where he would, without hesitation or remorse, murder the ever loving s**t out of his roommate.
Kanda’s white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel tightened further, eyes locked on the road and traffic around him but only seeing the many, varied deaths of his target. A low growl trickled from his throat and he slammed his fist on the horn when a taxi had actually had the balls to inch between him and the burgundy sedan crawling forward.
The light turned green up ahead and the fight was on, he heard the satisfying scrape as he shot forward, jolting the Yellowcab back a few inches from the impact. Swerving around the sedan he cut sharply in front of a convertible and bolted into a space next to a bright green Lynx bus, effectively jumping five car spaces before the next light halted them again.
A chime sounded beside him “s**t!” breaking hard inches from the crosswalk he pounded on the horn while a flood of people spilled from the sidewalk, “s**t s**t s**t!” straining against the seatbelt to reach the duo of cellphones in the passenger that had slid from the console. “******** piece of s**t b*****d.” His phone had been going off all evening, as his mysteriously missing debit card always sent him a text whenever any transaction over twenty dollars was charged, and the only person to have been in the apartment that night besides him had been, of course, Lavi. Who had, in a no doubt planned attempt to avoid any contact being made, ‘forgotten’ his cellphone in its place. Before he had hit this ridiculous ******** traffic he had been scrolling through the contacts of the red haired menace for the past hour looking for any of the thieving a*****e’s friends who might know where he ******** was, “Pick up you mother ********." but was instead met with a voicemail. Every. ********. Time.
'Hey bitches! It’s me; you know why you called, so how 'bout sharing? Talk to me after the beep” he punched the steering wheel again, making a group of clubbers who had previously been walking across jump with surprised shouts. He flipped them off with a scowl, leaving his now well practiced tirade of demands and death threats regarding the whereabouts of the soon to be deceased investigator, and a searing remark connecting that particular voicemail greeting to various suicides among the greeter’s circle of friends.
He already left a series of, barely, toned down messages with his own coworkers, but as it was nearing two in the morning his belief that they would know, or bother to assist him, were low.
Careening around the corner he left the tourist traffic of International Drive and slid onto a quieter street between a golf outlet store and a gas station, it would take him down to SandLake without all the ******** partying. Two am being the typical cut off time at most bars and clubs and restaurants meant everybody would be dragging their drunk asses home, and he'd have to deal with them.
He glanced again at the contact list. The b*****d had so many ******** friends; most of them probably from other countries judging by the area codes, and the effort to search for numbers from this goddamn city was giving him a migraine from Hell.
The ping of another transaction fell on his ears like weights clinking onto a scale, pushing and pushing until it lifted his minuscule patience to the ******** roof. He was already going to kill the b*****d, a serious threat on a regular day was now certain, it was the amount of pain he would inflict and length he would draw it out that was starting to accumulate.
His eyes skipped over a contact name that almost caused him to slam the breaks, ‘That idiot wouldn’t be so stupid, so exceedingly reckless as to have gone to him,’ would he have?
He quickly pulled to the side and stared, hard, at the phone. Allen Walker, the block text was lined up beside a smiling picture of a silver harlequin mask with number and email, and he felt his blood start to pound in his ears. ‘Yes, yes he would be that stupid,’ and wasn't it just a ******** brilliant way to keep Kanda off his trail? What was better, this guy would actually help, from what he heard from Lavi and Lenalee and all the other people on the case. He would actually smile and say ‘sure’ and lead him right to the damn rabbit like a good little hunting dog.
He was certain in a way only a predator on the scent could be, instinct ringing with the thirst for blood. A malicious grin slit his mouth, baring canines just a fraction too long for comfort. The line picked up, "Alright, where the ******** is he?" right to the meat of it.
“Piss off,” a muffled voice weighed heavily with British answered, and the image the people he grudgingly called acquaintances had been painting in his mind vanished, “do you know what bloody time it is?”
“Allen walker?” he ground out the question with uncertainty and immeasurable irritation.
The whisper of cloth “I don't know any Cross." Then the line went dead.
Kanda was silent, slowly pulling the phone away from his ear to stare at it, mind blank with the knowledge that he had just been hung up on. He had just had someone else hang up on him.
In his mind there existed a kill list, it contained the names of every person he had ever considered killing, from as far back as he could remember, and he had a very good memory, and this.. this... this person was skyrocketing to the very top tier.
Since the jury was out on if this man was Allen Walker he'd just label him "******** that needs to die. Soon." and amend it at a later time.
Dialing the number again. The ringtone was some ******** musical score, upbeat and obnoxiously annoying and so very 'Lavi’, god damn it but that was not what he needed right now!
He didn't wait until the man spoke this time to rip into him. "If you aren't Allen Walker better ******** tell me now because after I find that idiot Rabbit I am tracing this call and murdering whoever goes by that name."
"Fun times, sounds like you got your night planned. I'm Allen, and if you're calling about money owed I'm terribly sorry but you'll have to just get bent. I'm not associated with a Cross. So kindly ******** off."
"Goddammit I'm not calling about any ******** Cross. What the hell is a Cross? ******** Westerners." The last line was a reoccurring thought plaguing his mind seemingly every second of the day in this ******** country. Find a language and stick to it. ********.
A mumbled 'sodding drunkard' and something about 'piss ups' and he was trying very hard to hold onto him very limited patience.
"Who the ********?" it sounded like 'fook' and Kanda felt that last thread of restraint hum. "This is Lavi's number, who the hell are you?"
"Kanda." he bit the name off. "I'm looking for that idiot, have you seen him?"
"The ******** you have his bloody phone for if you're looking for him?"
"Because he ******** left it so if you've see his a** tell me now before I rip your goddamned arms off and beat you with them."
A puft of breath sounded and the creak of what had to be a mattress. "He was here a couple hours ago, pissed beyond all reason."
"Where the hell'd he go?"
"Probably to finish his bender, dragged Cross and me to some pub near here. Don't know the town yet."
"The ********? Cross cross cross, The hell’s a cross? Nevermind, I don't care. What was the name?"
"What'sit matter?" The slurred accented voice whined. "Not there now, Lavi he's fun but he turns into a berk when he's pissed. Flipped me for some piece of fluff."
"Like I ******** care about your friendship issues, when did you see him last?"
"Like I said, ditched me and he and Cross, it's a name by the way, headed to some other location to shag who knows what. Left me with the naffing bill. Just as well, if I'd joined they`dve left me with it all night." The last part said with no small amount of bitterness, followed by a great sigh, making the speaker roar. Kanda felt his eye tick but before he could continue interrogating his only lead the man spoke again. "Look I'm acting a pillock, sorry. I get this way after a few, s'why I don't like to drink, but Lavi insisted and well, a binge doesn't hurt you`know? You need to find him? I can help. He's probably still with that wanker Cross, I'll give you directions to my flat, we'll look from there."
and what was better, this guy would actually help, from what he heard from Lavi and Lenalee and all the other people on the case he would actually smile and say ‘sure’ and lead him right to the damn rabbit like a good little hunting dog.
Flat? “Flat what? Speak English for ******** sake, every two words is some garbage ******** slang."
He laughed, laughed! That list, in his mind, underlined and in bold.
"I am speaking English you git. Flat means apartment.”
"Then ******** say that instead."
"Look, I'll text you, since you can't understand two words."
"You just give your address to anybody who calls you? ******** moron."
"Heh, you're Yu right?" An explosion of anger erupted in his gut at the name, his fist gripping the phone to the point of breaking. "Lavi told me about you, said you were a bog standard, needed a good shag. Can't say I agree with the former considering you're oh so impressive vocabulary, but as to the second..."
"Shag what? Carpet? The hell that Usagi talking about my decorating for?" Something crashed and he heard more laughter, no not the huff of a laugh from before, but full guttural laughter. "Oi, ********!" He heard the ping of a new message and restrained himself, barely, from hurling both phones out the window. The ******** hells so funny! Oi!"
"Ev-everything you just, I don't know what better, that name or the fact you don't know what a shag is. Really Yu, it's possibly the most well-known term among you Americans."
That explosion of anger from a moment ago was back, with shrapnel, and it was scorching the inside if his belly with its hellish inferno. He opened his mouth and let it lick out to verbally sear the b*****d on the other end. "I'm not a ******** American you jackwit, so I don't see how some god damned useless word would possibly be in my daily ******** vocabulary. Maybe if you got your boyfriends d**k out of your ear you'd be able to tell I have a ******** accent too, but at least I have the basic understanding that not every moron I talk to today will speak my ******** language and made the effort to learn how to talk normally to the people populating the place I'm ******** living instead of assuming that everybody in the world would ******** know the retarded a** slang you use on a daily basis like every westerner seems to do and then criticize them like they're idiots when they can't understand the nonsense you're letting vomit out of your face hole!"
There was a quick, electrical beat of silence before the line responded with, "Seriously, you've never even watched Austin Powers?"
"No." he ground out lethally.
"Not even Harry Potter?"
"Hell no."
"Shawn of the Dead?"
"I would rather kill myself with a power-drill!"
"Je-sus you're a nasty piece of work, what's got you so narked?"
"That ******** dipshit Usagi swiped my card and he's charging whatever piss he's swallowing to it!"
"Ouch, know the feeling, so how's about we stop titting around and look for them. They're probably cabbaged at some pub near here, so we'll swipe your card and naff off before he necks anymore pints." The phone jostled as Kanda could only assume the man was getting dressed. "Text you in a bit, Yu."
"Don't call me by that ********-" but the line was already dead. "Kill him, I'm going to kill him." he sat fuming behind the wheel as he waited for the text telling him the location of who he knew would be the bane of his future existence.
He had finally reached the point where he would, without hesitation or remorse, murder the ever loving s**t out of his roommate.
Kanda’s white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel tightened further, eyes locked on the road and traffic around him but only seeing the many, varied deaths of his target. A low growl trickled from his throat and he slammed his fist on the horn when a taxi had actually had the balls to inch between him and the burgundy sedan crawling forward.
The light turned green up ahead and the fight was on, he heard the satisfying scrape as he shot forward, jolting the Yellowcab back a few inches from the impact. Swerving around the sedan he cut sharply in front of a convertible and bolted into a space next to a bright green Lynx bus, effectively jumping five car spaces before the next light halted them again.
A chime sounded beside him “s**t!” breaking hard inches from the crosswalk he pounded on the horn while a flood of people spilled from the sidewalk, “s**t s**t s**t!” straining against the seatbelt to reach the duo of cellphones in the passenger that had slid from the console. “******** piece of s**t b*****d.” His phone had been going off all evening, as his mysteriously missing debit card always sent him a text whenever any transaction over twenty dollars was charged, and the only person to have been in the apartment that night besides him had been, of course, Lavi. Who had, in a no doubt planned attempt to avoid any contact being made, ‘forgotten’ his cellphone in its place. Before he had hit this ridiculous ******** traffic he had been scrolling through the contacts of the red haired menace for the past hour looking for any of the thieving a*****e’s friends who might know where he ******** was, “Pick up you mother ********." but was instead met with a voicemail. Every. ********. Time.
'Hey bitches! It’s me; you know why you called, so how 'bout sharing? Talk to me after the beep” he punched the steering wheel again, making a group of clubbers who had previously been walking across jump with surprised shouts. He flipped them off with a scowl, leaving his now well practiced tirade of demands and death threats regarding the whereabouts of the soon to be deceased investigator, and a searing remark connecting that particular voicemail greeting to various suicides among the greeter’s circle of friends.
He already left a series of, barely, toned down messages with his own coworkers, but as it was nearing two in the morning his belief that they would know, or bother to assist him, were low.
Careening around the corner he left the tourist traffic of International Drive and slid onto a quieter street between a golf outlet store and a gas station, it would take him down to SandLake without all the ******** partying. Two am being the typical cut off time at most bars and clubs and restaurants meant everybody would be dragging their drunk asses home, and he'd have to deal with them.
He glanced again at the contact list. The b*****d had so many ******** friends; most of them probably from other countries judging by the area codes, and the effort to search for numbers from this goddamn city was giving him a migraine from Hell.
The ping of another transaction fell on his ears like weights clinking onto a scale, pushing and pushing until it lifted his minuscule patience to the ******** roof. He was already going to kill the b*****d, a serious threat on a regular day was now certain, it was the amount of pain he would inflict and length he would draw it out that was starting to accumulate.
His eyes skipped over a contact name that almost caused him to slam the breaks, ‘That idiot wouldn’t be so stupid, so exceedingly reckless as to have gone to him,’ would he have?
He quickly pulled to the side and stared, hard, at the phone. Allen Walker, the block text was lined up beside a smiling picture of a silver harlequin mask with number and email, and he felt his blood start to pound in his ears. ‘Yes, yes he would be that stupid,’ and wasn't it just a ******** brilliant way to keep Kanda off his trail? What was better, this guy would actually help, from what he heard from Lavi and Lenalee and all the other people on the case. He would actually smile and say ‘sure’ and lead him right to the damn rabbit like a good little hunting dog.
He was certain in a way only a predator on the scent could be, instinct ringing with the thirst for blood. A malicious grin slit his mouth, baring canines just a fraction too long for comfort. The line picked up, "Alright, where the ******** is he?" right to the meat of it.
“Piss off,” a muffled voice weighed heavily with British answered, and the image the people he grudgingly called acquaintances had been painting in his mind vanished, “do you know what bloody time it is?”
“Allen walker?” he ground out the question with uncertainty and immeasurable irritation.
The whisper of cloth “I don't know any Cross." Then the line went dead.
Kanda was silent, slowly pulling the phone away from his ear to stare at it, mind blank with the knowledge that he had just been hung up on. He had just had someone else hang up on him.
In his mind there existed a kill list, it contained the names of every person he had ever considered killing, from as far back as he could remember, and he had a very good memory, and this.. this... this person was skyrocketing to the very top tier.
Since the jury was out on if this man was Allen Walker he'd just label him "******** that needs to die. Soon." and amend it at a later time.
Dialing the number again. The ringtone was some ******** musical score, upbeat and obnoxiously annoying and so very 'Lavi’, god damn it but that was not what he needed right now!
He didn't wait until the man spoke this time to rip into him. "If you aren't Allen Walker better ******** tell me now because after I find that idiot Rabbit I am tracing this call and murdering whoever goes by that name."
"Fun times, sounds like you got your night planned. I'm Allen, and if you're calling about money owed I'm terribly sorry but you'll have to just get bent. I'm not associated with a Cross. So kindly ******** off."
"Goddammit I'm not calling about any ******** Cross. What the hell is a Cross? ******** Westerners." The last line was a reoccurring thought plaguing his mind seemingly every second of the day in this ******** country. Find a language and stick to it. ********.
A mumbled 'sodding drunkard' and something about 'piss ups' and he was trying very hard to hold onto him very limited patience.
"Who the ********?" it sounded like 'fook' and Kanda felt that last thread of restraint hum. "This is Lavi's number, who the hell are you?"
"Kanda." he bit the name off. "I'm looking for that idiot, have you seen him?"
"The ******** you have his bloody phone for if you're looking for him?"
"Because he ******** left it so if you've see his a** tell me now before I rip your goddamned arms off and beat you with them."
A puft of breath sounded and the creak of what had to be a mattress. "He was here a couple hours ago, pissed beyond all reason."
"Where the hell'd he go?"
"Probably to finish his bender, dragged Cross and me to some pub near here. Don't know the town yet."
"The ********? Cross cross cross, The hell’s a cross? Nevermind, I don't care. What was the name?"
"What'sit matter?" The slurred accented voice whined. "Not there now, Lavi he's fun but he turns into a berk when he's pissed. Flipped me for some piece of fluff."
"Like I ******** care about your friendship issues, when did you see him last?"
"Like I said, ditched me and he and Cross, it's a name by the way, headed to some other location to shag who knows what. Left me with the naffing bill. Just as well, if I'd joined they`dve left me with it all night." The last part said with no small amount of bitterness, followed by a great sigh, making the speaker roar. Kanda felt his eye tick but before he could continue interrogating his only lead the man spoke again. "Look I'm acting a pillock, sorry. I get this way after a few, s'why I don't like to drink, but Lavi insisted and well, a binge doesn't hurt you`know? You need to find him? I can help. He's probably still with that wanker Cross, I'll give you directions to my flat, we'll look from there."
and what was better, this guy would actually help, from what he heard from Lavi and Lenalee and all the other people on the case he would actually smile and say ‘sure’ and lead him right to the damn rabbit like a good little hunting dog.
Flat? “Flat what? Speak English for ******** sake, every two words is some garbage ******** slang."
He laughed, laughed! That list, in his mind, underlined and in bold.
"I am speaking English you git. Flat means apartment.”
"Then ******** say that instead."
"Look, I'll text you, since you can't understand two words."
"You just give your address to anybody who calls you? ******** moron."
"Heh, you're Yu right?" An explosion of anger erupted in his gut at the name, his fist gripping the phone to the point of breaking. "Lavi told me about you, said you were a bog standard, needed a good shag. Can't say I agree with the former considering you're oh so impressive vocabulary, but as to the second..."
