Three Dates
Guilty Gear belongs to Sammy Studios and Daisuke Ishiwatari
Notes:
A companion piece to "One Date" and therefore a sequel to "A Highway that Never Ends." Chipp gets three dates because he's my favorite.
Chipp finds her in a quieter part of the city where they had planned to meet. Standing under the awning of a sweet shop, Dizzy holds a cutesy pink backpack in one hand and an ice cream cone in the other. She has tucked her wings beneath a modest black dress that conceals them except for a slight bulge. Only the tip of her tail swishes from under the dress' hem.
To a casual observer, she appears nothing more than one of the occasional mutants that venture into Paris, and with expected Parisian disdain, the locals make a point of not noticing her.
When Chipp approaches, dressed in street clothes and a thick jacket, she takes a moment to turn, but then recognition flashes across her face and she delivers a bright smile. Automatically Chipp returns the expression, his pale skin flushing pink.
She sidesteps to make room for the other pedestrians, and her arm brushes against Chipp's.
"Hello, Chipp," she bows slightly. "It's good to see you again."
Chipp's smile widens, "Hey Dizz, what's up?"
Her own smile fades a little and Dizzy asks with uncertainty, "Didn't Johnny tell you?"
"What?" Chipp blinks. "Nah, all he said was he needed a favor from me – said we could call it even after this. I figured it must be somethin' big."
The ninja looks up and down the street as if a mission directive will become obvious at any moment, but nothing about the milling crowd or line of cafes seem particularly malevolent. Sensing his confusion, Dizzy averts her eyes with a blush.
"I'm sorry, Chipp. I'd thought Johnny had already explained." Dizzy hesitates before adding, "He had some business here, and I really wanted to come along. I've never seen Paris. Johnny almost said no because the rest of the crew is taking shore leave in Madrid, and he wanted someone to look after me. But then he said you would be happy to meet me here, so I thought..."
When she trails off, Chipp hesitates long enough that Dizzy's eyes widen with sudden guilt, and she bursts out, "Johnny said you wanted to come. I thought we could...I'm so sorry!"
Seeing her unhappy expression, Chipp hastily replies, "No, no! I mean, yes! He didn't tell me, but-but I always like seeing you, and I was visiting friends here anyway, so it's no problem."
"Really?" Her expression remains doubtful.
"Of course, girl. Ain't what I was expectin', but a mission is a mission. And you look really..." His eyes drop from her to the ground by his feet and he shoves his hands in his pockets. "You look really nice."
"Thanks, Chipp," Although she smiles warmly, Chipp can tell from her distant gaze that she's already thinking about her first trip to the city.
Indeed as soon as she shoulders her backpack, Dizzy takes him by the elbow and begins leading him down the street. Every now and then she takes another lick from her ice cream cone or points out something that catches her eye – a quaint building or some pretty flowers in the window.
Yet even with these distractions, Dizzy's pace never flags – a kind of cheerful giddiness replacing her usual shyness. Rather than check the street signs, she picks their route with confidence, and despite having never been to Paris, she navigates the city like a native.
After a few minutes, Chipp finally bothers to ask, "So where're we going?"
In truth, he's only vaguely curious. Even the first time he visited Paris, he had no interest in the tourist sites, and by now he's spent enough time in the city that he's just as inclined to admire Dizzy's cheerful expression as the architecture.
The girl immediately stops walking and drops his hand in uncertainty. She admits, "I've been planning this trip for weeks, and there are so many places I hoped to visit, but if you wanted to go somewhere..."
Chipp merely shrugs, "It's all cool. Go wherever you want. I'm just along for the ride."
For a moment she stares at him as if making sure he's not hiding his unhappiness, then the smile returns – wide enough to make Chipp's heart skip a beat.
"Thanks, Chipp!" And once again they're moving, Dizzy eagerly dragging him across town.
As the day continues, Chipp realizes that Dizzy did not exaggerate with the phrase "so many places." In between the major tourist attractions, Dizzy seems enthralled by the daily activity and routines. On their way from the Bastille monument to Notre-Dame, she stops to feed the pigeons. Near the Louvre, they visit a crepe shop (which cheers Chipp considerably after spending hours staring at art).
