THIS IS THE OLD VERSION OF THIS FIC. Mid-way through writing this, I was struck by inspiration and rewrote much of the beginning and middle. The story is now much faster, focused, and has better writing quality. Because the inconsistent chapter numbers, I decided to repost it with the title of Marriage: Mission Impossible! which can be reached through my profile page. I didn't delete this stroy simple because so many people have reviewed and favorited this version of the story and may not have read the other one. I am sorry for the confusion and ask for your understanding. Thank you.
CHAPTER ONE
Kurapika sighed. Why do I have to be here?
Clothes and accessories from around the globe hung from racks and walls As far as the eye could see. Kurapika could count at least fifty racks laden with different styles of dresses alone. Even the hangers were padded with a satin worth more than the salary of some stock brokers. Hidden speakers played some popular love song whose singer breathed so heavily Kurapika wondered if he was hyperventilating. Someone's citrus perfume was giving Kurapika a headache. The customers' voices rose and ebbed like the lapping of waves onto the shore. The mall's employees gushed praise like "You look fantastic in those high heels," and "That scarf was made for you!"
Three female voices broke through the background noise excitedly chatting with each other.
"According to Linda Binborg's article in Fashinetta Diva orange is the new pink."
"And don't forget belts! They're in fashion again."
"Ooh, what about this?"
Neon held up an A-line yellow sundress with a white trim. The dress was a stark contrast against her jean jacket, pink and green striped long sleeved shirt, and black skirt. Her attendants, Eliza and Tigris, examined the selected garb with their critical eyes. "Let's see…" Eliza said, fingering the material. "High neckline, ends just above the knees, and gives off a refined air. It fits what we're looking for."
Wrinkling her nose, Neon frowned, "But isn't it a little plain?"
The trio hummed, thinking. Then they chorused, "Accessorize!"
"And," Tigris added, turning around. From a trolley burdened with boxes and bags of clothes, she retrieved a pair of white sandals whose straps had a sunflower buckle. "We have the perfect footwear to go with it."
"Done!" Neon cried, throwing the dress behind her. "As expected of my favorite local store!" The article landed against Basho's chest. Muttering under his breath, the bodyguard tossed the dress on top of trolley. He resumed his slouched stance, leaning against the trolley. Basho masked a yawn by running a hand across his face, fingers tangling in his spiked brown mustache.
Kurapika frowned. Spying his boss' disapproval, Basho straightened. Sighing, he crossed his arms and gazed off into the distance. Kurapika shook his head. Uncrossing your arms to reel your arm for a punch takes approximately half a second. That's a sufficient amount of time for an opponent to eliminate you. Growing lax during peacetime only means you'll be unprepared for battle.
Kurapika looked down from the other's reflection in a display case. Thankfully Neon was shopping at the edge of the woman's department, allowing him to step away and pursue a selection of shoes instead of being surrounded by outlandish dresses. Kurapika procured a pair of loafers his size and opened the box. The odor of new leather assailed him. Closing his eyes, Kurapika ran a finger down the side of the shoe. This leather is far finer than what the Kurta clan used to pitch their huts. And it's being wasted to cover a person's sweaty feet. Pursing his lips, Kurapika examined the sole. Too little support—again. These wouldn't last a minute in a fight.
"I don't know about this, Eliza. Are you certain this is what we should be aiming for?"
"Of course, Lady Neon. It makes sense."
"What other style is their left to try, milady?"
A pause, then the clinking of hangers on the metal racks. Hearing footsteps approaching him, Kurapika turned around.
"What do you think?" Neon asked, holding up two dresses. When Kurapika only stared at her blankly, she shook the hangers. "Well?"
Kurapika blinked. "I… I know nothing of fashion, milady."
"No," Neon corrected, her face going red, "which dress do you like more?"
The first was a sleeveless two piece. Deep maroon material crossed the chest and back in a revealing x. The skirt appeared it would be tight and form fitting when worn. The other was the yellow sundress Neon had picked out earlier. Eliza's description was apt; the subtle gathering at the chest and slight billowiness exemplified elegance and maturity. A much better choice of fashion style than the clown inspired red and white balloon tights she had so favored last month. Or the punk rocker look complete with polka dotted hot pink cut off shorts the month before that. Or the Victorian styled ball gowns she wore in spring.
Behind Neon, Eliza and Tigris watched them wide-eyed. Basho uncrossed his arms.
"You should choose whichever dress you prefer," Kurapika intoned, turning his back to her. He crouched to survey the shoes.
