Howdy Howdy
wow it's been a day.
Got this crazy and surging inspiration, and wrote this one shot for RikRikz.
She is a great fan who is very cool. Very Patient too.
Hope you like it!
I tried a little bit of a different style of writing for this one.
Now for the Protocol:
word count: 2,510
[I do not own any KHR characters]
I take claim to the OC 'Sacha' in this shot
=Advice/Comments are loved=
_Dee_
The night has encroached on the sun's reign and swiftly eats the beams away. Twilight will soon dominate the sky. It is time. Through the forest races a man in an outfit suitable for a funeral: jet black pants tucked under matching thick but light boots whose lacings stretch up his calf; not to forget the medium-lengthed and double-breasted black trench; and his signature prosthetic. Superbi Squalo has somewhere to be—it is of utmost importance.
With ease the man jumps outrageous lengths, tree to tree, covering the great distance to his target quickly. He doesn't have much time since the commander can't ever leave the boss to his own devices too long. That man would kill everyone. Squalo snorts to the thought of his boss and speeds himself up. 'I'll be there in less than five minutes.'
And just as the arrogant man thought, he reached town in four minutes. Hearing people nearby, he drops out of the tree, landing quietly on the soft grass of the park. 'I've gotten pretty close. If these damn people weren't out, I could've gotten closer.' He trudges calmly out of the woods and onto the sidewalk path where there is a couple walking their pets. The little dogs bark and growl at the intimidating man.
A middle-aged woman gives him a warm smile while trying to reel in one of the Napoleon Poodles, "Please excuse them, they never act like this."
The assassin grunts and keeps walking.
Her smile fades as she and her husband watch him disappear in the distance.
With a flip of his long silvery locks, the tall man keeps a smug expression while inspecting the vintage shoe factory now in front of him. Broken out windows, crumbling bricks, and a missing door—'This is the place?' He walks inside. Nothing. The place is nothing more than an old and empty warehouse covered with mold-ridden walls and disintegrating murals of illegal artistry. "Fucking shit."
He kicks some rubbish on the ground and walks out.
Outside the building, he gives one more inspection of the trashy place. Twilight has won the battle for the sky, making it harder for the man's silver eyes to notice, but the moonlight is enough. Squalo suspiciously checks his surroundings and jumps. His feet tap onto the roof. "Hmph, think you're fucking clever, huh," is what the hot-headed man says as he slyly and quietly breaks the lock of the door hidden on the dilapidated building's roof.
From here is darkness: darker than the twilight that beat the sun, darker than the wine cellar under Squalo's childhood home. He walks inside, unafraid. Too bad it was too dark to see that he was walking confidently into a stairwell. He almost ate it.*
But Squalo is too cool to fall.
The Varia issued boots remain soundless as the assassin creeps into the secret establishment. Down the stairs and through a simple doorway—twilight greets him once more in the form of moonlight. It's shining brilliantly through the tempered windows of what Squalo is finding to be a hidden loft. He's in the kitchen. It is clean and seamless with stainless steel and what looks like a ruby colored granite in the dark.
Sighing, the shark treads lightly inside the house, avoiding the breakfast nook and glancing over the appliances. Fridge. The man is hungry. 'I haven't eaten today. It's that fucking Lussuria's fault! He had to make those goddamn brownies today! Flambouyant fuck!'
His stomach growls.
Then his mouth growls.
Squalo walks on.
Easy enough, it is only a few steps in the wall-less expanse that leaves the Varia Commander in a lounge area on the left of the loft. It's layered in vibrantly patterned rugs all over the concrete floor and has oversized loveseats that are strewn across from each other because of a large bay window that the moonlight is forcing itself through. He takes a few steps, looking at the small plants on the windowsill and the large bookshelves filled with antique-scented leather-bounds and hardcovers. There are a few notebooks laid on top of the books here and there too. His eyes squint to look at some of the titles, but grunts, pissed that he can't read them. They're all written in French.
Finally the man turns himself to the right corner of the house he hasn't inspected, seeing a large and wooden posted bed. The posts are carved to have a smooth and spindled design and there is netting laid over it—'Che, looks fucking stupid.'
So the man sidles. Centimeter by centimeter the commander creeps. The fancy bed that looks fit for the prince doesn't move. Now he stands next to it, sword raised. Slash. Feathers blast.
"Hnn?" A small girl in the bed laid on her stomach turns her head and peeks slightly.
