Snow
"I wish it would snow."
"Sorry, mother?"
The cobalt haired woman blinked as she realised she'd spoken aloud. The shock melted almost instantly from her expression as she turned her head powerfully towards the other man in the back of the vehicle. "I didn't say anything."
"Oh," Sakakki bowed his head in respect to her before turning an empty gaze back out his window.
She smiled a small powerful smile, turning back to the dusty, cold streets they were passing. She was still in control - in control of her life, her business, everything. If she said she hadn't said anything that was that. She could have shout from the rooftops, but if she then said she hadn't spoken, that was that.
The most powerful woman in the city; in the country even.
But was it all worth it?
She sighed as she stared out the window, reaching down to pet the elderly Persian at her feet. It purred deep within its throat, rubbing its large silken head against her knees, crimson eyes open slightly, showing its old age reflected within them, despite its excellent exterior.
Old age.
She hadn't escaped its grasp herself, she realised as she shook curls of deep-sapphire hair over her shoulders. She still looked. maybe thirty, but that was merely good genes: her eyes told more stories then any woman of thirty's would.
Would she have aged?
She smiled to herself; One can't age when one is dead. And yet she couldn't shake that thought, that feeling she had always had. She wasn't dead; she was still as alive as the Madame herself. Off somewhere in this world. wishing for the snow.
The Persian at her feet made a soft noise, one large velvet paw moving and settling on a still slender stocking-clad leg of its mistress. The now nameless Madame felt something run down her spine and she stared intently out the window, and then turned to her son.
"Stop the car."
"Sorry?"
"Stop the car. I want to get out."
Sakakki blinked at the elegantly suited woman beside him. "We're almost back at the HQ, mother."
"I didn't ask you where we were, boy," She snapped, "I told you I wanted to get out."
The sharp voice of his mother caused him to cringe slightly. "I. Sorry." He mumbled, moving forward and opening the window that separated them from the driver, he spoke quickly, and then turned back to his mother, his boss, his misery. "I don't see-"
"And that is why you'll never be anything in this life, boy." She opened the door to the limo as they slowed. "You think too much and come up with no answers." Alighted onto the pavement, her cream shadow following deftly. "You don't understand that you have to think with your head, your heart and your soul at once, not either or." Swept the locks of azure hair over her shoulders, hands on her willowy hips, "You don't see for looking."
She held out her hand, stopping him from following her out of the vehicle. "You go back to HQ, I'll see you there tonight." Her voice was low, dangerous, daring him to argue with her.
He looked at her slowly for a moment, before settling back into the limo, shutting the door after him. She watched as the car drove off and then turned slowly to the building they had stopped by. A small dusty café, the owner's name in the title, red and white checked tablecloths on the outside tables. "How predictable," She smirked to herself.
She walked towards the door, pushing it open, listening to the bell above the door ring, informing all inside of the new patron. Her Persian swept past her feet, along with a chilling breeze. She shivered slightly, Cold enough for snow. and yet there's none.
She really would be wishing for snow.
She settled in a booth at the front corner, waiting for a waitress to find her. Something was here; she felt it. even her beloved Persian had felt it. Something inexplicable, drawing her here like a siren's song.
"Can I take your order?"
The owner of Rokketto Dan looked up at the waitress slowly, a small smile playing on her lips, "Coffee, black."
"Is that all?"
"No. Remember to take a break, so that when you bring it back we can talk. Miyamoto."
The violet haired waitress stiffened slightly, and then nodded quickly, "Yes. Madame."
The Madame's smile became more confident as she watched Miyamoto walk away quickly. How many years had it been? How many years since they had said Miyamoto was missing and presumed dead?
And here she was. a dirty street café in Cerulean.
Where her gut had told her she'd be.
Learn to think with your head, your soul and your heart. She smiled to herself, drumming her manicured nails on the table before her. Your soul can be black as coal, but you can still think and feel with it.
The Madame had no doubt her soul was tainted and dark, and she saw no point in denying it to herself or others.
She was also sure Miyamoto's was pure as snow. The snow she had loved, the snow she'd played with her child in. the snow she had been lost in.
