Scheherazade; Loser Buys Dinner!
Suzaku never texted me.
My graduation ceremony was a more subdued event than I had always imagined. I suppose that's because while I had made plenty of friends over here in Japan, all of my childhood buddies still lived in Britannia. My parents flew in the day before and got a hotel, for which I was grateful. Even if I had been inclined to practically sterilize my apartment so they wouldn't be stepping over piles of junk, the fact remained that my place was very small, consisting of a kitchen and living room combo, a tiny bedroom and a bathroom with—thank goodness—a Japanese bathtub. The ones back in Britannia were maddening because I could never properly immerse myself.
The bad news about my folks staying in a different place from me was that my father's Japanese was limited to "thanks," and "good afternoon," and "boss," and my mother's consisted entirely of cuisine-related words and general pleasantries. The nearest Britannian hotel had been blown up by terrorists years ago and never rebuilt, so on the morning of my graduation I had to leave at six to pick up my parents in one direction and then race time to school in the other.
Afterwards was fun though. We went shopping in Tokyo and bought kimonos and soundtracks all sorts of other anime paraphernalia, and my dad was the good sport he always was and carried the ever-increasing load of junk back and forth to the car that had once been his. We had to make two trips back to their hotel to dump the stuff in the trunk and the open seats, since the little car wasn't really big enough to hold all of it. The sun was setting as we finally ran out of steam, and I dropped my folks off at their hotel with my sincerest regrets that they wouldn't still be in the country the next weekend when I took my black-belt test. They had to leave the next morning.
I had decided to go to high school in Japan for two reasons: first because I've been an otaku since I was old enough to appreciate anime (three years old, in point of fact) and second because Sozo Academy had the best art and writing curriculum of any school in the world. I had now graduated, but I had decided that I hadn't lived long enough in Japan, so I was planning to stay at least for one more summer before making the decision of whether to move back to the homeland or not.
After my parents' flight left, I sat around at the airport for a long time; scribbling down notes for the novel I had started writing in my first year of high school and then abandoned due to lack of spare time. I had nothing but time now, so I resolved to work on it with more seriousness over the summer. Wouldn't it be great, I thought with relish, if I could quit my part time job because I had a published book bringing in cash?
I was in mid-build of my little "castle in the air," when an airport employee turned up to chivvy me out of the waiting area to make room for some important "who-ha in the sky" government passengers whose flight would soon be landing, and who didn't want the building to be crowded. Grumbling, I was about to thrust my notebook back into my bag and shuffle off as slowly as humanly possible when I slipped on something and, in the struggle to regain my balance, my cell phone went flying out of my hand and upon hitting the floor, the back popped off and the battery snapped out.
This was a typical reaction from my phone when it received impact, and I was more resigned than worried as I scooped up the parts, but as I was chivvied along in an ever growing crowd as the other terminals were emptied, I stumbled once more, and it wasn't until I was almost within sight of the front door that I realized that the cell phone battery had fallen out of my hand a second time.
I didn't try to fight the swell of the crowd. Instead, I maneuvered off to one side and emerged from its right flank. Stuffing the remaining two parts of my phone into my bag and zipping the compartment shut, I jogged back towards the terminal I had just left, hugging the wall and scanning the floor, desperately hoping I had dropped the dumb thing somewhere close, instead of inside the terminal itself.
Of course my luck wasn't that good.
I tried to slip unobtrusively into the big room, but as I crept toward where I had been sitting, I couldn't help but take a little peek at the "who-ha government people" who had ousted me from my newest writing locale.
Suzaku and I made eye-contact.
Once again: Uh-oh.
I averted my gaze for about three seconds until I spotted the flat silver battery on the floor and scooped it up, but by then it was too late. I heard footsteps coming towards me, and voices yelling in anger, something about disrespect, I thought.
Slipping the battery into my bag, I straightened up and held my hands in the air at about shoulder height.
"My bad," I called over the hubbub of airport employees apologizing and masked imperial goons shouting. "I just dropped something—hey, get that thing outta' my face!" Before I even realized what I was doing, a guard's gun was in my hand, held back out of his reach. "That's awfully rude, y'know," I snapped. Something about these identical faceless underlings irritated me so much that I ceased temporarily to care that they were in the service of the "who-ha government dude" known as the emperor of most of the world. I thumped the goon over the head with the butt end of his own gun before giving it back to him. "Jerk," I growled.
Apparently that set them off, because in another minute I found myself sincerely grateful for all the extra training I had been putting in for my upcoming rank advancement test. I took another gun away from a different goon, or maybe it was the same one, I couldn't tell, and used it like a boken. Their fighting moves were so predictable it was ridiculous, and I fought them off mechanically, using a basic attack form from way back when I had studied Hapkido at a local health club, before I had gotten into Aikido and Iaido. I was almost ready to give up imperial security as a bad job when I got a sudden shiver down my spine and turned to my left just in time to deflect a blow from Suzaku's sword.