"Shag what? Carpet? The hell that Usagi talking about my decorating for?" Something crashed and he heard more laughter, no not the huff of a laugh from before, but full guttural laughter. "Oi, ********!" He heard the ping of a new message and restrained himself, barely, from hurling both phones out the window. The ******** hells so funny! Oi!"
"Ev-everything you just, I don't know what better, that name or the fact you don't know what a shag is. Really Yu, it's possibly the most well-known term among you Americans."
That explosion of anger from a moment ago was back, with shrapnel, and it was scorching the inside if his belly with its hellish inferno. He opened his mouth and let it lick out to verbally sear the b*****d on the other end. "I'm not a ******** American you jackwit, so I don't see how some god damned useless word would possibly be in my daily ******** vocabulary. Maybe if you got your boyfriends d**k out of your ear you'd be able to tell I have a ******** accent too, but at least I have the basic understanding that not every moron I talk to today will speak my ******** language and made the effort to learn how to talk normally to the people populating the place I'm ******** living instead of assuming that everybody in the world would ******** know the retarded a** slang you use on a daily basis like every westerner seems to do and then criticize them like they're idiots when they can't understand the nonsense you're letting vomit out of your face hole!"
There was a quick, electrical beat of silence before the line responded with, "Seriously, you've never even watched Austin Powers?"
"No." he ground out lethally.
"Not even Harry Potter?"
"Hell no."
"Shawn of the Dead?"
"I would rather kill myself with a power-drill!"
"Je-sus you're a nasty piece of work, what's got you so narked?"
"That ******** dipshit Usagi swiped my card and he's charging whatever piss he's swallowing to it!"
"Ouch, know the feeling, so how's about we stop titting around and look for them. They're probably cabbaged at some pub near here, so we'll swipe your card and naff off before he necks anymore pints." The phone jostled as Kanda could only assume the man was getting dressed. "Text you in a bit, Yu."
"Don't call me by that ********-" but the line was already dead. "Kill him, I'm going to kill him." he sat fuming behind the wheel as he waited for the text telling him the location of who he knew would be the bane of his future existence.
RinORourke
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- Posted: Thu, 22 Mar 2012 19:42:44 +0000
Throwing off the covers Allen Walker wobbled to his feet, blissfully drunk and completely naked. The day had not been a good one, the night was little better, and he had been looking forward to the comforting embrace of slumber.
Oh he could have managed the time difference just fine if it had only been England to Florida, but shaking loose of the flimsy chance of a tail had them hopping a plane to Russia, a boat to china, a train up through most of Asia, during Monsoon season of all sodding times, and a relaxing week in India as he coordinated the rehab of their Orlando flat by phone and the magics of the internet. Now that he was state-side he was having a far more difficult time adjusting than he had hoped for.
It wasn’t as though he made a habit of drinking, particularly in the points of his life where the potential need for escape was high, seeing it as the crutch it was. However as this day he was shrugging off the remnants of jetlag while fielding the tidal wave of debt collectors that flooded him every time they surfaced in any location, the thought of a good bender was more than welcome. So when Lavi had come banging on the door, half drunk and just as crazy, shouting at Cross about bars and booze and women, he had been happy to come along, to the surprise of both redheads.
So several pints and a few bills he really didn’t want to think about, as it would kill his delightful buzz, later he had flopped down face first and bare assed on his bed and dropped into sleep like a stone.
Until the terrible sound of his phone wrenched him from it minutes later.
He was a light sleeper, one didn’t grow up in the s**t and piss of society without developing the appropriate instincts, as a lack of such would cease all aging in the charming form of death. Clawing his way up from the bliss he had finally managed to deal with no doubt another ******** collector, ‘just ******** off please’ he begged, digging through his discarded cloths before remembering that he had tossed his phone in the waste bin before leaving with Lavi, because really, ******** them all. ‘I had finally gotten to sleep.’
Allen was not a rude person by habit. Inherently, by nature and by necessity, he was a mean, nasty little son of a b***h, but by chosen design he had cultured himself into a sweet, polite, courteous young man. And as a sweet, polite, courteous young man, who was shaking off a delightful buzz he had been cultivating for the past few hours, he felt the need to scold himself for the crass language and inhospitable tone used with the man on the other end of the line. Unfortunately his gentlemanly mask was as buzzed as the rest of him, and really didn’t give a ********.
And here he was, tossing on a new set of cloths that didn’t smell like larger and tobacco, willing himself to find the energy, wit, and patience for just a little while longer.
Trying to tug on a boot produced an irate sound, like a broken car alarm. “What? Tim!” He removed his foot from the shoe and dug in with his hand, scooping out a small blonde ball of soft fur and teeth. “Well, if you don’t want me squishing you don’t sleep in my boot.” He said to the crabbing sugar glider. The animal uncurled itself from its ball and adjusted its position to grab his thumb in its tiny clawed hands, looking at him with large dark eyes in its creamy face. “I have to go out again,” he explained as he set Tim down on his bed, “I’ll be back soon.”
The reply he got was a sudden impact of small animal on the back of his shirt. “Tim, get off.” He reached around, but the glider had already climbed up to his shoulder. “Tim, really, I have to go. Stay here.” He grabbed at it, but Tim just jumped from his hand back to his shirt, disappearing in his breast pocket. “Tim, I’m serious, you aren’t allowed in the bars.” But when he reached into his pocket all he got was a sharp n** on his fingers. “Ouch. You little, Fine!” he tugged the shirt over his head and threw it in the cage, snapping the door shut. “Stay in there then, if you wont listen.”
Tim barked from the folds of the shirt, rustled, then settled in to no doubt return to sleep.
Allen huffed, pulling on another shirt, then finished his boots and set about making himself presentable for company.
Oh he could have managed the time difference just fine if it had only been England to Florida, but shaking loose of the flimsy chance of a tail had them hopping a plane to Russia, a boat to china, a train up through most of Asia, during Monsoon season of all sodding times, and a relaxing week in India as he coordinated the rehab of their Orlando flat by phone and the magics of the internet. Now that he was state-side he was having a far more difficult time adjusting than he had hoped for.
It wasn’t as though he made a habit of drinking, particularly in the points of his life where the potential need for escape was high, seeing it as the crutch it was. However as this day he was shrugging off the remnants of jetlag while fielding the tidal wave of debt collectors that flooded him every time they surfaced in any location, the thought of a good bender was more than welcome. So when Lavi had come banging on the door, half drunk and just as crazy, shouting at Cross about bars and booze and women, he had been happy to come along, to the surprise of both redheads.
So several pints and a few bills he really didn’t want to think about, as it would kill his delightful buzz, later he had flopped down face first and bare assed on his bed and dropped into sleep like a stone.
Until the terrible sound of his phone wrenched him from it minutes later.
He was a light sleeper, one didn’t grow up in the s**t and piss of society without developing the appropriate instincts, as a lack of such would cease all aging in the charming form of death. Clawing his way up from the bliss he had finally managed to deal with no doubt another ******** collector, ‘just ******** off please’ he begged, digging through his discarded cloths before remembering that he had tossed his phone in the waste bin before leaving with Lavi, because really, ******** them all. ‘I had finally gotten to sleep.’
Allen was not a rude person by habit. Inherently, by nature and by necessity, he was a mean, nasty little son of a b***h, but by chosen design he had cultured himself into a sweet, polite, courteous young man. And as a sweet, polite, courteous young man, who was shaking off a delightful buzz he had been cultivating for the past few hours, he felt the need to scold himself for the crass language and inhospitable tone used with the man on the other end of the line. Unfortunately his gentlemanly mask was as buzzed as the rest of him, and really didn’t give a ********.
And here he was, tossing on a new set of cloths that didn’t smell like larger and tobacco, willing himself to find the energy, wit, and patience for just a little while longer.
Trying to tug on a boot produced an irate sound, like a broken car alarm. “What? Tim!” He removed his foot from the shoe and dug in with his hand, scooping out a small blonde ball of soft fur and teeth. “Well, if you don’t want me squishing you don’t sleep in my boot.” He said to the crabbing sugar glider. The animal uncurled itself from its ball and adjusted its position to grab his thumb in its tiny clawed hands, looking at him with large dark eyes in its creamy face. “I have to go out again,” he explained as he set Tim down on his bed, “I’ll be back soon.”
The reply he got was a sudden impact of small animal on the back of his shirt. “Tim, get off.” He reached around, but the glider had already climbed up to his shoulder. “Tim, really, I have to go. Stay here.” He grabbed at it, but Tim just jumped from his hand back to his shirt, disappearing in his breast pocket. “Tim, I’m serious, you aren’t allowed in the bars.” But when he reached into his pocket all he got was a sharp n** on his fingers. “Ouch. You little, Fine!” he tugged the shirt over his head and threw it in the cage, snapping the door shut. “Stay in there then, if you wont listen.”
Tim barked from the folds of the shirt, rustled, then settled in to no doubt return to sleep.
Allen huffed, pulling on another shirt, then finished his boots and set about making himself presentable for company.
RinORourke
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- Posted: Thu, 22 Mar 2012 19:47:25 +0000
The apartment was a tired looking square among many unfortunate buildings on a nasty little street crowded with pitiful looking people. Pockmarked with bullet wounds and decorated over every reachable surface with graffiti, overlapping each other until it all smeared into indecipherable squiggles and blobs, the residents long ago giving up trying to keep the walls clean. One particularly enterprising individual had managed to spray in eye searing pink a large crude depiction of an erect p***s all the way up the two stories to the roof. With a smiley face on the head.
He idled by the curb and text Allen to let him know he had arrived.
No sooner had he sent the message did a person emerge from the dark entryway, the security gate long since busted and the overhead light littering the sidewalk in broken pieces. Even from across the street he recognized the long, lanky young man from the photos. It wasn't a person one could mistake.
He had to be the palest human around with blood still pulsing through his veins. His hair was the stark, glowing white of sunbleached bone and as Kanda unfolded himself from the car to greet him he saw his eyes, darkened to almost black in the shadows, were a metallic grey color that shone silver as moon dust in the streetlight.
"What the ******** hell kind of haircolor is that? ******** freak."
"Well hello to you too," Allen said, eyebrows raised in amused curiosity, as if he'd come across some strange new discovery, "it matches my thatch."
"Like I care about your damn accessorizing." he had noticed that, indeed, everything the pale man wore matched his wraith-like appearance, from the silky long sleeve button down to the loose fitting slacks giving his legs a shapeless pencil-thin look. He cut a surreal white line against the dark street. Allen just chuckled, as though enjoying a joke. Kanda did not like being the object of anyone's amusement, most certainly not this infuriating person he had come to hate from a single phonecall. "The ******** ever, just get in the car."
Now that got a different reaction, as the man sobered and gazed at the car apprehensively. It was a small car, compact bordering mini, and beaten to all hell and back from Kanda's less than docile driving habits.
"How'sabout we just walk?" he offered, turning his smile back on and jutting a thumb in the direction one assumed they would be going.
Kanda, who did not see a damned thing wrong with his trashed toy car, scowled. "Why?" he forced through his teeth.
"Because two am on OBT on a Saturday night is the one place and time you'll ever find a fifteen minute walk become a forty minute drive."
"You've never driven in Tokyo." the Asian replied.
"True that, but it's midnight rush-hour all the same, so let's get on."
"I'm not leaving my car out here to be stripped."
Allen glanced again at what looked to be the remains of a forcibly compact car with a raised brow, but shrugged and directed him to the carparks in the rear of the complex, then turned on a heel and walked back across the street.
Kanda swore at the loss of time, and again at the skinny white b*****d who could obviously have given him directions from inside the car driving there, and then just swore, for the hell of it. Because: ********! Just. ********.
********.
He kicked a tire with his scuffed black Docs and slammed back into the car, a car that did not look that bad. It had survived ******** traffic in Japan, and everybody had a couple dents and scratches, it was a city for ******** sake, he just didn't bother buffing them out. Waste of money. It was just a machine. It still ran fine, sort of. Sometimes. Sure it was a little moody in the morning, but that just gave it personality, and a good fight had always been a perfect way for him to start the day.
And what the ******** kind of apartments had carports in this trashy neighborhood? Locks just meant you had something you wanted to keep safe, which meant you had something to steal.
He turned into what was obviously a side alley, no matter how you looked at it, and barely managed to squeeze his undersized car around the corner where thoroughly abused metal reflected along the wall, graffiti continued around the building to announce the various imaginative, impossible, or illegal sexual appetites of the residents. It looked like a less than reputable storage facility. One door was warped at hood level and two others were completely missing.
He pulled up to slot 14 where the irritating little white-boy was crouched, fiddling with the lock. "The owners of the building remodeled two apartments to make these." he rose and pat the door. "my roommate and I don't have a car so it’s mostly used for storage, your Beatle should fit." he grabbed the handle and yanked, the slabs of metal sliding up fluidly on well-oiled gears.
Kanda scoffed, mumbling 'not a beetle' under his breath and ignored the grin that meant the a*****e heard him, but pulled in all the same, killing the engine and squeezing out, bumping into some boxes on his way. He keyed the lock and gave the structure a once over. The place was packed, but in a neatly organized way, ruthlessly, almost obsessively arranged like stones in the walls of an ancient fortress.
He turned to duck out when something white caught his gaze. Tucked in the back corner surrounded by boxes and barely covered in a stingy protective tarp the size of a beach towel was a bike as smooth and slender as a silver bullet, gleaming almost invitingly in the dingy fluorescent light. From the angle he couldn't figure the make of it, but nothing he did catch eye of resembled anything he knew.
"Thought you said you didn't have a car," he commented.
"What? Oh that, it's not a car it's a crotch rocket, and it doesn't work." Allen quickly shut the gate again. "It was a gift from my father, just another Kerbside ornament is all. Can't quite get rid of it." he snapped the lock in place and walked away. End of discussion.
Kanda frowned, but followed.
He idled by the curb and text Allen to let him know he had arrived.
No sooner had he sent the message did a person emerge from the dark entryway, the security gate long since busted and the overhead light littering the sidewalk in broken pieces. Even from across the street he recognized the long, lanky young man from the photos. It wasn't a person one could mistake.
He had to be the palest human around with blood still pulsing through his veins. His hair was the stark, glowing white of sunbleached bone and as Kanda unfolded himself from the car to greet him he saw his eyes, darkened to almost black in the shadows, were a metallic grey color that shone silver as moon dust in the streetlight.
"What the ******** hell kind of haircolor is that? ******** freak."
"Well hello to you too," Allen said, eyebrows raised in amused curiosity, as if he'd come across some strange new discovery, "it matches my thatch."
"Like I care about your damn accessorizing." he had noticed that, indeed, everything the pale man wore matched his wraith-like appearance, from the silky long sleeve button down to the loose fitting slacks giving his legs a shapeless pencil-thin look. He cut a surreal white line against the dark street. Allen just chuckled, as though enjoying a joke. Kanda did not like being the object of anyone's amusement, most certainly not this infuriating person he had come to hate from a single phonecall. "The ******** ever, just get in the car."
Now that got a different reaction, as the man sobered and gazed at the car apprehensively. It was a small car, compact bordering mini, and beaten to all hell and back from Kanda's less than docile driving habits.
"How'sabout we just walk?" he offered, turning his smile back on and jutting a thumb in the direction one assumed they would be going.
Kanda, who did not see a damned thing wrong with his trashed toy car, scowled. "Why?" he forced through his teeth.
"Because two am on OBT on a Saturday night is the one place and time you'll ever find a fifteen minute walk become a forty minute drive."
"You've never driven in Tokyo." the Asian replied.
"True that, but it's midnight rush-hour all the same, so let's get on."
"I'm not leaving my car out here to be stripped."
Allen glanced again at what looked to be the remains of a forcibly compact car with a raised brow, but shrugged and directed him to the carparks in the rear of the complex, then turned on a heel and walked back across the street.
Kanda swore at the loss of time, and again at the skinny white b*****d who could obviously have given him directions from inside the car driving there, and then just swore, for the hell of it. Because: ********! Just. ********.
********.
He kicked a tire with his scuffed black Docs and slammed back into the car, a car that did not look that bad. It had survived ******** traffic in Japan, and everybody had a couple dents and scratches, it was a city for ******** sake, he just didn't bother buffing them out. Waste of money. It was just a machine. It still ran fine, sort of. Sometimes. Sure it was a little moody in the morning, but that just gave it personality, and a good fight had always been a perfect way for him to start the day.
And what the ******** kind of apartments had carports in this trashy neighborhood? Locks just meant you had something you wanted to keep safe, which meant you had something to steal.
He turned into what was obviously a side alley, no matter how you looked at it, and barely managed to squeeze his undersized car around the corner where thoroughly abused metal reflected along the wall, graffiti continued around the building to announce the various imaginative, impossible, or illegal sexual appetites of the residents. It looked like a less than reputable storage facility. One door was warped at hood level and two others were completely missing.
