No sooner had the words left his mouth did a rancid taste seize his tongue. He should have been claimed by sheer ecstasy, brought to the summit of absolute euphoria. After all, he had so easily broken the foolish boy, effectively shaken him off of his throne wrought of childish naivety. Yet, no solace in this feat could be found and instead, the informant's head had begun to spin though hardly due to the noxious sterility of the hospital wing he strolled from.
Izaya should've known she would find a way to undermine his triumph. Just the thought of the girl turned his mood sour and he feared soon enough, nausea would burrow into the deepest recesses of his core and then some. It was unsettling, to say the least, that a mere human could have such a profound effect on the man. His conversation with Masaomi reverberated deafeningly in his mind until Izaya became consumed by the memory of Mori Hinamei.
At first, she hadn't meant much (though Izaya would argue she never did); he had easily mistaken her for another of his cult-like admirers. It was—and never would be—her persistent interest in him that had intrigued him (although it could be argued that it was her lack thereof but that remains unsaid). No, what seemed to have intoxicated—for who in the right mind could will themselves to endure the girl's antics?—the devious informant was her apparent lack of fear, her otherworldly sense of invincibility that rolled off of her in thick waves. He snorted at the thought, hands tucked into the depths of his favored coat's pockets. She was just as foolish as Masaomi, perhaps even more so. It was incredible, really, how she had managed to hold on for so long. Izaya wasn't particularly known for any extended relationships. Connections were good, no doubt, but networking was all in a day's work. Once night took the city in it's cool and dark embrace, it seemed to nestle its way into the Ikebukurans' hearts, changing men into the most formidable creatures. Hinamei proved to be no different.
Izaya scoffed at that as he crossed the hospital courtyard. Of course she'd be no different for she was human, mind you. And while the informant found it quite simple to categorize each type—separate the fragile, the meek, the hot-headed, and the vain—there were always outliers like the dullahan and that damn brute. But even there, Izaya begrudgingly realized, Hinamei seemed unfit. She was not extraordinary, in fact, she was only quite annoying. Even so, it never felt right to post a label to her as an "other"—she was simply Hinamei and yet, she had quickly become so much more.
Izaya carried on along the bustling sidewalk, the normal skip to his gait contained. The way his lips pulled into a straight line could've been mistaken for normality had his reputation not proceeded him. In a crowd of average pedestrians, a swarm of gray faces on an ever-changing backdrop, Izaya could never camouflage into a façade of the mundane for his life was anything but ordinary. This, he thought, he should be grateful for. What was a life of simplicity, one in which no one trembled at your name? What sense of fulfillment could be found without the flash of recognition across an otherwise innocent face, the very look that sent his whole body on fire in pure delight? For that he should've thank her, for helping him channel his desires. But by the same token, he despised her for having tainted his narrow source of joy.
His thumb grazed the length of the flick blade tucked into his pocket. She really had a way of riling him up. He had half a mind to seek out Shizou; perhaps the heat of pursuit would cleanse his mind of her. It was unfortunate he had other matters to attend to; his clients would have to settle with only part of his attention and hardly any of his patience. His jaw clenched tightly as he rounded the corner. How long had it been since he was last this way? Manipulating the color gangs had proven to be an adequate distraction but after the fall of Masaomi Kida, Izaya found himself once again swarmed by thoughts of Mori Hinamei. It didn't help that there were countless reminders; how many times had he crossed her face glossed over on one of those fashion magazines? And if she wasn't haunting him enough, she had begun appearing on ads stretched across busses or glaring brightly atop of a yellow taxi cab. Somewhere, he was sure, she was laughing at him in that way Hinamei often would. He flicked open the blade, fingers wound tightly about the handle. She had disappeared without a trace only to come back as the face of some high-end modeling agency. Yes, there was no doubt that Hinamei was mocking him.
