Seeing Red
Axel/Roxas
Chapter One: What can you say?
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Funny, how things work out sometimes. Like a disease that goes away in a child, or a paper cut that hurts, but just for a single moment, until you really realize, "hey, I'm not hurt, there's no reason to cry." Just that one moment, that one, magical moment, you grasp that thought, "Everything's okay, it's a cut, from paper, not a knife, I really shouldn't die."
But when you're a child, it's different. Never mind that it's just a cut from paper, it's a cut. And it's bleeding. Everything in your instincts tells you to cry, get Mom, because oh, God, I'm bleeding… That is, unless you don't have a mom. And you don't know that bleeding is bad. That blood itself is bad.
Instead, you sit and stare. Sitting on that street corner, you think "huh, what am I going to do about this?" Six years old, and already realizing that you don't really need anyone in the world. Not really. Because if you're bleeding, maybe you'll die, but maybe, just maybe, you'll live. And that's what makes it all better. It doesn't matter that Mommy's a whore that leaves you on the corner every day so she can service her clients, or that Daddy's a "dealer" that left before you were born. It doesn't matter that in this small world, no one really knows who you are; that no one really cares either, all that matters is that this paper cut you got on your finger, reading the "recent arrests" page you found on the ground, it'll go away, just like everything else.
So today, instead of sitting on the curb, waiting for Mommy to come back, looking tired and worn, smelling of thick scents and cheap men's cologne, you stand up, ponder for a moment as to who the man is in the picture on that abandoned newspaper, and why he looks so familiar, then start to walk. As a six year old child, you flip your red hair, like you'd seen Mommy do so many times, and you start to walk. And then, in one more, magical moment, you think, "hey, this is okay. Maybe if I just keep walking, I can see everything, and then, I can bring it all back to Mommy."
But then, night falls. And you, as that six year old child, begin to grow scared. You hold your arms tight across your body, and wonder where Mommy is. And finally, when the shivering gets the best of you, you crawl into a small space between two dumpsters, hug yourself tighter, and wait. Simply sit and wait for Mommy to find you.
What you, as that six year old child, don't know, as you shake your red hair out of your face and rub your arms with your dirt-caked hands, is that Mommy can't find you, and even worse, Mommy isn't even looking.
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Flip. Long red spikes, carelessly tossed over the shoulder of a tall male, his iridescent green eyes narrowed at the sight a woman, offering herself to a man across the street. How he hated those women. She twirled a blonde lock of hair around her deeply tanned finger, her purse swinging slightly as she leaned into the man. The redhead glared, women like them shouldn't live. They made a mockery of not only women, but humanity. Did any other species sell their own bodies, their pride, for drugs or money?
"Hey, baby, what are you doing tonight?" A brunette woman approached the redheaded male, her heavy makeup not enough to cover the bruises on her cheeks and the run-marks on her arms.
"Not you," he growled, his emerald hues sharpening on her small figure. Really, she would have been a pretty woman, if not for the scars and broken look in her eyes. He clenched his fist, but continued to talk, "I'm looking for a woman."
"Well, honey, if that's what you want, I'm―"
"I'm looking for a woman named Serena Montague."
The brunette was silent for several moments, and when she spoke, it was quiet, nearly inaudible, "Why would you want to find that woman?"
"I have my reasons." He stared intently at the prostitute, rather annoyed at her fidgeting, "Do you know where she is or not?"
"Serena Montague is dead. She left her son on the curb, and as soon as he died, she followed as well. The devil took her for what she did to him."
"Her son died?" The redhead raised a dark eyebrow, his arms crossing, "And Serena?"
"She's dead."
"Then her daughter? What of her?"
At this, the woman looked up, "How do you know anything about―"
"That girl is what I'm here for. If Serena is dead, then I need to find her daughter."
"I can't help you." The prostitute turned to walk away, but stopped mid-step when the redhead spoke again.
"Do you enjoy your job?" He glared as she spun to face him, her eyes venomous.
"And what exactly do you mean by that?"
"I mean, what you do. Sleeping with men for money. Would you wish it on anyone else?"
"Never," she hissed through clenched teeth.
"Then tell me where the girl is. If I don't find her, she'll end up like all of you."
"It's too late to be saying that. That little redhead, she's pretty. Underage, for the acts she pulls off, but she does her work."
