Chapter 4 has been edited as of 6/2/10 :D
Enjoy the more maturely-written version instead of the crappy version. I'll be editing practically ALL the suckish-ass chapters that need fixing up.
"Wow..."
It was a magnificent place, at least a thousand times more elegant than what Ayame was accustomed to. The floors were either of white marble or mahogany wood, so highly polished she could see their reflections when glancing down. Before them was a grandmaster staircase with fine red carpeted stairs and golden railing and banisters.
She could hear the rain pattering against the many windows she had seen from the outside of the complex.
Sasori paused in the great, open hall and rotated about eighty degrees, pulling his hood down simultaneously. His wet sneakers made a loud squeak in the empty mansion on the smooth floor. He glanced at her; even from afar, the brown eyes seemed to be inviting her to come just a little bit closer. Ayame had remained stationary after the door had closed, fiddling with the straps of her backpack.
He raised his pale hand to her, nodded once, encouraging her to take his offer. They were going to be seeing each other more often than not from now on, so why not familiarize themselves?
The red-haired scorpion watched her bite her soft pink lip, something he found oddly cute. But after a few long, painful seconds of mental debate, Ayame began taking small steps in his direction, closing in the space. She took her own sweet time, her head lowered, and his arm finally wrapped around her upper back.
Sasori, not one to promote shyness and feeble-mindedness in others, lowered his head towards the youth in his grasp to speak some words of comfort:
"No need to be shy, Ayame dear. I promise to make your stay here as comfortable as possible. Alright?"
Ayame glanced up. What beautiful green eyes she had. He couldn't decide whether it was the shade of grass or pine needles. Two totally different greens on the color wheel, yes, but still… And they were hidden behind those long, dark bangs..Again, beautiful. And..and…she smelt of rain. What a wondrous scent…One he always admired, always cherished. The fact that he had been born and raised in an arid desert with little moisture probably had something to do with that.
All these swiftly-changing thoughts were kept in the sanctity of his own mind, of course. Sasori knew how to keep a straight face without the babbling words inside leaking out to the outside world.
"Yes..Sasori sir." Stay polite. Remember, he owns you now. He can do whatever he wants to you.
He gave her a smile. Well, it wasn't really a smile, but it wasn't a frown either. But it told her "I know what you're thinking right now. Oh well.".
"Let me show you the living area." He gestured toward an open doorway that lead to a red carpeted room.
Sasori didn't bother to hear her reply, for it would have more than likely been something just as submissive and meaningless as the last sentence she had uttered.
Ayame was steered into the living area, her first, him second.
It had other entryways to other parts of the mansion, like the kitchen to the right (they could've entered the kitchen if they had just taken a few more steps, turned left, and walked the length of the living area) and a hallway straight ahead.
On the wall to her left was a plasma screen TV nearly covering the whole wall. Positioned in its direction was a black leather sectional sofa, a recliner still in the reclining position, and a handmade rocking chair. There was a coffee table and blocks of different colors spilled out onto the rug that it was resting on.
Ayame cocked her head, trying to make sense of it. Sasori spoke from her right.
"Tobi's. One of the members. He's such a man-child you wouldn't believe it if you didn't see it for yourself. You'll meet him later along with the others."
Others? As in, he didn't live alone?
Well, of course with a place this big, and Sasori Akasuna being a gang member n' all, it would make sense that he would be living within close proximity of his fellow members. But that thought caused Ayame to become worried. Would he share her with the others? Assuming they were men, of course. But then again, what if there were female members who "swung the other way"?
Shudder.
They took a very short and sweet tour of the kitchen and then the dining room on the right wing of the house. It was as if he was a salesman and she was a potential buyer for the property. All feelings were very mature, very professional, very unlike what the atmosphere should have been: Chauvinistic, sadistic, domineering, him seeking control of her, like all the other men before. Where did all this nicety stuff come from? Did he treat all girls this way? All whores this way? Yes, she called herself a whore. That's what she was.
Well, technically a prostitute, since she earned money for the sex, but nothing could rid her of the shame of actually enjoying some of the disgusting encounters with men in the alleys, back before she knew what she was.
They had returned to the foot of the staircase. Ayame hadn't even noticed, and she walked right into her owner, instantaneously snapping her out of her reverie.