Lost.
For so long.
She pulled herself from her thoughts as the deep-lilac haired woman settled opposite her, putting down the coffee cup before the Madame. She picked it up, warming her hands with the hot porcelain, feeling her Persian listlessly curl around her feet, its chest vibrating with the soft purring it emitted. She took a sip of the caffeine, looking across at Miyamoto, who looked back at her carefully, fearfully.
So scared of me Miyamoto? Like everyone else.
She put down the cup, and laced her hands together under her chin. "You never came back."
"I know, Madame," Miyamoto lowered her blue eyes.
"Why?" The one word was so authoritative it seemed wrong to even consider not answering it.
"I. I had failed. There was nothing back there but the end of my job. a bullet with my name on it. I found a new life to save my own hide."
"A bullet with your name on it." The Madame repeated the words slowly, raising her cup to her lips again, taking another sip of the black liquid within. "And do you really think I would have killed you?"
Miyamoto looked up slowly, blinking at the woman across the table from her, still as commanding as she had been all those years ago. Demanding answers without having to make a scene. "A failed mission is a failed mission and there was only one course of action in those days for a-"
"That is not what I asked."
She broke off, her eyes trailed to her hands, watching as they played with the hem of her skirt against her knees. Then she let them track back up to the dark coffee eyes of her former employer. ". No." She said slowly, quietly, as if within a dream.
The Madame nodded to herself, running a long finger around the rim of her cup slowly, "So why didn't you really come back?"
Miyamoto looked out the window, her expression changing slightly as she did so - lost, faraway. distancing herself from the world here. Wishing for snow. Then she turned back to the nameless woman. "I didn't want to face up to failing for you."
"You only failed for me when you never returned. I let you go on that trip for yourself. You were the one who wanted to capture Mew, I had no care for it." The pale blue eyes of Miyamoto caught the Madame's, wide, confused. How very childlike. she always was. "Whether you had returned with a thousand Mews or none, I wouldn't have cared. You were my top Dan'in. In not returning at all, you failed me."
"I see." Miyamoto blinked, seeming unsure of how to take these words. She played absently with a salt shaker, unable to remove her gaze from the Madame's. Finally she found her voice, hoarse with a longing to cry for some reason as she spoke the words, "I'm sorry I failed you."
Dark, almost expressionless mirrors of eyes held the purple haired woman's gaze a moment longer, looking straight at the pure white soul beneath, untainted still. The look made Miyamoto feel almost unable to breathe, as if purposefully the Madame was strangling her with her stare.
Then the cobalt-haired woman's lips twisted into a smile of sorts as she drained the last of her coffee, breaking eye contact. "You are, from this moment, dismissed from Rokketto Dan, Miyamoto. This is your dishonourable discharge."
"Yes, Madame." Miyamoto closed her eyes, suddenly empty inside.
The two women sat in silence a moment longer, words seemed unneeded now as they sat in the stiff silent air of the booth. Black soul watching White soul, who looked everywhere but at the other woman, as the air thickened, unspoken words hanging there, unanswered until now and to remain that way forever more.
Then the Madame, bored - or perhaps for the first time in her life, uneasy - of the silence slid out from the booth. She smoothed her skirt with her hands a moment, the simple movement dispelling everything that clotted the air, before walking leisurely towards the door, her Persian following as usual. Miyamoto stood quickly and trailed behind her silently.
The Madame held out her hand as they reached the door, dropping the money into Miyamoto's waiting hand, then turned and opened the door.
She braced herself against the nipping breeze that brushed past them into the café, pausing in what would have been a quick action.
Pausing just long enough to hear the woman behind her speak softly.
"I wish it would snow. I hate the cold when-"
"There's no snow to go with it," The Madame finished equally quietly, yet just as easily heard. She turned her head slightly and smiled at her ex- employee, "You always loved the snow. So cold and stark.Who knew what you saw in it?"
"Who indeed?" Miyamoto smiled back, watching as the elegant woman finally walked out of the shop. "Who knows what the snow reminds me of?"