After a moment, Neon's slightly shaky voice asked, "Have you found anything you like?"
"No." Kurapika glanced up to watch his employer in the reflection.
Cocking her head, Neon smiled broadly. "W-Well, if you find something, let me know!"
Eliza stepped forward. Cupping her hand around her mouth, she whispered something into Neon's ear. Neon flashed a smile and nodded. Talking quietly amongst themselves, the two turned away and continued shopping.
Kurapika narrowed his eyes. I smell a rat.
"Thank you for visiting at Cosmopolitan Metropolis, Master Nostrade!" An employee bowed. "Mr. Elides always appreciates your loyalty!"
Neon barely spared her a glance as she entered the elevator. She turned to Eliza to her left and exclaimed, "I can't wait to try on that kaftan from Kukan'yu!"
Eliza smiled, "You should wear it during your fortune tellings, milady."
"I know just the ivory hair pins that will compliment it," Tigris chimed in. "And they'll match your skin color."
The trio continued to yak about their purchases as the elevator made the long descent from the 73rd floor. They disembarked from the elevator onto the first floor and exited the skyscraper. A limo pulled up to the curb. After a moment, Linssen exited from the driver's seat and approached Neon. Folding a hand over his black and white Chinese clothing, the bodyguard bowed. "Forgive me, milady. The other limo is delayed because of unforeseen car trouble. Another limo has been sent already. Of course I am ready to return all of you to the Nostrade Manor, however, your purchases must remain here until the other limo arrives."
"Eh, really? Hmm…" Neon's eyes trailed down the street. "Oh, I know!" she clapped. "Let's go visit the cute outdoor café I saw on the way here!"
"But, Lady Neon." Tigris' lips puckered as though she had suck on a lemon. "That little café far below someone of your standing."
Eliza cut a sharp glance at her companion. "I think it's a great idea. It's almost time for lunch and I'm sure everyone is hungry after our excursion."
Neon asked, "What do you think of that, Kurapika?"
Kurapika studied Neon. Keen interest shone from light blue eyes. "…We will be able to protect you anywhere you choose to go."
"Right!" Neon grinned. "Linssen, take my purchases home. Send another limo to pick us up at the café."
Grumbling, Basho wheeled the trolley towards the automobile. As Linssen passed Kurapika, he said "I could use some help." Suppressing a sigh, Kurapika picked up a bag from the trolley. Placing a box into the truck, Linssen glanced at Neon talking with her attendants. "You're seem popular, boss. 'What do you think', huh?"
"That's the second time she's asked me that today."
"Really?"
Before Linssen could inquire further, Kurapika stated, "Car trouble."
"The car just broke down, that's all. It's not some bloodthirsty assassin or whatever you're imagining." Kurapika stopped picking up a bag to stare at Linssen. "No, I'm not mocking you. I understand you went through a lot at Yorknew City last year and during our trip to Heaven's Arena, but you should relax. Or at the very least, stop being so tense—"
"Relax? Relax?!" Basho popped his head out from behind a limo side's door. "That's all we've ever done since then! I hope there'll be some action at this year's Yorknew City auction. It's coming up, right? September 1st?"
"Those who derive excitement only from fighting often wind up dead," countered Kurapika.
Clenching a massive fist, Basho glared over his shoulder at Neon. "Maybe I could stand it if she gave us with the respect we deserve instead of treating us like her personal servants." Quieted, Linssen lowered his gaze, nodding slightly to himself. Neon and her croonies laughed loudly.
"Well, I have a delivery to make," Linssen said, light sarcasm underlining his tone. Raising a hand, he walked towards the driver's seat. "I'll see you at the mansion." He opened the door, then caught Kurapika's eye. "Enjoy your lunch," he smiled as he slipped into the seat and closed the door.
Kurapika watched his subordinate for a moment before returning to packing the last of the bags. Sighing heavily, Basho returned to the sidewalk, scratching his head. He closed his eyes. In his mind eye's a twisted corpse lay before him on the grass, vultures picking at what little flesh remained. Empty eye sockets stared up at the sky, rain running down their face.
"Hey, come on, Kurapika!" Kurapika opened his eyes to see Neon waved at him from father down the street. "Last one there is a rotten egg!"
Kurapika followed his employer, shaking his head.
Sipping a cup of tea, Kurapika scanned the people walking down the street. They passed by— chatting schoolgirls, rushing businessmen, little boys yanking on their mother's hands—without giving anyone else heed.