I had forgotten about him.
He sprang away as I slid off to one side into a more solid fighting stance. We glared into each other's eyes for a long moment, each of us sizing the other up.
"Rematch," I finally announced. "This is a rematch. I won't cheat this time, alright? So you'd better not either."
Suzaku nodded with steely eyes.
"Loser buys dinner," I wagered, and swung at his ribcage from below. He blocked with astonishing speed, and after that, I was hard-pressed to keep my footing and dodge his seeking blade. Practicing in a dojo with wooden weapons was one thing, but Suzaku's sword had a point like a needle, and it was much longer than the ones I was used to. I found myself using the gun, which was almost as long as a typical boken, for mostly dagger-versus-sword techniques.
The television had not fully conveyed the full extent of this man's prowess in battle. His legs, his arms and his sword were like many facets of a deadly living weapon, and I wasn't so stupid as to deny that I was out of my league by a considerable margin. The door trick had been a lucky break; without a cheap shot like that to hide behind, I was well aware that my life was as much in his hands as the velvet grip of his blade. I could only hope it was of more value. Forced back until I was only a little ways from the terminal wall, I decided to go for the only thing I remembered how to do, and knocked his sword point away, losing the gun in the process, so that I could get in close and punch him in the nose.
With a clang, both of out weapons fell discarded to the ground as he sidestepped my punch with the simple grace I had always admired about well executed aikido moves, grabbed my wrist as I fell past him, and twisted my arm behind my back. His hands were gentle, and I feared that. One of my Sensei had always been like that; her hands were so gentle, they were impossible to take seriously.
One little movement and they would turn to fetters of raw diamond.
I didn't move. I barely breathed.
"Impressive," commented a voice, followed by the clapping of a single pair of hands. I looked up, and felt like the stupidest person alive. Suzaku Kururugi was here. The imperial royal guard was here. The terminal was being cleared out by nervous employees. Who else might be here? Was there a possibility that maybe, just maybe, the emperor was here too?
Duh!
"I do not often come across those with the skill to oppose Suzaku with that degree of success," the emperor commented, continuing to applaud as he strode towards us. Suzaku applied pressure to my wrist, trying to force me down. Once again, my snarky side got the better of me.
"Suzaku," I addressed him with a withering stare, "if at any time I feel inclined to bow, you can be certain I will do so with all haste. Please quit twisting my wrist, it's painful."
"Oh?" the emperor exclaimed, "you do not acknowledge the ruler of your own homeland, the Holy Britannian Empire?"
"Which is better," I asked, "to say something exceedingly foolish, or to tell a lie?" I was careful to keep my voice steady despite the increasing pain from my wrist. That dummy must have been twisting it pretty far, because my wrists will just bend and bend and bend until suddenly they won't bend anymore, and at that point they're in grave danger of breaking. It was always hard for me to figure out how long to wait before going down on a hand-twisting technique in class.
"I would submit a different answer," the emperor replied. "I would say that it is better to keep silent in the face of that difficulty, thus avoiding both negatives."
"And if one is rather famous for being without the ability to keep silent?" I probed. He smiled thinly, like a snake staring down its meal.
"Then it is better to tell the lie and save oneself." He replied silkily. I slid one foot forward and sank down to one knee.
"In that case," I declared with as much ice in my tone as I knew how to muster (though why I had to be sarcastic at that moment, I still don't know) "I sincerely apologize for disturbing your vitally important landing and disembarkation. I'm really very sorry; please forgive me."
Perhaps it was a lie, the comment that I did not know why I did that. At least I can say this: I was looking hungrily up through my thick bangs to see his reaction, dying to know what he would do because I had taken his advice, even if it literally killed me like the cat in the proverb.
"Intriguing," he pronounced after an agonizingly long time. "And what would your opinion be on the subject?" I shook my hair out of my face so that my brown eyes could look unobstructed into his violet ones.
"I should have thought that would be obvious sir," I replied quietly. "My opinion is that it depends entirely on the audience."
"You are a brave woman," he observed. I was glad Suzaku didn't rat me out for my pounding pulse and trembling fingers. Maybe he though that was a side-effect of his abuse of my poor wrist. "But," the emperor continued, "I'm afraid your impertinence will come at a cost. You have disrespected a very important person, you see."
He's going to kill me, I thought wildly, holding my face like a mask over my alarmed mind.
