A/N: one day they'll look up and shout, "stop writing shitty fanfiction about your obscure favourites and get back to writing about something people actually want to read" and i'll whisper, "no"
My take on how Chita and Rodeaux first met.
"Is that..?"
"Shush, dear, don't stare. Just keep walking.."
Chita heard things like that every day. Now they just went in one ear and out the other, although she did pull the scarf she'd wrapped around her head tighter and picked up her pace. The single block between her house and the market seemed impossibly long. All she wanted to do was keep her head down and her face hidden until she got home. It wasn't like she had to worry about bumping into anyone— everyone knew her, and everyone gave her a wide berth. 'What a shame', they would say, and then avoid her like her wound was contagious. It made her feel sick.
It took her a few moments to fumble for her front door key and slide it into the ill-fitting lock. She picked up her bag of groceries and shouldered her way inside, into the dark and musty flat. She rented the place from a landlord who lived in a large city hours away, and who she wired money to every month. She had never met the woman face to face, which suited her just fine. The flat itself was a the three-room bottom portion of a house, the top half of which had fallen into disrepair and wasn't currently in use. It was sparsely furnished and completely undecorated. She felt as though she fit in a place like that.
She shut the door behind her, ignoring the way the hinges creaked loudly. She used to oil them frequently, but since it just kept happening and she didn't have anyone she could ask to fix it, she had just learned to live with the creaking. It was just easier that way. She loaded her food into the lopsided pantry and the refrigerator that hummed in the middle of the night when she was trying to sleep, unpacking the groceries with almost robotic motions. She had to remind herself repeatedly that going out one day meant she wouldn't have to go out the next. Small reassurances like that kept her going.
It would be easier, really, she thought as she loaded the milk into the fridge, if I just never had to leave the house at all..
Chita hated sending out her rent. First she had to walk all the way to the bank, then stand in the inevitable line, then arrange for the money to be wired. She couldn't do it digitally the way most people did— her bank didn't even have a website. She would have to talk with someone behind the counter, trying to avoid eye contact if only to avoid noticing the fact that they were inevitably trying to do the same, and there was always some sort of problem that would get things tied up and make the people waiting in line behind her antsy and irritated. Sometimes it would be a lack of funds in her account, while other times her land lady would switch banks or branches and not tell her ahead of time, but invariably the entire charade would take far longer than she wanted.
That day the process had taken so long that she was left home walking in dusky darkness, the street lights just starting to flicker to life. As usual she had her thick scarf pulled around her head and was walking quickly, keeping her head down so as to avoid eye contact with the few people still on the street. A pair of young boys paused awkwardly in the middle of kicking a ball back and forth to watch as she passed, not even trying to pretend they weren't staring. The children of the village were more frank than their parents, although no less unkind.
The wind nearly rushed out of her when she collided with another body, more out of surprise than from the collision. She stumbled backwards but didn't fall, glancing up to see who she had run into but not lifting her head. She didn't recognize the young but intimidating-looking man.
"..sorry.." she murmured, holding her scarf closed with a white-knuckled grip as she moved to walk around the stranger. An arm shot out in front of her to block her path, and she gritted her teeth.
"Hey, where are you going in such a hurry?" he asked tauntingly, grinning down at her like a cat might grin at a mouse. She didn't react, simply tried to shoulder past his arm, but two more unfamiliar men stepped up behind him and blocked her way.
"..please let me pass," she said, her voice a little louder than before. The original man she had bumped into just continued to grin at her.
"What was that? Sorry, didn't quite catch it," he said with a snigger in his voice. His companions joined in like it was some sort of inside joke.
"I'll scream," she said firmly, trying to keep her hands from shaking as she held onto the head cover.
"Aw, no need to be like that," he said in a voice that sounded like honey and made her feel sick to her stomach. "We just wanted someone local to tell us what there is to do around this burg."
"This is just a small village. If you're looking for something to do, the nearest city is an hour away by highway," she replied curtly, glancing around to weigh her options. If she tried to run back the opposite way the men would likely be able to catch her, and there was a wrought iron fence to her right, but if she ducked to the left and into the street she might be able to cut across and attract enough attention to get help before they caught up to her.
"I'm sure we can amuse ourselves somehow," one of the other men added, leaning against the fence. Chita's legs tensed as she prepared to run, mentally trying to estimate how far she could get before they caught up to her. If she ran around the car and used it to slow them down..
"Hey, why aren't you listening to us?" The third man reached out and grabbed her scarf. She made a startled noise and took a step backwards, keeping a firm hold on it to avoid having it taken from her. She felt the fabric tear almost neatly in two before she heard it, but the sound still made her stomach churn. Her hand immediately shot up to her eye, but the same man that ripped her scarf caught her wrist. "And why aren't you showing us your face?"
