Chapter 25: You May Be Right, I May Be Crazy
Dunbroch Bank and Trust boasted one of the most secure deposit safes in all Ameripan. Whether it truly was had never been proven, but it was true that there were few criminals who had ever managed break into its vaults and rob the place clean. However, that might not have to do with the state-of-the-art security technology and solid building layout as much as the formidable superhero that guarded the city of Dunbuoka.
The formidable superhero however was now distracted with matters in Burgeshima, which meant that, for all the security that the bank could have, it was vulnerable.
"Good afternoon, sir. May I help you?"
"I'm here to retrieve something for my employer from the deposit vaults." The trim-cut fellow in the suit handed the relevant documents over the counter to the receptionist, who took them and examined them. The receptionist then dialled in a number on her phone and picked the handset up, holding it against her ear. After waiting for a moment, she spoke into the mouthpiece, "We need a 444, Class Platinum. Thank you."
"If you don't mind, I'm in a bit of a hurry," said the trim-cut fellow, brushing his coat straight while glancing at his watch.
"Make it snappy," the receptionist added, before dropping phone back onto the switch hook.
A minute later, a smartly-dressed young man came to retrieve the customer waiting at the counter. The customer greeted him politely, and allowed himself to be led into a meeting room, where the banker explained that he needed to examine all the relevant documents before he could access a 444, Class Platinum safe. It was their most secure deposit safe, after all, and everything needed to be in order before they could proceed to the vaults itself.
"Signatures from three members of the board is there right on the first page," the trim-cut customer said, while handing over the file. He seemed to be watching the banker very carefully.
The banker then proceeded to examine the documents, noting the authorisation document, as well as the other required letters for the opening of the safe. He then told the customer with a smile, "It seems that everything is in order, Mr. -"
"-Rice," the customer had an odd smirk on his lips as he said his name, as if he thought his own name was hilarious. "Patrick Seashore Rice. My friends all call Paddy for short."
"Well, Mr. Rice," the banker continued on in a professional manner. "I will take you down to the vault. I assume you have the key fob."
'Mr. Rice', who was still very much amused that his made-up name had not been scrutinised, removed a small black token with '444' written on it.
"Excellent. Would you give me a minute?" The banker then reached over to the telephone, dialling in a set of numbers that were too long to be for an internal call.
'Mr. Rice' then frowned, eying the young banker closely. "Is there a problem?"
"No, sir," the banker answered politely with the handset still pressed against his ear. "It's just it's our protocol to call up the signers of the document - proof of authenticity - before we carry on. I hope you understand that."
"I see." The trim-cut customer's expression was unreadable as he stuck a hand into his pocket, removing a small calligraphy box and setting it in front of the man on the opposite end of the table. "Oh, I was told to hand this to you."
"This?" The young banker picked up the box in bewilderment. In that very moment his fingers touched the box, however, a massive change fell over the banker. He wasn't aware of it, of course, since it wasn't a process that could be observed with the naked human eye. However, his polite cheerful attitude suddenly vanished and he dialled a new set of numbers into the keypad, demanding in the mouthpiece, "Security."
"What?" 'Mr. Rice' was shocked. "But I gave you all the correct documents. I-" the customer suddenly paused himself, glancing around the meeting room, completely perplexed. "How did I get here?"
When the security guards came bursting in the meeting room, the banker let a careless wave at them to lower their weapons. "False alarm. I think this man has just wandered in here by accident. Could you escort him off the premises, please?"
The security guards did as they were told, dragging the babbling customer, who suddenly had no idea why he was there. The banker didn't let go of the token key, of course, though it wasn't protocol for the bankers here to keep the keys of their clients. Still, the one now controlling the actions of the young banker now didn't care if he was breaking protocol.
"Okay," came the cheerful voice of the unnoticed shadowy figure in the backdrop. "That was a close call."
13 watched as his new host gathered up the documents, holding the key fob too. The calligraphy case he tucked in the inner pocket of his coat, where it would be safe and hidden. He then departed the meeting room and his invisible, intangible shadow followed closely behind, sending him both mental and verbal instructions on what to do next. Of course, the banker wasn't actually aware of his presence. The fellow's guilt of embezzlement did the trick of hiding 13 from his notice, and that made it easier for the ghostly vigilante to steer him to do what he wanted him to do.
The vaults of the 444, Class Platinum deposit safe was located underground, as were all the vaults. In order to get there, one needed to take a special lift that was hidden at the back of the bank offices. The lift itself could only be accessed via key fob and an eye scan from an authorised staff member. Fortunately, both of these were easily provided by 13's host and the lift ride was a smooth, if not boring, one.
When they stepped out of the lift – well, 13 was practically sprinting out. Like he had said, he was in a bit of a hurry – they navigated through the maze of the vaults until they came to the vault labelled '4'. The young banker then went over to the scanner at the side of the door, where he took up out the document of signatures. He allowed the camera on the scanner to capture the image of the signatures, and the computer took a few second to process them. Eventually, the screen on the scanner told them that the authorisation signatures were approved and 13 let out a breath that he didn't know he was holding. The signatures, after all, had been forged, and he had worried that they weren't close enough to the originals for the security system to recognise them. He had Flynn Rider's excellent penmanship to thank for that, he supposed.
His host then approached the vault door and turned the massive wheel attached to its circular entrance. The rolling of the heavy gears echoed through the hallways before ending with a heaving thud and the banker grabbed the grips on the side of the door, pulling it open.
The interior of vault number 4 was dark, lit only by blacklight beams from above and it was freezing inside. Both 13 and his host stepped in.
13 let out a low whistle as he scruntinised the safes, lined side by side with their respective keypads, key readers and thumbprint scanners on their opaque doors. It would be an amusing endeavour, he supposed, if he were to open all the safes here and see what valuables lay within them, but he didn't have that kind of time, so he focused on getting the safe '444' open.
The young banker approached the safe and was about to touch keypad when 13 stopped him. "If you don't mind, this is going to be a delicate procedure."
He touched the shoulder of his host and felt his fluid form merging with the body of the young banker. When he blinked, he found himself looking through different eyes, with also a sense of gravity and air pressure now pushing against his body. The banker's mind had been put to sleep, which gave 13 free reign over the motions of his body.
13, through his host's form, typed the appropriate numbers into the keypad. He didn't need to learn them, because his host already knew the code and he merely needed to dig through the memories of the snoozing mind to find what he needed. The code was correct, and the little green screen on the safe told him that he could proceed to the second step of the unlocking process.