Squalo clicks a lamp on the side table.
Her hand slaps over her eyes; "Mmmmgh. You know it's like 3am?"
The shark barks, "It's 7:30! Get your fucking lazy ass up!"
Her finger spread, revealing one deep blue eye, "Hah? 7:30? No way." Her face tucks back into the pillow.
"You fucking slept the day away again!"
Still sprawled on the poofy bed, her shoulders shrug, "Eh. I could use a little more sleep."
"GET THE FUCK UP!"
He destroys a feathered pillow.
She lets out a soft tenured grunt.
Squalo watches the girl sluggishly roll out of bed. Only wearing a loose and sheer white tank and black boy-shorts, he looks away when she freely stretches her small but toned body. The small squeaks escaping from her mouth during the blissful stretching make the shark close his eyes. "Hurry up."
"Not until you pay what's owed."
"The fuck are you talking about?"
She looks at her fingers that are rising to her list, "Steel deadbolt, down comforter…"
"VOIII!"
She raises an eyebrow, hand extended for payment.
He glares at her for a few moments until he caves and slaps 500 euros in her hand.
The hand stays.
He growls, "What?"
"500 euros? I couldn't even get a blowjob with this."
"VOII!"
"We both know why you're here."
Silver eyes toggle left and right; another 500 euros fall in the girl's palm.
"Thanks Superbi. Now give me the hand."
Squalo quickly twists the prosthetic hand off and gives it to the ambiguous woman that goes by the name Sacha. The girl waltzes off to the kitchen, pulling Squalo along behind her. His stomach growls again. She chuckles a response, "I have some Chicken Marsala from earlier in the fridge. Help yourself."
He glares at her. 'She looking down on me?'
She snickers, knowing exactly what he's thinking. "Superbi, please eat my Chicken Marsala. It would make me very happy."
The glare turns incredulous.
She laughs in her softly themed voice. Crouching down, her hand swipes a large kitchen rug to the wall and opens a secret latch on the floor, "Come down here when you finish."
The shark grumbles and opens the fridge.
Feeling more lax after eating, Squalo climbs down the ladder into the hidden workshop. It's not large, just enough to cram any kind of tools you would need to fix various pieces of technology. Sacha's expertise lies in specialty weapons and modification, but will work on anything, for anyone, with enough to pay for her labor costs. She finds it easier and more lucrative to play Switzerland; she's also not the type to harbor such superfluous emotions like angst.
In the middle of the bomb-shelter like room, under the bright light of one low bay, fluorescent lighting fixture, Sacha takes a moment to scratch her wispy pixie cut and chide the shark. "Who have you been giving my hand to tune up? They're tactless."
"Giannichi. And I tinker sometimes too."
"Giannichi? That fat guy that works for Timoteo?" She puckers her naturally pouty and full lips while shaking her head. "I can't believe you let a two-bit* mechanic work on my masterpiece. It makes me sad kind of."
"Well you've been missing for a few months now."
"Yeah… I've been on a wild goose chase as of late… Sorry about that." She eyes him cutely.
"You could buy a fucking phone, you know."
She smacks her workstation. He hit a nerve. "Hey. I get paid to tinker with technology, that doesn't mean I have to let it run my life." She looks away with a non-ferocious snarl, "Che. Cell phones," then throws her hands in the air.
The Varia Commander takes her commentary on cell phones as a reminder to check his own. No calls, no texts, no emails. All is good.
"Hey it's a dead zone here for phones."
"VOIII!"
She laughs and continues to dismantle the hand. Squalo is freaking out—his subordinate (secret friends) could be dying at this moment, and he would never know. He shrugs his shoulders, "Fuck em'."
A few hours pass and Sacha is actually starting to break a small sweat under the tubed lights that are keeping her more than toasty. Squalo has even taken off the trench that is rarely removed, under it being a long-sleeved and deep crimson V-neck tee. Sleeves are scrunched up just under the shark's elbows.
It's hot in the tool house.
While playing angry birds on his useless brick of technology, he sits on a stool in the corner and lets his back rest against the concrete wall. It 's the only thing keeping the room remotely cool.
"Geh, I hate doing this."
Sacha loses concentration and watches Superbi throw his long hair into a simple ponytail. She loves seeing him with his hair up. A smirk cracks through her serious expression. "You always look good like that."
