Writhe
*I didn't know much about Kuroro or Hisouka when I wrote this, so don't kill me if I say anything out of character*
**I'm introducing a female character here, but she DOES NOT have any romantic involvement with either Kuroro or Hisouka – just in case some fan girls get suspicious**
CHAPTER ONE – The Iron Maiden
"Sir, would you like some coffee to go with your bread rolls?"
Hisouka looked up at the waiter.
"Why, yes, thank you. Decaf please." And he went back to the book he was reading.
'Any minute now,' he though to himself. 'Any minute now…'
And it happened.
A shriek resounded from the alley across the café. A panicked man emerged.
"Murder! There's a dead man in there! There's a dead man in there!"
Hushed whispers arouse from the people about as a nearby policeman went into the alley. Just as quickly as he entered, he left, and back out on the street, pale as a corpse, he began calling back up on his walkie-talkie. The whispers became louder.
"What happened?" he innocently asked the waiter upon his return.
"They found a dead guy in the alley!" the man rasped, quickly and clumsily setting the coffee before him. He was trembling.
"That's terrible!" Hisouka gasped, embodying all the concern of a priest during confession. "Tell me about it."
The waiter nervously wiped his sweaty hands on his pants. "It's not the first time, too. Just yesterday, 14 of this city's businessmen were found dead – killed in cold blood. They were having some kind of meeting, but well, looks like they met a nasty disruption, and a very nasty end. The police don't have any leads or anything, like they all just, just keeled over. A bloody way to keel over though."
Hisouka took a sip of the coffee. "People these days." He shook his head. "What is the world coming to? Did they know who that man in the alley was?"
The waiter shrugged. "A bum I guess. Must've gotten himself in a brawl or something, I dunno."
Hisouka went back to his book as the waiter went on his way, muttering to himself, still in shock. A murder – and just barely twenty feet away.
The murderer could still be out on the street, joining the throng of people trying to steal a peep at the body. Or maybe he was inside that very café. He could even be that man he just gave coffee too. The man with red hair, peacefully reading a book.
'A bum, eh?'
If only he knew. That man in the alley was not a poor drunk pot-bellied slacker like that waiter must have imagined. On the contrary, he was one of the richest and most important men in the country. He should have died with the other 14 the other day, but the lucky man decided to play hooky and skip the meeting. He had had an extra day to live.
'Well, he didn't get lucky this time.' Hisouka thought, finishing the last of the coffee.
He had tried of course. Like every victim he confronted before killing, he had tried to mosey his way out of death, making promises, offering grotesque amounts of money, and finally, just pleading, groveling, and begging with every tear he could muster – all to no avail, of course.
In three seconds flat, he was dead, lying face-down, still wearing that pitiful expression.
Hisouka munched on a bread roll. He didn't usually do assassination jobs. But the Hunter exam and the auction at York New City was months away, and there was nothing short of decent up for grabs - now was not the time to play the part of a thief. The other Genei Ryodan members were nowhere to be found either. No, he'd just have to wait… and until then, settle for the meager life of a vagabond killer. The price those mafia-leader wannabes offered was alright anyway.
The little bell at the café door jingled. A person off the street entered.
The person's aura shot like ice into Hisouka's perception. It was strong, no doubt, but also familiar. It even had a twinge of zetsu like the person was making a careless attempt to hide the nen. For a second he thought it was Kuroro, but no. His aura was somewhat different. Hisouka looked up.
It was a woman, and all at once, he realized why there was such an air of familiarity.
She looked nothing at all like she did before though, when they had last met. But then again, knowing her, and Hisouka smiled at the thought, she would have the most … interesting reason to radically alter her looks.
"Excuse me ma'am. Would you like to join me for a snack…? I think I have some bread rolls left…"
"Hm…?"
Ah, she recognized him.
Beneath the long blonde hair, all tied up in a peach bow (it was a wig of course, close up it was easy to tell), the watery blue eyes (for a touch of innocence - sickening, yet amusing), and the lacy knee-length dress (good heavens, was she trying to look like Pollyanna?), was still Hisouka's good old pal Reane.
She took a seat at Hisouka's table and helped herself to a bread roll.
"So long time no see. You, look great by the way. Does that flabbergasting look have a sweet sunflower- and-daisies name to go with it?"
She snickered through the bits of bread in her mouth.
"As a matter of fact, it does. But I was just about to ditch this costume anyway. The police should be after the blonde bumpkin called 'Mary-sue van Pettite' by now."