The vigilante then proceeded to tap the key fob against the key reader, and this was met with an approving 'beep' from the safe. And now came the toughest part: getting through the thumbprint scanner. He hadn't expected it be there, if not he would have prepared for it. He supposed that it had been a recent addition.
Even though he shifted between physical bodies quite often, that wasn't to say that 13 couldn't carry anything with him. In a matter of fact, when he took possession of his host's body, he could actually alter the nature of the body such that it became essentially a physical version of his spirit form. That meant essentially that he could carry things on his person, like the twin revolvers strapped to his belt, his armour, his mask, and oh, a cell phone.
13 tapped the screen a few times, then placed the device against his ear. He glanced above him, wondering if he was in far too deep underground for the phone get a signal.
Apparently, his fears were unfounded, for he heard a familiar, high-pitch scream, "Hellllllllluuuuuuuuuuuuuu!"
"Vanellope," he rebuked, pulling the phone a little distance from his ear. "Just because I can't go deaf anymore doesn't mean that my host won't. So, do you mind?"
"Sure. Of course. Anything for my favourite crime fighter." He heard the girl say, her tone patronising. He rolled his eyes. He couldn't believe that a person that young could be so annoying. "What's up, Scar-face?"
"I'm in the vaults of the Dunbroch Bank & Trust in Dunbuoka," 13 informed her, ignoring the insult. "I'm stuck at a thumbprint scanner. I hadn't anticipated this."
"Well, that sucks. Like you."
"Not helping," he hissed in the mouthpiece. He glanced at his watch. There wasn't much time left for him to travel from here back to Burgeshima.
"I suppose I can scramble it for you, if you really, really want," the girl drawled lazily in the phone. "But what are you going to give me in return?"
"I'll help you build a new car," 13 said, starting to get a little annoyed. "Now, will you help me or not?"
"Fine, fine, fine." The girl finally gave in. "It had better be a sports car."
"Would you please help me scramble the scanner?" Exasperation seeped into his every syllable. "Please?"
"Just hold the phone against the safe door, won't you?"
13 did as he was told. To be honest, he had no idea how she did it. He had once considered himself fairly good at hacking, but he was no match to Vanellope's skill when it came to the digital world. She had a way with technology, almost like the way the Nightmare King had a way with darkness and his daughter with ice. He suspected that she might have had been a super, but with the state that she was in – that both of them were in, rather – she would never see her powers, if she had any, to fruition.
He then heard a 'whirring' sound as the lock of the safe withdrew itself. On the same screen of the safe, it read, 'Welcome, Alistair Krei.'
He pulled the phone away, speaking into it, "Thanks. I owe you one."
"You bet you do." He heard Vanellope yawn. "By the way, do you want some updates on the guys you've asked me to watch?"
"If you want to tell me." The phone was sandwiched between his ear and his shoulder as he pulled on the grip of the door, opening the safe. White smoke poured out from its interior, with ice bits biting on the walls of the safe door. A thermometer attached on the side of the safe wall indicated that the temperature had been set at -109 degrees Fahrenheit. Good. Krei had built the safe well.
"Okay. Well, the girl with the crazy red hair is still using her powers."
"No surprise there," he murmured as he stuck his into the safe, drawing out the small black case inside it. There was a table sitting conveniently in the middle of vault, so he carried the case over to it, putting it carefully down. He sighed. "I'll have to deal with her when I get back, I suppose."
"You remember how you were supposed to meet that dragon boy at the mausoleum? Well, he kinda vanished. From the word from the street, I think the Yakuza got him."
"Oh, great." Well, that was another problem that he had to deal with.
"Why did you even pick that place? You know that it isn't safe for normal people."
"I forgot about that part." He groaned at himself as he typed the code into the keypad of the safe. The first layer of bolts shot open. The second would only be undone by another code that he promptly entered. "Sumin Hill is a nice, peaceful place away from the eyes of the city. I didn't think about the traps."
"Oh, don't worry too much about it. From what I heard of the red, crazy teleporter's trying to find him."
"That doesn't make me feel any better," he answered as another set of locks undid themselves. Now, for the final code, which he punched in. "Her powers are dangerous."
"Oh, and that Big Hero 6 guy is still in the city. I'm pretty sure they're working together."
13 frowned as the last of the bolts drew themselves back, allowing him to turn the knobs of the case and open it. "You mean Hiro?"
"Yeah, that guy. The boy genius. Don't know where he parked the robot though." He heard her shifting in her seat. "Hey, T, you wanna know something I know that you don't?"
"What?" White smoke emerged from the cracks as he lifted the cover of the case, revealing a humble-looking pistol with a set of bullets next to it. The bullets, however, were not resting on the Styrofoam casing like the pistol. They were instead suspended in a glass canister, frozen solid in suspension. Such a simple set of items – so difficult to retrieve.
"When I helped you scramble the thumbprint scanner, apparently there were a bunch of defensive algorithms I didn't notice." Her cocky manner had faded into a sheepish tone. "Oops."
He wasn't sure what it meant, but it didn't sound good. "Why's that a problem? I still got into the safe."
"It kind of sent a message to the Krei Tech, so they now know it's gone-"
"I can deal with that-"
"-and the security personnel has been notified-"
"-well, okay. That's unfortunate." It was more than unfortunate. He had been hoping to avoid that all together.
"-and the vaults are going into lockdown mode in-" he heard her pause as she tapped her screen from her end. "Three, two-"
He slammed the case shut, hurling himself out of the vault just in time to see its heavy door slam shut, the wheel whirling back automatically to secure it. He then noticed just in time thick metal grills descending down the hallway, no doubt meant to stop any thieves from escaping. Cursing under his breath, he darted down the corridor, ducking his head and sprinting as fast as he could. However, just before he could reach the lift, a thick metal grill slammed right in front of him with a deafening 'BOOM'.
A string of profanities escaped his lips as he slammed his fist against the rails. He wasn't carrying any explosives on himself right now, and even if he was, it wouldn't be advisable to make an explosion while underground. It would cause a collapse and he and his host might be trapped under the rubble forever. Placing his phone to his ear, he nearly shouted into it, "Vanellope, can you override it?"
There was no answer. The signal for the phone was dead. The security system might have cut it off on purpose.
He cursed again as he slipped the phone back into his pocket, struggling with what he needed to do. Eventually, he knew that he had to abandon ship. "Oh, well."
He pulled his spirit out of the young banker's body, taking with him the case, awakening his host's mind but not his consciousness. He then directed the banker to pull the calligraphy box out of his coat pocket and slide it through holes of the grill, stopping right in front of the elevator.