As he crossed one of those accursed newsstands, he was tempted to drive his blade into a cover. It wasn't fair, he argued, that her face be so ethereal while her core was anything but. Her face should be as corrupt as the wicked woman's own heart. This seemed to put Izaya at ease as he slipped into a lavish building. Early on in their correspondence, his client had made it clear his request would spare no expense. It was never for the money to Izaya, anyway. Just the thrill of turning the tables, of setting up the match as he saw fit, was a high so exceedingly unimaginable that even then, sent a slow creeping shiver up his spine. Though his earlier triumph had been short-lived, he was relieved the next was within arm's reach. It was this that had momentarily freed him of Hinamei's wrath. Once submerged in his next endeavor, he'd be rid of her once again and his merriment could ensure. He closed his eyes with a content sigh falling past his upturned lips. It didn't matter if the fix could only be temporary—he would soon enough be able to uphold his ruse of eternal delight.
The elevator dinged, letting him off at the proper flight. The lobby was simply decorate though tastefully so. The little secretary behind the counter flashed him a pretty smile as he crossed the floor to sign in. The way she beamed up at him made him wonder if she knew who he was. Maybe it didn't matter if she did or did not considering who she was working for. Humans, no matter how insignificant, never ceased to amaze him. It was not too long after he had sunk comfortable into a chair that the man in question emerged from a back room. The secretary bowed, smiling as she motioned over to where Izaya sat. The man was quite tall, slim but exuded a thick air of prominence. From behind the tinted glasses perched languidly on the bridge of his nose, the tips of an old scar marred the length of the right side of his face. He removed the glasses, tucking them into the breast pocket of his suit as he held out a hand in greeting. It was then that Izaya noticed the man was blind in his ruined eye. The informant couldn't pity him, however; the look effectively made the man that much more intimidating. Izaya could feel the first bouts of excitement coursing through him as he rose from his seat.
"Mizuki Akabayashi," he greeted, "What a pleasure it is to meet you.~"
Akabayshi grimaced at Izaya's informality, shaking his hand nonetheless. He supposed he shouldn't have been taken aback—the man was paid to know everyone worth knowing in the underground society of Ikebukuro. "Thank you for meeting with me, Orihara-san," Akabayshi said, "Shall we take our business somewhere with a bit more privacy?" He then motioned to the back room he had come from to which Izaya complied with a wicked smirk and hands shoved into his pockets. The little secretary gave a wave before she disappeared from the men's view. They had moved into an office that contrasted the inviting lobby. While still giving off a sense of expensive taste, dark curtains were hung over the floor-to-ceilings and the room was adorned by equally brooding colors. Akabayshi gestured towards a plush leather sofa as he busied himself at a personal bar. Two bourbons on marble rocks in hand, Akabayshi joined Izaya with a seat opposite of him. Akabayshi handed the man a drink to which they gave a single clink before delving into business.
"So," Izaya started as he lounged back into his seat, "It's my understanding you're interested on someone who's gone rogue." He grinned as held the glass to his lips for a moment. "I'll have you know, Aka-kun, you've come to the right person.~" His tone could've been mistaken for conceit but to him, it was only truth.
Akabayshi nursed his own drink, giving it a swirl as he produced a confidential folder from the confines of his suit jacket. He placed it on the coffee table between them, offering it to the informant. Izaya was more than eager to lean forward and trade his drink for the file though he outwardly remained composed. He tore the seal open with the sharp end of his flick blade, slowly shuffling out a series of documents from within. Curiously enough, many of the articles were clippings pulled from newspapers with headlines reading something about drug busts and rising death counts. He took up his bourbon once again, sipping as he set the papers down.
"Who is it that you want?" he asked as interest began to wane. Leave it to the Awakusu-kai to deal with such boring affairs as drug dealers.