They look through all the marketplaces along their route, and at shops where Dizzy cannot afford to purchase trinkets for her pirate comrades, the girl seems content to admire the merchandise. She stares at the myriad dresses and purses that do not impress Chipp at all until he glimpses the price tags.
Until now, Chipp had not understood the painful dullness of site seeing. Many times the ninja had spent literal days training – hours melting away until his body at last gave in and reminded him that it needed food and sleep. In contrast, now Chipp feels the oppressive tick of every second crawling past.
Only Dizzy's unwavering enthusiasm keeps the ninja from throwing up his hands in frustration and teleporting to the nearest bar to drink until he falls over. Every time she smiles at him, he can't help smiling back and again deciding that the day isn't so bad after all.
It is already evening when they reach the former Arc de Triomphe. The parts that survived the Crusades – three and a half pillars – remains a monument to the millions of soldiers who sacrificed their lives in the fight against the Gears.
Although the ground in which the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier rests has eroded, the flame beneath the Arc, relit after humans finally regained the city, again burns continually and always has an offering of fresh flowers around it.
Most humans come to offer a prayer then leave, but Dizzy stares at it for a long time and her smile fades into a look of deep sadness. In the dying light, her hair turns almost black, and her eyes become deep pools reflecting the pin pricks of street lamps.
Chipp stands a few steps away, and a chill that has nothing to do with the evening breeze runs down his spine. At last Dizzy turns away and walks toward him. All the mirth from earlier has vanished, and she regards him with a blank expression.
For once he is at a loss of what to say. When she continues to stare at him, he only mutters "c'mon" – taking her hand with a gentle squeeze.
They walk along the Seine in silence, moving further and further away from the city's hub. After awhile, they can hear the sound of the water above the street traffic and night activities, which now hum as a distant buzz. Dizzy still holds onto his hand, her grip a little more desperate than before, but Chipp feels no satisfaction.
He remembers the first time they met. In her fear and confusion those creatures within her – angel and devil – awoke and tried to kill him. That time he had seen firsthand the frightening power lying dormant behind the facade of a young girl.
A Commander Gear like Justice. A monster among monsters.
But even Justice felt pain in the end. Chipp had watched as Badguy – transformed into a beast himself – dismantled her part by part, her suffering tangible in the dusky air.
This Gear, this girl, has none of Justice's hatred or fury, but the loneliness is the same.
Eyes focused on the river, Chipp says, "Hey, Dizz." He feels her gaze turn toward him. "You're a good girl, yeah? Don't let anyone tell ya otherwise."
"Chipp," She mumbles as she comes to a stop.
All at once she throws her arms around him and squeezes with a strength that belies her skinny arms. A faint wheeze hitches Chipp's breath as he awkwardly pats her on the shoulder from within her vice grip.
He does his best to ignore the rustle of wings beneath the dress.
But then a clang of metal rings out followed by the shuffle of footsteps, which Chipp at once recognizes as the sound of a scuffle. He freezes and so does Dizzy.
The sounds seem to come closer, and Chipp prepares to lead Dizzy somewhere safer, when someone cries out in pain. The voice has a familiar quality that raises the hairs on the back of Chipp's neck. His eyes narrow.
Dizzy tugs on his sleeve, "Chipp, that man's in trouble. Should we –" she stops abruptly, as if realizing how absurd such a request is, but her eyes remain pleading.
Chipp hesitates, looking from Dizzy to the sounds' origins further down the river. He knows the only safe and responsible thing to do is take her as far away as possible, but he can already feel the adrenaline clearing his head and tingling into his finger tips. He thinks about the cry of pain and how if Dizzy weren't here, he would not hesitate.
In one motion he pulls off his jacket, freeing the arm blade secured flat against his forearm, and with a deft twist, he repositions the blade until it clinks into place. Dizzy still looks nervous, but she regards him with approval.
He rests his hand on her shoulder. "Stay here, okay? If there's any kinda trouble, I want you to run. Just run 'n scream and I'll come and kick the crap out of it. Got it?"
Chipp waits long enough for her to nod but then he's running at top speed down the cobblestone bank. The river winds leisurely past a bridge, and Chipp rounds that corner, skidding to a stop just in time for a man to tumble down by his feet. He's not entirely surprised to recognize the man as Venom.