And then the lift doors flung open suddenly and outpoured several securities guards, some strapped in armour and all carrying firearms. "Freeze and put your hands!"
The young banker did as he was told, feeling extremely baffled about what was going, or what he was even doing here. 13, however, hidden from sight and sensation once again, merely watched and waited.
He noticed that while some of the securities personnel had stepped forward to question the intruder, one of them noticed the small box lying on the floor and picked it up, examining it curiously. 13 felt a shift in his bones and he smiled as his spirit form slipped through the grill, leaving his old host trapped behind, still completely bewildered. The vigilante didn't feel guilty about leaving the young banker behind. The fellow, after all, needed to pay for all the times he had stolen from his clients and employers.
His new host, a sour-faced ex-military middle-age type, managed to slip back in the elevator under the guise of getting more help for their situation. However, after returning to ground level, he led his host to another elevator, heading up to the highest floor of the building instead. Whilst in the body of his previous host, he had learned that there was helipad there, with some functioning helicopters parked there. As he sunk into the body of his new host, he discovered to his delight that the ex-military guy apparently was an ex-helicopter pilot.
It wasn't difficult to break into one of the vehicles and before anyone could stop him, he was sitting behind the windscreen, flickering switches and hitting buttons. 13 heard the rotary wings above him circling powerfully as the vehicle was lifted off the ground. He gazed at the bolted case that he had dropped in the empty co-pilot seat. In the insulated hard-cover, it held the tiny weapon that had cost Alistair Krei his life.
"Well, Pitch Black," the vigilante breathed as he pushed his hand against the cyclic stick, moving the helicopter forward, "here comes your doom."
1983 was a year full of incredibly good music, with hits from Billy Joel, Bonnie Tyler, Irene Cara and many others that were remarkable enough to last till our day and age.
However, it was only April at this point of time of 1983 that we were looking at. That meant that Ameripan was trapped between with two terrifying catchy songs from 'The King of Pop'. Teenagers loved those songs, of course, because clearly there was something about 'Billie Jean' and 'Beat it' that was clearly relatable or appealing to hormonal, rebellious youngsters.
He, however, was a not a teenager, and had not been one for thirty years. The funky, hip beats and the breathy singing left him cringing in his seat as he turned the volume of the radio decidedly down. However, even then, this music – if that what it was – was far too distracting for him to focus on his reading. In the end, he gave up on listening to the radio. So he collapsed the antenna of the device and instead fitted a cassette into the centre of the player. His study was then filled with the melodramatic piano thumping of Chopin, which was much more suited to his taste.
"Makkuro-san? Where are you, Makkuro-san?"
"In here, Michiko," he answered just as he turned the page in his book. As he often did on a Sunday night, he indulged himself in a stirring novel. The paperback for nourishment of the bibliophilic appetite was a tale of vengeance: The Count of Monte Cristo. It had a convoluted, complicated plot about the elaborate schemes that a man enacted upon those whom he had deemed to have wronged, resulting numerous deaths, tarnished reputations and revealed secrets. It was all together a very colourful, but absolutely unrealistic tale. Still, it was entertaining and he enjoyed the reprieve apart from the piles of documents that he usually had to read.
"Reading that children's book again, Makkuro-san?" His wife was hovering at the door, expression amused.
"This is hardly a children's book, Michiko. There's murder, scandal and way too much degenerate activity for children to hear about it," he answered loftily as he turned the page, noting from the corner of his eye that she had sidled up next to him and was resting her arm against the back of his chair. "I hope you haven't been reading this kind of material to our daughter."
"Oh, don't worry. I just got her started on Dracula last night." She idly combed a hand through his dark locks – the black strands from which his nickname had been derived. That, and his fellow soldiers had thought of him as cold and heartless. "You should see the faces she makes when it gets to the blood sucking."
He paused his reading, craning his neck up to her with an incredulous expression.
Michiko just laughed, draping her arm over his shoulder and reclining herself against him, leaning forward as if sharing a secret. "I'm only joking, Makkuro-san. Why're you so serious all the time?"
"You know how bad her nightmares get," he snapped, a little annoyed as he returned to his book. "I have half a mind to stop you from reading to her at all, if this is what you're bringing into her over-active imagination."
"Oh?" She sounded offended, but he knew that she wasn't really. "Aren't you the one who's always indulging her flights of fancy?"
He let out a huff of impatience. "Yes, but not on things that scare her out of her wits! I promote healthy imagination, like-" he floundered for a bit as he scrapped up the memories "well, space travel, and adventure, and botany, -"
"Space travel?" she repeated, a smirk playing on her lips.
He sent a plaintive look her way. "She may or may not idolise Neil Armstrong. One step for man, and all that nonsense."
"Well, that's-" Michiko hesitated, her mood abruptly reversed, "-that's unfortunate."
His wife suddenly became withdrawn, pulling away from him and wringing her hands together. He noticed it and immediately closed the book, because as interesting as it was, it wasn't that important. 'The Count of Monte Cristo' was abandoned on the table as he rose from his chair, reaching towards her. "Michiko-"
"I'm fine." She batted his hand away, but he still approached her anyway, taking her hand and drawing nearer to her. "There's nothing wrong with me. I'm in perfect-"
"-Michiko-"
"-control of my feelings," she ended rather harshly, still looking wild-eyed, shaking shoulders betraying her. She ran a hand back through her hair roughly and blinking away the tears that had welled up abruptly in her eyes, trying to hold back the tide that he knew was banging against the door of her mind. "I just-"
He shushed her gently, wrapping her in his arms from behind and entwining her hand with his own. He could feel her breaking inside as he nuzzled against her neck. "Mi-chan, you worry too much."
"I can't help it." Tears were streaming down her face.
He let out a quiet sigh, letting her cry it out for a while. He had suggested before that she should see someone about all the swings in mood she'd been having, but she was stubborn. She was a professional, she said. She wouldn't be caught dead skiving while she was healthy and able - at least, 'healthy', according to her own definition. She had a living to make, and she didn't care that his salary and 'employee' benefits were more than enough to cover their expenses. She wanted to work, was a bit obsessed with it, even. She needed a distraction from the truth - the truth lying fast asleep two doors away from them.
"She's never going to-"
"-no, she might. Wait and see. She'll surprise us all."
"She'll never make it to that-"
"Yes, she will." His grip over her hand was strong. "You have to learn to believe, Michiko."