Akabayshi's jaw clenched as he drew what appeared to be a series of photographs from his suit. He sifted through them, his drink seemingly forgotten as the images called for his full attention. After a moment he spoke though his eyes remained set on the last photo. "I don't like drugs," he said slowly as he finally averted his gaze to the informant. "They have the power to change a person into someone they're not." He took one of the images between his two fingers allowing Izaya a view of what it held. It appeared to be a candid of some well-dressed man but Izaya deduced the picture had been taken without the man's knowing. The way his shoulders had hunched over as though to conceal his face made it apparent that the man hadn't wished to be seen much less photographed. There was something about him Izaya recognized, a quality about the man that made him stand out against his surroundings like a beacon shining out to a dark tumultuous sea. He looked disturbingly familiar, like a distant uncle whose name escaped him. "This man has defected from the Awakusu-kai," Akabayshi explained shortly, "His reason for leaving remains unclear although we have reason to believe it's due to—" Again, a grimace contorted his features as he traded the image for his drink. "A conflict in interests." He paused as he took a long sip of his bourbon, sighing as he set down the glass and flipped between the other photos. "He's been virtually untraceable," Akabayshi continued on, "That photo was taken some months ago by one of our members in Taiwan." Izaya's eyes flickered to the image once more as Akabayshi resumed. "It's not the drugs that concerns us," he said in a slow, heavy way, "We all have our own personal interests." He ran a hand to slick back his hair as he frowned. "And at times, they don't align. However, his skills are invaluable. He was quite the asset to our team." Akabayshi finally stared straight on at Izaya, his expression hard and stern and only magnified by his deformity. "We need your help locating him," he said in all seriousness, "But to do so, you'll need this." He set the second image on the table between them.
Though he was sure he would explode from the thrill of the events unfolding, the instant Akabayshi laid the image before him, Izaya could do nothing to hold back his wild laughter. He held his sides tightly as he fell back into his seat with tears springing up in the corner of his eyes. He had taken on the visage of an insane asylum patient but no matter, the man laughed on. He quickly realized why the man in the photograph had been vaguely familiar—it was the woman's bloody father! It was when Akabayshi exposed the second image that the revelation hit him with a ferocity that rivaled even Heiwajima Shizou's infamous brute strength. Her face looked back at his, a smolder that would surely could set the building ablaze. When Izaya finally calmed down, he seized the portrait in his hand and grinned at the irked Akabayshi. "Mori Hinamei," he said through his chuckles, "And why would she ever give up her dear father?~"
Akabayshi could not help but be momentarily caught by surprise by the informant's extensive knowledge of his case though he quickly gathered himself. "She's the only one who may know," he explained as he took up his bourbon, "and may be willing to give him up. From what sources tell me, she holds her father in contempt, for what, I'm juts not sure." Akabayshi shrugged, assuming the all-knowing Izaya had an idea and he certainly had. "She won't talk to us," he went on, "Hasn't since she and her mother severed all ties." He shook his head at that. "That's why we need an outsider, someone she could learn to trust. She will confide in you; you understand what it takes to get people to do what you want."
At his words, Izaya's sneer only seemed to widen as his shoulders shook with laughter. "I'm the last person Hina-chan would ever confide in," he confessed through his toothy leer. He lounged back in his seat as he threw his arms across the back comfortably. "How about you torture it out of her? That'll have her singing like a bird.~" His suggestion sent tingles of delight at the mere prospect of her pain yet the taste of bile permeated his tongue and he was forced to take a sip from his bourbon. The liquid effectively washed away the nasty hold Hinamei seemed to hold on him if only for that moment.
At Izaya's absurd proposal, Akabayshi glowered as he firmly set his own glass down. "As I've mentioned before, Orihara-san, we follow may have our personal tastes; torturing a woman to seek out her father is not one of my own interests," he said with an indignant huff as he propped his elbows on his knees and folded his hands before him. He balanced his chin on his laced fingers as he roved over the images he had set on the table. "While the Moris have left us, they're still considered family. For that reason, this mission requires the utmost delicacy. That's why we need a third party." Though he didn't show it, Akabayshi became unnerved by the unfaltering grin the informant wore.