She scowled, screwing up her face like a cornered animal. "Don't touch me," she snarled, trying to pull her wrist from his grip. "If it's money that you want, I don't have any."
The three men ignored her completely, the one holding her wrist scrutinizing her face closely. When she tried to lower her head and avoid eye contact, another one of the three reached in and grabbed her chin, tilting her face up.
"Oh man, nasty scar," the first of them commented, still grinning. "D'you think she's got an empty eye socket?"
She flinched when he reached out to touch it, jerking her head away with a startled yell. Her wrist was immediately twisted, cutting the noise off with a pained choke. She wanted to pull herself away, run and scream for help, but the strength just wouldn't come to her. What if one of them had a weapon? She blanched at the thought. Maybe if she—
"Three against one, huh? How boring."
The deep voice from above startled her, but not as much as it startled the men who had cornered her. Their heads snapped up almost in unison, while she lifted hers hesitantly, afraid of an imminent fourth attacker.
The figure standing on top of the lamp post wasn't human. She knew that much at first glance. He was human enough, but his strange physique, lined face, dead eyes, and the small wings that twitched every so often like they wanted to flap were all dead giveaways. He had a dark facial expression, one of mixed disinterest and disgust, like he'd just swatted an insect or stepped in dog shit.
"Wh-who the Hell are you?!" the grinning man demanded, no longer grinning. Those disinterested and disgusted eyes turned their full attention on him, and the man on the lamp post curled his lip.
"Only cowards team up against an unarmed opponent," he continued, as though he hadn't even heard the man's demands. "If you were strong, you wouldn't need three people to confront someone walking home alone in the dark, hunched over like an old woman. Or maybe you're so weak that you need two allies to confront a girl who won't even swing a fist at you..?"
All three of the men made strangled choking noises. The one gripping her wrist dropped it, and though her immediate instinct was to run away, she felt like her legs were weighed down by cement blocks. Her shoulders were shaking, but she couldn't bring herself to move.
"Hey, if you're so tough, why not come down from there and prove it?!" one of them demanded, shaking a fist at the lamp post percher. He gave them that same disgusted glare, like he was staring at an insect who was crawling on his food. "Tch, forget this. Let's just get out of here."
Without so much as a backwards glance at Chita, the three men lumbered away down the sidewalk, hanging their shoulders. As soon as they had passed under the lamp post, the fourth man's expression changed from disinterest and disgust to an amused grin filled with teeth like a shark. He dropped down from his perch and rolled his neck.
"Good," he said with a chuckle in his voice. "Striking weak-willed cowards in the back is a hobby of mine."
Before any of the men could react, he swung his foot out in a punishing kick that landed on the back of the grinning man's head. He made a choked gurgling noise as his friends whirled on the newcomer, whose smirk had widened. Screaming unintelligible curses, one tried to throw a punch at the winged man, only to have his fist connect with the palm of his hand and be rewarded with a knee to the stomach that completely knocked the wind out of him. As he stumbled back against the wrought iron fence, the last of the three balked, letting out a shrill noise of fright as he turned to bolt. In spite of their injuries and shock, the other two followed, running as if their lives depended on it. The winged man scoffed.
"Pummelling weaklings like that wouldn't even be worth the effort," he spat. Out of the corner of his eye he seemed to notice Chita for the first time as she crouched to pick up the pieces of her torn scarf. "Why're you still here? A weakling like you should have run the moment they turned their backs."
"I—" Chita stammered, caught somewhere between insulted and terrified. She wanted to follow his advice and run, but her legs were shaking so hard that it was all she could do to avoid keeling over. The stranger glanced down at the sidewalk, taking in her torn scarf and scrutinizing her face. Her hand shot up almost reflexively to cover her scar.
"..hey," he said after a moment, dropping a heavy book in front of her with a dull thump. As she tugged her scarf out from underneath it, she took in the dark brown of the cover and its strange markings. "You wanna get back at those bastards, right?"
Her head shot up as her hand reached for the thick book, running almost subconsciously along the edge of its spine. She considered the question for a few moments, not noticing that she had picked up the book and was cradling it against her chest. The sight of her holding it seemed to amuse him, although the smirk that crossed his face was only brief. He turned to the car that was parked at the side of the road.
"You think this is theirs?" he asked. It was an expensive foreign car, one she knew that no one in her village drove. She nodded as he reached out to run a hand over its roof. The sight of the long claws sprouting from the tips of his fingers, as if she needed yet another reminder of the fact that the man who had saved her— at least momentarily— was something unidentifiably inhuman. "See if you can read that book."