In an instant, the man had the brunette pinned to the sooty brick wall, "Tell me where she is!"
"She's gone!!"
"Tell me where, you whore!" He scathed, shaking the slight woman.
"Ask Manny!!" she whimpered, "Manny, our boss! He knows where she is! Let me go, you animal!!"
He stared at the prostitute, as if almost contemplating. He could kill her. No one would ever know if he just killed her right here. No one but "Manny." And, God, would Manny take him seriously then. He shook his red hair out of his pale, pointed face and released the brunette woman, "Where?"
"God, I don't know! He finds us!!"
"Where?" he hissed, surprised when she covered her head with her skeletal arms.
"The hotel!! Merion!! He's always there!!"
With that, the redhead stalked away, his hands deep in his long coat pockets. The Merion. He could find that. And Manny. This was getting easier.
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She looked at herself in the mirror, hating every tiny flaw she noticed. Innocent sapphire eyes, babyish round face. She was too childlike. It was sick, how men took her, despite of this. Her mother was worse. Her mother was beautiful, with her long red hair and deep green eyes. Tall and thin, like an actual woman, not like this. Her daughter, she was girlish, pale, neither curves nor beauty. Five foot one and eighty nine pounds. She was a child. Made and built like one.
The girl glared at herself and tossed two white pills into her mouth, then quickly took several gulps of water from the faucet. She took one last look at herself in the mirror, and then sauntered out to the man who laid waiting on the bed. The girl took a deep breath and smiled prettily, cocking one eyebrow, "So what'll it be, honey?"
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"I'm looking for a man named Manny."
The woman at the desk scoffed, picking at her long, red fingernails, "Aren't we all, sweetheart?"
"I need to find that fucking pimp, or you will have a lot to worry about."
"What is your name?" She asked lazily, her gray eyes glancing up to meet his.
"My name is Axel Maverick."
"That's a pretty name." She said absentmindedly, "And who did you want again?"
"His name is Manny. He's a pimp I was told I can find here."
"I know who Manny is. But he doesn't do men, didn't anyone tell you that?" She looked over at him, and pushed her curly blonde hair back, "It's a shame though. I'd pay you. What do you say?"
Axel narrowed his emerald eyes, "If you even imply that again, I swear to God I will rip your very soul from your body and feed it to you. Tell me where Manny is."
"Yeah, yeah, sweetheart. Keep telling yourself that. You look like one of his women though. She was a pretty one. Lily or something? Same red hair. Actually, there's one here now, she looks like her too. Younger, though. Same red hair, all of you. You related to any corner girls, hun?"
Axel clenched his fist beneath the ledge of the high desk, "Tell me where Manny is."
"Will you give me a goddamn minute?" It was a mumbled curse as she reached for the heavy binder beneath the expensive mahogany desk. "Manny's on the top floor. He asks not to be disturbed, though. I wouldn't go up there, if I were you."
"I'll remember that," he growled, shoving his hands in his pockets. He felt the cold steel of the gun he carried and shivered, how easy would this be? All he wanted was the girl. That woman's daughter was all he needed. But what were the chances Manny would just hand her over? That brunette made it seem as if the girl brought in a lot of money for him. Sick, Axel thought angrily. She couldn't be over sixteen. And who knew how long she'd been here. Or if her mother allowed it while she was still alive. The redhead felt rage flame up inside of him, that woman, she was a terrible beast. How could she call herself human?
"What floor, sir?" The bellboy was young, and eyed Axel curiously, but jumped back when the redhead spoke.
"The top."
He nodded silently and pressed in the button, "Nice…weather?"
The emerald eyes connected dangerously with the boy's scared blue hues, and the bellboy giggled and ruffled his cinnamon spiked hair, "Sorry. Just making conversation."
"Well don't." Axel growled tersely, and the boy pouted. But, as soon as the small frown had appeared, it vanished, replaced by quite the excitable grin.
"So what brings you here? Between you and me, not many men come up to this top floor."
The redhead turned sharply to grab a fistful of the bellboy's red uniform, "Listen, you―" He quickly read the small nametag on the ironed shirt, "Sora. I'm here for important business. So it'd be smart of you to not try and start "conversation with me. Got it memorized?"
The brunet boy nodded without hesitation and whimpered, when Axel drew a silver handgun from his coat pocket, "And don't even think about telling anyone I was here. Yeah?"