"Oomph—! Oh, I-I'm sorry, sorry!" Head bowed, whispering her regrets to her master, waiting for punishment. It was a stupid thing to do. She had seen his strength awhile before out on the street. What stopped him from unleashing all hell onto her, within the comforts and privacy of his own home?
A hand descended on her shoulder, but it was a gentle touch, though his voice was anything but:
"Yes, yes, I know." He said impatiently, patting her along, as if she were some stubborn dog that was pulling against its leash, "Come on. I still need to show you my room."
Lifting her head, Ayame saw that Sasori was already scaling the staircase.
She followed suit, no more than five steps behind him at all times.
Silence. She hated silence. But luckily there was something she was curious about. She decided to ask the redheaded gangster.
Ayame was surprised at how quiet her question was. "So..Where are the others?"
But the red haired youth heard her, amazingly. "Out feeding."
This guy says has an odd way with words.
They reached the last step, and a huge clap of thunder sounded off outside. It sounded as if the heavens were waging a war with the earth.
"Leader is almost here." Sasori noted in his head. "But I don't want him and the others to meet her. Not yet."
He turned left down a dark hallway. Ayame hesitated for a second, but then proceeded to follow him.
Dark it was. And quiet too.
But something fascinating happened.
As Sasori reached a certain point down the way, two lamps attached to the walls on either side of him were lighted. No sound of a click that signaled them being turned on manually. They just did it all on their own.
But he paid no mind to this. He just kept walking at the same pace along the wooden floor, as if this phenomenon had never even occurred. Or he was used to it.
If this happened every time, Ayame had doubts that she herself would get used to it. I mean, it was so cool!
The light of the lamps gave Ayame insight to the interior of the house. Rows of doors on either side, like the lamps. At least two spaced apart before another light appeared.
As Ayame glanced side to side at the doors, attempting to find anything at all that could give her insight to Akasuna's comrades, she ran into something.
Him again. Right into his back.
Ayame let out a soft yelp and retreated at once. Sasori turned half-round. In the dim lighting she could see his dark brown, red-tinted eyes, calculating, methodical, analyzing, a pair that would draw any woman—or man—in like a bunch of true-blue suckers, not knowing what'd hit 'em before he most likely murdered them gangster-style; the unruly red locks that just flowed everywhere; his face… oh it just completed everything. How could she describe it? Beautiful, absolutely beautiful. An angel's face, fit for any stage of his life. Boy, teenager, manhood. Perfection. Smooth skin, thin, pinkish-red lips, perfectly sharp white teeth, a royal nose—
If I had a baby, I would pray to GOD that its face would be his. Wait… What the hell was that? That was the most inappropriate comment ever. I don't WANT to have sex with this guy, okay? I'm just trying to survive, like all the other hookers on the street are doing right now. Jeez!
"Ahem."
"Oh, I'm sorry!"
"You're making this into a habit, aren't you?"
Ayame felt her face warm up. Making a bad impression on our new employer, are we?
"I'm sorry, I'm not usually this c-clumsy, really."
Sasori gave her a lasting look, as if trying to decide if she was telling the truth or not. The lamps must've been lit by candles, for the light pulsed in his pupils like a yellow heart beat.
"Hm. Well, never mind. We've arrived to our destination."
Ayame's eyes settled on his pale hand, which now rested on an ornate doorknob. She watched him twist the handle, leaning a shoulder against the door in the process, and swiftly pushed himself through the entryway.
He held the door open for her, and Ayame quickly scurried in, avoiding eye contact. She made a quick sweep of the man's chambers:
It was much larger than what her room had been at home, obviously, but it was modest at best. A king sized bed furnished with black wood propped on four feet, with black covers pulled back neatly to reveal white sheets underneath. The carpet was plain blue, darkened by the lack of sunset outside the window opposite of them and on the wall adjacent to the bed. There was a light brown dresser next to another door left slightly ajar, which Ayame surmised was his own personal bathroom.
On that dresser were stacks of CDs piled high. Odd, Sasori Akasuna didn't seem like the music-listening type. But what type was he, anyway?
And her eyes finally rested on a workbench and desk, pushed into the upper right corner from where they stood. It had drawers and a desk lamp with papers and tools strewn about. Something lay atop some curly shavings… looked like a block of half-carved wood or something—
She inhaled at the sound of the door swinging shut. Stay calm…Stay calm…
Ayame felt hands descend upon her shoulders from behind, and frequent experiences with perverted old men put her instantly on the edge. She clutched the strap of her backpack tightly between bony hands, wringing them bloodless. Her shoulders rose to her ears, but then settled back almost instantly, for she hadn't meant to reveal her displeasure of being touched.