He pulled up to slot 14 where the irritating little white-boy was crouched, fiddling with the lock. "The owners of the building remodeled two apartments to make these." he rose and pat the door. "my roommate and I don't have a car so it’s mostly used for storage, your Beatle should fit." he grabbed the handle and yanked, the slabs of metal sliding up fluidly on well-oiled gears.
Kanda scoffed, mumbling 'not a beetle' under his breath and ignored the grin that meant the a*****e heard him, but pulled in all the same, killing the engine and squeezing out, bumping into some boxes on his way. He keyed the lock and gave the structure a once over. The place was packed, but in a neatly organized way, ruthlessly, almost obsessively arranged like stones in the walls of an ancient fortress.
He turned to duck out when something white caught his gaze. Tucked in the back corner surrounded by boxes and barely covered in a stingy protective tarp the size of a beach towel was a bike as smooth and slender as a silver bullet, gleaming almost invitingly in the dingy fluorescent light. From the angle he couldn't figure the make of it, but nothing he did catch eye of resembled anything he knew.
"Thought you said you didn't have a car," he commented.
"What? Oh that, it's not a car it's a crotch rocket, and it doesn't work." Allen quickly shut the gate again. "It was a gift from my father, just another Kerbside ornament is all. Can't quite get rid of it." he snapped the lock in place and walked away. End of discussion.
Kanda frowned, but followed.
RinORourke
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- Posted: Thu, 22 Mar 2012 20:50:08 +0000
The walk to the line of pubs was indeed very short, and Allen was pleased to note it was also very silent. Not to say Yu Kanda wasn't pleasant company, but pissed as he was he'd tell just about anyone where they could get off, even a talent such as he-who-walked-beside-him.
He was something all right, a Good six foot plus stretched out into a long, lean, well-muscled body. Pure solid Asian, from the heavy accent to the waterfall of dark, glossy, hair tied ruthlessly on the top of his head spilling down past his waist and grazing the hem of his jeans, and oh did those jeans do justice to that bum. He'd have planned to tap off anyone with an a** like that.
Kanda kept pace with him perfectly, a scowl tugging at the edge of a generous mouth, lips firming with every short chime, his muscled shoulders constantly tense from the anticipation of a new alert and he continually checked his phone, swearing under his breath. Mostly various interpretations on the word '********'. Just his luck Lavi would set up this meet and get him messy right before hand, the git. He tried to keep quiet, but the frustrated scowl just made him want to reach up and take a bite from those lips.
"Why didn't you report it stolen?" he asked when the silence began to chaff at him. Kanda paused in putting his phone back, scoffed.
"I want to hunt him down and kill him myself."
"You couldn't call up and ask for a list of recent transactions? Get the location of the bar?"
"It's a matter of pride." he answered. "I'm a cop, I can follow a trail." even if his bank account limped along afterword.
"You're mate pinched your card and you're first thought as a cop is deductive reasoning?"
"No, my first thought as a cop is where my gun is and whether I should bring it or strangle him with my bare hands.” They turned onto the street, crowded with cars and people; it was two am, why the ******** weren’t these people in bed? International was one thing, that was tourist central, but this street was nothing but natives with nothing better to do then sit at bars, complaining about the economy while pissing away what little money they did make on cheap alcohol. Someone bumped his shoulder and he snarled. “The ******** are there this many people?” he demanded, shoving his way through.
“I told you, most bars and clubs close at 2, so its party-dump out here. As a cop you should really know this.” Allen apologized to the people they pushed through. “And that was a bus stop, so they were waiting there for a reason.”
“******** bus doesn’t run this late.”
“A couple do, yes. And even if they didn’t, it’s a popular spot to wait for a ride, seeing as it has a bench and such.” They paused in the shadow of a closed resturaunt, where a few people hardly legal sat against the wall nursing a can of bud between them. Kanda kicked one in the foot. Figuring the quicker he started the faster he could get the hell out of the crowd.
“What you want?” the trashed youth demanded in a slur, blinking up at him as if the dim trickle of the dingy street lamp hurt his eyes. His slacken, drunken face split into a hopeful grin. “Oh hey pretty lady, want to party?” Kanda kicked him again.
“I’m looking for an idiotic redhead with an eyepatch,” he snapped out, “with some other ********, probably drunk, loud, and grabby with the girls.”
The man scrunched up his face in total concentration before giving a shrug. “Sorry.” He said, then leered. “Whats wrong, your boyfriend ditch you? Awww, that’s okay, we can take you home. Right guys?” one of his companions managed a grunt, attention fully on the can in his hands, the other appeared to have passed out. Allen managed to pull Kanda away before he took his frustration out on the obvious target. “That your plan mister detective, asking every drunk you find if they saw a leggy redhead with an eyepatch?”
“Yes, and if you don’t have any better ideas ******** off.” He shoved him aside and proceeded to interrogate a group of college girls, with the same results and provocative invitations.
“Well actually I do have,” but Kanda was moving to the next set, he had to rush to keep up. “Hey, look. I know some of the people who work the bars and clubs, I can ask them. It’ll be easier.”
“And what about you?” Kanda turned from the girl he was asking to her male companion. “you see anybody like that?”
“Nope.”
Realizing Kanda wasn’t listening he grabbed his shoulder and jerked him down. “Listen, don’t you think the bars would be the best choice to look?” Kanda bit off his oath and glared. “They see everyone that comes and goes, they’ll remember-- HEY!” Kanda shook him off and stormed up the steps to the first club he saw and badged the bouncer, asking his now standard question.
The bulky man flicked an eye at the badge, then at Kanda, sizing him up in an instant, then back towards a middle aged man in a wrinkled business suit trying to slip his way inside. “Never saw them.” He said curtly, before grabbing the man by the collar and pulling him close. “Didn’t I throw you far enough last time Michael?”
Kanda gnashed his teeth, turning on his heel and storming back to the sidewalk as Mr. Michael flew like a trash bag back towards the parking lot. He hit the crosswalk at the exact time the light changed and crossed to the next bar without breaking his stride. Allen, torn between amusement and indignation, sat down on an empty separation wall and watched the man work.
It was interesting, the watching of it. He had a powerful presence, the wide shoulders with powerful almost military stance, and firm set of his jaw. His long legs ate the distance between each bar and club in moments, he stepped smoothly into the paths of patrons when he managed to catch one or two this side of sober. The question wasn’t always the same, but it was always short, obvious details. Tall, slim, red hair, eyepatch. He wasted no time asking about Cross, Allen didn’t think he knew what the man looked like.
The security was another matter, as the badge got their attention and their backs up. Allen saw a few flick a glance his way, but he didn’t bother with any indication as to how they should proceed. He was disappointed when Kanda let if fall as each gave a negative answer, never requested entrance or pushed further. Too pissed to catch a scent perhaps, or lacking instincts. Such a waste, all that energy and no way to use it. Perhaps cops weren’t as clever as the books made them out to be.
He was a joy to watch nonetheless, pretty, which wasn’t Allen’s usual meal of choice, and a little girlish with his dark slanted eyes and sharp triangular face shadowed by dark razor straight bangs across a strong forehead. He also had terrible taste in clothes, was even wearing a long black trench coat in this muggy summer heat.
“You really are that inept aren’t you?” Allen snarked from his place by the lightpost when Kanda came back once again with no answers. The look he got could curdle milk. “These people aren’t going to tell a cop about a customer, especially if it’s Cross. He’s a regular, and a high paying one at that. You think they’ll risk losing him?”
“I’m not looking for any ******** Cross. I’m look for that idiot rabbit.” He snapped.
“Who is with Cross, really you aren’t very good at this are you?”
“******** off,” This guy was an annoying ******** waste of time; he didn’t even know why he was even there if he wasn’t going to be useful. “You’re the one who said ask the ******** bouncers.” Kanda shoved his hands in his pockets, the night was warm and humid but he never left the house without his jacket, people tended to freak when they saw his gun, which was so very annoying.
“Correction, I said to ask the people inside the bars, not flash your badge and start interrogating. People tell you much more when they’re relaxed and comfortable around you.”
“yeah, sure, I have all the time in the world to sit and talk with a bunch of stupid servers, and hey maybe they’ll answer my question in between trying to sell me their brother’s home brew and complaining about the drunk who hit on them. ******** genius. You should be a cop.” His phone chimed again and he swore, removing it from his pocket.
“I’ll think about it.” Reaching out a hand, fast as a striking snake, he nipped the device.
“The ******** are you doing?!” Kanda snatched at it but Allen easily dodged, he tapped at the screen with a well-manicured finger, pleased to note that Kanda had either already unlocked it, or not bothered turning it back on with the frequency that he was pulling it out.
“If you don’t want to follow the money, then the least you could do is follow your witness.”
“You said you didn’t know where they were.” Kanda snatched at his phone, but Allen evaded, smooth as a dancer, and tapped backward a few paces in the direction of the private clubs, pressing keys on the phone’s screen.
“I said I don’t know where they are currently, I do, however, have friends in the business who might.”
“Give me my phone back, a*****e, That’s police property.”
“I’m so scared. Arrest me.” He tapped a little more, eyes peeking over the device to watch Kanda stride after him. The man moved fast, nearly had him by the arm but he stepped forward and to the side, just beyond the angle of his reach and had slid around him to his back before he could switch the momentum. “You’re not very good at this.” He repeated when he once again easily dodged a grab. “It’s actually quite cute, the whole pissed off helpless act. Lavi said he’d set us up, since we’ve never been introduced even though we share more than a few friends.”
Kanda surprised him by twisting suddenly and caught him by the forearm. Spun them, and pressed him, hard, face first up against the wall of some closed down fast food joint.
"You think you can just insult me without consequences, a*****e?" Like hell he was going to be listening to this b*****d’s opinions all night.
"Well I've yet to see one, so yeah." He attempted to twist away, Kanda pressed against him with more force to keep him still and followed the line of his arm down to his hand where the phone was, “You plan on doing something fun with those hand’s samurai? Because if not, I’d highly suggest removing them.
“Or you’ll what?” He had him pinned to the wall, both hands behind his back now, though the phone was nowhere to be found and Kanda was getting seriously pissed. "I don't give two shits whose friend you are, if the Usagi planned anything it's none of my business, but it is my money and like hell I'm going to be made a fool of so show me where he is or I'll slice you to ******** pieces." He hadn't been expecting Allen to kick his legs out from under him, and that sudden move barely left time for his reflexes to sweep them around so Kanda landed on top, pinning the albino beneath him. "********!"
Allen gave him no time to orient himself before he elbowed him in the collar, scissored his legs, and rolled to reverse their positions. "Don't ever try and ******** pin me." He rasped against Kanda's cheek, elbow still connected to his throat, a knee pressed dangerously against his groin. Kanda stilled at the applied pressure, but the buildup of fury only expanded.
"Get. Off." He bit the words with a snap of white teeth.
"I don't like to be manhandled." the shorter man kept his tone and gaze that same cold steel, "I would appreciate it greatly if you would respect that."
Kanda contemplated his response, as much as he'd enjoy utterly destroying the skinny little ******** the joints pressed to his anatomy were not to be overlooked.
Accepting a form of vengeance he nodded, letting the man remove himself from his person and stand before kicking a foot out and catching him in the stomach.
Allen doubled over with a windy groan.
Satisfied with himself Kanda stood and dusted himself off. "I don't like to be touched either." He answered, walking in the direction of the next club. He listened with no small amount of glee to the wheezing expletives, but couldn't quite make out their nonsensical meaning. British swears, in his not so inexperienced opinion, always came off too cutesy to be taken seriously.
Allen finally managed to stand correctly, palm flat against his abdomen, and shuffle rather pathetically forward. He was glad he hadn’t brought Tim as the little guy may have been squished just then, or attack Kanda in his defense. Well, he had kind of deserved that, but he just wanted to see if the man had the reflexes his profession demanded. He chuckled. Lavi could be right, they may end up not getting on at all. Though he considered the situation and his uncharacteristic blood alcohol level at least partially to blame.
With a sigh he decided that cutting their association for the night to an efficient business hour would go a long way to keeping them on amiable terms. He wasn’t nearly drunk enough, not at all, to deal with such abrasiveness. Rubbing a hand across his middle and hoping he couldn’t have a bruise, or worse a breakout. He watched the indignant swing of the Asian’s long dark ponytail, quite the distance away, and smiled. As long as he had the phone, the man couldn’t just walk away. He wondered how long he’d have to sit here before he came stomping back.
Up ahead Kanda stormed across the pavement, shoving past drunk partiers and their sober rides, counting the concrete squares in the sidewalk. The whole night was ********, he could see that plain as anything, and what was worse was the very believable possibility that Lavi had set this whole thing up. For what? So they could meet? Hadn’t he told Lavi that he wasn’t going to get involved with the investigation? Hadn’t he told everybody?
He was only here to help Tiedoll with the new recruit, he had his own cases to work after all, he didn’t need to be involved in some damn undercover op on an old traitor.
He knew what it was like, after all, to hate the Order. He wasn’t hypocritical enough to hunt down someone who had the courage to do what he still couldn’t.
He was something all right, a Good six foot plus stretched out into a long, lean, well-muscled body. Pure solid Asian, from the heavy accent to the waterfall of dark, glossy, hair tied ruthlessly on the top of his head spilling down past his waist and grazing the hem of his jeans, and oh did those jeans do justice to that bum. He'd have planned to tap off anyone with an a** like that.
Kanda kept pace with him perfectly, a scowl tugging at the edge of a generous mouth, lips firming with every short chime, his muscled shoulders constantly tense from the anticipation of a new alert and he continually checked his phone, swearing under his breath. Mostly various interpretations on the word '********'. Just his luck Lavi would set up this meet and get him messy right before hand, the git. He tried to keep quiet, but the frustrated scowl just made him want to reach up and take a bite from those lips.
"Why didn't you report it stolen?" he asked when the silence began to chaff at him. Kanda paused in putting his phone back, scoffed.
"I want to hunt him down and kill him myself."
"You couldn't call up and ask for a list of recent transactions? Get the location of the bar?"
"It's a matter of pride." he answered. "I'm a cop, I can follow a trail." even if his bank account limped along afterword.
"You're mate pinched your card and you're first thought as a cop is deductive reasoning?"
"No, my first thought as a cop is where my gun is and whether I should bring it or strangle him with my bare hands.” They turned onto the street, crowded with cars and people; it was two am, why the ******** weren’t these people in bed? International was one thing, that was tourist central, but this street was nothing but natives with nothing better to do then sit at bars, complaining about the economy while pissing away what little money they did make on cheap alcohol. Someone bumped his shoulder and he snarled. “The ******** are there this many people?” he demanded, shoving his way through.
“I told you, most bars and clubs close at 2, so its party-dump out here. As a cop you should really know this.” Allen apologized to the people they pushed through. “And that was a bus stop, so they were waiting there for a reason.”
“******** bus doesn’t run this late.”
“A couple do, yes. And even if they didn’t, it’s a popular spot to wait for a ride, seeing as it has a bench and such.” They paused in the shadow of a closed resturaunt, where a few people hardly legal sat against the wall nursing a can of bud between them. Kanda kicked one in the foot. Figuring the quicker he started the faster he could get the hell out of the crowd.
“What you want?” the trashed youth demanded in a slur, blinking up at him as if the dim trickle of the dingy street lamp hurt his eyes. His slacken, drunken face split into a hopeful grin. “Oh hey pretty lady, want to party?” Kanda kicked him again.
“I’m looking for an idiotic redhead with an eyepatch,” he snapped out, “with some other ********, probably drunk, loud, and grabby with the girls.”
The man scrunched up his face in total concentration before giving a shrug. “Sorry.” He said, then leered. “Whats wrong, your boyfriend ditch you? Awww, that’s okay, we can take you home. Right guys?” one of his companions managed a grunt, attention fully on the can in his hands, the other appeared to have passed out. Allen managed to pull Kanda away before he took his frustration out on the obvious target. “That your plan mister detective, asking every drunk you find if they saw a leggy redhead with an eyepatch?”
“Yes, and if you don’t have any better ideas ******** off.” He shoved him aside and proceeded to interrogate a group of college girls, with the same results and provocative invitations.
“Well actually I do have,” but Kanda was moving to the next set, he had to rush to keep up. “Hey, look. I know some of the people who work the bars and clubs, I can ask them. It’ll be easier.”
“And what about you?” Kanda turned from the girl he was asking to her male companion. “you see anybody like that?”
“Nope.”
Realizing Kanda wasn’t listening he grabbed his shoulder and jerked him down. “Listen, don’t you think the bars would be the best choice to look?” Kanda bit off his oath and glared. “They see everyone that comes and goes, they’ll remember-- HEY!” Kanda shook him off and stormed up the steps to the first club he saw and badged the bouncer, asking his now standard question.
The bulky man flicked an eye at the badge, then at Kanda, sizing him up in an instant, then back towards a middle aged man in a wrinkled business suit trying to slip his way inside. “Never saw them.” He said curtly, before grabbing the man by the collar and pulling him close. “Didn’t I throw you far enough last time Michael?”