"Perhaps, sir," I suggested, not humbly, but at least in a quieter voice and without sarcasm, "you would consider this." His eyes were cold and sharp as razors. Suzaku's were never like this. His scowls were at least true scowls, but the emperor's face was still in a passive smiling expression. His eyes and face did not match at all. "I owe Suzaku a dinner, since he beat me in the fight."
The emperor considered this, while I considered the fact that my brash experimentation with people's minds was most likely going to cost me my life. I had no feeling left in the hand Suzaku had hold of.
"Vey well then," Lelouch Vi Britannia conceded, "but on one condition. I will be accompanying you."
I was taken aback, but I nodded, and mercifully Suzaku released me. I tried to massage some life back into my fingers as I stood.
I was a bit bolder after that, and got not only Suzaku's number but the emperor's as well.
"Scheduling a get-together is a pain when one has no contact information," I commented, shooting venomous glares at Suzaku. "So I'll be sure to text you both tonight" —glare— "so you can get my number"—glare— "and we'll find a time this week that'll work, alright?"
By the time I got home, I had gotten lost half a dozen times; quite a feat for the entire trip being down a total of two roads, but it was me after all, and I was in shock. I stumbled into my apartment and flung myself onto my bed before sliding open my phone and sending a text message to both Lelouch and Suzaku that said, [Hi, this is Koneko! Save my number, kk?]
Suzaku responded with [Right.] and Lelouch with [I look forward to our next meeting, Monozuki-san. I'm sure it will be most enlightening.]
[And entertaining, :3 ] I added. [I love trying to figure people out, so expect me to uncover all of your deepest, darkest secrets, kk?]
As I waited with infrequent, shallow breaths for a response to that, I wished more than I had ever wished for anything that the wretched cancel button actually worked. So much for any attempt to convince him that I wasn't impertinent.
[Aren't you concerned that you'll find out something you'd rather not know?] He asked.
[No,] I replied firmly. At this point, I hadn't much to lose. [Not at all; I'd always rather know than not know. What about you?]
[I think perhaps we are the same in that respect.]
Just like that, I was texting with the king of the world. We sent messages back and forth for more than an hour and a half. We talked about truth, about politics, and a dozen other topics. I had never been on a debate team or anything, but I couldn't possibly imagine a more interesting opponent. After we finally finished texting, I hopped on the computer to internet search good restaurants in the area between the imperial palace and my apartment.
It took me ages to find something suitable; it was called "Taste of Paradise," and it had a little cuisine from almost every country in the world. It wasn't a super high-end place, but it wasn't a dump either, and after scanning the menus and calculating what would happen if they both ate like those male anime characters who never seem to gain weight, I concluded that if I suspended the fixing of my A/C for another month and didn't take my car out anywhere I couldn't walk to, I could safely have enough to make the top end bill.
Of course, if Lelouch was going to have me killed afterwards, I wasn't going to need an A/C or gasoline anyway.
I cried myself to sleep that night. Life really sucked. The emperor was terrifying, like a serpent in a human body. The blood red eyes on his robe were a thousand times less terrifying than his own soft violet ones, and even worse was the fact that he could hold a perfectly civil (and I had to admit, highly entertaining) conversation with his intended victim.
Those eyes were going to watch me die, I was certain of it. I was so certain that the next morning, I emptied to contents of my savings account into checking. There was absolutely no good reason to still have it. Images of his eyes haunted me like the way a bright light is visible as a multicolored starburst behind closed eyelids. Nothing I did would dislodge the image of his face, with its sinister smile upon the lips that were going to order my imprisonment, torture, execution or all of the above. I was like a specter at work and later at the dojo, and Ryan did a passable golden retriever impression as he hovered around me, asking over and over what was wrong.
I texted Lelouch and Suzaku the location of the restaurant and my suggestions of date and time. Lelouch and I ended up in another Socratic debate, but I couldn't really hold up my end of it, and I got out of it as soon as I could. He kept texting me though, almost as if he was bored, or lonely, or…
Or interested.
Once the idea got hold of me, it was parasitic, taking over all of my faculties and absorbing my consciousness. I couldn't remember the name, but it was the queen from the Arabian nights, wasn't it? She had kept herself alive by keeping the king interested in the stories she would tell each night, and always dropping off at a cliff-hanger.
It only took a few minutes for me to come crashing down from my happy little bubble of hope. I was a bit crazy, and (I hoped) a little more interesting than your average teenage girl, but not that interesting, and even though I did write stories, they weren't good enough to pull off something like that. Still, I had to look up Queen Scheherazade's name online, because not even knowing that much was plaguing me like a swarm of gnats.
