Put Your Lights On

12.5.05

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This is a FFVII fic by kleptomaniac0. I own no characters except those you haven't heard of, meaning the ones I've made. Normally I'm averse to posting something new while I have multiple works in progress, but this OC, the first OC I ever created, has been banging against the walls of my head ever since Advent Children came in out Japan. So I'm letting her out before she drives me crazy.

This will be a lot more unguarded than my other works, meaning it'll be sloppier. I'm writing this to get it out of my head and though I always appreciate reviews and constructive criticism, I probably won't be looking at them until the story's done.

Who am I kidding? I need feedback like sunlight. Drop me a line, you know you want to.

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Chapter Forty-Nine

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Nanashi landed softly on the Demon's balcony, a second box tied to her back. It was evening, and the onset of winter made it so dark that Nanshi felt completely confident running around in Midgar without worrying about being harassed by bigots—if they could find her in the first place, anyway. Nanashi exhaled and her breath gusted out in a billowing white cloud, drawing attention to just how chilly the nights were getting.

But that was beside the point. Placing a hand on the sliding glass door, Nanashi pushed the balcony door open and stepped into the apartment, her entire body tensing. The lights were off, but that didn't mean anything. Listening keenly, Nanashi stood stock still for a full minute as she listened for sounds of life.

"Nothing..."

Sighing in relief, Nanashi unslung the box from her back and placed it carefully in the middle of the floor; it was another gift from Lady Seishi to her daughter, and Nanashi wondered how the first gift, the koto, was faring. She also wondered if Toriko had discovered the poisoned hairpins the koto had been hiding.

"Somehow I don't think Lady Seishi would have sent her those if she didn't think Toriko would find them... Using them might be another matter."

The box that Nanashi was delivering now was full of soft silk and stiff brocade; a New Year's kimono, resplendent far beyond what any eleven-year-old girl should wear but compensation (so Lady Seishi thought) for Toriko's early years of poverty. Among the various ornaments enclosed with the kimono was a shukusen, an iron-ribbed fan that could be used to crack heads or slit throats, depending on whether it was closed or open. More delicate and dangerous items; Nanashi couldn't help but wonder why Lady Seishi sent her daughter such things.

"Surely she doesn't believe the Demon would hurt his own child..."

But if that were the case, why had Lady Seishi commanded Nanashi to remain in Midgar, where she could come to Toriko's rescue should anything terrible happen? Nanashi sighed again, ruefully realizing that she'd probably received a permanent assignment. After all, considering what had happened to Lady Seishi, it was highly unlikely she'd believe the Demon capable of being fatherly or even nice.

"Which means I must stay here, watching Toriko forever..."

Jingle jingle. Nanashi froze as she heard the crunching noise of a key being put into the lock, and for a moment all her ninja went out the window in a rush of pure panic.

"The Demon! Shit! He's home! He's home! What do I do?"

Nanashi threw herself behind the couch just as the door swung open, and as she landed on her front she realized with a chill of horror that she'd left the door open. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Of course she'd meant to escape right after she'd set down the box, but how could she have left such an obvious trace of her presence?

"He will know there's someone in his house..."

"That was amazing, Father," said a young girl's voice—Toriko, no doubt. Nanashi was shocked to hear the amount of familiarity and (dare she say it?) warmth in her tone.

"Shut up," the Demon growled. Interestingly, he did not sound as angry as his words might have implied.

"You knew what cards he had and you still lost."

"It was a tactical surrender," the Demon said peevishly. Nanashi could feel his footsteps through the floor, but she could not hear them; how strange, and how frightening. "The bluffing was getting ridiculous."

Toriko laughed. It was a low, somewhat startling chuckle that sounded like it would have come out of an older woman—someone Nanashi's age, perhaps. Nanashi heard the girl step lightly over the floor as she asked, "Some coffee, Father?"

"Please."

What was this? Nanashi listened intensely to the sounds of Toriko making coffee, the Demon's light (she could hear them, if she listened hard) footsteps over the tile. Their familiarity seemed to indicate that they almost had a normal father-daughter relationship, or perhaps something closer to camaraderie: normal daughters didn't rib their parents like that. But all that disappeared in the wave of relief that Nanashi experienced when she noticed that neither of them seemed to have noticed the open door—

Nanashi froze as a booted foot, large and heavy, planted itself squarely in the small of her back.

"Well, well," purred the Demon, and Nanashi turned slowly to look over her shoulder, sweat beading on her hairline. Only the Demon could make a plain white shirt and black pants look so menacing... "What's this?" He asked, tilting his head and smiling. "Could it be the kunoichi who's been leaving my daughter presents?"