The man grumbles and goes back to his game and Sacha goes back to her tinkering, after she slyly licks the corner of her lips. Squalo didn't catch that one. He is too pissed off about how much he sucks at the game. He's about to throw the stupid fucking fruit phone at the wall. 'Teach those stupid fucking birds what anger is.'
A few more hours pass, and Sacha hands Squalo his newly tuned prosthetic back and takes her other masterpiece—the sword she made him. Of course, neither one claim her craftsmanship for the sword or the hand that were made pro bono.* It would lead to more drama than either want. She has plenty of customers that don't like the Varia, plenty more that just hate Squalo. He's not the easiest man to get along with.
Her eyes slide down the blade: first inspecting the edges, finger sliding against the central ridge, squinting to inspect the point, finally blowing into the four holes that shoot out small spurs of gunpowder. She grins.
"This thing looks like shit. Have you been cleaning it?"
Squalo looks up after pausing the session of poker on his phone, "Hah?"
She shakes her head and stands.
Squalo watches Sacha wander off to a tall, metal shelving unit that is cluttered with smaller tools, rags, brushes, and liquids in glass containers. He pays special attention to how her arms and legs define to her tip toeing to grab what looks like a heavy box. "Uh, I—"
"I got it."
The box plops in her arms.
Back at the desk, the girl pinches her straight nose and then scratches her head once more, before going into sword mode. Some kind of brick looking tool in hand now, she grinds against the swords blade. Squalo keeps staring at her, now noting her faintly defined cheekbones that bring more focus to her eyes that are similar to the oceans deeper depths. She wipes more of her unnoticeable sweat away, and the shark goes back to the poker match on his phone. There is silence, but a comfortable silence that they both enjoy.
Mafioso or not, Squalo is a man with pride. Being as prideful as he is, he would never admit how he likes just lazing around at Sacha's place. When you put a hot-head together with someone who's presence is calm and understated, one will change. The shark always finds peace. But Sacha is like the wind and follows her whims, showing little to no loyalty to anything, let alone commitment. Squalo, along with plenty others, find her whimsicality hard to deal with too.
'Battery less than 20%'
Squalo presses the 'ok' button and puts his phone on sleep, watching Sacha clean the holes out of the shot chambers. Though he didn't want to bring it up, there has been something that has been bothering him all night. It's time to bring it up.
"So where were you?"
She looks up, "Hn?"
"After the Inheritance Ceremony. I see you once, you ask me about that senile fucking gook, and then take off. Where the fuck did you go?"
She puckers her lips, not sure if she wants to tell.
Squalo rolls his eyes, "Gimmie the fucking sword. I'll finish this up myself."
"I was looking for Talbot—I'm still looking for him."
"Why?"
She tilts her head, "Why not? He knows how to turn jewelry into weapons."
"WHY THE FUCK DO YOU WANT TO KNOW THAT?"
She pushes the sword away, "I wanted to make you and the rest of the Varia rings… I thought about it a lot, and I know I need to affiliate with a side. I'm going to get killed if I don't."
"You know that—"
Sacha smiles at him, "I know you would, but I can't just have one guy protecting me from the world. I can do 'give and take' for the Vongola. Plus, we won't have to be secretive anymore."
Squalo grumbles, "More like you'll have to stop being secretive."
While giggling, she sighs, "Yeah…" Sacha then ganders at the sword once more and wipes it down with a rag. She tosses the rag. "Well your longsword is a masterpiece again. Happy Birthday all over." She then looks up to light and scratches her head. "Damn… March 13th… it's coming up soon."
Squalo walks over to the table and pushes all of the tools and his sword over to the side. Sacha looks up to him as he picks her up and sets her on the table, standing between her legs. Another smile escapes her to the feeling of the shark's hand inching up her back and eventually to her neck. He pulls her in for a gentle kiss, lightly biting her bottom lip.
Sacha wraps her arm around the hot-headed Mafioso while asking, "I'm glad you found me." She winks at him. Little did she realize that the small reminder of finding her made him pissed off all over again:
"YOU EVER SEND ME A FUCKING LETTER IN BRAILE AGAIN, I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!"
*Pro Bono - comes from the latin phrase "pro bono publico" denoting work undertaken for the public good without charge
*Ate it - fell face first (I like the way 'ate it' looked more)
*Two-bit - an old term used to as a way to describe something being crappy and cheap. Comes from the time when penny pieces were made to be fourths, and goods could be bought for half a penny (they were usually crappy things), which were called 'two bits' of a penny. Hence the name.