"You believe, Kozmotis. The gods never gave me what I want." Whenever the nicknames stopped, it was never a good sign. He pulled away from only to turn her to face him. Tears pelted down on his yukata and her speech was slipping as her throat closed up, expression torn between fury and grief. "By the time a donor turns up, she won't even be-"
She broke it off at that point of time, and thank the gods for that, because he wasn't sure of how to respond. It was an unnatural position for him to be in, to be honest. He had always been a serious, stern sort of fellow, so having to be the optimist in the situation was incredibly exhausting. But his military days had taught him how to trek a mountain, dig a trench and hold the line under less than two days of sleep, so exhaustion was something he had no fear of. In fact, some would say, there was very little that he did fear.
Perhaps then it was no wonder that people thought he really was heartless. That deep inside him, there was nothing but hollow, dark cavity of emptiness. Those who knew him well knew better, of course, but by repute alone, all he was was 'Makkuro' – black like soot. As black like pitch.
It was at that moment the telephone rang. He was reluctant to get it, not with his wife still struggling to hold the pieces of herself. But Michiko was a stubborn woman, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her palm and shoving him towards his work desk. "Go. I'll be alright."
He started to say something, but the ringing became more insistent, so he left her to wipe her tears as he marched over to the phone, picking up the handset. Whoever was on the other side of the line had better have a good reason for calling on a Sunday night. "Hello?"
"General Pitchiner, thank the heavens we got to you!" The voice on the other line sounded relieved, but there was urgency at the back of it nonetheless. "We need down you at the HQ pronto, sir! Something terrible's happened!"
"What's going on?" he asked, taken aback by the abrupt news. He shot a glance to Michiko, who was forcing herself to take deep breaths in and out, staring determinedly upwards as if by force she could keep the tears from rolling down.
"Look out of the window, sir."
He grabbed the entire telephone – handset and dial pad – and carried it over to the window, hoping that the mounting cord was long enough not to snap. He gazed out in the night as he was told. At first, he didn't notice anything remarkable. But narrowing his eyes and focusing, he realised what exactly was drifting in the wind and his mouth fell open. "But, how-"
"I can't explain on the phone, sir. Besides, Director Lunanoff wants to tell you about it himself."
"Manuel?" This whole situation was getting more puzzling with each moment. "What does the NSA have to do with this?" On second thought, he supposed such a peculiar situation as this could only be a result of an NSA matter.
"Daddy?" A small, high-pitched voice suddenly popped in. He swung around to face the doorway, an action that his tearing wife imitated. The little girl standing there had one hand clutching her toy pony while the other was scratching at her chest. Her face was twisted in distress as her eyes darted to her mother, then back to him. "I don't feel so good."
Kozmotis watched in horror as his daughter suddenly stiffened up and collapsed.
"Kumicho-sama, about your daughter-"
His head jerked up at the unexpected interruption, rising to his feet up at the same time, his hands clenched by his side. Shadows sprung up behind him, flooding his feet and surroundings, eager to strike.
The nurse jumped back, startled by the ominous shapes that had appeared. She readjusted her spectacles, holding her clipboard to her chest while her eyes rounded with in shock.
Sensing no threat and instead a disgusting amount of fear, Pitch pulled the reins on the shadows, feelings the darkness retreat with unwillingness as he clasped his hands behind him, gazing down at the shaking woman in uniform. "Yes?"
"Your daughter is fine. All her wounds have been t-treated and dressed, sir," the nurse said, still eyeing the shadows behind him with evident trepidation. "She can be discharged right this moment if you-"
He pushed past her, ignoring the little gasp she made when her body collided against the lamp standing in the corner of the waiting room. He walked into the ward - the single bed kind with a luxurious silk curtains and a wide screen TV, along with an adjacent sitting room, because as mad as he was with her, he wasn't going to let her have anything but the best – and drawled out, "Well, I hope you've wasted enough time here, because we need to-"
The ward bed was empty, with the side rail pushed down and the covers thrown over the side.
Flustered and annoyed, he made a hasty exit out of the room, asking the nurse, who was hovering outside. "Where is she?"
"She said that she wanted to find her sister, Kumicho-sama," another voice piped in. It was a health attendant, standing by the side of a push cart, who answered. When his gaze settled on her, she bowed in respect, continuing on, "She seems quite anxious to leave the bed the whole time, Kumicho-sama, as if the wounds hardly bothered her at all."
"She doesn't have a sister," he contradicted, frowning. For all his daughter insistence to keep her birth sister safe, she seemed to have become quite careless with whom she revealed this relationship to. He was displeased with it, for the last thing that he wanted was for that silly, dimwitted schoolgirl to get involved in their lives. But perhaps the horse from that stable had already bolted. "Which ward did she go?"
Walking on the floor of the lower class wards filled him with much irritation. Pitch Black didn't like moving around the plebeian masses as if he was one of them. Well, with his pale complexion and imposing stature, there was no way that he would ever be mistaken for one of them, but being forced to rub shoulders with the commoners without any intention of ripping the fears from their heart or throwing them out of the window felt incredibly unnatural, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth as he entered the plain, unimpressive, six-bed ward. Relief that only one bed out of the six were filled helped sooth a little of his wounded pride, but the scene before him still stirred in him a sense of unease.
His daughter stood three away from the foot of the bed, hands clasped and eye fixed on the comatose patient. The girl on the bed had bandages wrapped around her head and neck, with some kind of contraption keeping her chin from moving. There were splotches of bruises on the skin that could still be seen under the plastic mask, and her eyes were closed.
"What's she dreaming about?" Elsa didn't even look at him. For the ten years that he had her under his care, he had taught her to bow at his entrance and to give him her undivided attention in his presence. She had kept to it – except the rare occasions that she lost her temper – and he had been pleased with that. But here, she barely notice him.
He realised what she was asking him to do and though he considered flat-out rejecting her, he could see the fright in her posture and the tears in her eyes. Pitch sighed silently as he reached his mind out to the sleeping girl, his shadows passing into thought, searching the deepest recesses of her soul. He saw flashes of memory, a dark twisted version of the cathedral, and too often, the face of his daughter being slaughtered over and over. Never had he seen a sight in someone else's mind that bothered him as that of the Arendelle girl.
"Nothing," he lied, because last thing he was going to do was tell his daughter that her birth sister was dreaming of her. It was evident beyond doubt that the birth sister had recognized her by now, and the whole truth was out – even the ice. He turned to Elsa, but she didn't turn to him, just staring mournfully at the unconscious girl, as if with her eyes she could heal her.
