For a woman who had so effortlessly fallen off the grid, it was amazing how easily Izaya could pinpoint Mori Hinamei's exact location. He had technology to thank; he had her every breath on check at the very tips of his fingers. He wondered for a moment how it was ever decided that something as dangerous as the internet could be extended out to the masses. Humans were incredibly daft and reckless beings, and with technology at their disposal, they validated these points to no end.
He had presumed his research would lay claim over the majority of his day. It was a celebrity fan page he had stumbled when he learned of Hinamei's whereabouts. A teenage boy had spotted the woman boarding the same flight and proceeded to snap a countless number of her long legs. He had quickly uploaded the images with detail of his sick boyhood fantasies. How childish, Izaya scolded, for the grotesque assumption he could bed the famous model. The kid had even gone so far to suggest she would be happy if he were to take her by force. With a couple of clicks, Izaya had easily traced the information back to the user. He saved the data on a sticky note, sure to use it for a later date.
With a sigh, the informant pushed himself from his desk, spinning himself around to the floor-to-ceiling windows. Shinjuku stretched out before him endlessly though his attention was averted to the sky. The heavens were painted a robin's egg blue though in the distance, the first bans of navy seemed to permeate the horizon. From the darkness, Hinamei would emerge and plague the streets of Ikebukuro with every high-heeled step. His skin nearly erupted with goosebumps at the very thought of her arrival.
Manipulation was fun as was always having his way. Even the chase of the blonde-headed brute was a thrill Izaya could compare to no other. Yet, nothing could parallel the ecstasy he felt with the fall of Mori Hinamei.
He supposed he should've felt guilty for all that had transpired. At one point, he imagined, they could've been considered friends or more. But she always had to get herself into some sort of trouble. It was her own fault, he decided, and could be no others'. She may have been Awakusu but that didn't mean she was invincible. Even kings fall, Izaya knew, and Hinamei was no god. She was as mortal as any other and fell just the same. This time, he would relish in her defeat and feel no other way.
He grinned to himself as he tugged himself into his coat and made his way out the door.
Privacy was a luxury most celebrities could never attain. Hinamei had learned this quite early on. She hadn't always been against her father's practices (the Awakusu-kai was family, after all) yet she was never so fond of the unwarranted attention it entailed. When she had left Ikebukuro, it was with the intention of seeking out a place where no one knew (or feared) her name. Italy had become her sanctuary but relief proved to be short-lived.
She could've been convinced her parents were wiccans had they not frequented shrines when she was younger. At some point however, she assumed they had bartered away their solitude for the promise of power and wealth. While Hinamei understood magic could never exist in the world she lived in, she knew monsters existed, disguised as men in designer suits.
At times, she wished it were that easy to shed her skin and reveal someone new, with shorter legs, perhaps, or eyes as dark as the midnight sky. Her fantasy could only come true by way of knife, though she found solace in the next best thing. Modeling allowed her to transform into an entirely other being. An expertly contoured face made her reflection appear foreign to even herself and for that, she was truly grateful. Her identities were as infinite as the stars in a dark country sky but her reality, alas remained rather singular.
She hadn't anticipated a rise to fame nor had it been her intention. As her name was uttered across the globe, her face plastered across countless billboards and magazines, Hinamei's only wish was to be another. As she glanced across the first class cabin, she scanned the passenger's faces with what could only be envy. How nice it must be to live a life of absolute monotony. She wondered what is was like to have no one care to know your name. Those suits had looked rather uncomfortable although they couldn't be any worse to the heels she was subjected to. Normality would always evade her, Hinamei understood, and her life would remain the same.
She was drawn from her thoughts by the appearance of a stewardess pushing a small cart. "Is there anything I can get for you, Miss Hinamei Mori?" she asked with an awkward little smile. It was evident the Italian woman was rather proud of her broken Japanese. While Hinamei wasn't much impressed, she also didn't care enough to correct the lady's attempt. Instead, she forced a little smile with a request of prosecco in the woman's native tongue.
She turned to the world beyond her, to the never-ending expanse of heaven in the form of white clouds broken by amber light and patches of dark blue sky. Evening would be settling in by the time the plane landed and with every ticking second, Hinamei's heart seemed to sink. She had traveled across the world in the name of fashion but Japan had never appeared on her itinerary. She knew the day would come where she'd have to face Ikebukuro; she only wished she could delay it for perhaps another day longer.
She lightly flinched at the tap on her shoulder, turning to find the little stewardess again. She smiled apologetically as she handed the model a flute before removing the foil from the little bottle. The cork came off with a satisfying pop! And the bubbles fizzed loudly as the woman poured into Hinamei's glass. She dismissed her attempts at Japanese, embracing her native Italian as she asked, "To what do we owe the occasion, Signorina Mori?" She waited for her response as she shoved a stopper into the bottle's lip.
Hinamei fought a grimace as she sipped at her wine though the action was hardly to the dryness of her drink. "To coming home," she said softly as she took another sip. The stewardess gave her a warm congratulations before carrying on her way. Though she surely had meant well, the woman had effectively ruined Hinamei's drink. With each drop that touched her lips, dread seem to swell in the depths of her gut.
Night had claimed the city by the time Izaya strolled down Ikebukuro's bustling streets. The weekend had come and filled the city with life though there was only one that seemed to consume his mind. He could sense her very presence from somewhere within the city. It was only a matter of time before they would cross paths.