Even though that tiny-corner-of-a-plan-that-would-never-work had been discarded, I was marginally comforted. That idea was a failure, but mightn't I come up with something better? It was with that in mind that I pulled on my favorite skirt, tiered, robin's-egg-blue with hand-embroidered patterns, and a dark teal tank top with a white lace insert at the neckline for modesty. I considered leaving out the lace; maybe he'd take pity on me for cleavage's sake? But I had standards of dress I didn't plan on abandoning, especially in front of that serpent of a man. Besides, I needed all my wits about me, and couldn't afford to be distracted by feeling naked.
Before I left the house, I left a letter on my kitchen table for Ryan, though I only addressed it as "To my friend and his brother." Ryan would be the only one who knew what that meant. If this was going to be my last night on earth, I had to let someone know what was going on. Ryan's family and several others at my dojo were "connected with people who were connected with other people who knew things about a certain rebel faction."
They may as well know how to open the lock, and I gave them a bunch of other information on how to outwit various security systems. I also told them how to distract Suzaku. This way, even if I was killed, I might be able to throw my two cents into the pot that would eventually bring my murderers crashing down. I felt a bit wretched for telling them about how Suzaku's courtesy was his Achilles' heel; after all, I rather liked him, but he worked for emperor Lelouch, the snake, the wolf, evil incarnate. He had to be taken down along with his master.
I hopped in my car and attempted to keep the speed limit on my way there. I had left with a ridiculously long margin of time for error or traffic, and consequently I arrived half an hour early. I pulled out my notebook and started jotting down an outline for a new Idea I had just had; a modern Arabian nights, of all things. I became so engrossed that it wasn't until someone came and knocked on the roof of my car that I remembered where I was and why I was there.
I looked up and almost did a double-take. Lelouch was there in a sleeveless black turtleneck and black jeans, with an orange jacket and a wallet chain hanging out of his pants pocket. Suzaku was behind him in jeans and a long blue coat with the white trim and the sleeves rolled up. It was beyond weird that they were both wearing jackets in this weather, but the sun was setting and it was cooling off slightly. I did not own a sweater or anything that matched what I was wearing, so I was sure to have gooseflesh on the way home.
Assuming I drove myself home, as opposed to being carted off by policemen.
I stuffed my notebook in the back seat and unbuckled my seatbelt as Lelouch opened the door and extended me a hand. His eyes still had the cold, snaky look to them, but his expression and actions were courteous, so at least he wasn't going to have his goons kill me right that second. I took his hand and got out of the car, hoping my skirt wouldn't snag on anything.
The restaurant wasn't very crowded, and this was a good thing. Without his crown and ridiculous-looking outfit, nobody really recognized Lelouch, and Suzaku wore his sunglasses. We were all three quiet for a while, but eventually a few polite comments degenerated into a real conversation and, as before, Suzaku loosened up little by little, and I became more comfortable. Lelouch was even more brilliant in person, and we somehow got onto the subject of "masks." This was a topic I liked; after all, one of my favorite hobbies was trying to see through those of other people.
"Everyone wears a mask, even if it's only as simple as courtesy," I explained. "For example; 'Suzaku! Fix your collar, scruffy!'" Suzaku actually looked self-conscious and started pulling at the offensive piece of clothing. "That was what I was thinking, but I hide it behind the mask of courtesy, pretending that I don't notice or don't care. Masks are necessary to a functional society."
Even though I pretended to be looking at Suzaku, I slipped a glance at Lelouch out of the corner of my eye and froze, staring out of my peripheral vision. His eyes had lost all of their hardness, and his little amused smile actually looked genuine. I turned to face him, and as suddenly as the expression had come, it was gone, but it was too late.
I had seen.
Gottcha.
The serpentine wolf-like man who held the world in the palm of his hands, the one I feared above all others, didn't exist. He was a mask.
But… why go to all the trouble of making the entire world hate him? It seemed contradictory. I was entranced, and in an instant, I knew I couldn't possibly ignore what I had noticed. I had to know what was in there, the Lelouch behind the mask. I wanted to meet him, to talk with him, to know him. An old proverb whispered through the corridors of my mind, something about inquisitive felines and death, but I ignored it.
Yep, I was hooked.
It was then that my cell phone rang. I glared at the number in irritation. Ryan's timing was really dreadful, and why did he call when he knew I hated talking cell phone to cell phone? He should have texted.
"Hello," I greeted him, trying to sound unruffled.
"Koneko," he gasped, "It's Jayden! Something terrible has happened to my little brother!"
Tsuzuku!
Next time in Of Curiosity and Cats:
I could say I did it for him, I suppose, but I'd be lying.
I did it because someone handed me Pandora's box, and if I had to use a diamond-edged blade to do it, that lid was COMIN' OFF!
Chapter 3) Esther; I Sell Myself to the Evilest Man in the World!