"I never said I wasn't interested," Izaya cooed as he swirled his drink around. "Quite the contrary, Aka-kun!~" His lips twitched at the obvious disdain brewing between the two men. "I'll gladly take on your mission," he said with a wave of his hand, "But it'll cost you extra. Two people, two times the trouble." Izaya quickly downed the remainder of his drink, quite pleased with himself. Akabayshi made no indication that the informant's request wouldn't be met. "Oh, and also," he went on as his eyes seemed to flash with a peculiar shade of red, "This mission of yours can't be handled with 'delicacy…'" Just when Akabayshi was sure the informant couldn't look anymore wicked, his smirk only stretched out ever more reminding him of a Cheshire cat. "Only with danger. Hinamei would have it no other way, you know."
And though it appeared as though Akabayshi would refute this final term, he begrudgingly agreed with Izaya's conditions. Locating Kine was top priority even if that meant there was a possibility Hinamei would serve as collateral damage. She would come to understand, Akabayshi reasoned, as he signed away a heavy check made out to the devious man opposite of him. You could leave the Awakusu-kai, but it never would leave you, not entirely at least. He hoped this notion would ease the trouble that seemed to take the form of dread in the pit of his stomach. As the informant took the confidential file and payment, he skipped away in sick merriment, out of the lobby and out into the waiting streets. As Akabayshi sunk back into his seat with a heavy sigh, he scanned over the remaining photograph for a moment before carefully tucking it away into the safety of his suit's pocket. He stared at his bourbon, tempted to drink but knowing full well the intoxication would not mesh well with the unease brewing within him. "Sayaka," he murmured as he threw his head over the back of his seat and ran a hand slowly through his hair. "If you're listening, please, watch over her. Oh God, what have I done?"
It hadn't taken long for Akabayashi to be claimed by the fear of the game that had not, but would undoubtedly, begin, the game he had all started and handed over to an eager Izaya. Who would reign victor? No matter which way he put it, he found no satisfaction in either result. What's done is done, he argued, though he hoped that he could live with the consequences of it all. With this, he took up his glass and downed the final bit of his drink.
Elsewhere, Izaya found the liveliness had returned to his usual bouncing gait. The high of the entire day could carry him home with no fault and in the dead of night, he found himself sashaying from the streets of Ikebukuro to his home in Shinjiku. A lengthy walk, there was no doubt, but Izaya could feel no weariness. Not as he climbed the stairs to his apartment nor even when he threw himself into his computer chair, spinning himself wildly around. His laughter filled the void that was his apartment, the morning sunlight bleeding in with shades of brilliant oranges and reds. The whole world could've vanished and he could give not a single care so long as his opportunity remained. As the chair came to a slow stop he planted his feet firmly on the ground though his head still whirled madly. He fished out his cell phone from his pocket, flipping the thing open as he scrolled through his pictures. And there she was, he felt his lips quiver, smiling back at him so brightly in a way that made her seem so foreign to him now. He clamped the screen shut and was overwhelmed with a sense of pleasure and he laughed. He laughed so hard that his whole body seemed to shake from the intensity of it. In that moment, Izaya was sure he was the closest to Valhalla as he could ever be. Soon, he knew, he would finally be rid of Mori Hinamei, once and for all and he had her own father to thank for that.
Author's Note: The story is set after the Yellow Scarves/Blue Squares war and will lead into Season 1, though it will be more like a side story to rather than a rewriting of. All DRRR! characters are quite complex and I find Izaya to be the most frustrating to write so please let me know how I'm doing! I try to write him more from his manipulative and crazed persona rather than the child-like one. It's his dark side that I'm really interested in and will be focusing on for the most part of the story. Anyways, I'd like to hear what you have to say as I'm undecided as to whether or not I want to continue and make this a lengthy process. Thank you in advance!