Her hands shook as she placed her hand on the cover of the book. She didn't know why she was listening to his suggestions when she could have been running; perhaps it was a product of fear after seeing the winged man run off three thugs without any kind of effort. She looked at the car, which she was now certain belonged to one of them, and something base surged in her chest. She did want to get back at them. The book thrummed under her hand like a heartbeat. Without even thinking about it, she flipped open the cover of the book, her face contorted into a bestial snarl.
"Ragyuuru!"
The wings on the stranger's back expanded, changing from about a foot in length to each about the size of his body. A beam seemed to shoot from the membrane, an extension of the wing itself. The car crumpled under the pressure and was sent flying across the street, rolling on its roof to come to a stop against the lamp post across the street, bending it nearly in half but not snapping its concrete base entirely.
Chita knelt on the ground, feeling completely rooted by her fear. The screeching and crunching of metal rang in her ears, and it took her a moment to realize that the car's alarm was sounding— and the winged man was laughing.
With a scream, she dropped the heavy book as though it had burned her. Her legs still felt like cement, but even the heaviness that came with the lack of muscle strength wasn't enough to keep her from throwing herself to her feet and running in the opposite direction. She stumbled once, skinning her knees, but the adrenaline running through her had her on her feet and going again in mere seconds.
The winged man stopped laughing, regarding the dropped book with annoyance. "Tch. So it's going to be like that, huh.."
Chita's legs burned like they were on fire, felt as heavy as stone. Her knees ached and stung where she had skinned them, little pieces of concrete gravel sticking to the raw red patches. She hadn't thought about where she was running— all she had cared about was getting away from the man with the wings and the shark teeth and the crazed laugh. What kind of a monster did you have to be to send a car flying like that?
And— why had she felt her heart pound with excitement when she had read that book and watched the car get crushed?
She approached her house through the back alley, having avoided the main roads when she doubled back. She didn't want to run into the crazy winged man, or see the wreck. All she wanted to do was get home and forget the entire night had even happened. After all, she couldn't have really seen a man with wings trash a car, right? It was possible that her body was just reacting to the stress of being cornered by those thugs— making up something to deal with the trauma. Her old therapist had told her about things like that happening, back when her parents had insisted on sending her to weekly therapy sessions.
She struggled with the key in the lock for a few moments, feeling it stick and grind the way it normally did. Where it normally would have just been another annoyance, today it frustrated her immensely, when all she wanted to do was get home and relax. She cursed loudly, kicking the door firmly. She burst into her house, fuming from something even as small as that, and nearly screamed when she stopped to actually pay attention to her surroundings. Sitting in the light coming from her open fridge was the winged man, food wrappers and containers scattered around him and halfway through eating a raw ham. She fumbled for the knob, desperate to slip out and escape his notice, but his head snapped in her direction, freezing her in place.
For a few moments they were both completely silent, Chita paralysed with fear as he scrutinized her. The winged man swallowed a mouthful of ham and licked the juices around his lips. "I was wondering when you'd show up," he said with an annoyed tone to his voice, like she had been late to an appointment or something. Turning back to his feast, he added, "It was a pain trying to figure out where you lived."
"Wh-who are you?! What are you doing in my house?! And— why are you eating all of my food?!" she demanded, her voice shrill. Her fear was pushed to the side by her anger, her pure fury at her home being violated. It was the last safe space available to her, when she couldn't go outside without being stared at and ridiculed.
He smacked his lips, turning the ham over. "I'm Rodeaux," he greeted, so casually that she half expected him to extend his hand to her for a handshake. "And I just flew across an ocean and beat up a couple of thugs to meet you. I needed to refuel after that."
His response dumbfounded her so much that she neglected to notice that he had ignored the second of her questions. She blinked twice in confusion, taking an automatic step forwards. "To meet.. me?" she repeated. He let out a scoffing snort as he tore the last chunk of meat from the bone.
"Yeah. You can read my book," he replied, gesturing at the table behind him. The brown book he had tossed to her previously sat there. As she stared at it, it seemed to start throbbing like a heart, forcing her to avert her eyes. "That makes us partners."
Chita bristled. "Who said I wanted to be your partner?" she demanded. Her hair was standing on end not only out of anger, but also fear as she remembered the car crumpling and being thrown across the street. Why was she even standing around and having a conversation with a person that dangerous?
"I didn't make the choice," he replied, biting into the ham bone. A shiver ran up her spine as she listened to his teeth grind the bone to bite sized chunks and then into paste as simply as if he were eating chips. "The book can only be read by a single human. So you're my partner."
"Partners for what? What are you?" she demanded, feeling irritation bubble up inside of her. He turned to her and gave her a brilliant grin.
"A demon," he replied, voice brimming with sadistic glee. "One who's going to become a king."