Kanda gnashed his teeth, turning on his heel and storming back to the sidewalk as Mr. Michael flew like a trash bag back towards the parking lot. He hit the crosswalk at the exact time the light changed and crossed to the next bar without breaking his stride. Allen, torn between amusement and indignation, sat down on an empty separation wall and watched the man work.
It was interesting, the watching of it. He had a powerful presence, the wide shoulders with powerful almost military stance, and firm set of his jaw. His long legs ate the distance between each bar and club in moments, he stepped smoothly into the paths of patrons when he managed to catch one or two this side of sober. The question wasn’t always the same, but it was always short, obvious details. Tall, slim, red hair, eyepatch. He wasted no time asking about Cross, Allen didn’t think he knew what the man looked like.
The security was another matter, as the badge got their attention and their backs up. Allen saw a few flick a glance his way, but he didn’t bother with any indication as to how they should proceed. He was disappointed when Kanda let if fall as each gave a negative answer, never requested entrance or pushed further. Too pissed to catch a scent perhaps, or lacking instincts. Such a waste, all that energy and no way to use it. Perhaps cops weren’t as clever as the books made them out to be.
He was a joy to watch nonetheless, pretty, which wasn’t Allen’s usual meal of choice, and a little girlish with his dark slanted eyes and sharp triangular face shadowed by dark razor straight bangs across a strong forehead. He also had terrible taste in clothes, was even wearing a long black trench coat in this muggy summer heat.
“You really are that inept aren’t you?” Allen snarked from his place by the lightpost when Kanda came back once again with no answers. The look he got could curdle milk. “These people aren’t going to tell a cop about a customer, especially if it’s Cross. He’s a regular, and a high paying one at that. You think they’ll risk losing him?”
“I’m not looking for any ******** Cross. I’m look for that idiot rabbit.” He snapped.
“Who is with Cross, really you aren’t very good at this are you?”
“******** off,” This guy was an annoying ******** waste of time; he didn’t even know why he was even there if he wasn’t going to be useful. “You’re the one who said ask the ******** bouncers.” Kanda shoved his hands in his pockets, the night was warm and humid but he never left the house without his jacket, people tended to freak when they saw his gun, which was so very annoying.
“Correction, I said to ask the people inside the bars, not flash your badge and start interrogating. People tell you much more when they’re relaxed and comfortable around you.”
“yeah, sure, I have all the time in the world to sit and talk with a bunch of stupid servers, and hey maybe they’ll answer my question in between trying to sell me their brother’s home brew and complaining about the drunk who hit on them. ******** genius. You should be a cop.” His phone chimed again and he swore, removing it from his pocket.
“I’ll think about it.” Reaching out a hand, fast as a striking snake, he nipped the device.
“The ******** are you doing?!” Kanda snatched at it but Allen easily dodged, he tapped at the screen with a well-manicured finger, pleased to note that Kanda had either already unlocked it, or not bothered turning it back on with the frequency that he was pulling it out.
“If you don’t want to follow the money, then the least you could do is follow your witness.”
“You said you didn’t know where they were.” Kanda snatched at his phone, but Allen evaded, smooth as a dancer, and tapped backward a few paces in the direction of the private clubs, pressing keys on the phone’s screen.
“I said I don’t know where they are currently, I do, however, have friends in the business who might.”
“Give me my phone back, a*****e, That’s police property.”
“I’m so scared. Arrest me.” He tapped a little more, eyes peeking over the device to watch Kanda stride after him. The man moved fast, nearly had him by the arm but he stepped forward and to the side, just beyond the angle of his reach and had slid around him to his back before he could switch the momentum. “You’re not very good at this.” He repeated when he once again easily dodged a grab. “It’s actually quite cute, the whole pissed off helpless act. Lavi said he’d set us up, since we’ve never been introduced even though we share more than a few friends.”
Kanda surprised him by twisting suddenly and caught him by the forearm. Spun them, and pressed him, hard, face first up against the wall of some closed down fast food joint.
"You think you can just insult me without consequences, a*****e?" Like hell he was going to be listening to this b*****d’s opinions all night.
"Well I've yet to see one, so yeah." He attempted to twist away, Kanda pressed against him with more force to keep him still and followed the line of his arm down to his hand where the phone was, “You plan on doing something fun with those hand’s samurai? Because if not, I’d highly suggest removing them.
“Or you’ll what?” He had him pinned to the wall, both hands behind his back now, though the phone was nowhere to be found and Kanda was getting seriously pissed. "I don't give two shits whose friend you are, if the Usagi planned anything it's none of my business, but it is my money and like hell I'm going to be made a fool of so show me where he is or I'll slice you to ******** pieces." He hadn't been expecting Allen to kick his legs out from under him, and that sudden move barely left time for his reflexes to sweep them around so Kanda landed on top, pinning the albino beneath him. "********!"
Allen gave him no time to orient himself before he elbowed him in the collar, scissored his legs, and rolled to reverse their positions. "Don't ever try and ******** pin me." He rasped against Kanda's cheek, elbow still connected to his throat, a knee pressed dangerously against his groin. Kanda stilled at the applied pressure, but the buildup of fury only expanded.
"Get. Off." He bit the words with a snap of white teeth.
"I don't like to be manhandled." the shorter man kept his tone and gaze that same cold steel, "I would appreciate it greatly if you would respect that."
Kanda contemplated his response, as much as he'd enjoy utterly destroying the skinny little ******** the joints pressed to his anatomy were not to be overlooked.
Accepting a form of vengeance he nodded, letting the man remove himself from his person and stand before kicking a foot out and catching him in the stomach.
Allen doubled over with a windy groan.
Satisfied with himself Kanda stood and dusted himself off. "I don't like to be touched either." He answered, walking in the direction of the next club. He listened with no small amount of glee to the wheezing expletives, but couldn't quite make out their nonsensical meaning. British swears, in his not so inexperienced opinion, always came off too cutesy to be taken seriously.
Allen finally managed to stand correctly, palm flat against his abdomen, and shuffle rather pathetically forward. He was glad he hadn’t brought Tim as the little guy may have been squished just then, or attack Kanda in his defense. Well, he had kind of deserved that, but he just wanted to see if the man had the reflexes his profession demanded. He chuckled. Lavi could be right, they may end up not getting on at all. Though he considered the situation and his uncharacteristic blood alcohol level at least partially to blame.
With a sigh he decided that cutting their association for the night to an efficient business hour would go a long way to keeping them on amiable terms. He wasn’t nearly drunk enough, not at all, to deal with such abrasiveness. Rubbing a hand across his middle and hoping he couldn’t have a bruise, or worse a breakout. He watched the indignant swing of the Asian’s long dark ponytail, quite the distance away, and smiled. As long as he had the phone, the man couldn’t just walk away. He wondered how long he’d have to sit here before he came stomping back.
Up ahead Kanda stormed across the pavement, shoving past drunk partiers and their sober rides, counting the concrete squares in the sidewalk. The whole night was ********, he could see that plain as anything, and what was worse was the very believable possibility that Lavi had set this whole thing up. For what? So they could meet? Hadn’t he told Lavi that he wasn’t going to get involved with the investigation? Hadn’t he told everybody?
He was only here to help Tiedoll with the new recruit, he had his own cases to work after all, he didn’t need to be involved in some damn undercover op on an old traitor.
He knew what it was like, after all, to hate the Order. He wasn’t hypocritical enough to hunt down someone who had the courage to do what he still couldn’t.
RinORourke
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- Posted: Thu, 22 Mar 2012 22:57:43 +0000
“See, I know the bar they were at when I last saw them, and the Fine Lady who runs it might know where they went.” Allen explained as they walked together down the street, the crowd was thinning and they could move easily without stepping off the sidewalk into the street to get by. “I sent a message on your mobile while I was waiting for your head to cool, she said to meet her there and she’ll see what she can do.” He handed back the phone to a murderous looking Kanda, completely disregarding the dark aura, they had stopped in front of a gentleman’s club labeled the Doll House.* “it’s this up here.” He thumbed the air towards the elegant entryway of the club, guarded by busty sirens, sitting on either side of the door on pedestals, a trident in one hand raised victoriously towards the sky, heads tossed back in open mouthed wonder, manes of hair tumbling down backs to curl along the proud voluptuous fins. “It’s a private club, they won’t let you in without a membership. Best to wait here.”
He almost asked why a boy who looked so young would be allowed entrance, then snapped his mouth shut with a click of teeth, because he didn’t care. He didn’t want anything to do with this, so it didn’t matter, and as soon as he got his card and revenge on that idiot red head he could give the brat the beating he deserved for the stunt he pulled. Until then he breathed in and out, watching the young man disappear inside, the sudden glow from the blacklight inside lit him up like a scorpion before the door closed and Kanda was left on the porch like an idiot.
He spent the time consoling himself with ways he could enact his vengeance. Almost smiling when he got to the part of boiled rabbit stew served with a side of something suspiciously white.
He almost asked why a boy who looked so young would be allowed entrance, then snapped his mouth shut with a click of teeth, because he didn’t care. He didn’t want anything to do with this, so it didn’t matter, and as soon as he got his card and revenge on that idiot red head he could give the brat the beating he deserved for the stunt he pulled. Until then he breathed in and out, watching the young man disappear inside, the sudden glow from the blacklight inside lit him up like a scorpion before the door closed and Kanda was left on the porch like an idiot.
He spent the time consoling himself with ways he could enact his vengeance. Almost smiling when he got to the part of boiled rabbit stew served with a side of something suspiciously white.
RinORourke
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The name may have been Doll House but Barbie was a long way from what you got when you walked in. The décor was a blend of the elegant 19th century gentleman’s study and the smoky aired secrets of an opium den. Silk papered walls and satin curtains, wood tables scrubbed to a gleam and protected with enough clear sealant it may as well be caged in glass. The bar on the back wall was a wooden behemoth left over from the days of saloons and swinging doors, French as Napoleon’s seed and a proud and true work of art. The stage was reminiscent of the roaring 20s where the girls, when it suited them, performed pieces in sheer clothing, or nothing at all. Otherwise they made their living removing what polite society demanded be kept on for the enjoyment of the drunk, bored, and lonely.
The waiters roamed the floor in provocative tailcoats, waists ruthlessly cinched and busts heroically lifted with the magic’s only the truly skilled and tragically undergifted could perfect. It was a clean place with healthy bodies and charming souls, and as it approved of and enforced Orlando’s ‘hands off’ code of conduct the girls never feared for themselves.
Allen hadn’t told Kanda the entire truth, or rather had selected to omit the parts that he knew would create more of a scene than was necessary. The most recent of it had been that he could have entered the establishment as his guests, as the owner of the Doll House, Anita, was a dear friend of his Master’s and had the tendency to dote on them both. The most pressing was that Lavi and Cross were still on site, and rather pathetically drunk.
He was led through the building by a good friend of his Mahoja, head of security and the owner’s personal bodyguard. She was an enourmos woman at six three and near two hundred pounds in muscle, chinese and bald as a monk. She wore a beautiful qipao in bold colors that bared her arms and showed off her impressive biceps. Allen loved her, respected her, and was just a little afraid of her.
It was a smoking club, which is why Cross frequented it more than any other, and the girls who were off duty would sit with him and watch the girls who were on. Allen didn’t know if he ever actually paid for sex, considering how many women he got for free, but he knew he paid well for everything else so really it was kind of the same thing. The haze wasn’t all from tobacco, as the club used several discrete fog machines to keep the illusion of enclosed privacy. Most of the colored lights were off and the overheads were blared on full, giving everything a coudy, otherworldly feel.
A few drunks too far gone to shamble out were draped over the cushions of booths and couches waiting for the taxis Anita insisted on calling for anyone too drunk to drive and too alone to bum a ride with anyone else. The club picked up the tab, though they didn’t advertise this else they’d be left with every drunk on the stip.
Tables were wiped down and chairs were turned up, trash littered the floor and puddled of spilt drinks and body fluids that escaped the custodial service’s notice in the dim lights of operating hours were plainly visible. The smell of alcohol, cigarettes, and musk were barely masked by sweet perfume and the crisp citrus of cleaning chemicals. Whatever they had been playing earlier that night, the thrumming, pulsing bass that had rocked him on his heels when he had entered it with Lavi and Cross hours ago, was turned to a soft whisper of jazz, which meant Sachiko pulled in the most money that night and got to choose the closing music.
Speaking of, the curvaceous redhead in her delicate pink kimono was cuddled up with Lavi on a daybed off in a private corner. On the V shaped couch across from it was his Master Cross, with a considerable number of the off duty girls giggling at whatever he was regaling them with.
“Well, you two sure got messy.” He stood before them with hands on his hips, Mahoja crossed her arms behind him and watched him with amusement.
“Allen! Hey, Chomesuke, have you met my little buddy Allen? Isn’t he cute?” Lavi shouted and tried to untangle his legs from themselves to get up and possibly hug said ‘little budy. Sachiko seemed to be struggling to talk around her laughter.
“Yes, Lavi, I’ve known Allen for a long time.” She helped him uncross his legs and sit up, where he proceeded to throw his arms around her in a great drunken embrace.
“Chomesuke?” Allen raised both eyebrows.
“What? You don’t think it’s cute?” She asked, happy to continue being Lavi’s personal pillow. “It’s the nickname Lavi gave me.” At Allen’s continued stare she pouted, stating sulkily, “I think it’s cute.”
"Hey idiot, did you ever exchange those trash pounds for real money? The dancers don't accept plastic." On the opposite couch, nestled into the very center angle of the V shaped couch, sat his guardian Cross Marian.
He turned from Lavi and his new snuggle buddy to glance at his guardian. Unlike Lavi, who was a tall, thin, boyish young man with wild hair that stuck up and curled over in many varied directions, Cross was an elegant man, his hair longer, past his shoulders, and a much deeper red. Where Lavi had a simple black eye patch his Master hid his secrets behind a plain white mask that concealed the right half of his face. Plain, that is, save the cross running through the eye.“It’s past closing, why do you need money?”
“We were going to have us a private party.” Cross had placed his favorite hat on one of the girls draped across him and now tucked a knuckle under her chin to lift her face, pressing a chaste kiss to the tip of her nose. She giggled and burrowed further into his jacket. Allen felt mildly ill from the display.
"I can spare a pony, you'll have to break it yourself." He stated, turning around to Mahoja he thumbed the direction of the bar. She jerked her head in a nod and went to total the bill.
"What? 25 is all you got?"
"No, but I have to settle your bill, now shove off." He turned back to Lavi, who was giggling somewhere among the pillows of the daybed, intending to retrieve the stolen property of one pissed off police officer.
"Give me a 50."
He momentarily forgot his little mission with the indignant rage of his depleted wallet."I'm not wasting half a ton on your womanizing habits!" He spat.
"Like you can't spare it with yesterday's pay."
Allen felt a muscle tic, but dug into his pocket for a handful of bills. He turned to Mahoja when she came back, so more than ready to get out of here. He still had to wrestle the card from Lavi and convince Kanda not to tear the place apart in pursuit of revenge when he realizes his prey is just beyond the doors. "so are we talking telephone numbers or is the price reasonably manageable."
“It’s good, only a couple hundred, the Boss says they can crash in the suites until morning. Sachi- I mean, Chomesuke” She looked at the gooey couple making out with a smirk, “Is staying over too.”
Allen bit his lip as he watched one of his good friends playing tonsil hockey with another. There really was no conceivable level of awkward. He knew Sachiko since they were kids. This was why he didn’t follow them into the Doll House, too many of the girls were too well known to him. It didn’t help that he had absolutely no interest in seeing a topless woman, friend or otherwise.
He passed her his, untraceable, prepaid card and prepared himself for separating the fused gingers.
“Lavi, Yu Kanda is here.” He began after a moment of thought.
“Yu-chan?” he broke away and stood up so fast he tripped over his, and Sachiko’s, entangled legs. “Yu-chan is here?’ He looked around wildly “Yu-chan! Hey, Yu-Chan come out! I want you to meet someone!” Sachiko and Allen struggled to help the flailing man stand. “Yu-chan, I want you to meet Allen! And Chomesuke, They’re both really cute yeah? But Chomesuke’s mine, so you can only have Allen, because I don’t swing that way even though he’s way cute and would totally be worth it but he has no boobs, like not even an A cup, and Chomesuke has really nice ones and she lets me touch them.”
“Okay, you can go back to kissing him now Sachiko, before that guy hears him through the walls and breaks down the door to kill him.”
“Oh, hey Allen, do you know Chomesuke, she’s the greatest isn’t she?”
“Yeah Lavi, she’s great. Now how about you hand over the card you have so I can keep your friend from killing you.” They had managed to wrestle him back onto the cushions and Allen held his hand out expectantly. “He’s been tearing a** all night looking for you, and I think he’s armed.”
“He’s always armed.” Lavi snickered. “Careful Allen, or his special arm will get you. Cute kid like you would be just the thing he needs.” Allen rolled his eyes.