Nanashi clamped her teeth together. She wouldn't say one word, not one bloody word to betray Lady Seishi...

"She trained me to be a geisha so I could hide in plain sight... Besides, never a word to this man. Never to the Demon who hurt her so badly."

But if he already knew about her, that must have meant Toriko had talked...

"Or had it forced out of her!"

The Demon leaned forward, resting his elbow on his knee as he applied all of his weight to the foot on her back. On the one hand, it was one of the crudest intimidation tactics—preventing the victim from getting up—but seeing as Nanashi was only five-foot-nine and the Demon was six feet tall with a matching weight, it was appallingly effective.

"Coffee's done," Toriko said from the kitchen. Her tone of voice betrayed no perturbation, and Nanashi wondered where that eerie calmness came from.

"Thank you, Tori," the Demon said, his eyes still fixed on Nanashi. Gods, what eyes! Burning green, blazing like hellfire, and slit like a cat's—they were wholly unnatural. Nanashi clenched her hands so he wouldn't see them trembling, and winced as he began to press harder on her back. What frightened Seishi most about this situation were the rumors of the Demon's much-vaunted strength...

"He broke Lady Seishi's hips... Could he break my back? Probably..."

"Father, why don't you let her up?" Toriko called. Ye gods, she could have been talking about the weather. "Your coffee will get cold."

"In a moment," the Demon said, his voice low and tight with anticipation. Nanashi's pulse quickened and she planted her hands against the floor, ready to push up. But at the first sign of resistance, the Demon stamped firmly on her back, and as Nanashi gasped with pain the Demon said, "We have an intruder, Tori, and she must be dealt with."

"Are you going to kill her?" Came that frighteningly calm voice.

Something flickered in the Demon's eyes, and for no apparent reason he sighed and took his foot off Nanashi's back. Nanashi scrambled to her feet, whipping around and yanking out the knives she had strapped to her forearms—just in case. The Demon looked merely interested.

"Tori," he said, and Nanashi saw Toriko look up out of the corner of her eye. "Watch this woman," the Demon said, and attacked.

Right from the start, Nanashi knew he was playing with her. It had nothing to do with the smirk on his face, or the way he used his hands—just his hands!—to slash and stab at her. No, it was the superhuman fluidity of his movements that convinced Nanashi he was messing with her, that he was testing her for...for... Well, for something. For Toriko at the very least, because Nanashi could feel the young girl studying her.

The 'match' went on for about ten seconds. Then with no warning at all, the Demon ended it with a swift punch to her stomach, and Nanashi went down like a novice, stars in her eyes and a strangled cry in her throat. There was no way to prepare for a blow she never saw coming, and as she collapsed to the floor, clutching her abdomen, the Demon walked over to the kitchen and said, "I hope you learned something."

"Yes, Father." Toriko said, and Nanashi heard her bustling in the kitchen again.

"Yes, Father." Nanashi supplemented in her head. "I've learned that if I stand against you, you'll beat the tar out of me!"

She tried to push herself up, but the instant she let go of her stomach, a wave of pain so great she could barely see swept over her eyes and filled her veins with agony, so Nanashi curled up on the floor and panted over the broken pieces of her composure and pride. Fuck, fuck, FUCK! How could he do this to her? How could he take her out with one punch?

"He's the freakin' Demon, that's why..."

A mere five feet away, the open glass door beckoned, a clear avenue to the chilly night air and escape. Nanashi laboriously uncurled and began to drag herself toward the door, dignity be damned.

"If I get up, he'll hit me again to teach his daughter another 'lesson'..."

Nanashi's fingers brushed the cool glass, and she stared as the door smoothly rolled shut, as eloquent as any guard or mechanized alarm that she wasn't going anywhere. As Nanashi gaped, the Demon sipped coffee in the kitchen and purred, "Did I say you could leave?"

Nanashi balled her hands into firsts, cursing under her breath. Shit, shit! She tried her best to school her panicking thoughts, which were screaming things like, "I'm going to die!" and "He really IS a Demon!" and tried to focus on a way to escape, but the nearest avenue had been blocked off and her stomach was still a roiling ball of pain. If she was going to get away, it wasn't going to be any time soon.

So Nanashi lay on the floor and went back to nursing her bruised stomach, listening to the Demon drink coffee. Toriko had finished doing whatever in the kitchen and she came over now, walking up to the box Nanashi had delivered. Kneeling in front of it, Toriko studied the box for a moment.

"From my aunt?" Toriko asked at length, looking at Nanashi.

"Y-yes," Nanashi said, and winced when she heard how weak she sounded.