~El Fini~
"I wish it would snow."
"Sorry, mother?"
The cobalt haired woman blinked as she realised she'd spoken aloud. The shock melted almost instantly from her expression as she turned her head powerfully towards the other man in the back of the vehicle. "I didn't say anything."
"Oh," Sakakki bowed his head in respect to her before turning an empty gaze back out his window.
She smiled a small powerful smile, turning back to the dusty, cold streets they were passing. She was still in control - in control of her life, her business, everything. If she said she hadn't said anything that was that. She could have shout from the rooftops, but if she then said she hadn't spoken, that was that.
The most powerful woman in the city; in the country even.
But was it all worth it?
She sighed as she stared out the window, reaching down to pet the elderly Persian at her feet. It purred deep within its throat, rubbing its large silken head against her knees, crimson eyes open slightly, showing its old age reflected within them, despite its excellent exterior.
Old age.
She hadn't escaped its grasp herself, she realised as she shook curls of deep-sapphire hair over her shoulders. She still looked. maybe thirty, but that was merely good genes: her eyes told more stories then any woman of thirty's would.
Would she have aged?
She smiled to herself; One can't age when one is dead. And yet she couldn't shake that thought, that feeling she had always had. She wasn't dead; she was still as alive as the Madame herself. Off somewhere in this world. wishing for the snow.
The Persian at her feet made a soft noise, one large velvet paw moving and settling on a still slender stocking-clad leg of its mistress. The now nameless Madame felt something run down her spine and she stared intently out the window, and then turned to her son.
"Stop the car."
"Sorry?"
"Stop the car. I want to get out."
Sakakki blinked at the elegantly suited woman beside him. "We're almost back at the HQ, mother."
"I didn't ask you where we were, boy," She snapped, "I told you I wanted to get out."
The sharp voice of his mother caused him to cringe slightly. "I. Sorry." He mumbled, moving forward and opening the window that separated them from the driver, he spoke quickly, and then turned back to his mother, his boss, his misery. "I don't see-"
"And that is why you'll never be anything in this life, boy." She opened the door to the limo as they slowed. "You think too much and come up with no answers." Alighted onto the pavement, her cream shadow following deftly. "You don't understand that you have to think with your head, your heart and your soul at once, not either or." Swept the locks of azure hair over her shoulders, hands on her willowy hips, "You don't see for looking."
She held out her hand, stopping him from following her out of the vehicle. "You go back to HQ, I'll see you there tonight." Her voice was low, dangerous, daring him to argue with her.
He looked at her slowly for a moment, before settling back into the limo, shutting the door after him. She watched as the car drove off and then turned slowly to the building they had stopped by. A small dusty café, the owner's name in the title, red and white checked tablecloths on the outside tables. "How predictable," She smirked to herself.
She walked towards the door, pushing it open, listening to the bell above the door ring, informing all inside of the new patron. Her Persian swept past her feet, along with a chilling breeze. She shivered slightly, Cold enough for snow. and yet there's none.
She really would be wishing for snow.
She settled in a booth at the front corner, waiting for a waitress to find her. Something was here; she felt it. even her beloved Persian had felt it. Something inexplicable, drawing her here like a siren's song.
"Can I take your order?"
The owner of Rokketto Dan looked up at the waitress slowly, a small smile playing on her lips, "Coffee, black."
"Is that all?"
"No. Remember to take a break, so that when you bring it back we can talk. Miyamoto."
The violet haired waitress stiffened slightly, and then nodded quickly, "Yes. Madame."
The Madame's smile became more confident as she watched Miyamoto walk away quickly. How many years had it been? How many years since they had said Miyamoto was missing and presumed dead?
And here she was. a dirty street café in Cerulean.
Where her gut had told her she'd be.
Learn to think with your head, your soul and your heart. She smiled to herself, drumming her manicured nails on the table before her. Your soul can be black as coal, but you can still think and feel with it.
The Madame had no doubt her soul was tainted and dark, and she saw no point in denying it to herself or others.
She was also sure Miyamoto's was pure as snow. The snow she had loved, the snow she'd played with her child in. the snow she had been lost in.