“Yeah Lavi, we’re totally going to go to his place and have wild, unprotected sex, then I’ll get pregnant and bear him three sons. Now give me the card. I’m tired and I need a sugar hit.”
“Are you low?” Mahoja came back with his card and receipt. “I’ll get you a cola, hold on.”
“Thanks, but I’d rather get my friends card and head home.”
“Boy give the kid the card before I make you scrub the floors to pay for the room. You know what drunks do to bar floors every night? I’ll be back with a soda.” And she was gone back to the bar in her surprisingly silent steps over the hard wood floor. Lavi pouted, but dug through his pockets for the flimsy plastic that had been such an adventure to acquire.
Allen met Mahoja back at the entrance, excepted the plastic cup of fizzing brown liquid and tried to resist running his tongue over his teeth in trepidation. The headache skulking behind his eyes persuaded him that the battle ahead was best faced without a sugar attack, and he downed it in three gulps. Took a deep breath, and exited the building to face the wrath of a vengeful samurai.
The waiters roamed the floor in provocative tailcoats, waists ruthlessly cinched and busts heroically lifted with the magic’s only the truly skilled and tragically undergifted could perfect. It was a clean place with healthy bodies and charming souls, and as it approved of and enforced Orlando’s ‘hands off’ code of conduct the girls never feared for themselves.
Allen hadn’t told Kanda the entire truth, or rather had selected to omit the parts that he knew would create more of a scene than was necessary. The most recent of it had been that he could have entered the establishment as his guests, as the owner of the Doll House, Anita, was a dear friend of his Master’s and had the tendency to dote on them both. The most pressing was that Lavi and Cross were still on site, and rather pathetically drunk.
He was led through the building by a good friend of his Mahoja, head of security and the owner’s personal bodyguard. She was an enourmos woman at six three and near two hundred pounds in muscle, chinese and bald as a monk. She wore a beautiful qipao in bold colors that bared her arms and showed off her impressive biceps. Allen loved her, respected her, and was just a little afraid of her.
It was a smoking club, which is why Cross frequented it more than any other, and the girls who were off duty would sit with him and watch the girls who were on. Allen didn’t know if he ever actually paid for sex, considering how many women he got for free, but he knew he paid well for everything else so really it was kind of the same thing. The haze wasn’t all from tobacco, as the club used several discrete fog machines to keep the illusion of enclosed privacy. Most of the colored lights were off and the overheads were blared on full, giving everything a coudy, otherworldly feel.
A few drunks too far gone to shamble out were draped over the cushions of booths and couches waiting for the taxis Anita insisted on calling for anyone too drunk to drive and too alone to bum a ride with anyone else. The club picked up the tab, though they didn’t advertise this else they’d be left with every drunk on the stip.
Tables were wiped down and chairs were turned up, trash littered the floor and puddled of spilt drinks and body fluids that escaped the custodial service’s notice in the dim lights of operating hours were plainly visible. The smell of alcohol, cigarettes, and musk were barely masked by sweet perfume and the crisp citrus of cleaning chemicals. Whatever they had been playing earlier that night, the thrumming, pulsing bass that had rocked him on his heels when he had entered it with Lavi and Cross hours ago, was turned to a soft whisper of jazz, which meant Sachiko pulled in the most money that night and got to choose the closing music.
Speaking of, the curvaceous redhead in her delicate pink kimono was cuddled up with Lavi on a daybed off in a private corner. On the V shaped couch across from it was his Master Cross, with a considerable number of the off duty girls giggling at whatever he was regaling them with.
“Well, you two sure got messy.” He stood before them with hands on his hips, Mahoja crossed her arms behind him and watched him with amusement.
“Allen! Hey, Chomesuke, have you met my little buddy Allen? Isn’t he cute?” Lavi shouted and tried to untangle his legs from themselves to get up and possibly hug said ‘little budy. Sachiko seemed to be struggling to talk around her laughter.
“Yes, Lavi, I’ve known Allen for a long time.” She helped him uncross his legs and sit up, where he proceeded to throw his arms around her in a great drunken embrace.
“Chomesuke?” Allen raised both eyebrows.
“What? You don’t think it’s cute?” She asked, happy to continue being Lavi’s personal pillow. “It’s the nickname Lavi gave me.” At Allen’s continued stare she pouted, stating sulkily, “I think it’s cute.”
"Hey idiot, did you ever exchange those trash pounds for real money? The dancers don't accept plastic." On the opposite couch, nestled into the very center angle of the V shaped couch, sat his guardian Cross Marian.
He turned from Lavi and his new snuggle buddy to glance at his guardian. Unlike Lavi, who was a tall, thin, boyish young man with wild hair that stuck up and curled over in many varied directions, Cross was an elegant man, his hair longer, past his shoulders, and a much deeper red. Where Lavi had a simple black eye patch his Master hid his secrets behind a plain white mask that concealed the right half of his face. Plain, that is, save the cross running through the eye.“It’s past closing, why do you need money?”
“We were going to have us a private party.” Cross had placed his favorite hat on one of the girls draped across him and now tucked a knuckle under her chin to lift her face, pressing a chaste kiss to the tip of her nose. She giggled and burrowed further into his jacket. Allen felt mildly ill from the display.
"I can spare a pony, you'll have to break it yourself." He stated, turning around to Mahoja he thumbed the direction of the bar. She jerked her head in a nod and went to total the bill.
"What? 25 is all you got?"
"No, but I have to settle your bill, now shove off." He turned back to Lavi, who was giggling somewhere among the pillows of the daybed, intending to retrieve the stolen property of one pissed off police officer.
"Give me a 50."
He momentarily forgot his little mission with the indignant rage of his depleted wallet."I'm not wasting half a ton on your womanizing habits!" He spat.
"Like you can't spare it with yesterday's pay."
Allen felt a muscle tic, but dug into his pocket for a handful of bills. He turned to Mahoja when she came back, so more than ready to get out of here. He still had to wrestle the card from Lavi and convince Kanda not to tear the place apart in pursuit of revenge when he realizes his prey is just beyond the doors. "so are we talking telephone numbers or is the price reasonably manageable."
“It’s good, only a couple hundred, the Boss says they can crash in the suites until morning. Sachi- I mean, Chomesuke” She looked at the gooey couple making out with a smirk, “Is staying over too.”
Allen bit his lip as he watched one of his good friends playing tonsil hockey with another. There really was no conceivable level of awkward. He knew Sachiko since they were kids. This was why he didn’t follow them into the Doll House, too many of the girls were too well known to him. It didn’t help that he had absolutely no interest in seeing a topless woman, friend or otherwise.
He passed her his, untraceable, prepaid card and prepared himself for separating the fused gingers.
“Lavi, Yu Kanda is here.” He began after a moment of thought.
“Yu-chan?” he broke away and stood up so fast he tripped over his, and Sachiko’s, entangled legs. “Yu-chan is here?’ He looked around wildly “Yu-chan! Hey, Yu-Chan come out! I want you to meet someone!” Sachiko and Allen struggled to help the flailing man stand. “Yu-chan, I want you to meet Allen! And Chomesuke, They’re both really cute yeah? But Chomesuke’s mine, so you can only have Allen, because I don’t swing that way even though he’s way cute and would totally be worth it but he has no boobs, like not even an A cup, and Chomesuke has really nice ones and she lets me touch them.”
“Okay, you can go back to kissing him now Sachiko, before that guy hears him through the walls and breaks down the door to kill him.”
“Oh, hey Allen, do you know Chomesuke, she’s the greatest isn’t she?”
“Yeah Lavi, she’s great. Now how about you hand over the card you have so I can keep your friend from killing you.” They had managed to wrestle him back onto the cushions and Allen held his hand out expectantly. “He’s been tearing a** all night looking for you, and I think he’s armed.”
“He’s always armed.” Lavi snickered. “Careful Allen, or his special arm will get you. Cute kid like you would be just the thing he needs.” Allen rolled his eyes.
“Yeah Lavi, we’re totally going to go to his place and have wild, unprotected sex, then I’ll get pregnant and bear him three sons. Now give me the card. I’m tired and I need a sugar hit.”
“Are you low?” Mahoja came back with his card and receipt. “I’ll get you a cola, hold on.”
“Thanks, but I’d rather get my friends card and head home.”
“Boy give the kid the card before I make you scrub the floors to pay for the room. You know what drunks do to bar floors every night? I’ll be back with a soda.” And she was gone back to the bar in her surprisingly silent steps over the hard wood floor. Lavi pouted, but dug through his pockets for the flimsy plastic that had been such an adventure to acquire.
Allen met Mahoja back at the entrance, excepted the plastic cup of fizzing brown liquid and tried to resist running his tongue over his teeth in trepidation. The headache skulking behind his eyes persuaded him that the battle ahead was best faced without a sugar attack, and he downed it in three gulps. Took a deep breath, and exited the building to face the wrath of a vengeful samurai.
RinORourke
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- Posted: Thu, 22 Mar 2012 22:59:23 +0000
Allen sighed when he circled back to his building. He hated how there was no entrance near the car parks, those last few steps felt like forever, but he managed to drag himself to the busted security gate and up to his door. He owned the entire right side of the second and third floors, and he was fairly certain the apartment opposite his was vacant since that one guy got evicted.
Every bone and muscle throbbed in time with the pounding in his head. He hadn’t eaten in three hours, he had spent a monkey and more on booze and women that night and hadn’t enjoyed much of either, and he was fairly certain the corrosive contents of that soda were jack hammering their way through the enamel of his teeth.
Entering the wide open space of the front room he kicked off his boots, crossed to the kitchen, and searched desperately for his glucose tablets. He took it with a shot of bottled spring water, shuddering at the chalky taste as he chewed, and managed to drag himself to his personal space.
They had rented out half of the stingy square building, the entire top floor and two of the second directly below. Working out a deal with the owner they knocked out walls, smashed through the roof of the bottom two, and made themselves a high class condo from the mess that remained.
The stairs to his rooms were agony, but he managed. Tim was moving around in his cage, having slept half the night away. He would be disappointed to learn that the sun would be up in three hours.
With care to both their eyes he drew the heavy drapes over the blinds before opening the door and letting the golfball sized marsupial loose in his room.
“You wake me up Tim,” he warned as he opened the jar of turtle treats and gave him a small dose of freeze dried mealworms, “and you can forget those flowers we saw down at the supermarket yesterday. You’ll just have to get your pollen from a bag like the rest of us.”
Timcampy barked in what allen hoped was agreement.
He sighed as he moved to the professional vanity and began cleaning off his tattoo concealer with a hypoallergenic makeup remover.
He looked at himself in the mirror, a little worn, a little strained, skin a little pink from the gentle rubbing but he didn't think a breakout would occur. Just in case, he grabbed his lotion and applied the barest amount to his face.
In his personal opinion he looked too bad. Sure his scar was absolutely hideous, with its ragged unnatural shape, flushed almost angry red instead of the more natural silver pink, and the inverted pentacle hidden beneath his bangs.
He supposed it could have been worse. He could have been holding up a tree or gingerbread when the accident occurred. Or a heart. Yes, a star was definitely more preferable, in comparison.
He tapped the lotion on the counter once in a decisive, absent way, and then placed it, too, in its proper place.
He removed the scleral shell from his eye and placed it back in its solution, then snapped the lip and returned the case to the shelf with all the others, it was the only singular color of all the lenses. His natural smoky gray.
Then removed the eyedrops and made use of that.
Yes, he could look worse, for the damage that incident caused. And only the one scar in plain view, he could count himself fortunate the world saw nothing but a charming, delicate boy, even if he could only look back at it with one silver eye.
Blinking rapidly, thoroughly wetting his scarred, white, useless eye with the medicated drops, he left the vanity, dark and impeccable, and ruthlessly clean.
With careful fingers he pressed the release for his advanced prosthetic and gently slid his arm free of the sensitive gel cushioned interior. Placing that in its case in the nightstand drawer he stripped his cloths, tossed them in the hamper, and slid naked between his cool, soft sheets.
It had been an interesting night, perhaps if one thought of it in a way an interesting start to the morning. He both felt and heard Tim thump down on the bed, turned on his back to stare at his ceiling as the small animal scurried about his covered legs.
The shadows of his mind were restless, he could feel Neah shift and stretch, practically beneath his skin. Closing his eyes he ordered himself to sleep, and dropped into it as obediently as he had since he was a child.
Every bone and muscle throbbed in time with the pounding in his head. He hadn’t eaten in three hours, he had spent a monkey and more on booze and women that night and hadn’t enjoyed much of either, and he was fairly certain the corrosive contents of that soda were jack hammering their way through the enamel of his teeth.
Entering the wide open space of the front room he kicked off his boots, crossed to the kitchen, and searched desperately for his glucose tablets. He took it with a shot of bottled spring water, shuddering at the chalky taste as he chewed, and managed to drag himself to his personal space.
They had rented out half of the stingy square building, the entire top floor and two of the second directly below. Working out a deal with the owner they knocked out walls, smashed through the roof of the bottom two, and made themselves a high class condo from the mess that remained.
The stairs to his rooms were agony, but he managed. Tim was moving around in his cage, having slept half the night away. He would be disappointed to learn that the sun would be up in three hours.
With care to both their eyes he drew the heavy drapes over the blinds before opening the door and letting the golfball sized marsupial loose in his room.
“You wake me up Tim,” he warned as he opened the jar of turtle treats and gave him a small dose of freeze dried mealworms, “and you can forget those flowers we saw down at the supermarket yesterday. You’ll just have to get your pollen from a bag like the rest of us.”
Timcampy barked in what allen hoped was agreement.
He sighed as he moved to the professional vanity and began cleaning off his tattoo concealer with a hypoallergenic makeup remover.
He looked at himself in the mirror, a little worn, a little strained, skin a little pink from the gentle rubbing but he didn't think a breakout would occur. Just in case, he grabbed his lotion and applied the barest amount to his face.
In his personal opinion he looked too bad. Sure his scar was absolutely hideous, with its ragged unnatural shape, flushed almost angry red instead of the more natural silver pink, and the inverted pentacle hidden beneath his bangs.
He supposed it could have been worse. He could have been holding up a tree or gingerbread when the accident occurred. Or a heart. Yes, a star was definitely more preferable, in comparison.
He tapped the lotion on the counter once in a decisive, absent way, and then placed it, too, in its proper place.
He removed the scleral shell from his eye and placed it back in its solution, then snapped the lip and returned the case to the shelf with all the others, it was the only singular color of all the lenses. His natural smoky gray.
Then removed the eyedrops and made use of that.
Yes, he could look worse, for the damage that incident caused. And only the one scar in plain view, he could count himself fortunate the world saw nothing but a charming, delicate boy, even if he could only look back at it with one silver eye.
Blinking rapidly, thoroughly wetting his scarred, white, useless eye with the medicated drops, he left the vanity, dark and impeccable, and ruthlessly clean.
With careful fingers he pressed the release for his advanced prosthetic and gently slid his arm free of the sensitive gel cushioned interior. Placing that in its case in the nightstand drawer he stripped his cloths, tossed them in the hamper, and slid naked between his cool, soft sheets.
It had been an interesting night, perhaps if one thought of it in a way an interesting start to the morning. He both felt and heard Tim thump down on the bed, turned on his back to stare at his ceiling as the small animal scurried about his covered legs.
The shadows of his mind were restless, he could feel Neah shift and stretch, practically beneath his skin. Closing his eyes he ordered himself to sleep, and dropped into it as obediently as he had since he was a child.
RinORourke
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- Posted: Thu, 22 Mar 2012 23:04:29 +0000
Allen dreamed of the cold.
Above him float two waxing moons, bright and round, the darkness a splinter crescent shadowing their underbellies. Beneath the wall a waning moon reflected in the silver ice polished to the gleam of a mirror, its dark face looking fully at him, the white shying away from view as if afraid.
His bare toes curled against the obsidian stone of the bridge that extended forever behind him, that stretched eternally onwards. The outer wall of a vast fortress that now sat beneath the frozen waters surrounding him, its reflection a line of black zipper teeth. Stitches holding the two halves of the ice together.
He was so cold. So cold.
His naked body, nothing but jutting bones and hallow angles, had reached the point beyond shuddering and let the chill sponge into him uncontested. It was a small, fragile, skeletal looking thing, his body, perhaps five or six years old, but free of the grit and grime that had clothed him more than anything in those days, scrubbed clean, down to the rusted flecks of dried blood under his nails. His skin was fresh and unsoiled as any small innocent child save for the severity of his emaciation, pale as the white world around him, flushed at the joints from the cold.
He walked forward, on legs thin as dry twigs and stiff with cold, the bleached sky ceaseless, the black castle wall unending, the water always frozen. Never moving. Sometimes he whistled, sometimes he hummed, a sweet sound he knew well. It made the journey seem less lonesome, the darkness behind him less threatening, the uncertainty ahead less dangerous. He didn’t sing, he hadn’t sung in so long. So it was with some surprise that he heard the words to the song. He lifted his head, if he stared only at the stone path he wouldn’t have to question why two moons gave one reflection in a white, white world, and looked around but there was no one in sight.