"Can I get you anything else, sir?" Kurapika settled his cup down on the table. "Sir?"
Kurapika whipped his head around to see a young waitress with her hair pinned in a bun smiling at him. "What?" When the server repeated herself, he clipped a "No," and turned away, resuming his vigil.
The waitress's smile faltered. "Well…" She placed her hand in a pocket of her white apron. Kurapika stiffened. Her hand emerged full of pastel colored packets and placed them on the table. "Just in case." She winked, then turned to wait on another table where an elderly man reclined.
Kurapika gaze flickered over the bags. Cream and sugar. He let out a breath. Well "just in case" I'm not consuming what could be poisonous. I cannot take the risk of being compromised while on duty.
Kurapika hid in the shadows under the café's green and white striped awning while Neon, her attendants, and Basho sat at a table several meters away. With such distance between the two, the casual observer would not have associated them.
Under Kurapika's watching eye, Tigris and Eliza stood up, looking towards Neon for direction. She waved them on, not bothering to look up from her new pink iPhone. Tigris flashed a thumbs up, then ducked into the café with Eliza. Like an exhausted child, Neon plopped her upper body on the table, heaving a sigh. She checked her phone one last time before letting her arm drop. With her other hand, she drummed her fingers on the table.
Bzzt.
Surprised, Kurapika slipped a hand underneath his blue and white tabard into the pocket of his training suit. Flipping the phone open, Kurapika asked, "What's wrong?"
"I'm boooored!"
Kurapika inwardly groaned. "Milady, it was you who chose to come here."
"Yeah, but I don't wanna sit with guy like Basho!" Neon cried, sitting up straight. Cupping her hand over her mouth, she loudly whispered into the phone, "Have you smelled him lately? He sprayed on way too much Axe. And being a big, hairy man that he is after standing in the sun all day, well… you know."
Kurapika glanced at Basho. He was sucking in huge breaths of air through his nose. "Milady—"
"But I could try to forget about all of that if only he could say something to me. All he's ever done is give me one syllable answers or grunt. Like a caveman or something. I just wanna have a good conversation with someone!"
Kurapika fought the urge to snort. I'd rather not talk about clothes or shopping, thanks. "Milady, you should open the umbrella at your table."
"What?" Neon looked up at the green and white striped umbrella sticking out from the table's center. "Why? So it's harder for others to see me? But what's so bad about a day in the sun?"
Tapping his fingers against the table, Kurapika sighed, "We'll accompany you to a tanning salon if you wish to get a tan."
Neon gripped her phone tighter for a second. Then her bright voice said in Kurapika's ear, "Well, if you want me to stay in the shadows, shouldn't I sit with you under the awning?" She smiled at him over her shoulder. "Is that what you want?"
Scowling, Kurapika jabbed his thumb at the phone. A moment later, it vibrated. He answered.
"Hey, don't hang up on—!"
"Milady, refrain from calling me unless there is an emergency in which you are in eminent danger."
Neon lowered the phone from her ear, the dial tone still ringing.
"Ah, home sweet home, the saying goes, right?" Neon leaned closer to Kurapika to watch the bricked walls pass the limo's window. He wrinkled his nose at her citrus perfume. Kurapika had entered the limo first, only to be followed by Neon, who chose to sit next to him. For whatever reason.
"Despite it being the first of August, it's pretty nice out, yeah?"
"Yes, milady," Tigris answered from her seat across from Neon. "We should enjoy it while we can before the next heat wave comes in."
Turning to her right, Neon asked, "We should hold off the fashion show until after dinner and play cards outside, don't you think? Eliza?"
Kurapika sidelong glanced at the attendant. After spying a guard standing by the gate, Eliza lowered her gaze to her clenched fists in her lap. Not so long ago the fields were the packed with watchdogs, not humans. All thanks to the late bodyguard, Squala. After a year she's still mourning him. Kurapika's eyes returned to the window. I apologize that I couldn't prevent his death by the Phantom Rouge. I swear I'll get vengeance for him.
"Huh? Oh, yes, Lady Neon," Eliza smiled as the limo rolled to a stop in front of the metal gate. "It is good to be home."
Scoffing quietly, Kurapika climbed out and closed the car door behind him. Following Eliza and Neon, Tigris exited the vehicle. "I think waiting to try on the clothes is a good idea, milady. After all, we have today's events to discuss first."
"Yes, of course! We must definitely discuss strategy, don't we, Eliza?" The attendant nodded enthusiastically.