Cold breath near her ear.
"Relax." The red haired youth's voice murmured. So close. So very close. "This will be a completely new life for you—"The sensitive skin of her ear could feel every breath that issued forth from his mouth as he formed words. Oh God. "— I own you, but I promise to treat you humanely, and not punish you unless absolutely necessary."
Why was he explaining his intentions—if they were true—to her? Why not keep her in the dark and have her way with her, like every other man she had the displeasure of meeting fondly had the habit of doing? And absolutely necessary? How necessary? Like if she even breathed out of turn, would he give her the whip, deeming it unfairly as "necessary punishment" for her "wrongdoings"?
Sasori took her silence as compliance and comprehension of his explanation; he retreated his head from her shoulder and straightened his back. He then sidestepped her and patted her gently between the shoulder blades, nudging her to his bed.
"Sit down. Unload. You're a guest here."
Ayame nervously stepped to the bed. She slung her backpack off her shoulder and set it down next to her. She pushed some hair out of her eyes to glance up at the gangster, who had now pulled off his cloak and kicked off his sneakers in a heap next to his feet.
His body was thin, but well proportioned. His skin was pale all around, but not sickeningly so. He wore a sleeveless white muscle shirt, though there were no protruding muscles to speak of; his cargo pants trailed all the way down to his toes, which busied themselves by curling and uncurling themselves into the carpet.
Silence. Awkward silence. Sasori hated it.
He took a step forward, hands clenched at his sides without his knowing.
"Are you hungry, child?" he inquired softly, attempting proper gentlemanly manners when concerning a lady.
She shook her head slowly, avoiding his eyes.
Another step, then another, and then another, silently padding the carpet. He stopped just short of where she sat.
"Are you sure? I could prepare something for you. No? Are you too warm, too cold?"
"N-no. I'm perfectly fine."
A little bit of impatience began to bubble in the back of his head. What was wrong with this girl? Did she think she could blow off his hospitality so easily?
He eyed her carefully. She didn't seem like one with an ungrateful personality, but why spend time judging people based on their looks? It will get you nowhere in life.
She rubbed her eye with a fist, then sighed softly.
"Tired are we? You have clothes to sleep in, I trust? Good. Change into those and prepare yourself for bed, will you, I need you to be full of energy tomorrow, for I want you to make a good impression for the others."
Oh dear. A good impression for the others?
Numbly and mechanically, Ayame slipped off her beaten sneakers and set them neatly by her feet on the carpet. She turned and hunched over her backpack, unzipped it, and pulled out the most decent sleeping clothes she could find.
While this was going on, Sasori seated himself in a chair by his work bench set against the wall across from the bed, crossed one leg elegantly over the other and watched her fiddle around with her belongings.
From what he could tell, the girl he had purchased from one of the local sleazes in this God forsaken city was a mistake. She seemed awkward and submissive. He wasn't in the mood to house a ditsy teenager who seemed to have no unique qualities to speak of.
Though…he had seen fire and a kind of tenacity in that alley way, and the gall she had for running away and making him run all over town after spending twenty-five grand on her white ass. Way too much for the likes of her, better whores than ones bred by perverts to blow for their money.
But that stubbornness, coupled with sweet blood, was rare nowadays.
Brains dumbed down by MTV, "popular" music, and lack of exercise was making the pickings hard and few between. The others had to settle for one night stands with runaway children living on the streets, hookers, the homeless, a stray dog once or twice, or a night guard sleeping on the job.
If she turned out to have no brain to speak of, he would keep her for her delicious blood, nothing else. But if she turned out to have, oh say a personality, then who knows? Maybe he could make a companion out of her…
Boom of thunder, flash of lighting.
After finding an outfit without too many noticeable stains or holes in embarrassing places, Ayame stood and turned to the red-haired man lounging in a swivel chair, who watched her every move with half-closed, yet piercing russet eyes. His legs were crossed in a graceful manner with a pale hand supported his head on the arm rest. She noticed he had quite long nails, longer and more manicured than any she had ever seen on someone of the male gender.
Sasori gazed at her for a silent moment, then gestured, toward a door left ajar on his left.