"Nice," the Demon said. "Same as the last?"

"No," Toriko said, opening the box. The sudden glow that colored her face would have warmed Nanashi under other circumstances. "No, not at all," Toriko said, her voice softening.

"Your aunt has expensive taste," the Demon commented: Nanashi wondered if he knew that Toriko's 'aunt' was really her mother. Just how much had Toriko told him? "Do you want to try it on?"

"No," Toriko said, closing the box. "Not yet."

"Alright," the Demon said. Nanashi sourly noted that he became docile unnaturally quickly when dealing with his daughter—should she be relieved or worried? "Put it on your room."

"Yes, Father," Toriko said, picking up the box. As she padded quietly out of the room, Nanashi felt a sudden chill come over her.

"It's just me and the Demon now... I'm completely at his mercy. He could do anything and nobody—especially his own daughter—would do a thing to help me..."

Visions of rape and torture streamed through her head, but Nanashi noted even as she lay quietly sweating on the floor that the Demon seemed quite content to stay where he was and drink his coffee. Pulling herself a little further out, Nanashi leaned her head out and saw the Demon sitting calmly at the kitchen counter, seemingly lost in thought. Minutes ticked by. Nanashi's heart pounded in her chest and her stomach writhed in pain and dread anticipation.

"What are you going to do with me?" Nanashi asked finally, unable to control herself.

"I'm going to have you teach Toriko ninjutsu," the Demon said, not looking at her. "Continental fighting is not at all geared towards women, and I'd like for her to be able to defend herself."

Nanashi blinked. There were no words to accurately describe her shock, except perhaps the word 'freeze'; Nanashi couldn't hear her heart beating anymore, or the labored in and out of her breath. Her thoughts were similarly stalled; what was more shocking, the fact that the Demon wanted her to divulge the sacred secrets of ninjutsu, or that he wanted his daughter to learn them for self-defense?

"I can count the number of men who want their daughters to learn weapons on one hand..."

"Why?" She asked.

"I just told you why."

Nanashi fell silent. The Demon's voice had had just a hint of finality, but a hint had been enough. She listened to him drink coffee.

"Starting tomorrow," he said, "You come over thrice a week—at least one day on the weekends unless I say otherwise. For the completion of each new skill Toriko learns, I will give you a thousand gil."

A thousand gil? Nanashi felt her face burn with shame. Such secrets, that clans of kunoichi lived and died for, were only worth a thousand gil?

"You might as well call me a different brand of prostitute."

"What if I refuse?" Nanashi asked, looking at him.

"I doubt you're here legally," the Demon said with dreadful coolness. "Even if you are, it's no great task to have your papers revoked. Either I could send you back in disgrace—and maybe even in pieces—or I could hand you over to Continental Immigration to have them sort you out..."

Sort you out: the way he said those three words sent images of imprisonment, even death—for ninjas of both sexes were irrationally feared in the Continents— and definitely cold shivers down Nanashi's spine. Implacably the Demon said, "I expect you're here to keep an eye on Toriko anyway. Wouldn't that be easier to do as her teacher?"

"Don't tell me how to do my job!" Nanashi mentally flared. "...Wait, my job? When did I start thinking of teaching Toriko as my job?"

As Nanashi wrestled with herself, the Demon put down his coffee cup and turned around, saying, "I'll write you a check, and I expect to see you at eight o' clock tomorrow morning."

There was no room for argument in his tone. More than that, there was no room for any other possibility. Death, disgrace, or being turned over to the questionable forces of Immigration: between that and being the sensei of the Demon's daughter, what real choice was there? As soon as the Demon spoke, Nanashi felt her world narrowing into the single future he had laid out. Even worse, she did not—could not—question him. Resistance was not futile, it was nonexistent.

"You wall-jumped up, didn't you?" Sephiroth asked as Nanashi laboriously pushed herself to her feet. "Take the elevator down this time; you'll probably kill yourself if you try to get down the same way."

He was right, but that didn't stop Nanashi from glaring mutinously at him as she tottered toward the door, one arm still over her injured stomach. As she grasped the doorknob, Toriko came into the room and looked at her, tilting her head.

"See you tomorrow, sensei," she said politely.

Nanashi grit her teeth and opened the door, dragging herself out. Fiends, the both of them; there was an unnatural solidarity in the way they interacted and how they viewed her. Between the two of them, there was no escape...

"Demons," she growled as she tottered down the hall. "Demons!"

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Author's note:

Nanashi had no choice. We're dealing with people who can poke in other people's minds, remember? She's not weak-willed, she's just ignorant. And they (you know of whom I speak) are rather unscrupulous.

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