After the gate swung open, Neon and her shadows walked down the white cobblestone path. With their heads huddled together, they were like a tabloid writers discussing the latest scandal. Basho stepped out of the limo, rolling his shoulder. He threw a glare over his shoulder at Neon. "Where does she get off saying all that?"
Kurapika began to breathe through his mouth. …She's not wrong. When Basho glanced at him, the blond lifted a shoulder.
"Master Kurapika!"
Kurapika and Basho looked up to see an elderly butler dressed in a suit walking towards them. Neon peeked at him as he passed, but otherwise ignored the servant. Leaving the limo behind, Kurapika and Basho approached the man.
"What is it?" Kurapika asked.
"Master Nostrade wishes to speak with you. Although he didn't say it was urgent, he sent me to alert you as soon as you arrived."
Frowning, Kurapika glanced behind the man. The Nostrade manor loomed before him. Its white frame windows and yellow walls extruded genteelness. Like a castle the manor boasted several rounded towers which topped by dark green cones that soared into the sky. All that was missing was a moat and a drawbridge. And now the king of the land had summoned his presence.
Neon reached the massive front doors. She smiled at her ladies-in-waiting, then slipped inside. Is this related to milady's recent odd behavior? Kurapika's skin crawled and the hairs on the nape of his neck stood on end.
In an instant everything can change.
"…Understood. I'll come at once."
Kurapika entered the manor into a massive foyer. A wide staircase led to a landing of the second floor. Blue rugs carpeted the floor, complimenting with the subdued yellow walls. A half dozen glass chandeliers dangled from the ceiling high above Kurapika's head. A whiff of floor polish and varnish permeated the air. Landscape paintings adorned the walls, no doubt created by the world's most famous painters.
In the center of the second floor's back wall, a portrait of the Nostrade family hung. Twice the height of a fully grown man and framed by a sparkling gold, it drew guests' eyes as soon as the front doors opened. A wrinkleless Light Nostrade sat in a chair, while a young girl stood erect by his knee. Behind the pair stood a blue-haired woman. Her purple-eyed quiet gaze pierced the viewer. Presumably the woman was Mr. Nostrade's late wife and Neon's mother, but Kurapika had never glimpsed another photo of the woman to confirm his theory.
Turning away from the foyer, Kurapika walked down a hallway to an elevator. After pressing the number four button, he stepped back. Movement to his left caught his eye. Kurapika glanced over to see himself glancing at himself. Kurapika fought the urge to sigh. What possible reason could there be to install full length mirrors in an elevator? I suppose the lady of the house can't go ten minutes without looking at herself.
Passing a servant dusting an ornate vase, Kurapika reached Mr. Nostrade's office. He knocked softly on the Cherrywood double doors. "Come in," a man's deep voice answered. Kurapika obeyed.
Two couches surrounded a wooden table. Trimmed in gold and the same red as the rollout carpets celebrities, they probably cost hundred thousands of Jenny. Behind them Nostrade's executive style desk stood on a raised platform spanning the width of the room. Sunlight streamed through a window spanning half the back wall. Perfect for assassins to snipe Mr. Nostrade's head, Kurapika tutted.
Mr. Nostrade sat at his desk, speaking into a phone. When he spied his employee, Mr. Nostrade smiled, his face wrinkling slightly. "Yes, we'll have to continue this conversation another time. I have an important meeting to attend." After disconnecting the call, he placed it on his desk and waved the young man over.
Kurapika eased into one of two chairs situated in front of his employer's desk. "Is Zenji causing you trouble again? I'll happily dispose of him."
"Zenji hasn't caused me any trouble since the Yorknew City auction last year. And no, it's nothing like that," Mr. Nostrade said, pulling his black suit jacket closer together as he adjusted his seat in the chair. "It's just…" His blue eyes studied Kurapika. The Kurta met his gaze unflinchingly. "How old are you?"
Kurapika fought to keep his surprise from showing. "I'm nineteen."
Mr. Nostrade picked up a pen from his desk and twirled it once. "A little young," he muttered.
"Sir, if this meeting is regarding a mission, I assure you I can complete it regardless of my age—"
"No, as I said, it's not like that." Mr. Nostrade exhaled, then ran a hand threw his lavender hair, mussing his combed back hair. He tapped the pen to a parchment lying on the table. Kurapika tilted his head forward. Outside, a bird crowed.