She sighed. "Dear Mary-sue was such a sweet little girl. She came into town looking for an honest job for an honest young lady like herself. She found a job at this sweet little novelty shop owned by an equally sweet old man. But unbeknownst to the outside world, the novelty shop housed a massive weapons exchange in its inner recesses. The kindly old man thought that young miss Mary-sue didn't know, but she did. She snuck into the underground weapons shop one dark night and…"
Hisouka gasped in pretended shock. "You killed the old man?"
"Yeah. What's wrong with that?"
"Nothing, really. But just ONE old defenseless geezer?"
"Of course not!" Reane laughed. "That night, that old guy was making an important sale. There were 13 men in the room." She ran a finger across her throat. "All of them."
"Thank goodness." He took a deep gulp of the coffee. "If you were to take out just ONE man… which is already several levels below 'easy' as it is, ha, that would look terrible on your record. Imagine that, Reane the Iron Maiden killed one single guy…"
"Thirteen." She quickly corrected. "Reane the Iron Maiden killed 13 underground dealers for a mafia lord who paid her a nice and hefty price."
"And where did this little fiasco occur?"
"The next city."
"Thank goodness for that. The people here will fall into schizophrenia if they uncover another genocide."
"Your handiwork, no doubt?" Reane glanced at the people out in the street, all nervous, peering at each other, half expecting to find a crazed knife- wielding psychopath to come running down the road.
"Yes. And I beat you, by the way. 13 for you, 15 for me."
She shook her head. "Wrong again. Technically that's 15 targets for you, and 13 targets and 2 security guards for me, so we're even."
They laughed over it, the way they old friends would laugh over a funny movie.
"So anyway," Reane took another bread roll. "How're things with you and the Genei Ryodan? How's your brother? Is he still collecting nen techniques in that book of his?"
"Ah, yes… Spider. They're all still alive and well, and that's all you need to know. And as for Kuroro…" Hisoka shrugged. "I have no idea. I haven't seen him since the last York New City auction. He could be lying dead in a pool of his own blood right now with his throat slashed open, and I wouldn't know… not that I'd really care either." He gulped the remnants of the coffee down. Since when was he referred to as his brother? He was merely the head of the Genei Ryodan, pretending to be the strongest in their group, trying to be suave with his hair slicked back wearing that fuzzy overcoat with the upside down cross…
Reane sensed the sudden resentment in Hisouka's tone, and abruptly changed the topic.
"Hey, speaking of the Ryodan, how's that cute girl you like? You know, the one with the needle and thread?"
"Oh yes, Machi." He lightened up, returning his clownish smirk. Yes, she was quite cute, especially when she got annoyed at his endless attempts at her… it amused him to no end to find her glaring at him and spiting him for one thing or another. "How about you? Found yourself a boy friend yet?"
"I tried. But well, they all just got with the program because they wanted to screw me so, I tried screwing their heads a good 360 degrees backwards to see how they like it and well… it was somewhat unfortunate that none of them really survived."
"Well, there will always be imbeciles in this world…" Hisouka said, finally getting up. "And it is always a pleasure to step on some as you get along… you know what I mean."
He left a few bills on the table.
"Where are you going now?" she asked. She had finished the bread rolls.
"To collect my fee for the 15 gentlemen I put to rest."
"Oh."
She stood up too. "I'll just step into the bathroom and get rid of this damned outfit. Honestly, this wig is itchy… "
And so they went their separate ways, for the time being, anyway.
Hisouka walked out the door destined to be 30,000,000 pieces richer by the end of the day, and Reane, into the Ladies Room for a quick change and to resume her life as the Iron Maiden, freelance hit woman extraordinaire.
But even as she removed the wig, contact lenses and frilly dress, her mind had already began to wander, to a certain thought she had failed to discuss with Hisouka. It concerned him nonetheless, and Kuroro as well. But without a doubt she'd end up calling it to their attention one way or another, sooner or later. Perhaps more sooner than later.
It wasn't as though any of them could entirely forget. Shafts of faint memories would occasionally break through the seal in their minds. They would not forget, and in the wake of those bleak remnants of the past, they would cause fate to turn once more, in their favor, against the painful essence of painted yellow flowers, ceramic puppets, swinging blades hung like pendulums, and the darkest memory of a little house, half buried in the soil… like the voice of a child half drowning in blood.
*Technically I just used this chapter to introduce Reanne, so nothing really happened yet. The REAL story will start in the next chapter.
**If that last paragraph didn't make much sense, it's OK, because it wasn't supposed to make that much sense anyway. It's supposed to give you a clue on what to expect in the following chapters.
***Another couple of things to expect in the following chapters – why Reane is called the 'Iron Maiden' and why (according to this fic anyway) Hisouka and Kuroro aren't very 'brotherly.'