Izaya couldn't fend off the grin that stretched across his features. Locating Hinamei would be an easy task and breaking her would prove to be quite the enjoyable one. She would give up her father without hesitation once he had her begging for mercy from her knees. He wondered if she would tremble at his sight, panicked, and try to flee. She would cry for him to stay away from her though he just wouldn't be able to comply. She had returned to his city and now she'd have to pay for all the trouble she had caused.
He flipped through a number of messaging boards, awaiting the outbreak of the woman's whereabouts. She had been spotted coming off the plane although she was quickly ushered into an unmarked car. There were many events going on that night and fans were speculating which ones she would be attending. There was a few fashion events taking place, an art gallery revealing, and some celebrity he never heard of was celebrating their birthday at Bed, how cliché. He knew Hinamei wouldn't risk the chance of running into him and therefore, would attend an event he wouldn't set foot in. At one user's suggestion of some charity gala, Izaya nearly laughed as he quickly looked up the event's information. Hinamei wouldn't be able to escape him tonight, he thought as he made his way to the Metropolitan Hotel.
The stairs leading up to the hotel's entrance was ornately decorated with lavender lanterns and white dahlias. From where Izaya stood, he could see a woman checking in the guests and offering a similarly arranged corsage to the ladies as they entered. The line was ever growing with faces Izaya didn't care to remember. He was sure she would be here although he became annoyed with the thought that she had already arrived. With hands shoved into his coat's pockets, he snaked his way to the head of the line and sneered at the door woman.
"Name, sir?" she demanded as she gave him a pointed look over. While he wasn't dressed nearly as formally as the others, he was sure his custom attire cost more than one of those woman's elegant gowns, anyways.
"Orihara Izaya," he offered coolly, eagerly awaiting the look of recognition to flash across the woman's face.
She merely arched her brow as she flipped through a list, shaking her head at the end. "Your name's nowhere to be found," she said as though she had known all along, "And even if it were, I couldn't allow you in wearing that."
Before the informant even had a moment to retort, he was moved aside by the next couple in line. These types were certainly ballsy and he had half a mind to show them who they were dealing with. While he wasn't a stranger to making scenes, he didn't want to tip off Hinamei of his looming presence. He clenched his jaw and reluctantly left as he scrolled through the fan threads. Surely enough, she had been captured upon waltzing into the hotel. He nearly growled as he clamped the phone shut, forcefully shoving it into his pocket.
He could wait for her departure though he wasn't sure how long that would take. He was also quickly losing his patience and would surely interrupt her little charity event before its end anyhow. What was there to do in the meantime that wouldn't have him stray too far off course? As he eyed his surroundings, he could hear in the distance a call for Russian sushi. He grinned to himself as he made his way to Simon Brezhnev. The towering man smiled widely to every passersby despite their evident fear of the foreigner. Every so often, one would take his flyer in their trembling hand before scurrying on their way. It was a wonder the place was still in business. Izaya wondered if he was their sole patron.
"Ah, Izaya," the man cheered upon the informant's arrival. "Fatty tuna for dinner, yes? Sushi good for blood pressure, good for heart!"
"I've got some time to kill, Simon-san," Izaya said with a shrug, "Guess I can fill it with some sushi."
"And sake, yes," the Russian went on, eagerly leading Izaya towards the restaurant. He held the door open for him as his smile widened. "Your table is ready! Don't leave young miss waiting!"
Izaya froze at Simon's words but missed the chance to ask what he had meant. The door behind him was closed and he was left alone in the dim restaurant with only the sound of Dennis working on rolls. The blue-eyed man acknowledged the informant with a simple nod of his head. He seemed to avoid Izaya's eyes and at once, he knew something was up.
He had always said what had interested him most was when humans performed out of the norm. He loved when they exceeded his expectations, or failed to perform them altogether. It was not often he was caught by surprise and though he figured he should appreciate it, he found himself slowly becoming overwhelmed with what only could be disdain.
There was no one in the restaurant from what he had observed yet he knew at some point she had been there. She could very well be hiding still somewhere he could not see. There was one table towards the back of the restaurant that seemed to draw him near. He imagined her sitting there, hands folded together before her as though she were pretending she was wringing out his neck. She would tilt her head to the side lightly and smile the emptiest of smiles. And he would laugh and laugh at her misery though now, he only seemed to grimace.
She was nowhere in sight and he presumed she had left out the back door, without Simon's knowing. There was no doubt she had been there, Izaya knew as he stopped at the table. Thrown in the center was a familiar corsage similar to the ones worn by the ladies at the gala he had been denied entry from. Attached was a folded note with his name neatly scrawled across the cover. He took it up and flipped open the parchment, his jaw clenched tightly in irritation.
"I forgive you" was all it said, three words that should've sent the informant into hysterics but instead, unnerved him to no end. He would never accept her forgiveness because there was simply nothing to be forgiven. To be forgiven meant there had been error, and a god could do no wrong. Izaya tore the note from the flowers, crumpling the parchment as he shoved it in his pocket. Leave it to Hinamei to try and fail to get under his skin. Well, if that's what she intended, that's what'd she get, he thought as he fought off a smirk. And when he was through with her, Izaya would make damn sure she was nothing but completely and utterly ruined, more so than she already was. He gave a nod to Dennis on his way out, bent on finding the woman and destroying her by the end of that very night.