"Yo, Ven," Chipp smirks. "Still gettin' your ass kicked, I see."
As he flows into a fighting stance, the trash talk slips easily from his lips, but Chipp does not take his eyes off Venom's opponent. A man who takes out Venom in one-on-one combat deserves respect.
Venom rolls onto his side, and Chipp flicks an eye downward long enough to assess his condition. The assassin cradles his right hand to his chest and dark patches of blood stain his usually immaculate suit. Although he has pulled his hair back into a ponytail, clumps of white strands have escaped and fall back into his eyes. If he were armed at the beginning of the fight, the pool cue is no longer in sight.
"Chipp?!" Venom hisses. "What the hell are you doing here? You have no reason to fight."
As always when someone tells him what to do, Chipp bristles. "Screw you. I'll fight whoever I damn well please, and it ain't like you were winning anyway."
The man, one hand shoved casually into his pocket, begins to saunter toward them, but between the growing darkness and the river's mist, Chipp cannot distinguish his features.
"Idiot," Venom hisses, "this is not a game. He may look human, but I assure you he's most certainly not. That's Slayer – a monster older than the Gears. He feeds on humans and is in a class all his own. He founded the Assassin's Guild, for God's sake."
"Really?" Chipp brightens. "That's even better. I always wanted to kick that guy's ass."
"Chipp, no!" Venom's scream is equal parts frustration and concern, but Chipp does not listen.
He is already streaking toward the attacker, arm raised to strike. As his blade moves to cut into the man's chest, the target suddenly vanishes.
His eyes widen as a voice speaks directly behind his shoulder, "Your speed is rather impressive, young man. I suppose you're also Guild?"
Chipp snarls, "Fuck you!"
He spins, cutting at the place the voice occupied moments ago, and again connects with nothing. This time he expects as much and continues the turn, channeling ki into his fist until the air around it crackles. His eyes catch a flicker of movement and he strikes.
The punch hits Slayer squarely in the chest and the older man falls back, but rather than hit the ground, he disappears long enough to catch his balance and reappear a few paces back.
Chipp finally gets a good look at Slayer – an elderly gentleman, immaculately groomed and sporting an old-fashioned monocle. The ninja scowls that someone so well-dressed got the better of him.
With a toss of his long bangs, Slayer smirks, and brushes his lapels. "Impressive," he remarks. "Very impressive. It's not often that someone your age masters ki. Still, your manners could use some gentle correction."
Chipp has time to see him disappear, but cannot do much else before something smashes into his back and sends him tumbling forward. Another strike hits him on the shoulder then another across his stomach.
As he falls back, Chipp manages to twist into a back flip and land on his feet. Rather than waiting to see Slayer, he moves on instinct and crouches, bringing up both arms to block the blow directed at his head.
Although he blocks, he has no time to counterattack before crushing fingers latch onto his wrist and Slayer delivers a deft sweep that knocks him back to the ground. The ninja can only roll in desperation to avoid the stomp Slayer aims at his chest.
Once he manages to replant his feet, Chipp uses a few precious moments to teleport back, giving him enough space that he can at last draw a ragged breath. A faint tremble runs through his hands as he clenches his fists tight enough for the knuckles to whiten.
"Had enough, young man?" Slayer asks in amusement.
Many opponents have beaten Chipp closer to death than Slayer, but rarely has the ninja felt so out-classed. It is obvious Slayer is merely toying with him. Sweat trickles down his temple and his red eyes narrow in determination.
"Whatever the fuck you are," he snarls, "I ain't gonna run."
Chipp dashes forward, arm blade held low to sweep the other at the knee, but his weapon seems to clink harmlessly off the older man. When he thrusts back his arm for a hit toward the belly, Slayer pivots and catches Chipp's elbow. With a single fluid motion he punches Chipp in the sternum.
The ninja doesn't hear the bone crack but for a few seconds that drag on into eternity, white pain consumes him. He cannot scream or breathe or move – only writhe on the ground.
For that instant, he has no awareness of his opponent or the night air or the hard stone against his cheek, but then slender fingers tangle into his hair and lift him bodily off the ground. He manages to crack open an eye – made redder from burst blood vessels – and see Slayer's chill visage.