*I didn't know much about Kuroro or Hisouka when I wrote this, so don't kill me if I say anything out of character*
**I'm introducing a female character here, but she DOES NOT have any romantic involvement with either Kuroro or Hisouka – just in case some fan girls get suspicious**
CHAPTER ONE – The Iron Maiden
"Sir, would you like some coffee to go with your bread rolls?"
Hisouka looked up at the waiter.
"Why, yes, thank you. Decaf please." And he went back to the book he was reading.
'Any minute now,' he though to himself. 'Any minute now…'
And it happened.
A shriek resounded from the alley across the café. A panicked man emerged.
"Murder! There's a dead man in there! There's a dead man in there!"
Hushed whispers arouse from the people about as a nearby policeman went into the alley. Just as quickly as he entered, he left, and back out on the street, pale as a corpse, he began calling back up on his walkie-talkie. The whispers became louder.
"What happened?" he innocently asked the waiter upon his return.
"They found a dead guy in the alley!" the man rasped, quickly and clumsily setting the coffee before him. He was trembling.
"That's terrible!" Hisouka gasped, embodying all the concern of a priest during confession. "Tell me about it."
The waiter nervously wiped his sweaty hands on his pants. "It's not the first time, too. Just yesterday, 14 of this city's businessmen were found dead – killed in cold blood. They were having some kind of meeting, but well, looks like they met a nasty disruption, and a very nasty end. The police don't have any leads or anything, like they all just, just keeled over. A bloody way to keel over though."
Hisouka took a sip of the coffee. "People these days." He shook his head. "What is the world coming to? Did they know who that man in the alley was?"
The waiter shrugged. "A bum I guess. Must've gotten himself in a brawl or something, I dunno."
Hisouka went back to his book as the waiter went on his way, muttering to himself, still in shock. A murder – and just barely twenty feet away.
The murderer could still be out on the street, joining the throng of people trying to steal a peep at the body. Or maybe he was inside that very café. He could even be that man he just gave coffee too. The man with red hair, peacefully reading a book.
'A bum, eh?'
If only he knew. That man in the alley was not a poor drunk pot-bellied slacker like that waiter must have imagined. On the contrary, he was one of the richest and most important men in the country. He should have died with the other 14 the other day, but the lucky man decided to play hooky and skip the meeting. He had had an extra day to live.
'Well, he didn't get lucky this time.' Hisouka thought, finishing the last of the coffee.
He had tried of course. Like every victim he confronted before killing, he had tried to mosey his way out of death, making promises, offering grotesque amounts of money, and finally, just pleading, groveling, and begging with every tear he could muster – all to no avail, of course.
In three seconds flat, he was dead, lying face-down, still wearing that pitiful expression.
Hisouka munched on a bread roll. He didn't usually do assassination jobs. But the Hunter exam and the auction at York New City was months away, and there was nothing short of decent up for grabs - now was not the time to play the part of a thief. The other Genei Ryodan members were nowhere to be found either. No, he'd just have to wait… and until then, settle for the meager life of a vagabond killer. The price those mafia-leader wannabes offered was alright anyway.
The little bell at the café door jingled. A person off the street entered.
The person's aura shot like ice into Hisouka's perception. It was strong, no doubt, but also familiar. It even had a twinge of zetsu like the person was making a careless attempt to hide the nen. For a second he thought it was Kuroro, but no. His aura was somewhat different. Hisouka looked up.
It was a woman, and all at once, he realized why there was such an air of familiarity.
She looked nothing at all like she did before though, when they had last met. But then again, knowing her, and Hisouka smiled at the thought, she would have the most … interesting reason to radically alter her looks.
"Excuse me ma'am. Would you like to join me for a snack…? I think I have some bread rolls left…"
"Hm…?"
Ah, she recognized him.
Beneath the long blonde hair, all tied up in a peach bow (it was a wig of course, close up it was easy to tell), the watery blue eyes (for a touch of innocence - sickening, yet amusing), and the lacy knee-length dress (good heavens, was she trying to look like Pollyanna?), was still Hisouka's good old pal Reane.
She took a seat at Hisouka's table and helped herself to a bread roll.
"So long time no see. You, look great by the way. Does that flabbergasting look have a sweet sunflower- and-daisies name to go with it?"
She snickered through the bits of bread in her mouth.
"As a matter of fact, it does. But I was just about to ditch this costume anyway. The police should be after the blonde bumpkin called 'Mary-sue van Pettite' by now."