"Bathroom's right there. Take as long as you like."
Ayame nodded gratefully, and traipsed into said facility, closing the door softly behind her.
Sasori only had to wait for a few moments before Ayame emerged, dressed in a very large grey T-shirt and carrying her balled-up clothes in her hands.
Sasori sat up, noticing something was amiss with her outfit.
"Hm.. Ah, are you wearing any pants?"
"Huh? Oh yeah." Ayame lifted the hem of her shirt to reveal a pair of very tiny shorts that barely covered her ass.
"Father never bought me any long pants if he could help it." She said this as if stating to him that two plus two equals four.
"I see." Silence.
Flash.
Then:
"S-So, where do I sleep?"
He looked at her, no doubt with a slight quizzical look on his face.
Ayame heard the red head exhale through his nose in a slightly impatient fashion, and turn his sights to his bed.
"My bed, of course."
Oh dear God. Already? Well, what did she expect? Not to sleep with him? Fat chance. She was bought and shipped here. What other purpose could she serve him except as a sex toy?
She felt her face grow hot from the painful realization. She stared down at her toes instead, focusing on grabbing at the nap of the carpet with the little appendages. "Oh!..Mm..But uh, that wouldn't be right. Where would you sleep?" Don't say with you, don't say with you, don't say with you, don't say with—
"I'll find a place, no need to worry."
She quickly glanced up, a confused look crossing her face. Ah, she expected him to sample the goods the first night, did she? To be expected, he supposed.
Sasori had his long nimble fingers near his lips as he held his head up to look at her; it seemed as if he was too tired—or too lazy—to use his neck to support his own cranium. He stared at her behind curved bangs and gentle black eyelashes. His mouth slowly curved into a beautiful, taunting smirk.
Ayame, feeling heat grow on her cheeks from the gangster's effortless attractive flash of sardonic amusement, lowered her eyes once more.
How could she be charmed this easily by a man? He was courteous, yes, but she didn't even know him. Surely, being involved in suspected criminal activity would make him one of those psychopaths who feel nothing and sweet-talk their way out of convictions.
Flash…..Boom…
Strong, firm hands gripped her shoulders, and Ayame lifted up her head with a start. She glanced behind her. He was right there! with a small smile on his face, blood-colored bangs obscuring his wonderful eyes. How did he—
But he was steering her to the bed before she could finish the thought.
The dark silky covers were pulled back.
Flash.
And he helped her into bed.
Boom.
Such a gentleman he was, or like a father assisting a toddler.
She was tucked in with great care; Sasori took his time rearranging the covers and fluffing the pillows just so. His long red locks hung about limply, and brushed back to their original place when he lifted his strange gaze to hers.
"Sleep well, child." Sasori smoothed out the girl's dark bangs with the tips of his fingers, then dared to stray down her cheek for a few lingering seconds.
The comfy mattress coupled with the thick pillows and soft sheets knocked Ayame out almost instantly.
Boom.
Sasori stared down at Ayame, watching her slowly enter the first stage of REM. Her breathing was already slowing. Little wonder, after that marathon they both ran through the streets earlier…
A soft sigh escaped his rosette-tinted lips, and he glanced at the alarm clock sitting on the bedside table.
9:30 P.M.
A little early for his tastes, but he hadn't a meal in awhile, so therefore he hadn't his usual strength. Besides, he had run how long through the damned city?
There was always tomorrow.
"Might as well get some sleep myself."
The gangster's feet padded themselves across the room to the east wall. He placed the bare toes of his foot against it, then the heel.
He pressed his fingers tips to the wall, and they stuck like glue. Once he was surely stabilized, Sasori began to climb.
He scaled the wall until he reached the ceiling, and then transferred himself onto ceiling via crawling. When he arrived at his favorite spot above the bed, he stood, arms at his sides. His hair hung limply off his head in midair. He felt no nausea or weakness or sensation of blood rushing to his head at high speeds. No, he had eliminated that little nuisance a long time ago.
He glanced down at Ayame, who lay in bed, fast asleep. He watched her chest rise and fall from beneath the covers. Flashing lightning illuminated the window panes on the bedspread (and the whole room) momentarily, before winking out and submerging the whole room in darkness once again just as quickly.
Tomorrow, the real work will begin.
"Sleep well child."
Then the red-haired gangster closed his now carmine eyes and slept soundly.