Distantly Chipp hears Venom shouting angrily, struggling to rise, "Slayer, let him go! I'm the one you want. He's not Guild."
"There is no hurry, little assassin," Slayer assures him before he returns his gaze to Chipp. "You should have run, young man. There's no shame in running, but no point telling you that. Humans take so long to learn, yet their lives are so short. Rather counter-productive, isn't it?"
Although his breath comes in wheezing gasps, Chipp manages, "Don't want yer advice, geezer. I ain't afraid of you."
Brown eyes glint yellow as Slayer shoves him back, "You should be."
He cocks back his fist and the night seems to swirl around it. Chipp stumbles and unable to dodge, he feebly raises his forearms to block. He knows it's too late as Slayer's arm moves, streaking toward him. His breath hitches just as something leaps in front of him.
"Stop, please!"
Dizzy stands before him with her arms raised above her sides. Slayer's fist, stopped in midpunch, lingers inches from her throat, but she regards him with unwavering determination.
"If you want to harm Chipp, you'll have to come through me." Her eyes gleam just a little more than natural as she adds in a whisper, "And I really don't want to hurt you."
Slayer blinks in almost-surprise then lowers his fist. "Why if it isn't the young lady herself. I must admit my curiosity got the better of me and drew me to Paris, and here you are. Truly there is no point fighting against fate."
The pain subsides enough for Chipp to properly breathe again, and his eyes flicker from Dizzy to Slayer in confusion, "What the hell you going on about?"
As Slayer opens his mouth to answer, another voice calls out from further down the bank, "Found you!"
Now even Dizzy looks over in surprise. "Johnny?"
Johnny approaches with a nonchalant wave. His black coat and hat blend with the lengthening shadows, and for once his eyes are visible – sunglasses tucked into a coat pocket.
Rather than regard the strange tableau with surprise, he turns to Dizzy with a happy grin. "Ah, and if it isn't my darling girl! I see you've already met Slayer." He pauses to glance at Chipp. "Hey, spikey."
If the ninja mutters, "fuck off," no one pays him any attention. Instead everyone focuses on Johnny.
"Slayer wanted to meet with me," Johnny explains. "He said he had information on the woman in red. You remember her, Dizzy." He does not phrase it as a question, but Dizzy nevertheless nods assent. "We thought she was taken care of, but when I told him you were also in Paris, he decided to accompany us back to the May Ship. Of course I said it wasn't necessary, but he's kinda...you know."
Slayer turns back to Dizzy, "While I prefer to avoid meddling whenever possible, that creature has crossed a line she should not have. It seems you lie at the heart of a number of these machinations, and I simply cannot let them reach fruition."
Chipp glares at Slayer in annoyance, "I don't know what the hell you just said, but I saw what you did. So there's some crazy bitch in red. What's that got to do with you attacking Venom?"
"Me? Attack the assassin?" Slayer raises both eyebrows in disbelief. "I'm afraid you've got it backward, dear boy."
Pointing at Venom, who by now has limped over to the retaining wall, Johnny adds, "That fashion disaster attacked Slayer as we left the hotel. They began fighting, and it was all I could do to follow them."
When Chipp looks from Johnny to Venom, the assassin keeps his eyes locked on the ground and says nothing – an admission of guilt in of itself. Chipp scowls and rubs his sore chest, but Johnny has already moved on to more urgent matters.
"Zanuff, it seems your services are no longer required. We'll call it even then, okay?"
Chipp looks at Slayer from the corner of his eye and frowns in resentment. "Whatever."
"Come along, dear," Johnny says, his attention already returned to Dizzy. "Once you're safe, we'll have plenty of time to discuss I-No and her intentions."
Dizzy nods but still turns to Chipp. "Thank you very much, Chipp. I had a wonderful day."
"Yeah, sure."
"Goodbye for now." She hesitates. "Maybe we'll see each other in the future."
Not quite able to meet her gaze, Chipp nevertheless flushes. "Maybe," he grunts at last.
When Johnny winds a long arm around her shoulders and pulls her against his side, Chipp can only smolder and jerkily wave.
Slayer lets out a short, knowing laugh and remarks, "I'll be ready any time you want to fight, dear boy. Until then, la revedere."