Mr. Nostrade dropped the pen and swung the chair towards the window. He folded his hands in his lap. "Ever since my father died drunk in some forgotten alleyway, I have longed to be something more than him. To have wealth, so not as to be ignored, to have influence, so not as to be discredited, to have power such that no one could forget my name. So I became a member of the Mafia and have dedicated my life towards rising their ranks."
"Despite years of effort, those Ten Mafia Don fools considered the Nostrade Family expendable. But then my greatest accomplishment was born. Neon. Her ability to predict the future is the only of its kind in the world. It is a commodity that I can determine the price of. And people are willing to pay hundreds of millions to utilize it. That's why I endeavor to keep her happy. I let her buy whatever she desires and in turn the Mafia becomes more and more dependent on me and her fortune tellings. Unfortunately, Neon, stubborn little girl she is, often gets her heart captured my some frivolous expensive thing…"
You mean human body parts, Kurapika thought, frowning.
"…and claims she'll quit telling fortunes if I don't buy what she wants."
Kurapika nodded. Before Dalzollene had been killed, Kurapika had overheard him muttering something about Neon quitting because there was extra work that month.
"If Neon quits, I'll lose a lifetime of hard work. And that is unacceptable.
"So you see, Kurapika…" Mr. Nostrade spun his chair around. He rested his chin on his raised folded hands. With the sun behind him, his face was cast in shadow, except for his chilly blue eyes. "I can't refuse Neon anything."
A bead of sweat ran down Kurapika's temple. His thoughts raced a mile a minute. So this summons is related to milady's recent behavior. Mr. Nostrade said that he can't refuse Lady Neon anything, that he must make her happy. And somehow that is connected to me, or else he wouldn't have called for me, but what could I possibly do that would make Lady Neon hap—
"Neon asked for your hand in marriage."
"WHAAAT?!"
Startled, Mr. Nostrade leaned back, eyes wide. Then he laughed so hard his stomach shook. "I guess that's quite a shock, eh? Perhaps I should have spoken more plainly from the beginning."
This isn't happening. I mean, me with that annoying, whinny, selfish brat? Never!
"I know my daughter can be quite the handful, but, as I said, it doesn't take too much to make her happy." Closing his eyes, Mr. Nostrade nodded to himself. "I know this is sudden, but I do believe a marriage between the two of you is the best arrangement for everyone involved."
This… this must be some sort of joke. A mistake. He's not serious. He's not. He isn't.
"If you marry Neon, you'll be my son-in-law. My successor. Ever since the Ten Dons died during the auction last year, the Mafia has been struggling to find capable men for management, and I just about convinced them I'm right for the job. Of course, having a young, talented son-in-law as a successor will be viewed favorably. Just think of it." Mr. Nostrade leaned forward. His face alit with a fervor of man who held a wish-granting genie lamp in his hands. "I'm this close—this close!—to ruling the Underworld."
Icy claws of fear seized Kurapika's lungs, cutting off his breath.
"And you…" Mr. Nostrade stood up strode over to Kurapika. He grasped his left shoulder and gave it a little shake. "You'll be right by my side."
Kurapika lowered his head.
"I don't know why you sought my employ eleven months ago, but I do know this." Mr. Nostrade gazed down at his subordinate, but he couldn't see his eyes because of his blond bangs. "Someone with your capabilities deserves to be more than just a bodyguard."
Frowning, Mr. Nostrade bent forward to study his future son-in-law's face. "Kurapika, are you all right? You look a little pale."
Kurapika lifted his head. His bangs were messily plastered to his forehead by sweat. Shallow breaths slipped past his lips. His hands gripping the armrests trembled. "I'm… fine."
"Good!" Mr. Nostrade declared, straightening. Heading towards his desk, he began, "Then we should start plan—"
"I need time."
Mr. Nostrade halted, snapping his head towards the owner of the quiet voice. The Kurta let his arms fall into his lap. Kurapika bowed in the chair, his bangs nearly touching his knees. "I need time to think the matter over."
"Well. Think it over then, if you wish. But." He opened a drawer, pulled out stack of stamped envelopes, and plopped them on his desk. "Be quick about it. I want to send out these invitations by the end of the day."
Picking up his phone, Mr. Nostrade hit redial and held the device to his ear. "Hello? It's me again. The meeting's over. Yes, it went well. But we'll talk more about that later. As for what we were discussing earlier, I believe it's imperative that we put our foot down about this. They can't have their way…"
Mr. Nostrade's droning voice ebbed into a faint buzz in Kurapika's ears. He remained as still as stone. The only thing occupying his vision was small swirly edging etched into desk. Then that, too, blurred into oblivion.