The golden bird he gave to me, what happiness he brings. Like a star on a Christmas tree as the nightingale sings.
That was definitely a child’s voice, high and slightly tuneless as the singer fumbled for the rhythm and pitch. On a whim he glanced over the edge, down at the ice, and saw reflected there a vision from his past.
The scent of the grove, the gentle breeze, the warm summer day. All around them danced the high grass heavy with seed, the sun was hot on his skin and the air heavy with moisture, but they danced and sang in the shadow of the trees. His small body still so dangerously thin. Had it been long since they had run from that unmoving circus? No, just beyond the reach of their former proprietor, up away from the rotting streets of south London towards the heart of England, they would run until they were sure no one would follow, but for now they were only as far as Fortune Green, in a grassy opening of the trees in West Heath park. Later they would walk the trail to Leg of Mutton pond, Mana making promises of dears and birds and other such animals, which Allen sniffed at, but hadn’t been able to mask the look of awe and joy when they had reached the enclosure and he saw the huge, gentle beasts for the first time. Their circus was barely two ranks up from a simple fair and the closest they had to an animal show were the dogs that dug scraps from the trash bins.
They hitched a ride from there up to Barnet where they rested for the night in a small hotel, sharing a single simple bed where Allen slept for the first night in his life knowing the man beside him wouldn’t ask anything of his body.
And so we sat, hand in hand and watched the fireflies, and never spoke a single word but lived to do or die. We lived to do or die.
He reached out to brush his fingertips across the milky reverie. It was cold, frozen, and bit his pinked fingertips like a snapping animal. He pressed his palm flat, then the other, and pushed. He wanted that. He wanted to go back to that. The warmth and the sweetness, he wanted to dance and laugh and sing for the first time in his life all over again, he wanted to eat until he was too full and swing around in the large man’s arms shrieking until he was sick. He raised his hand and brought it down. “No.” he said, slapping at the ice.
The branches bent like an archers bow as he spread his wings, and flew beneath the gentle snow, as the nightingale sings.
The phantom memories of that summer day danced beneath his slapping hands until they became fists, beating against the barrier, the song fading, panic rising in his throat. “No. Don’t. Don’t go. Come back.” He cried, hitting the ice until his hands were scrapped and sore, until warm blood smeared across the cream of its surface. His vision blurred even as the apparitions faded, tears of fear and loss.
“Allen.” A voice behind him called but he ignored it, he always ignored that voice.
The ice beneath his shredded and bloody hands gave tiny sounds, tiny cracking sounds, and he cried and screamed and grunted with the effort as he pounded hard on its surface.
“Allen.” He ignored it again, scrambling to lean over the wall, to crawl out onto the ice and into it and under it and go back to that place.
This time arms wrapped around him, hauling him up. He shrieked in rage and terror and grief. “No. No no no no.” it was a mantra as he fought and beat and clawed at the man with the darkened face and the crescent smile.
“Allen, you have to wake up."
And screaming he plummeted back to consciousness, the song of so long ago vibrating through his veins like a heartbeat.
Back to the days of Avalon, where magic rules as king. The moon beneath the castle walls, as the nightingale sing
Above him float two waxing moons, bright and round, the darkness a splinter crescent shadowing their underbellies. Beneath the wall a waning moon reflected in the silver ice polished to the gleam of a mirror, its dark face looking fully at him, the white shying away from view as if afraid.
His bare toes curled against the obsidian stone of the bridge that extended forever behind him, that stretched eternally onwards. The outer wall of a vast fortress that now sat beneath the frozen waters surrounding him, its reflection a line of black zipper teeth. Stitches holding the two halves of the ice together.
He was so cold. So cold.
His naked body, nothing but jutting bones and hallow angles, had reached the point beyond shuddering and let the chill sponge into him uncontested. It was a small, fragile, skeletal looking thing, his body, perhaps five or six years old, but free of the grit and grime that had clothed him more than anything in those days, scrubbed clean, down to the rusted flecks of dried blood under his nails. His skin was fresh and unsoiled as any small innocent child save for the severity of his emaciation, pale as the white world around him, flushed at the joints from the cold.
He walked forward, on legs thin as dry twigs and stiff with cold, the bleached sky ceaseless, the black castle wall unending, the water always frozen. Never moving. Sometimes he whistled, sometimes he hummed, a sweet sound he knew well. It made the journey seem less lonesome, the darkness behind him less threatening, the uncertainty ahead less dangerous. He didn’t sing, he hadn’t sung in so long. So it was with some surprise that he heard the words to the song. He lifted his head, if he stared only at the stone path he wouldn’t have to question why two moons gave one reflection in a white, white world, and looked around but there was no one in sight.
The golden bird he gave to me, what happiness he brings. Like a star on a Christmas tree as the nightingale sings.
That was definitely a child’s voice, high and slightly tuneless as the singer fumbled for the rhythm and pitch. On a whim he glanced over the edge, down at the ice, and saw reflected there a vision from his past.
The scent of the grove, the gentle breeze, the warm summer day. All around them danced the high grass heavy with seed, the sun was hot on his skin and the air heavy with moisture, but they danced and sang in the shadow of the trees. His small body still so dangerously thin. Had it been long since they had run from that unmoving circus? No, just beyond the reach of their former proprietor, up away from the rotting streets of south London towards the heart of England, they would run until they were sure no one would follow, but for now they were only as far as Fortune Green, in a grassy opening of the trees in West Heath park. Later they would walk the trail to Leg of Mutton pond, Mana making promises of dears and birds and other such animals, which Allen sniffed at, but hadn’t been able to mask the look of awe and joy when they had reached the enclosure and he saw the huge, gentle beasts for the first time. Their circus was barely two ranks up from a simple fair and the closest they had to an animal show were the dogs that dug scraps from the trash bins.
They hitched a ride from there up to Barnet where they rested for the night in a small hotel, sharing a single simple bed where Allen slept for the first night in his life knowing the man beside him wouldn’t ask anything of his body.
And so we sat, hand in hand and watched the fireflies, and never spoke a single word but lived to do or die. We lived to do or die.
He reached out to brush his fingertips across the milky reverie. It was cold, frozen, and bit his pinked fingertips like a snapping animal. He pressed his palm flat, then the other, and pushed. He wanted that. He wanted to go back to that. The warmth and the sweetness, he wanted to dance and laugh and sing for the first time in his life all over again, he wanted to eat until he was too full and swing around in the large man’s arms shrieking until he was sick. He raised his hand and brought it down. “No.” he said, slapping at the ice.
The branches bent like an archers bow as he spread his wings, and flew beneath the gentle snow, as the nightingale sings.
The phantom memories of that summer day danced beneath his slapping hands until they became fists, beating against the barrier, the song fading, panic rising in his throat. “No. Don’t. Don’t go. Come back.” He cried, hitting the ice until his hands were scrapped and sore, until warm blood smeared across the cream of its surface. His vision blurred even as the apparitions faded, tears of fear and loss.
“Allen.” A voice behind him called but he ignored it, he always ignored that voice.
The ice beneath his shredded and bloody hands gave tiny sounds, tiny cracking sounds, and he cried and screamed and grunted with the effort as he pounded hard on its surface.
“Allen.” He ignored it again, scrambling to lean over the wall, to crawl out onto the ice and into it and under it and go back to that place.
This time arms wrapped around him, hauling him up. He shrieked in rage and terror and grief. “No. No no no no.” it was a mantra as he fought and beat and clawed at the man with the darkened face and the crescent smile.
“Allen, you have to wake up."
And screaming he plummeted back to consciousness, the song of so long ago vibrating through his veins like a heartbeat.
Back to the days of Avalon, where magic rules as king. The moon beneath the castle walls, as the nightingale sing
RinORourke
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- Posted: Thu, 22 Mar 2012 23:11:06 +0000
He came up from the dream gasping. His body was ice, the sharp bite of it prickled his skin. Goosflesh crawled over him and he clutched at his bedside table with frozen fingers. The electric jug he kept on the stand resisted him, but he managed to pour a cup and gulp it greedily, feeling the nausea and dizziness slink slowly back into the recesses of his mind as the minutes passed. His sheets were damp and tangled about his legs like shackles, his comforter folded to his waist as he sat upright, exposing his shivering body to the warm air of a summer morning.
The chills didn’t subside, the headache pulsed behind his eyes, but he could think clearly and rubbed at them until the world bled back into focus. His clock said it was 5 in the AM, barely three hours of sleep, uninterrupted three hours in which he had nothing but a glucose tablet, he could feel the hangover on top of the sugar attack and curled back beneath his covers in misery.
“Sorry.” He whispered.
“That was very close.” Neah was a comforting presence in his mind, wrapping him in a metaphysical embrace that pushed the worst of it to the back of his awareness. They lay beneath the covers as one and rode the worst of the pains. “How do you feel?”
“Perfectly hideous.” He whined like a child.
“I’d imagine. How about we get something other than vitamin water into you.” Sluggish, trembling, he forced himself from his bed and shambled on stiff legs to the bathroom.
“After a bath.”
His tub was a lake, set into the ground with no lip to keep someone from tripping right into it. The faucet was a series of jets set into the side that filled it in minutes, and would circulate it in wonderful massaging sprays long after if he chose. He did, and reached for the brass valves to regulate the temperature. He could program it from the control panel, but that was all the way across the room and he was already tossing herbs and oils and salts into the empty bowl. Gently he maneuvered the wheels with a careful precision of a chemist.
He wanted to twist the valve all the way over, until the steam curled the hairs on his arms and the water poured brutally hot. He wanted to sink himself into a lake of liquid fire and boil himself lobster red. He knew it wouldn’t help this chill that grew from his bones, nothing ever helped. Nothing could bite deep enough, tunnel long enough, cut swift enough to touch the frozen center of him.
Nightmares were not uncommon to a hypoglycemic. The imbalance in the brain, the subconscious reaction to discomfort in the body as it searched for what it needed, the chills and cramps, the nausea, it all translated through the confused struggling brain into a panicked S.O.S.
Ordinarily his alarm would be set to wake him to eat, but he had slept through the warning and the alcohol had already done a number on his system. He was very lucky Neah had woken him before he had slipped into shock.
“Some dream huh?”
“Hmmn? Oh, was it? I don’t really remember.” Which also was not an unusual occurrence. He sank into the water with a groan of near sexual pleasure. Christ Jesus but was there ever a more glorious thing than a bath? Oatmeal and tealeaves swam about him and the fragrance of spearmint and lemongrass freshened his nose. He scooped the water up in palms ravaged by the digging of his own nails and let it spill over his neck and shoulders.
“It was a bad one, I’m glad you don’t remember.”
“How do I know you aren’t just hiding the memory from me?” He picked up the vial of body wash and dabbed a stingy amount on a washcloth softer than a baby’s blanket.
“You don’t.” he chuckled and Allen felt a smile tugging at his lips. His chills were subsiding, he longed to escape the pain in his head and the cold in his bones, but new from experience that it would be a while before either faded. Sullenly he pulled his knees to his chest and sank beneath the warm fragrant water.
The chills didn’t subside, the headache pulsed behind his eyes, but he could think clearly and rubbed at them until the world bled back into focus. His clock said it was 5 in the AM, barely three hours of sleep, uninterrupted three hours in which he had nothing but a glucose tablet, he could feel the hangover on top of the sugar attack and curled back beneath his covers in misery.
“Sorry.” He whispered.
“That was very close.” Neah was a comforting presence in his mind, wrapping him in a metaphysical embrace that pushed the worst of it to the back of his awareness. They lay beneath the covers as one and rode the worst of the pains. “How do you feel?”
“Perfectly hideous.” He whined like a child.
“I’d imagine. How about we get something other than vitamin water into you.” Sluggish, trembling, he forced himself from his bed and shambled on stiff legs to the bathroom.
“After a bath.”
His tub was a lake, set into the ground with no lip to keep someone from tripping right into it. The faucet was a series of jets set into the side that filled it in minutes, and would circulate it in wonderful massaging sprays long after if he chose. He did, and reached for the brass valves to regulate the temperature. He could program it from the control panel, but that was all the way across the room and he was already tossing herbs and oils and salts into the empty bowl. Gently he maneuvered the wheels with a careful precision of a chemist.
He wanted to twist the valve all the way over, until the steam curled the hairs on his arms and the water poured brutally hot. He wanted to sink himself into a lake of liquid fire and boil himself lobster red. He knew it wouldn’t help this chill that grew from his bones, nothing ever helped. Nothing could bite deep enough, tunnel long enough, cut swift enough to touch the frozen center of him.
Nightmares were not uncommon to a hypoglycemic. The imbalance in the brain, the subconscious reaction to discomfort in the body as it searched for what it needed, the chills and cramps, the nausea, it all translated through the confused struggling brain into a panicked S.O.S.
Ordinarily his alarm would be set to wake him to eat, but he had slept through the warning and the alcohol had already done a number on his system. He was very lucky Neah had woken him before he had slipped into shock.
“Some dream huh?”
“Hmmn? Oh, was it? I don’t really remember.” Which also was not an unusual occurrence. He sank into the water with a groan of near sexual pleasure. Christ Jesus but was there ever a more glorious thing than a bath? Oatmeal and tealeaves swam about him and the fragrance of spearmint and lemongrass freshened his nose. He scooped the water up in palms ravaged by the digging of his own nails and let it spill over his neck and shoulders.
“It was a bad one, I’m glad you don’t remember.”
“How do I know you aren’t just hiding the memory from me?” He picked up the vial of body wash and dabbed a stingy amount on a washcloth softer than a baby’s blanket.
“You don’t.” he chuckled and Allen felt a smile tugging at his lips. His chills were subsiding, he longed to escape the pain in his head and the cold in his bones, but new from experience that it would be a while before either faded. Sullenly he pulled his knees to his chest and sank beneath the warm fragrant water.
RinORourke
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- Posted: Thu, 22 Mar 2012 23:13:05 +0000
“Yu-chan don’t be upset with me.”
“Being upset requires me to give a ********.” Every head in the room was turned away from the conversation, every ear pretending it wasn’t listening. A few diligent workers may have succeeded in actually blocking out the drama, but most were paying close attention.
Lavi was spiff and fresh in his neat black uniform, shiny shoes and perfectly pressed shirt and trousers, even if his hair was a fiery disaster and his face showed signs of extreme dis comfort. Probably from a certain detective’s attempts to aggravate the hangover that had made the young officer its obedient b***h.
“Come on Yu-chan, I said I’ll pay you back.”
“Which is why I haven’t murdered you yet, but I’m starting to rethink that.” Kanda despised the arrangement of their desks, he had not yet given up the hunt for whomever had assigned him and Lavi next to each other, but today was momentarily pleased with it as it allowed for his rather juvenile antics. Mainly his careless disregard for spatial awareness as he seemed to be knocking over the piles of books and files and reports that made up Lavi’s area of work. Really he just didn’t know what was wrong with him today, must be the lack of sleep, he just couldn’t stop bumping into things.
With a deranged kind of glee he snapped out an elbow and disrupted the precarious balance of a spiraling tower of cluttered papers and manila folders, whose trajectory of collapse lay in the direct vicinity of a certain miserable rabbit. The fallowing cry was therapeutic to his frayed nerves and he wondered why he didn’t do this more often.
Then it hit him.
Rubbing his head he shot a fierce glare through slit eyes at Lenalee who stood beside his desk holding a clipboard in much the way one wielded a weapon. Considering its weight, density, and the fact that it was bulletproof and made frequent contact with his skull the comparison wasn’t off.
“What?” He snapped, knowing full well she would scold him for his petty revenge.
“Stop bullying him Kanda, can’t you see he’s not feeling well?”
“Maybe he’d feel fine if he hadn’t spent the night getting shitfaced with my money.”
She gave Lavi a reproachful look, who was too busy fusing his hands to his face and despising the very existence of overhead lights to notice. “then do it in a way that doesn’t make a mess, you’re disturbing everyone else.” By ‘disturbing’ she meant entertaining to the point of distraction, and by ‘everyone else’ she meant, no that was pretty on the button as several people from other offices had stopped by to see what mild and petty torture Kanda could come up with, having all been on the receiving end of Lavi’s pranks at least once.
“If he cleaned his desk it wouldn’t make such a big mess when it fell.”
“If you didn’t knock it over it wouldn’t fall.” Kanda shrugged unapologetically, opening his mouth but she interrupted, pointing with a corner of her clipboard. “No, no more excuses. Don’t do it.” Tucking it back under her arm she turned her henpecking to Lavi. “Clean your desk, its almost as bad as my brother’s.”
“I know where everything is.” He declared in a pathetic whimper beneath scattered papers and books, head buried in his crossed arms.
“Make it so I can know where everything is.”
