Wild Adapter is copyrighted intellectual property of Kazuya Minekura, Tokuma Shoten, and Tokyopop, and is being used in this fanfiction for fan purposes only. No infringement or disrespect of the copyright holders of Wild Adapter or its derivative works is intended by this fanfiction.
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For Rroselavy
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Detritus
by silverr
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Tokito has walked the eight blocks to go grocery shopping a dozen times by now – maybe more, two or three dozen; the weeks have become months – but today the flash of chain link fence at the end of the alley across the street snares his eye. Though he doesn't understand why, he crosses the street and hurries down the alley to see what the fence is guarding.
A derelict brick building, its bricks pale pink with dust, its glassless windows like empty eye sockets, stands in a landscape of faded torn papers, broken bottles, misshapen soggy boxes, unidentifiable metal debris, and rocky, oil-stained soil. It looks like nothing so much as a browbeaten animal in an illegal zoo, cowering before the threat of the wrecking ball that hangs from a nearby crane.
The sight of the building fills Tokito with apprehension and he sprints back to the apartment, the rustling grocery bags like a malicious, judgmental whisper. He can't bear to wait for the elevator and races up the stairwell, hands shaking as he tries to unlock the door, realizes that it is open, and bursts in.
Kubota stands at the window, smoking. He turns, smiling faintly. "You took a long time."
"I was looking at something." Tokito tries not to gulp for breath as he unpacks the groceries, but panic is churning his insides.
"Oh?"
"A building two blocks over." Tokito grips the edge of the sink with his ungloved hand. "It's going to be demolished."
"Is that so?" Kubota is now leaning against the kitchen doorway, his eyes shadowed behind his glasses. He lights another cigarette as Tokito puts water on for noodles. "That's progress, I guess."
They stand, silent, watching as the water starts to steam.
"There weren't any signs on it." Tokito says suddenly. "Was it a business? An apartment block? A school?"
"I don't know," Kubota says. "I never paid attention."
"Then how can you say it's progress?" Tokito demands. "Maybe tearing it down will be bad for the neighborhood!"
"The owners must have their reasons." Kubota says with a shrug.
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Two days later, curious, Tokito takes a detour and sees dozens of aunties and uncles swarming like carrion beetles over the rubble of the building. The sight makes him want to punch something. He doesn't understand why.
By the time he reaches the apartment the beast hand has begun to ache.
He throws himself on the couch. Kubota doesn't look up from the videogame he is playing. "What's wrong?"
"Those stupid people!" Tokito says, "They broke the gate and went in! Don't they know it's dangerous poking around in there? They could get hurt!" He rolls on his side and reaches to flick Kubota's tuft of a ponytail with his finger.
Kubota shakes his head. "No, the gate was probably left open."
"But why?"
"Saves money if someone else carries away the mess."
"So what do they want with that stuff? It's broken. Useless."
Kubota pauses the game – onscreen a decapitated body is frozen, a vase for an ikebana of blood – but doesn't turn around. "They must see value in what was cast aside."
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"The noodles are different today."
"I put takoyaki sauce on them." Tokito can't interpret Kubota's expression. "Does it taste bad?"
"No." Kubota shakes his head. "What made you think to do that?"
"I saw a little girl with an octopus backpack."
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"Let's go for a walk."
The chain fence surrounding the empty lot is now padlocked. "It's too funny," Kubota says. "Are they afraid someone will steal their hole?"
"It's as if it never was," Tokito says, gripping the fence and giving it a shake.
Kubota climbs the fence easily, drops down inside, walks toward where the building had been.
"What are you doing?" Tokito hisses, aware of the comments of passers-by.
When Kubota comes back, he holds out a chip of stone, reddish-brown with faint gray striations. Part of it is a perfect right angle, as if broken from the corner of a brick.
After a moment, Tokito takes it.
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Kubota turns unexpectedly down a side alley.
"This isn't the way back," Tokito says, irritated, but Kubota shrugs and keeps going.
The route weaves through an unfamiliar neighborhood. Tokito is just about to ask where they're going when Kubota stops, leaning against the signpost for a dead end alley.
Tokito, sulking, sits on the ground next to him, his chin on his knees. "Why are we here?"
Kubota's reply is to walk down the alley, and as always Tokito, annoyed, follows,
The alley leads to a tiny courtyard garden. Reddish-grey bricks lie everywhere: edging a flowerbed, hopscotched together into narrow paths, stacked to make square planters.
"All this?" Tokito says. "From that mess?"
Kubota shakes another cigarette from the pack, lights it. "Seems like." He waits patiently until Tokito is done looking, and then they start walking back home.
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~ The End ~
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A thank you to my beta Whymzycal. ~ I touched this last, though, so all errors are mine.
(02) 21 Dec 2012