Elsa let out then a sigh, and sounded like one in relief. "Good. I'm glad."
She wrapped her gloved hands around herself and it was as she did that he noticed the bandages that crept down from the back of her neck all the way down to her spine. When he had found her at the shattered cathedral, she had bleeding through her clothes there. Even with it patched out, it left a slight uneasiness inside of him that she had been so closed to being paralysed for life – or even killed.
And then he heard a small cry from her lips, broken and tearful, "Oh, Anna. I'm so sorry."
She took a step forward, but ice crept from under that shoe, spreading out in swirls and fractals. Pitch grimaced. With her emotions this loose, she shouldn't be out in public. Besides, the gala was starting in a few hours' time. They had other things to do – things that did not include crying over unconscious birth sisters.
"Elsa," he said, no gentleness in his manner but also no unnecessary harshness. "We have to go. The gala is in a few hours."
"But-" she unknowingly stretched a hand out towards to the girl wrapped in bandages.
"There's nothing you can do for her," he intoned dryly, straightening out his robes as he glanced at the clock hanging off the wall. "Besides, people would be expecting us. If we don't turn up, Shen and his people would hear of it and consider it a victory."
"You do realise it's because of your Yakuza that she's in this state," a cold hiss came from her, a jab that he had not been expecting. "You and your ridiculous gang wars."
But Pitch composed himself quickly, folding his arms and correcting her, "No. It's because you that she was there in the first place."
Though he could not read her, he could read his daughter's behaviour. By how she balled her hand to her chest and lowered her head, he knew that she completely agreed with his statement.
He placed a hand on her arm, making sure that it wasn't one of the wounded areas. "Come, let's go. We can have them update you on her status if you like."
He rather hoped that she would take that option. He didn't want to come back here, and he hoped that she didn't want either. Elsa's returned back to the role of a submissive daughter, letting him lead her out of the ward. But even as he dragged her away, her head was swung back, still staring at the girl in the bed until it was far out of sight.
"We'll have to get a new dress to hide the bandage," he said to her, trying to distract her with a new topic. "The last thing I want if for everyone to know how close the assassin came to kill you."
"Of course," was her absent-minded answer.
"For the sake of the girl, I don't think you should visit her in the hospital either," he went on, keeping his tone matter-of-fact though he was seething inside. "The more you are there, the more dangerous it is for her. You realise that, don't you?"
"Yes, Father." She nodded, but there was too much sorrow in her for him to see it.
Just as they made the turn to the lift lobby, a familiar blonde fellow appeared around the corner. A brief touch of his mind was all it took for Pitch to place the face of the fellow reporter who had accompanied the Arendelle girl. By the plasters on his face and arms, he had been treated for his injuries, which were mostly superficial. He was standing perfectly fine on two feet and his eye sight was in no way impaired, if his wide-eyed stare was anything to go by.
"Kumicho-sama." And he bowed. So apparently, he was not too stupid to learn proper etiquette. His eye then turned to Elsa, and his expression became mysterious. He inclined his head towards her. "Ms. Elsa Black."
Pitch had planned to just pass him by at that point, but his daughter called the lad, "Let me know when she wakes up. Please."
The blonde boy watched her for a moment, before nodding respectfully once again. "Of course."
"Thank you." There was a bit too much gratefulness in the expression of those words. Pitch tugged his daughter to leave.
As they stood side by side in the elevator, just the two of them, Pitch found himself eyeing the girl next to him. Her eyes were raised as the door closed, and they remained tilted up as they descended, and he knew that she was thinking of the girl she had left behind. Not just in the hospital, but also in Arenashi – to become the sisterless child she was.
He couldn't read his daughter's fears, but just by the way she acted, he knew that inwardly Elsa still cared for her birth sister. And now that the sister knew the truth, who could say what she might do? She might want to drag Elsa back to Arenashi, to resume her old name and to restore her last familial connection. He was sure there was part of his daughter who would also like to go.
His expression didn't change, but on the inside, he boiled. Pitch did not enjoy his daughter's loyalty being split. No, the redheaded reporter knew nothing about how to handle a cryokinetic, especially one's whose powers were so intricately-linked to emotions as his daughter's. As a normal person, she wouldn't understand the full weight of having powers – the trauma, the burden, the curse.
Elsa needed him for that. Elsa needed to stay. Elsa wanted to stay.
…she did want that, right?
The lift ride was silent.
He had managed to get a bouquet from the florist right before they closed up. So it was getting a little late and he was cutting it a little close, but it would be worth it. He rarely invested in things that weren't, after all.
Hans was quite familiar with the National Hospital of Burgeshima. Indeed, he had just left this place this morning, after he was discharged along with Merida after they had escaped with the Big Hero 6 leader from the White Peacock Triad. He had also recalled several times in his career that he had visited this place, finding his witnesses wrapped in bandages and strapped in tubes, conveniently in no position to testify in court. It was also a place where one of the most defining moment of his life had occurred, but that was a tale for another time.
For now, he would settle for her ward address.
"Visiting hours are going to end soon," the attendant at the counter spoke dubiously. "'Sides, only family's allowed."
He knew from what Anna had told him that she didn't have any family, so if he lied about being related, it wasn't at the cost of anyone else. Yet, he wasn't comfortable with presenting himself that way. So, he instead said, "I'm her boyfriend."
It wasn't exactly a lie. He wouldn't really mind if it became a reality. Soon.
Apparently, the 'boyfriend' card worked and he got the information that he decided. He then proceeded towards the lift landing, only for his feet to halt themselves abruptly as soon as he saw the two who walked out the parting doors of the lift. His eyes immediately darted around, seeking a suitable refuge. He did not want to be seen by the emerging party.
He noted a pillar just a little way from him and promptly hopped behind it, clutching the flowers in one hand while peeking around the curved sides of the pillar. He watched as the dark pale man and his fair-haired daughter go straight to the exit of the hospital, neither of them having noticed him at all. When they disappeared through the revolving doors, he let out a sigh of relief and headed to the lift landing, getting onto the next one that came by. Some of the staff who had observed his behaviour shot him peculiar looks, but then shrugged and chose to let him alone.
After arriving at the correct floor, he swept out into the corridor, avoiding the rushing nurses and the push-cart lying around, going straight to the ward in question. He frowned as he noted how easily it had been for him to get in here. Had he been a fellow of lesser intentions, this could have been probably extremely disturbing.