Lost.
For so long.
She pulled herself from her thoughts as the deep-lilac haired woman settled opposite her, putting down the coffee cup before the Madame. She picked it up, warming her hands with the hot porcelain, feeling her Persian listlessly curl around her feet, its chest vibrating with the soft purring it emitted. She took a sip of the caffeine, looking across at Miyamoto, who looked back at her carefully, fearfully.
So scared of me Miyamoto? Like everyone else.
She put down the cup, and laced her hands together under her chin. "You never came back."
"I know, Madame," Miyamoto lowered her blue eyes.
"Why?" The one word was so authoritative it seemed wrong to even consider not answering it.
"I. I had failed. There was nothing back there but the end of my job. a bullet with my name on it. I found a new life to save my own hide."
"A bullet with your name on it." The Madame repeated the words slowly, raising her cup to her lips again, taking another sip of the black liquid within. "And do you really think I would have killed you?"
Miyamoto looked up slowly, blinking at the woman across the table from her, still as commanding as she had been all those years ago. Demanding answers without having to make a scene. "A failed mission is a failed mission and there was only one course of action in those days for a-"
"That is not what I asked."
She broke off, her eyes trailed to her hands, watching as they played with the hem of her skirt against her knees. Then she let them track back up to the dark coffee eyes of her former employer. ". No." She said slowly, quietly, as if within a dream.
The Madame nodded to herself, running a long finger around the rim of her cup slowly, "So why didn't you really come back?"
Miyamoto looked out the window, her expression changing slightly as she did so - lost, faraway. distancing herself from the world here. Wishing for snow. Then she turned back to the nameless woman. "I didn't want to face up to failing for you."
"You only failed for me when you never returned. I let you go on that trip for yourself. You were the one who wanted to capture Mew, I had no care for it." The pale blue eyes of Miyamoto caught the Madame's, wide, confused. How very childlike. she always was. "Whether you had returned with a thousand Mews or none, I wouldn't have cared. You were my top Dan'in. In not returning at all, you failed me."
"I see." Miyamoto blinked, seeming unsure of how to take these words. She played absently with a salt shaker, unable to remove her gaze from the Madame's. Finally she found her voice, hoarse with a longing to cry for some reason as she spoke the words, "I'm sorry I failed you."
Dark, almost expressionless mirrors of eyes held the purple haired woman's gaze a moment longer, looking straight at the pure white soul beneath, untainted still. The look made Miyamoto feel almost unable to breathe, as if purposefully the Madame was strangling her with her stare.
Then the cobalt-haired woman's lips twisted into a smile of sorts as she drained the last of her coffee, breaking eye contact. "You are, from this moment, dismissed from Rokketto Dan, Miyamoto. This is your dishonourable discharge."
"Yes, Madame." Miyamoto closed her eyes, suddenly empty inside.
The two women sat in silence a moment longer, words seemed unneeded now as they sat in the stiff silent air of the booth. Black soul watching White soul, who looked everywhere but at the other woman, as the air thickened, unspoken words hanging there, unanswered until now and to remain that way forever more.
Then the Madame, bored - or perhaps for the first time in her life, uneasy - of the silence slid out from the booth. She smoothed her skirt with her hands a moment, the simple movement dispelling everything that clotted the air, before walking leisurely towards the door, her Persian following as usual. Miyamoto stood quickly and trailed behind her silently.
The Madame held out her hand as they reached the door, dropping the money into Miyamoto's waiting hand, then turned and opened the door.
She braced herself against the nipping breeze that brushed past them into the café, pausing in what would have been a quick action.
Pausing just long enough to hear the woman behind her speak softly.
"I wish it would snow. I hate the cold when-"
"There's no snow to go with it," The Madame finished equally quietly, yet just as easily heard. She turned her head slightly and smiled at her ex- employee, "You always loved the snow. So cold and stark.Who knew what you saw in it?"
"Who indeed?" Miyamoto smiled back, watching as the elegant woman finally walked out of the shop. "Who knows what the snow reminds me of?"
~El Fini~