“Is there a reason you’re here?” Kanda asked, leaning back in his chair to look at her fully. She was a thin Chinese woman, not fragile and willowy as Allen but girlishly slim. Her fashionably cut conservative suit was simple unrelieved black, three silver buttons notched her jacket, her skirt ending a few scant inches away from acceptable. Today her long dark hair was pinned up in a French twist, the bangs left to shadow her eyes and frame her face.
“Komui wants to see you.”, she eased a hip onto his desk and crossed her legs at the ankles, tapping the heels of her sensible shoes on the wood.
“He’s not going to try and drag me into this mess with you guys again is he?” He scowled.
“I don’t know, he just asked me to get you.”
“I am ******** sick of this, we’ve gone over it and my answer won’t change.”
“Okay, what’s with the overreaction? We don’t even know if he’s going to ask you about the Cross case.”
“Yu-chan had a one night stand with Allen.” Lavi snickered as he peaked over his folded arms.
“What?” Her eyes goggled and Kanda threw himself across the desk to drag Lavi up by his shirt.
“The ******** did you say?” he snarled, Lavi cried from the sudden vertigo and, with a gurgled squeak, threw up on him.
“Being upset requires me to give a ********.” Every head in the room was turned away from the conversation, every ear pretending it wasn’t listening. A few diligent workers may have succeeded in actually blocking out the drama, but most were paying close attention.
Lavi was spiff and fresh in his neat black uniform, shiny shoes and perfectly pressed shirt and trousers, even if his hair was a fiery disaster and his face showed signs of extreme dis comfort. Probably from a certain detective’s attempts to aggravate the hangover that had made the young officer its obedient b***h.
“Come on Yu-chan, I said I’ll pay you back.”
“Which is why I haven’t murdered you yet, but I’m starting to rethink that.” Kanda despised the arrangement of their desks, he had not yet given up the hunt for whomever had assigned him and Lavi next to each other, but today was momentarily pleased with it as it allowed for his rather juvenile antics. Mainly his careless disregard for spatial awareness as he seemed to be knocking over the piles of books and files and reports that made up Lavi’s area of work. Really he just didn’t know what was wrong with him today, must be the lack of sleep, he just couldn’t stop bumping into things.
With a deranged kind of glee he snapped out an elbow and disrupted the precarious balance of a spiraling tower of cluttered papers and manila folders, whose trajectory of collapse lay in the direct vicinity of a certain miserable rabbit. The fallowing cry was therapeutic to his frayed nerves and he wondered why he didn’t do this more often.
Then it hit him.
Rubbing his head he shot a fierce glare through slit eyes at Lenalee who stood beside his desk holding a clipboard in much the way one wielded a weapon. Considering its weight, density, and the fact that it was bulletproof and made frequent contact with his skull the comparison wasn’t off.
“What?” He snapped, knowing full well she would scold him for his petty revenge.
“Stop bullying him Kanda, can’t you see he’s not feeling well?”
“Maybe he’d feel fine if he hadn’t spent the night getting shitfaced with my money.”
She gave Lavi a reproachful look, who was too busy fusing his hands to his face and despising the very existence of overhead lights to notice. “then do it in a way that doesn’t make a mess, you’re disturbing everyone else.” By ‘disturbing’ she meant entertaining to the point of distraction, and by ‘everyone else’ she meant, no that was pretty on the button as several people from other offices had stopped by to see what mild and petty torture Kanda could come up with, having all been on the receiving end of Lavi’s pranks at least once.
“If he cleaned his desk it wouldn’t make such a big mess when it fell.”
“If you didn’t knock it over it wouldn’t fall.” Kanda shrugged unapologetically, opening his mouth but she interrupted, pointing with a corner of her clipboard. “No, no more excuses. Don’t do it.” Tucking it back under her arm she turned her henpecking to Lavi. “Clean your desk, its almost as bad as my brother’s.”
“I know where everything is.” He declared in a pathetic whimper beneath scattered papers and books, head buried in his crossed arms.
“Make it so I can know where everything is.”
“Is there a reason you’re here?” Kanda asked, leaning back in his chair to look at her fully. She was a thin Chinese woman, not fragile and willowy as Allen but girlishly slim. Her fashionably cut conservative suit was simple unrelieved black, three silver buttons notched her jacket, her skirt ending a few scant inches away from acceptable. Today her long dark hair was pinned up in a French twist, the bangs left to shadow her eyes and frame her face.
“Komui wants to see you.”, she eased a hip onto his desk and crossed her legs at the ankles, tapping the heels of her sensible shoes on the wood.
“He’s not going to try and drag me into this mess with you guys again is he?” He scowled.
“I don’t know, he just asked me to get you.”
“I am ******** sick of this, we’ve gone over it and my answer won’t change.”
“Okay, what’s with the overreaction? We don’t even know if he’s going to ask you about the Cross case.”
“Yu-chan had a one night stand with Allen.” Lavi snickered as he peaked over his folded arms.
“What?” Her eyes goggled and Kanda threw himself across the desk to drag Lavi up by his shirt.
“The ******** did you say?” he snarled, Lavi cried from the sudden vertigo and, with a gurgled squeak, threw up on him.
RinORourke
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- Posted: Thu, 22 Mar 2012 23:13:39 +0000
He didn’t know what Lavi had ate that morning, or how he’d managed to keep it down with the monstrosity of a hangover he claimed to have, but whatever it was it was now all over his shirt and pants. Several brave and farsighted individuals had managed to separate them before Kanda got past the shock to register what had happened and throttle the unfortunate officer within an inch of his life. Now he was in spare cloths borrowed from a narcotics detective working a sting and standing in front of Komui looking like one of the bouncers he interrogated last night.
It hadn’t been about the Cross Marian case, he didn’t know if that smoothed his feathers or ruffled them, he was riled up and looking for a fight and Lavi was two floors away in the infirmary. He tapped the heel of his boot on the tile floor in agitation as he listened to Komui and Tiedol talk about mundane s**t.
Marie and Daisya sat on the couch in front of the desk, the new guy between them, Tiedol was in the chair angled to the side of it. Kanda ignored them all, vibrating with repressed violence.
“Ah, Kanda that’s a new style for you.” Komui commented when he noticed the Asian male was now in the room, Tiedol turned with a bright smile, ready to say some idiotic s**t. A low growl that resounded, low and terrible, from the deepest part of his lungs was his only reply and the subject was, intelligently, dropped.
With all of them there, Lenalee retreated from the office and they discussed their business in private.
It hadn’t been about the Cross Marian case, he didn’t know if that smoothed his feathers or ruffled them, he was riled up and looking for a fight and Lavi was two floors away in the infirmary. He tapped the heel of his boot on the tile floor in agitation as he listened to Komui and Tiedol talk about mundane s**t.
Marie and Daisya sat on the couch in front of the desk, the new guy between them, Tiedol was in the chair angled to the side of it. Kanda ignored them all, vibrating with repressed violence.
“Ah, Kanda that’s a new style for you.” Komui commented when he noticed the Asian male was now in the room, Tiedol turned with a bright smile, ready to say some idiotic s**t. A low growl that resounded, low and terrible, from the deepest part of his lungs was his only reply and the subject was, intelligently, dropped.
With all of them there, Lenalee retreated from the office and they discussed their business in private.
RinORourke
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- Posted: Thu, 22 Mar 2012 23:14:37 +0000
Allen had eaten, crawled back under the covers, and found the last few moments of sleep he needed to feel anywhere near human. Then he had eaten again, fielded a few calls from collection agencies, put in a few of his own to his family, and did a quick frantic search when he realized Timcampy hadn’t crawled back into his cage to go to sleep. Now he sat, casually dressed in smoky grey slacks and loose charcoal top, his bare feet tucked under his chair, fingers splayed across the ergonomically correct keyboard. His face free of concealer so his flushed scar lay exposed to the cool air, the place on his gut where Kanda had kicked him had experienced a mild breakout and in response so had his arm so he had opted to type single handed as his tiny reddened arm lay at his side coated in a soothing cream, the prosthetic still tucked in its case on the charger.
He had done a series of background checks when he had first met Officer Lavi Mann, those old bookman never bothered to hide their presence as so few new about them and those that did respected their great wisdom and feared their great influence. He knew, of course, that they had affiliated themselves with the Black Order, he didn’t begrudge them that, one must understand all sides to understand the cause of a war, it had surprised him that there was a new apprentice, and that he would be allowed to take such an active role as to approach a target.
Lavi himself had been a surprise, he had expected any number of attempted contacts but none of them so… flamboyant. He had almost completely brushed off the encounter when the young officer had IDed him at the liquor store those few months ago, the man was so incredibly open and eager to befriend, so earnest, freshly minted from the police academy and green as the hills of his homeland. It was with a smidge of disappointment that his quick skimming search had turned him out as a member of the BookMan, still the acquaintance was an easy line on the Order’s doings and a confirmation that they had gained its attention.
Through this contact he came to fill the list of immediate associates, and with deeper searches, had wheedled past the set information to the core truth. Now he sat filling out the near barren file labeled Yu Kanda.
His background was so pathetically hidden they may as well not have bothered, and the information was so close to the official line he honestly didn’t think they did. A Japanese citizen, twenty seven years old, working out of Shinjuku prefecture. He had attended several of Froi Tiedol’s lectures at university where he had probably been recruited by the Black Order, had passed with exceptional marks at the academy, and after a year on the force had excelled at the examination and was promoted to Police Inspector.
He was in Florida on vacation for three weeks, visiting his old mentor, though Allen’s check of his information showed that had been updated several times already, making his vacation near two months, a fraction of a month after he himself had moved here, and that an officer born and raised in New York by the same name had transferred to the Orlando Police department just before that.
He heaved a sigh and settled back into his chair. It was a simple, unbelievably ordinary, background. Two parents, four grandparents, average grades, excelling in some, skimming by in others, summer camps, kendo club and competitions, his rank was renshi-rokudan which was implausibly impressive, and he had a fair knowledge of firearms. He figured he could call up some contacts, dig a little deeper, for someone who showed such proficiency under examination to have such a simple background was just disappointing. The order must have done a heavy level of smoothing, which was why they probably didn’t feel the need to hide what he did scrape away too deeply.
No, what would be the point in disturbing his busy little bees to go after a curious flower? The Earl had given him a mission, and that was simply to be exposed and report from where the shots fired. He would wait for further orders, if indeed further orders were forthcoming.
Until then, he filled the empty little file with his own notations, personality and appearance, and if a few of these little tidbits were about his long fingers or how well he filled out a pair of jeans well, it wasn’t like anyone else was going to read it.
His stomach growled and he looked at the clock on his computer, surprised to see it was closing in on two pm. He didn’t eat at his computer, the information too sensitive to risk spilled drinks or crumbs. He was a well-organized kind of person, his desk was clear of clutter, his room neat and resourcefully arranged for maximum use of space, he prided himself on his efficiency, both Cross and the Millennium Earl liked to surround themselves with clean, efficient, competent people. Competency led to proficiency, and proficiency led to met deadlines, completed tasks, achieved goals, which was what made their little organization run smoothly.
Rising he left his personal rooms to head into the kitchen, Cross was probably up in his own quarters now and Allen saw no reason to disturb him to confirm this. His phone chimed just as he was pulling out a bottled water and the makings of a sub sandwich.
It was Lenalee, yet another Order member assigned to investigate his darling guardian, inviting him out for lunch. His assumption was that they pushed her forward as a romantic interest; it was charmingly amusing to take in their expressions when he had dropped the subtle hints of his orientation. He wondered if Lavi would begin making the flirtatious in her stead and was glad he didn’t step in to fill the role, as he was not Allen’s type in the slightest and in fact the thought kind of disturbed him.
There were others, dropping in and removing themselves from the stage, Allen kept track of all of them, the confirmed and the probable, had made use of a few offered up as bedmates, but so far had only let a tight, intimate circle close in on him, like a noose he supposed, or the crosshairs of a sniper.
And reported all in kind back to the Earl.
A nice lunch would be refreshing, he thought as he pieced together his breaded masterpiece, and text her back a confirmation, and the location of a quaint little dinner down the road, within walking distance of his apartment of course, that he had come to frequent, then sliced his sandwich into neat little blocks with a few quick cuts from a sharp knife.
He had done a series of background checks when he had first met Officer Lavi Mann, those old bookman never bothered to hide their presence as so few new about them and those that did respected their great wisdom and feared their great influence. He knew, of course, that they had affiliated themselves with the Black Order, he didn’t begrudge them that, one must understand all sides to understand the cause of a war, it had surprised him that there was a new apprentice, and that he would be allowed to take such an active role as to approach a target.
Lavi himself had been a surprise, he had expected any number of attempted contacts but none of them so… flamboyant. He had almost completely brushed off the encounter when the young officer had IDed him at the liquor store those few months ago, the man was so incredibly open and eager to befriend, so earnest, freshly minted from the police academy and green as the hills of his homeland. It was with a smidge of disappointment that his quick skimming search had turned him out as a member of the BookMan, still the acquaintance was an easy line on the Order’s doings and a confirmation that they had gained its attention.
Through this contact he came to fill the list of immediate associates, and with deeper searches, had wheedled past the set information to the core truth. Now he sat filling out the near barren file labeled Yu Kanda.
His background was so pathetically hidden they may as well not have bothered, and the information was so close to the official line he honestly didn’t think they did. A Japanese citizen, twenty seven years old, working out of Shinjuku prefecture. He had attended several of Froi Tiedol’s lectures at university where he had probably been recruited by the Black Order, had passed with exceptional marks at the academy, and after a year on the force had excelled at the examination and was promoted to Police Inspector.
He was in Florida on vacation for three weeks, visiting his old mentor, though Allen’s check of his information showed that had been updated several times already, making his vacation near two months, a fraction of a month after he himself had moved here, and that an officer born and raised in New York by the same name had transferred to the Orlando Police department just before that.
He heaved a sigh and settled back into his chair. It was a simple, unbelievably ordinary, background. Two parents, four grandparents, average grades, excelling in some, skimming by in others, summer camps, kendo club and competitions, his rank was renshi-rokudan which was implausibly impressive, and he had a fair knowledge of firearms. He figured he could call up some contacts, dig a little deeper, for someone who showed such proficiency under examination to have such a simple background was just disappointing. The order must have done a heavy level of smoothing, which was why they probably didn’t feel the need to hide what he did scrape away too deeply.
No, what would be the point in disturbing his busy little bees to go after a curious flower? The Earl had given him a mission, and that was simply to be exposed and report from where the shots fired. He would wait for further orders, if indeed further orders were forthcoming.
Until then, he filled the empty little file with his own notations, personality and appearance, and if a few of these little tidbits were about his long fingers or how well he filled out a pair of jeans well, it wasn’t like anyone else was going to read it.
His stomach growled and he looked at the clock on his computer, surprised to see it was closing in on two pm. He didn’t eat at his computer, the information too sensitive to risk spilled drinks or crumbs. He was a well-organized kind of person, his desk was clear of clutter, his room neat and resourcefully arranged for maximum use of space, he prided himself on his efficiency, both Cross and the Millennium Earl liked to surround themselves with clean, efficient, competent people. Competency led to proficiency, and proficiency led to met deadlines, completed tasks, achieved goals, which was what made their little organization run smoothly.
Rising he left his personal rooms to head into the kitchen, Cross was probably up in his own quarters now and Allen saw no reason to disturb him to confirm this. His phone chimed just as he was pulling out a bottled water and the makings of a sub sandwich.
It was Lenalee, yet another Order member assigned to investigate his darling guardian, inviting him out for lunch. His assumption was that they pushed her forward as a romantic interest; it was charmingly amusing to take in their expressions when he had dropped the subtle hints of his orientation. He wondered if Lavi would begin making the flirtatious in her stead and was glad he didn’t step in to fill the role, as he was not Allen’s type in the slightest and in fact the thought kind of disturbed him.
There were others, dropping in and removing themselves from the stage, Allen kept track of all of them, the confirmed and the probable, had made use of a few offered up as bedmates, but so far had only let a tight, intimate circle close in on him, like a noose he supposed, or the crosshairs of a sniper.
And reported all in kind back to the Earl.
A nice lunch would be refreshing, he thought as he pieced together his breaded masterpiece, and text her back a confirmation, and the location of a quaint little dinner down the road, within walking distance of his apartment of course, that he had come to frequent, then sliced his sandwich into neat little blocks with a few quick cuts from a sharp knife.
RinORourke
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- Posted: Thu, 22 Mar 2012 23:24:26 +0000
Lenalee had never been to this diner, it was most definitely a hole in the wall in the very essence of the term, and upon seeing it from the outside had felt the immediate need to turn around and request Allen meet them at the Wendy’s back on OBT.
The entrance was at the back of run down shopping center dominated by pawn shops whose window cages never went up and an Auto Zone, the sun-bleached paint of the section the eatery was located held the shadows of letters spelling FURNITURE OUTLET, the windows were boarded up with plyboard, a coating of badly matched white paint hastily splashed over the wooden barriers.