The open air ward was almost completely empty save for one bed. When he stepped towards it, he had to read the name of the board hanging of the foot before he could believe that it was really her. "Oh, gods, how, -"
"What are you doing here?" A cutting tone sliced through his thoughts, making him jump.
The flowers in his hand almost slipped and he spent a moment or two trying to keep it from falling out of his grip. He succeeded, catching his balance before shooting a glare at the burly blonde fellow sitting next to the bed. As far as Hans could see, he didn't seem to have bandages, just a plaster under his chin and a greenish gel smeared across the scar on his cheek. It struck him as rather unfair that one half of the pair from Arenashi was so gravely injured while the other seemed quite fine.
"I'm visiting," he finally gave his short answer, walking over to the girl's side and laying the flowers there. Here, he got a closer view of her wounds and he would have blanched, had he not seen far worse before.
"Really? And you two've met like what – twice?" the blonde guy, with the unpronounceable name that he couldn't quite place, remarked with definite scepticism.
"Even if we have only met twice," Hans said stiffly, furrowing his brows, "that doesn't make it less appropriate to visit someone you know to be hospitalised under sudden notice. Or perhaps someone such as you do not understand such common courtesies?" The jab there was plainly heard by the coldness of his words, and the young lawyer couldn't feel very ashamed with his rudeness. This blonde fellow was quite unpleasant to be around, and he wondered how on Earth Anna could stand to work with such a surly grouch.
Fortunately, the blonde hulk of a university student did shut up after that, only letting out a snort before starting to examine bandages on his arms. Hans bent his head down on the girl, eyes dipping down to her pale countenance.
Even in this state, with bandages swathed around her, there was something still remarkably charming he found about her. Perhaps it was the way she seemed so innocent, so optimistic and so full of life. He saw the world through the lens of cynicism and bitterness, and her contrasting personality attracted him like the way opposite poles attracted one another. He had never quite met a girl like her, and he was not quite ready to let her go. "How did this happen?"
"Hmm?" The other patient sitting in the chair lifted his head towards him.
"I heard on the television that there was a terror attack," Hans elaborated, brushing a lock of strawberry blonde away from the girl's face.
"'Terror attack'," the boy muttered in a way that indicated that it was not indeed a 'terror attack'.
"What do you mean?" Hans probed quietly, studying the bandages. Noting that the fellow across the bed was not looking in his direction – rather, distracted by a fly that flown into the room – he pulled back on the straps, trying to take a peek at the skin. Purple, bruised, definitely internal bleeding. By the cast they put her neck it might even have some fractures. It could take her months to recover – maybe even a year or two. He didn't have that kind of time.
"It was more like a battle than a terror attack." There was a sneer in the reporting intern's voice as he spoke. "A totally overpowered dude taking on a dozen armed soldiers then beating them to a pulp."
"Soldiers?"
"Gangsters. Bodyguards. Men in black." The blonde shrugged, then gave a shudder. "They all died."
"The Nightmare Yakuza?" Hans guessed. "And the opposing partner would be … the White Peacock Triad?"
"Well, definitely the Yakuza. Not so sure about whatever – Triad thing you're talking about." The boy then sat himself up straight, gaze levelled at the lawyer. "How did you figure it out so fast?"
"Well, after living here long enough, you get a feel of who's up to what," was Hans' reply, pulling away from Anna just in time. He took up her hand instead, which was surprisingly warm in his own and brought it to his lips, watching her with a mix of affection and concern. He then asked, "I suppose the target was Elsa Black, then?"
"Yeah," the boy answered slowly, narrowing his brows suspiciously at him. "How did you know?"
"She's a common target," Hans said, still not taking his eyes from Anna. "The precious darling to the Kumicho of the Yakuza, after all." He said the word Kumicho as if it tasted of poison – and to him, it really did. "So much as pronouncing her name wrongly could have you hanging suspended from a lamp post and beaten like a piñata."
The image must have sounded humorous to the Arenashi, because he let out a low chuckle. "Is that what happened to you?"
"No," Hans glanced at the clock hanging off the wall. He needed time to head back to the apartment to change later, so it wouldn't do to leave too late either. Still, peering down at the broken, weak form lying on the bed, he felt that it wouldn't be right he just left her in this state. "What happened to me was that I was stripped naked, mutilated repeated with a santoku all while being choked with a chain, stabbed in the stomach and subsequently left to die in a gutter." He said all this in a dry, emotionless manner.
"Hilarious," the other guy snorted, then noticed his expression. "Wait, that was a joke, right?"
Hans merely gave him a grim smile. "Of course."
His attentions then turned back to the girl, whose face was scrunched up, her forehead wrinkled. Whether it meant that she was in pain or that she was having a bad dream, or that it meant nothing at all, he didn't honestly know. Whatever it was, he hoped that he could put her out of her misery. It was starting to make him feel rather miserable. "Do you mind if we had a moment alone?"
The blocky fellow stared at him as if he just asked him to hand over the moon.
"I'll like to speak with her, and I'd rather that you didn't hear it," Hans explained.
The dense, stubborn fellow then pointed out, "She's unconscious."
"So?"
"She's not going to talk back to you."
"Yes, that's true," Hans conceded testily. "But it doesn't mean that she can't hear me."
The reporting intern shot him a quizzical look, but eventually did get off his bottom and made it for the hospital door. It was then the young lawyer noted his stagger and the cast around one of his legs. Well, good. So he didn't get out of the whole incident unscathed.
When he was sure that he was alone, Hans turned back to the battered, bruised girl. He took her hand back in his – it had slipped out of his hold somehow – and squeezed it gently. As ridiculous as it looked, he said to her, "Hey."
She didn't respond. Forgivable, since she was after all unconscious.
"Funny how quickly you managed to get yourself in trouble," he said, smiling despite himself and the situation. "That, and you've managed to survive this city for so long." He let out a little laugh, brushing her pale cheek with the back of his index finger.
Hans then sighed, his shoulder drooping a little as his hand went into his pocket, remove the antique watch sitting there. Sitting in his palm, he traced his thumb over the engraved revolution patterns of Saturn on the cover, before pressing the button on its side. The lid popped open to reveal the polished crystal surface of the watch, with the second hand twirling smoothly on the pivot, while the minutes and hours hands stood almost stark still, waiting for the opportunity to shift. He closed the lid, locking it with a 'click'.
He then placed the watch on the palm of the sleeping girl, cupping her limp hand with his own so that her fingers cupped the device. He guided her thumb to the button on the side, and with his help, her finger pressed onto the button, making the lid fly open just as he uttered, "Tempus edax rerum."