She sighed. "Dear Mary-sue was such a sweet little girl. She came into town looking for an honest job for an honest young lady like herself. She found a job at this sweet little novelty shop owned by an equally sweet old man. But unbeknownst to the outside world, the novelty shop housed a massive weapons exchange in its inner recesses. The kindly old man thought that young miss Mary-sue didn't know, but she did. She snuck into the underground weapons shop one dark night and…"
Hisouka gasped in pretended shock. "You killed the old man?"
"Yeah. What's wrong with that?"
"Nothing, really. But just ONE old defenseless geezer?"
"Of course not!" Reane laughed. "That night, that old guy was making an important sale. There were 13 men in the room." She ran a finger across her throat. "All of them."
"Thank goodness." He took a deep gulp of the coffee. "If you were to take out just ONE man… which is already several levels below 'easy' as it is, ha, that would look terrible on your record. Imagine that, Reane the Iron Maiden killed one single guy…"
"Thirteen." She quickly corrected. "Reane the Iron Maiden killed 13 underground dealers for a mafia lord who paid her a nice and hefty price."
"And where did this little fiasco occur?"
"The next city."
"Thank goodness for that. The people here will fall into schizophrenia if they uncover another genocide."
"Your handiwork, no doubt?" Reane glanced at the people out in the street, all nervous, peering at each other, half expecting to find a crazed knife- wielding psychopath to come running down the road.
"Yes. And I beat you, by the way. 13 for you, 15 for me."
She shook her head. "Wrong again. Technically that's 15 targets for you, and 13 targets and 2 security guards for me, so we're even."
They laughed over it, the way they old friends would laugh over a funny movie.
"So anyway," Reane took another bread roll. "How're things with you and the Genei Ryodan? How's your brother? Is he still collecting nen techniques in that book of his?"
"Ah, yes… Spider. They're all still alive and well, and that's all you need to know. And as for Kuroro…" Hisoka shrugged. "I have no idea. I haven't seen him since the last York New City auction. He could be lying dead in a pool of his own blood right now with his throat slashed open, and I wouldn't know… not that I'd really care either." He gulped the remnants of the coffee down. Since when was he referred to as his brother? He was merely the head of the Genei Ryodan, pretending to be the strongest in their group, trying to be suave with his hair slicked back wearing that fuzzy overcoat with the upside down cross…
Reane sensed the sudden resentment in Hisouka's tone, and abruptly changed the topic.
"Hey, speaking of the Ryodan, how's that cute girl you like? You know, the one with the needle and thread?"
"Oh yes, Machi." He lightened up, returning his clownish smirk. Yes, she was quite cute, especially when she got annoyed at his endless attempts at her… it amused him to no end to find her glaring at him and spiting him for one thing or another. "How about you? Found yourself a boy friend yet?"
"I tried. But well, they all just got with the program because they wanted to screw me so, I tried screwing their heads a good 360 degrees backwards to see how they like it and well… it was somewhat unfortunate that none of them really survived."
"Well, there will always be imbeciles in this world…" Hisouka said, finally getting up. "And it is always a pleasure to step on some as you get along… you know what I mean."
He left a few bills on the table.
"Where are you going now?" she asked. She had finished the bread rolls.
"To collect my fee for the 15 gentlemen I put to rest."
"Oh."
She stood up too. "I'll just step into the bathroom and get rid of this damned outfit. Honestly, this wig is itchy… "
And so they went their separate ways, for the time being, anyway.
Hisouka walked out the door destined to be 30,000,000 pieces richer by the end of the day, and Reane, into the Ladies Room for a quick change and to resume her life as the Iron Maiden, freelance hit woman extraordinaire.
But even as she removed the wig, contact lenses and frilly dress, her mind had already began to wander, to a certain thought she had failed to discuss with Hisouka. It concerned him nonetheless, and Kuroro as well. But without a doubt she'd end up calling it to their attention one way or another, sooner or later. Perhaps more sooner than later.
It wasn't as though any of them could entirely forget. Shafts of faint memories would occasionally break through the seal in their minds. They would not forget, and in the wake of those bleak remnants of the past, they would cause fate to turn once more, in their favor, against the painful essence of painted yellow flowers, ceramic puppets, swinging blades hung like pendulums, and the darkest memory of a little house, half buried in the soil… like the voice of a child half drowning in blood.
*Technically I just used this chapter to introduce Reanne, so nothing really happened yet. The REAL story will start in the next chapter.
**If that last paragraph didn't make much sense, it's OK, because it wasn't supposed to make that much sense anyway. It's supposed to give you a clue on what to expect in the following chapters.
***Another couple of things to expect in the following chapters – why Reane is called the 'Iron Maiden' and why (according to this fic anyway) Hisouka and Kuroro aren't very 'brotherly.'