They had to walk around to what should have been a loading area and enter what was once an employee’s only door, Kanda made a rude remark and Marie said something in response. She was too busy contemplating the handle of the door as she ascended the few steps.
Once inside she realized she needn’t have worried.
It was an elaborate room, no foyer or booth where a greeter might stand to send them to their tables, but a wide open space the size of any department store filled with row after row of spaced out picnic tables covered in multicolored cloths. The walls were deep neutral beige, the floors a sandy tile, sunlight filtered down through skylights stained a multitude of jewel bright colors that cast wide rectangles of reds and blues and green on the floor. The scents were deliciously titillating and her appetite cracked an eye and woke from its gentle sleep, clenching a fist around her stomach that trembled in response.
“Hello!” called a voice and she looked across the way to a window but into the wall on her left, beyond the opening stood a man she knew well.
“Jerry?”
“Lenalee! Oh, and Lavi and Kanda too, and who else?” they all came up to the window to see him and he smiled and greeted them all. “My my, what a surprise, I knew we were all stationed in the Orlando but to think you’d all end up here.” He was a tall, well-built man with the dark mocha skin of India. His plum hair was pulled back in scores of braids that were themselves wrapped in two pleats down his back. He was, like them, an order member, a master of Muay Thai, and Lenalee’s older brother’s very best friend.
He was also as gay as a pink military tank and just as obvious.
“I didn’t know you came to America, I thought you were still back at Headq- in Europe.” Daisya coughed out the last when Kanda’s elbow rammed into his gut, they were not alone in this place, and they were very much under cover.
“Oh, I got called here for a super-secret mission,” he held a ladle up to his smiling lips in a shushing gesture, and motioned for everyone to come closer. “I’m keeping an eye on Arch Traitor Cross Marian’s little cutie, Allen.”
They stared at him, then, collectively save Kanda, “That’s what we’re doing.”
“Oh, well what great luck, we’re all working together.” He smiled brightly. “So, what will it be? Kanda first, since it’s obvious, Soba yes? Any kind or just the regular?” Kanda looked at him, then huffed and walked away to get them all a table. “Ah, okay, and you Lenalee?”
After they finished ordering and had picked up their food they followed to where Kanda was, brooding off in the farthest table where he had full view of the wide space. It was decided that Lavi would carry Kanda’s tray, as punishment for stealing his card and putting him in an even worse mood than usual, forcing everyone else to suffer his incredibly bitchiness.
“So Lenalee, how did you know about this place? Did Komui tell you jerry was here?” Lavi asked, making sure to sit the farthest from Kanda as possible, carefully buffered by both Choaji and Daisya, whom he hoped would attract the most of the ill-tempered detective’s wrath.
“No, Allen told me about it, he’s meeting us here.”
“WHAT?!” Kanda’s shout was fast and loud as a lightning strike and everyone stared at him in wonder, poor Choaji had paled to an almost bloodless white. Practically pulsating with aggravation he stood, leaving his food untouched, and left the table, everyone watching him.
“He and Allen really didn’t hit it off.” Lenalee remarked, Lavi shrugged.
“That’s Yu-chan for you, I told you they wouldn’t get along, Allen’s just the kind of typical nice guy that gets on his nerves.”
“Hmmn, I guess. Still he’s such a sweetheart I was sure even Kanda could like him.”
“People are complex creatures,” Marie chided them both, picking his way carefully through his meal “You can’t always predict how one will react to another.”
“And then you gotta remember, Kanda’s an a*****e.” Daisya quipped, and they all turned back to their meals, chatting absently on various things.
Kanda reached the door at the same time it opened to admit another customer. He was tired. He had had a crappy day, followed by a shitty night where he had chased rabbits and fought with albino’s, and then had to endure a morning meeting with his ******** Team on two hours sleep and no breakfast. Now, the only upside of the day, Jerry’s cooking which anybody in the order would agree is the best, ******** ever, a good plate of cold soba he didn’t have to cook, and ******** up, himself was being ruined by the presence of the one person he had spent near three months trying to avoid.
Who had just walked into the restaurant, and smack into him.
He didn’t stand out so much in the daylight, Kanda realized as the stepped back from eachother. His hair and eye color were pale and beautifully exotic, but not so much that someone with a good makeup artist couldn’t replicate. His cloths were also softer, cloudy grey pants and a pastel blue shirt, this however made his white skin stand out more against the darker shades.
Kanda snarled. “Watch it a*****e.” He snapped.
Allen blinked, then his mouth twisted into a strangely curved line, before his features smoothed and he smiled. “Good afternoon Kanda, and how are you today?”
Kanda looked at him, then blinked and looked harder. “Fine.” He managed when he didn’t find anything out of place, aside from an albino who had the previous night sliced him open with a wicked tongue asking him how his day was going. His voice was formal, polite, and delivered with an almost neutral accent. This was a far cry from the smart assed street savvy brat of the previous night.
“That’s good. Listen, I’m terribly sorry about how I acted last night. I’m afraid I’m not the best of companions when I’m drunk. I don’t drink often, but you understand how Lavi can be right?” Kanda kept looking at him like he had sprouted strangely warped appendages out of his head. "So anyway, I was thinking. We are both exceptionally strong minded individuals, and we do share several friends, I'm quite certain we can manage to keep our association on placid terms. For their sakes at least?"
The man just kept staring. What was wrong with him? Allen was being as polite as he could, given the horrendous way in which he was greeted, and his only response was to be looked at like some kind of freak? Oh, oh was his scar showing?
“Fine.” Kanda grunted, then turned on a heel and walked back to the table just as Allen began to panic. The younger man watched him go, then quickly dug his wallet out of his pants and slid the tiny mirror, the size of a credit card, out to check. His concealer was unblemished, and his contact was in place.
Putting it away he watched the Asian take a seat with the group of people Allen had let near him. Pondering….
Then walked up to Jerry’s window and gave his order to the beaming man.
The entrance was at the back of run down shopping center dominated by pawn shops whose window cages never went up and an Auto Zone, the sun-bleached paint of the section the eatery was located held the shadows of letters spelling FURNITURE OUTLET, the windows were boarded up with plyboard, a coating of badly matched white paint hastily splashed over the wooden barriers.
They had to walk around to what should have been a loading area and enter what was once an employee’s only door, Kanda made a rude remark and Marie said something in response. She was too busy contemplating the handle of the door as she ascended the few steps.
Once inside she realized she needn’t have worried.
It was an elaborate room, no foyer or booth where a greeter might stand to send them to their tables, but a wide open space the size of any department store filled with row after row of spaced out picnic tables covered in multicolored cloths. The walls were deep neutral beige, the floors a sandy tile, sunlight filtered down through skylights stained a multitude of jewel bright colors that cast wide rectangles of reds and blues and green on the floor. The scents were deliciously titillating and her appetite cracked an eye and woke from its gentle sleep, clenching a fist around her stomach that trembled in response.
“Hello!” called a voice and she looked across the way to a window but into the wall on her left, beyond the opening stood a man she knew well.
“Jerry?”
“Lenalee! Oh, and Lavi and Kanda too, and who else?” they all came up to the window to see him and he smiled and greeted them all. “My my, what a surprise, I knew we were all stationed in the Orlando but to think you’d all end up here.” He was a tall, well-built man with the dark mocha skin of India. His plum hair was pulled back in scores of braids that were themselves wrapped in two pleats down his back. He was, like them, an order member, a master of Muay Thai, and Lenalee’s older brother’s very best friend.
He was also as gay as a pink military tank and just as obvious.
“I didn’t know you came to America, I thought you were still back at Headq- in Europe.” Daisya coughed out the last when Kanda’s elbow rammed into his gut, they were not alone in this place, and they were very much under cover.
“Oh, I got called here for a super-secret mission,” he held a ladle up to his smiling lips in a shushing gesture, and motioned for everyone to come closer. “I’m keeping an eye on Arch Traitor Cross Marian’s little cutie, Allen.”
They stared at him, then, collectively save Kanda, “That’s what we’re doing.”
“Oh, well what great luck, we’re all working together.” He smiled brightly. “So, what will it be? Kanda first, since it’s obvious, Soba yes? Any kind or just the regular?” Kanda looked at him, then huffed and walked away to get them all a table. “Ah, okay, and you Lenalee?”
After they finished ordering and had picked up their food they followed to where Kanda was, brooding off in the farthest table where he had full view of the wide space. It was decided that Lavi would carry Kanda’s tray, as punishment for stealing his card and putting him in an even worse mood than usual, forcing everyone else to suffer his incredibly bitchiness.
“So Lenalee, how did you know about this place? Did Komui tell you jerry was here?” Lavi asked, making sure to sit the farthest from Kanda as possible, carefully buffered by both Choaji and Daisya, whom he hoped would attract the most of the ill-tempered detective’s wrath.
“No, Allen told me about it, he’s meeting us here.”
“WHAT?!” Kanda’s shout was fast and loud as a lightning strike and everyone stared at him in wonder, poor Choaji had paled to an almost bloodless white. Practically pulsating with aggravation he stood, leaving his food untouched, and left the table, everyone watching him.
“He and Allen really didn’t hit it off.” Lenalee remarked, Lavi shrugged.
“That’s Yu-chan for you, I told you they wouldn’t get along, Allen’s just the kind of typical nice guy that gets on his nerves.”
“Hmmn, I guess. Still he’s such a sweetheart I was sure even Kanda could like him.”
“People are complex creatures,” Marie chided them both, picking his way carefully through his meal “You can’t always predict how one will react to another.”
“And then you gotta remember, Kanda’s an a*****e.” Daisya quipped, and they all turned back to their meals, chatting absently on various things.
Kanda reached the door at the same time it opened to admit another customer. He was tired. He had had a crappy day, followed by a shitty night where he had chased rabbits and fought with albino’s, and then had to endure a morning meeting with his ******** Team on two hours sleep and no breakfast. Now, the only upside of the day, Jerry’s cooking which anybody in the order would agree is the best, ******** ever, a good plate of cold soba he didn’t have to cook, and ******** up, himself was being ruined by the presence of the one person he had spent near three months trying to avoid.
Who had just walked into the restaurant, and smack into him.
He didn’t stand out so much in the daylight, Kanda realized as the stepped back from eachother. His hair and eye color were pale and beautifully exotic, but not so much that someone with a good makeup artist couldn’t replicate. His cloths were also softer, cloudy grey pants and a pastel blue shirt, this however made his white skin stand out more against the darker shades.
Kanda snarled. “Watch it a*****e.” He snapped.
Allen blinked, then his mouth twisted into a strangely curved line, before his features smoothed and he smiled. “Good afternoon Kanda, and how are you today?”
Kanda looked at him, then blinked and looked harder. “Fine.” He managed when he didn’t find anything out of place, aside from an albino who had the previous night sliced him open with a wicked tongue asking him how his day was going. His voice was formal, polite, and delivered with an almost neutral accent. This was a far cry from the smart assed street savvy brat of the previous night.
“That’s good. Listen, I’m terribly sorry about how I acted last night. I’m afraid I’m not the best of companions when I’m drunk. I don’t drink often, but you understand how Lavi can be right?” Kanda kept looking at him like he had sprouted strangely warped appendages out of his head. "So anyway, I was thinking. We are both exceptionally strong minded individuals, and we do share several friends, I'm quite certain we can manage to keep our association on placid terms. For their sakes at least?"
The man just kept staring. What was wrong with him? Allen was being as polite as he could, given the horrendous way in which he was greeted, and his only response was to be looked at like some kind of freak? Oh, oh was his scar showing?
“Fine.” Kanda grunted, then turned on a heel and walked back to the table just as Allen began to panic. The younger man watched him go, then quickly dug his wallet out of his pants and slid the tiny mirror, the size of a credit card, out to check. His concealer was unblemished, and his contact was in place.
Putting it away he watched the Asian take a seat with the group of people Allen had let near him. Pondering….
Then walked up to Jerry’s window and gave his order to the beaming man.
RinORourke
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- Posted: Thu, 22 Mar 2012 23:28:25 +0000
Kanda forced down the instinct to continue to stare when Allen Walker joined their group with an armload of plates and bowls and several glasses of juice. He sat further down the table, next to Lenalee and across from Lavi, and immediately began talking about something he didn’t feel like paying attention to in that refined musical voice. Pale lashes drooped down on fair cheeks, smiling is such an easy wistful way, carefully eating his large meal in the delicate manner of one from a high bred family. A serene and gentle image.
Why had he come back? He had been heading out to get away from any chance of being pulled into the case.
He picked at his soba, not particularly interested in eating it, and watched them from the corner of his eye. This Allen Walker was…not the one he met last night. Though there were traces, the unnecessary adjectives, the foreign slang, he assumed as the words were unfamiliar and may as well be toddler-speak to him. It struck him for a moment, that earnest look and the pleading tone in which he apologized, took the wind from his sails and had him stepping back to observe.
His innocent eyes reflecting back the world lacked the knowing look, the measureless understanding from last night. His smile wasn’t crooked and teasing, but warm and bright, his split bangs revealed a brow unmarred by the wrinkle of worldly cares, as if he didn’t walk beneath the same stormy clouds as the rest of them. Only a few inches shorter than him, slim as a young tree, a sapling wood nymph, white birch perhaps, or an indian pipe, or some sprouting seed that had not yet reached the sun.
His accent was thicker then as well, here among company his smile was polite and his tone airy. A regular 'bloke,' one might think, and Kanda wondered if it really was the alcohol that made him such an a** that night or if...maybe.
Something about that polite attitude seemed fake.
And it kind of pissed him off because, well, weren’t they the ones supposed to be pretending? Could no one else see that his smile was painted on, and that every movement and gesture had a fluid, effortless grace as though no force of gravity could keep hold of him?
He cursed inwardly, he didn’t care. ******** it. So what if he turned out to be one of those naive idiots who looked at everyone with warmth and compassion, so what if he could be in serious danger being involved with someone like Cross Marian, and so what if the Order didn’t give a s**t about people caught up in the middle of their war. It happened. He should know that better than anyone.
He did know that better than anyone.
Without realizing it he had finished his meal. Staring at the empty basket he furrowed his brow and blocked out everything around him. He had things to do. Number one was to go home and sleep. Deciding that the rest of the day was useless, as it involved ‘bonding’ with the new guy, he figured he could do just that, and gathered his things to leave.
“Ah, are you going Kanda?” Allen asked and all attention was on him. He halted, shoulders tense, back ramrod, and grunted. “Have a good day.” He turned on that sweet smile of measureless compassion and Kanda resisted raising the tray and bashing it over his head until he started to look human.
It. Was. ********. Creepy.
He tossed his tray on the counter without clearing off the trash and slammed out the door. ******** everything, he was going to take a ******** nap.
Why had he come back? He had been heading out to get away from any chance of being pulled into the case.
He picked at his soba, not particularly interested in eating it, and watched them from the corner of his eye. This Allen Walker was…not the one he met last night. Though there were traces, the unnecessary adjectives, the foreign slang, he assumed as the words were unfamiliar and may as well be toddler-speak to him. It struck him for a moment, that earnest look and the pleading tone in which he apologized, took the wind from his sails and had him stepping back to observe.
His innocent eyes reflecting back the world lacked the knowing look, the measureless understanding from last night. His smile wasn’t crooked and teasing, but warm and bright, his split bangs revealed a brow unmarred by the wrinkle of worldly cares, as if he didn’t walk beneath the same stormy clouds as the rest of them. Only a few inches shorter than him, slim as a young tree, a sapling wood nymph, white birch perhaps, or an indian pipe, or some sprouting seed that had not yet reached the sun.
His accent was thicker then as well, here among company his smile was polite and his tone airy. A regular 'bloke,' one might think, and Kanda wondered if it really was the alcohol that made him such an a** that night or if...maybe.
Something about that polite attitude seemed fake.
And it kind of pissed him off because, well, weren’t they the ones supposed to be pretending? Could no one else see that his smile was painted on, and that every movement and gesture had a fluid, effortless grace as though no force of gravity could keep hold of him?
He cursed inwardly, he didn’t care. ******** it. So what if he turned out to be one of those naive idiots who looked at everyone with warmth and compassion, so what if he could be in serious danger being involved with someone like Cross Marian, and so what if the Order didn’t give a s**t about people caught up in the middle of their war. It happened. He should know that better than anyone.
He did know that better than anyone.
Without realizing it he had finished his meal. Staring at the empty basket he furrowed his brow and blocked out everything around him. He had things to do. Number one was to go home and sleep. Deciding that the rest of the day was useless, as it involved ‘bonding’ with the new guy, he figured he could do just that, and gathered his things to leave.
“Ah, are you going Kanda?” Allen asked and all attention was on him. He halted, shoulders tense, back ramrod, and grunted. “Have a good day.” He turned on that sweet smile of measureless compassion and Kanda resisted raising the tray and bashing it over his head until he started to look human.
It. Was. ********. Creepy.
He tossed his tray on the counter without clearing off the trash and slammed out the door. ******** everything, he was going to take a ******** nap.