He watched as the hands of his pocket watch flew backwards, spinning wildly in circle after circle, first the second hand, then the minute hand, then the hour hand. He watched as the girl's appearance began to change. The pallor in her cheeks left and her healthy flush reappeared. The sagged posture she had adopted before had changed and he had no doubt the discoloration of her neck slowly faded under the bandages. All this while, Hans would glance occasionally at the wall clock to count the seconds.
Then he made her finger jab the button on the clock, making the spinning stop. He noticed that her breathing had eased greatly. If anything, all the bandages and casts meant to support her now made her shift uncomfortably in the bed, muttering all while scratching against her bandages. Hans quickly pocketed the watch before pressing on the button by the side of the bed that sent a nurse running into the ward.
"What's the matter?" The nurse glanced at Hans, then at the patient scraping against the uncomfortable weight that was around her neck, mumbling curses. The nurse hurried over to Anna's side, batting away her hand as she went to check on the bandages, finally deciding to help the girl remove them. Hans heard it when Anna let out a happy sigh as the layers of cloths were removed from her neck and her eyes fluttered open. Dazed, they darted around and she spoke up, her voice thin but clear, "What the – where am I?"
"Burgeshima National Hospital," the nurse answered promptly, finally peeling back the last layer. The uniformed healthcare professional was stunned as she stared down the wounds on the neck. There was still a bit bruising visible – he didn't want to do too good a job, after all – but it was clearly very, very much better in appearance compared to before. "Impossible. Just a few hours ago… it's a miracle."
"Why am -" the girl managed to toss herself back and forth, blinking away the brightness as she pushed herself to a sitting position. The nurse was rather alarmed when she did that, stepping forward to stop her but checked herself when she realized that the girl was more than capable of sitting up without help, and even turning her head without sign of pain. Anna rubbed the front of her throat though, because there was bound to be some discomfort remaining, but not enough to hinder her speech or movement any longer. She then spotted him and her entire face lit up. "Hans."
He gave her small smile. "Hi."
She grinned back widely, then frowned when she glanced down at herself, from the hospital gown to the bed she was sitting on. "Why am I-"
"The cathedral, remembered?" He stepped in to remind her. It usually took a while for the individual to link their old memories with present ones. "You were hurt by someone during the attack and fell unconscious."
"Right. Tai Lung has a nasty grip." She felt against her neck uneasily, then cocked her head at him. "Why are you here?"
"I'm going to get the doctor," the nurse announced, clearly mystified by the whole situation. She gave a nod to both Hans and Anna before making her hurried exit. The two didn't really seem to notice, of course, because they were pretty much enraptured by the presence of the other, grinning like the happy fools they were. He lifted his hand towards her and she shyly took it, a blush rising to her cheeks as she did. It wasn't hard to remember what he liked about her.
Finally, Hans spoke up, "Do you believe in love at first sight?"
"Jamie, can you get the door?" She was in a bit of a hurry. Work ended a little later than she had expected and now she only had three hours to go before the gala started. Three. Sure, it'd only take an hour to get dressed, and fifteen minutes to reach her destination by taxi, but there were other things she needed to do in preparation, like rehearse some mind tricks and practice using her psychic sword. She had after all only rediscovered how to unlock the weapons hidden in her psyche. There were still many things she had yet to be able to dig out of her consciousness, like her armour, her wings, her fighting abilities-
The bell rang again, more insistent than the last time. It was then she remembered the boy had told her he'd gone over to ask one of their neighbours if they could lend him an obi for his kimono. Sophie was still taking her nap, so that left her as the only person available in the apartment.
Tooth let a groan as she dropped and unhooked the tangled sari from her waist, throwing the fabric over her shoulder instead as a scarf. Deeming herself suitably modest in her petticoat and blouse, she stomped out of her room, countenance twisted into an irritated grimace as she turned the knob of the front door, yanked it open and asked, "Can I help you?"
At the door stood a wrinkled, bespectacled elderly man in a suit and by his side a young punkster in leather, wearing a cap and sunglasses, along with something long strapped to his back. The elderly man, who she felt was rather familiar in appearance, spoke to her, "Dr. Nithya Kadni?"
"Yes?" she raised her brow.
"Rick Dicker." He stuck a large but bony hand towards her. "We've met before."
And then she realised why she recognised him.
Glancing up and down the corridor, Tooth ushered the agent and his companion into the apartment, closing and locking the door behind them. If Jamie wished to return into the apartment, he would have to wait outside for a while. No sooner had she let them in didthe young punkster let out a loud exhale, ripping his sunglasses off, revealing the blue eyes see knew so well. "Well, that's went surprisingly well."
When he removed his cap to expose his dyed brown hair, with the white roots already coming into view, Tooth gasped before launching her arms around him. The lad was a little surprised, but returned the hug nonetheless, chuckling slightly.
"What happened?" She glanced from Jack, then to Agent Rick and she paled. "Oh, no."
"Yes, Dr. Kadni," the agent confirmed her, expression severe and even a little condemning. "The NSA know that he's back. If anyone else was handling this case, he would be in prison, or Canada, by now."
"Canada?" Tooth repeated, glancing at the boy, who was stripping off the raincoat that he had worn to hide his lanky form.
"I heard it's nice and cold on the mountains," was all Jack said in response, unstrapping the long thing from his back – his staff, she realized. Then he stared at Tooth, or rather, at her clothes. "Wow. A sari? Haven't seen you one in ages."
She wouldn't admit it, of course, but she felt a flush rising to her cheeks at that moment.
"Fortunately, it's me who been put in charge this round," the agent had droned on, not caring that about the other conversation that was happening. "I'm a man who can be reasoned with. Mr. Frost, as agreed," he turned to Jack, who straightened himself up immediately, "you have forty-eight hours to find this other cryokinetic and bring him-"
"-her," Jack corrected.
"-in for questioning – preferably at his, or her, free will. We do want to avoid conflict, after all." Agent Rick removed his glasses to wipe them against his shirt. "Should you fail to do so however, we expect you return to the NSA quietly and subject yourself to whatever we've decided."
"Yeah, yeah, I got it at the eighth time you said it." The boy rolled his eyes. "You got anything I should know?"
"Dr. Kadni." The old agent turned to face her. "You are expected to ensure that he complies."
"Of course." She nodded.
"In the future, kindly refrain from lying to us. It looks very bad on your record and we might have to suspend you from service." He then set his glasses on his nose, squinting at them through thick yellowed lenses. "Well, I'll take my leave before the Yakuza notices my presence. Good luck, Jack." For all his gruffness, he did seem to mean the last sentence.