"Y-yes, sir." The boy murmured quickly, letting out a sigh of relief when the elevator doors opened to let the redhead out. Axel swiftly pocketed the gun and stepped out, "H-have a good day, sir―" Sora yelped frantically as he repeatedly pushed the button to force the elevator back down. With a small ding, the doors close, and Axel rolled his eyes.
"Like I'd waste my bullets on you." He continued to walk down the hall, eyes narrowed. Which door? He'd assume Manny would have the largest, nicest room, but how was he even supposed to find it? There were several doors. For a long time, Axel simply stood and stared down the carpeted hallway. Smooth, red carpet, gentle yellowed lights. The walls were painted a pale, off-white type of yellow, the doors a similar shade. Eventually, he let out a low sigh, "Fuck it…"
Axel leapt at the nearest door, kicking it with all of his might. As expected, the heavy wood separated from its simple frame, half hanging from its hinges.
"Manny!" He called, nearly mocking, "Here I am! Where are you?"
What Axel noticed was a girl, rather small, a girl, not a woman, blinking at him, rather confused. She didn't bother trying to cover herself in her state of undress, not that there was really much to cover, but stared at him, and pushed her shoulder-length red hair behind her ear, "Who are you?"
"I could ask the same of you." He held the gun in one hand, but didn't raise it, as this girl didn't pose much of a threat. He raised his eyebrows at her, all she wore was a lacy black bra and matching panties, which, under any other circumstances, might be amusing, or even sad, in Axel's eyes, as she had nothing to even put in her bra, but at the moment, it was merely confusing, "Where is Manny?"
"Um, he left."
"Are you one of them?"
"Them?" she echoed, cocking her head to one side, "What does that even mean?"
"One of Manny's girls. His prostitutes. Are you one of them?"
At this, the redheaded girl shrugged, "I guess so. Who are you? Want something? It'll cost you."
Axel lowered his gun back into his pocket, "My name is Axel. I'm looking for the daughter of Serena Montague."
"Huh." The girl said, bouncing down onto the bed, "Well, that's sort of funny. Why'd you kick the door down? Couldn't knock?"
"Do you know where Serena Montague is?"
"Um, buried out behind the church. Are you going to answer any of my questions?"
Axel blinked his emerald eyes, half interested, and half irritated at this girl. He crossed his arms, "I'm looking for her daughter."
"I know. You said that. And I said 'huh.'" She smirked, "Heard things, I guess? I don't come cheap."
"What do you―" He stopped, his hands dropping to his sides, "What do you mean?"
"I may look young, but―"
"Would you stop trying to sell yourself to me?! I don't want a hooker. Answer me. Where is Serena's daughter?"
The girl stood up and put her hands behind her back, "Um, nice to meet you. I'm Kairi Montague."
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Funny, how things work out. Years and years after you left that curb as that six year-old child, you hear about a little girl, sitting on that exact same curb. A little girl with that exact same spiky, red hair and exact same curious, bright eyes. You're no longer that naïve, curious, six-year-old child; you're an intelligent, surviving eleven year old boy. You stop occasionally, and think about that girl. You wonder if maybe, she'll wander off like you did. If a paper cut will lead her away too.
Or, ten years later, if you'll find that little girl, now a sixteen-year-old prostitute, and tell her, "Hey, guess what sis? I'm here to take you to a little place I'd like to call nowhere."
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To Be Continued
A/N: So how is that looking? I kind of like it. It's got this strange, normal me sort of feel to it. Not like the happy one-shot crap that I usually write, no plot no life. I want to do this. Yes, yes, I do and I will. That is a vow from Shiro.
So, if you like, review and keep reading! Sound good? I promise to keep writing if you keep reviewing! And it's not just me begging, if no one reviews, then if feels like no one's reading, and then I get sad and don't want to write anymore! So, in a way, I just… want some motivation, right? Yeah! And hold on for this story, it's going to be one hell of an emo trip, I think.
And man, do I ever love writing this. I'm having way too much fun. Because, really, I don't hate Kairi. She was just sort of a there character. I mean, sure, she was rather in-the-way of the Riku-Sora-ness, but that doesn't mean she was bad. It just means she was in the way. Just try writing her as a weird, happy, prostitute. That makes it interesting. Ha-ha.
Shiro.Kokoro