When he departed, Jack's swivelled towards her, saying, "So... spying for the NSA, huh?"
She made a noncommittal noise. "If I was going to have to kowtow to Pitch, I rather it'd be worth something."
"Hmm." Jack rubbed his chin thoughtfully. She could tell that while he wasn't all that impressed by this news, it was much better than thinking that she was part of the Nightmare Yakuza. His next question was more light-hearted. "What's with the get-up?"
"There's a party tonight, hosted by Pitch and his crew," she told him, beckoning him to follow her to kitchen side of the room. As he slid himself into a chair by the dining table, she picked up the kettle and filled it at the tap. "The NSA wants me to keep a look out for high-end members there that might be implicated in Yakuza business."
She left out the part that she was also on a private mission of her own tonight. Jack would certainly support her more than the NSA would – he knew how dangerous Pitch was – but she also feared that he might stop her if he calculated the cost himself.
"Okay." He watched her as she filled the tea pot generously with matcha powder.
She sensed there was something he wanted to ask her. "What?"
"I was hoping to get your help on finding my imposter, actually." He tapped his fingers nervously on the table surface, as if she wasn't sure about her reaction to this. "I know you said that your powers are not exactly top-notch quality, since – you know – but I figure that you could try-"
"My powers are back."
"-like and see if you can – wait," Jack broke himself off, eyes widening. "What?"
She decided to give him a little demonstration. Stepping away from the kitchen counter, she channeled her energy into her surrounding, reaching out towards it while digging into herself at the same time. In her palms, two long scimitars emerged, glowing with an unnatural light. Jack's eyes only seemed to get even larger and a grin stretched itself on his face.
"Well, I can't do everything that I used to be able to do," she said quickly, hoping to clamp down on any excessive optimism that he might bear while the psychic swords vanished from her hands.
"But don't you get it, Tooth." Too late – he was already excited. "Your powers are coming back. Not all at once maybe, but eventually it all will. This is amazing! Don't you see? You can be a hero again!"
"What?" How had he jumped so quickly to that conclusion? "Jack, I don't think you understand. I don't really want to be a-"
The door opened at that moment, and it occurred to Tooth that leaving unlocked like that was actually very dangerous. Fortunately, the one who entered the apartment was only Jamie, with the borrowed obi slung over his shoulder. He caught sight of Jack sitting at the table however and immediately dropped his acquired item, darting towards the skinny boy and engulfing him in as big a hug as an eleven-year old could. "Jack, you're okay!"
"Haha." The elder boy ruffled the lad's hair, pushing him back to hold him at arm's length. "I see that you're still in one piece."
"Oh, oh!" The boy noted the staff that he had dumped onto the couch. "So she did give it back to you after all. Cool."
"She?" Tooth repeated in surprise, while Jack followed Jamie's gaze to the staff, expression changing rapidly.
"Jamie, -" he grabbed the boy by the shoulders, "-have you met someone who with ice powers like me?"
The young lad nodded, but added defensively, "She wasn't all that bad, though her mask made her look a little scary. Flynn said that she was his friend though."
"You saw Flynn?" was what Tooth gasped at the same time as when Jack exclaimed, "She's friends with Flynn?"
"Yesterday night, yep," Jamie confirmed. "She took the staff to look after it. I didn't know that both you knew each other."
"We don't. I mean, we didn't," Jack mumbled, scratching his head.
Seeing the puzzled expression from both the child and the woman, he eventually explained to them how he encountered the 'imposter' the night before and how they both worked to escape the Yakuza forces together, only for himself to be captured by the NSA. He could assume that his female counterpart had managed to escape, if the Yakuza had yet to cease their search for him. He also mentioned having worked with a young amateur of a Super, whom was also taken in by the NSA, but he had heard from Agent Dicker that she was being sent back to her city.
"What does she look like?" Tooth asked, suddenly feeling an odd suspicion creeping onto her.
"Blonde hair – leaning more on white than yellow though, -"
"She's quite tall," Jamie piped in.
"-quite slender, blue eyes – dark blue eyes," Jack finished, then sighed. "Of course, there are probably plenty of people in these features."
"But a considerable less of that category who know Flynn," Tooth answered quietly, pouring the now-boiled water from the kettle into the teapot. As she dropped the lid over the pot, the wheels of her mind were turning. Though she had lost most of her powers to create physical psychic projections, her abilities of telepathy were not that weak. Unlike what she had told the NSA, there were things that she had picked up along the way during her time in association with the Nightmare Yakuza – things that were supposed to be hidden in the safety of one's mind. Things that were supposed to be impossible to discover, unless there was telepath in their midst. "I think I know where I can help you find your imposter."
"You do?" Jack was surprised. The boy standing by his side appeared a little confused – of course, he didn't really understand why Jack wanted to find the other cryokinetic.
"Yes." Tooth walked over to the fridge, where the glossy invitation card for the gala was pinned on its door with a magnet. Removing it and gazing down at the details of the card, she then asked, "What did you do with the suit I bought for you yesterday?"
S/N:
That's a day in the life of 13. If you didn't understand the whole 13 scene, basically: 13, while possessing the body of the NSA agent, goes to the Dunbroch bank. He then switches bodies to the banker, and goes down to vaults to retrieve the special case from Krei's deposit safe. He then switches bodies to one of the security guards and escapes via helicopter with his prize.
His powers are ...complicated, so I don't blame you if you don't get it this time. It might make more sense later on.
If you know me, I love writing about Pitch and his backstory is always lots of fun. In this story, his wife's Japanese and her name is Michiko (Lady Pitchiner had no canonical first name in the Guardians books). More will unrevealed about her and their, ahem, daughter, though if you've read 'The Nightmare King's Daughter (a companion series I have written), you might have know what happened to what happened to his wife at least.
Makkuro means 'pitch black' in Japanese. Not sure if this was used in the Japanese translation of ROTG – probably not.
Santoku bōchō is an all purpose kitchen knife that originates in Japan. I think it's supposed to be quite famous and stuff.
Oh, Hans has some secrets of his own, but that's no surprise, is it?
Up Next: Rapunzel is on a manhunt. 13 schemes. The party is going down...
A/N: Well, it's going to be a while before I update again. School work's been piling up, you know, and all that jazz. Yep.
Would like a review if you can spare one, but eh, it's up to you really. I can't pretend I don't enjoy writing this story.
Review. Ask Question. Critique.