Disclaimer: All Bust-A-Groove elements belong to Enix. I own nothing.
Note: Hey you guys!! Wow, is going through some rough times, huh? Well, I hope you've enjoyed my fic so far. Here's Chapter 5!!
Shades
Take 5: Strings
by ArchFaith (formerly known as the ArchPrincess of Saturn)
The phone was ringing. Loud and merciless, threatening to smash his head into a million pieces.
Strike was sitting on Hiro's bed once again, watching TV. To his disgust, the rain had knocked out the TV's 1,000 channel feed, leaving the only network as KNTV—Kitty-N's channel.
Resolving he would rather watch his not-so-innocent girlfriend transform into a giant feline that sit around and watch Hiro, he stared mindlessly at the TV, his brain focusing on other things. He hadn't even noticed the phone ring, as loud as it was. Hiro sighed and picked it up.
"Hello? Oh, hey Commie," he greeted. Strike switched off the TV to stare at the receiver.
"Today? Isn't it kinda late?" Hiro communicated to the girl on the other end, glancing out the window. It was only 5:00; the sun was still out. Relatively early in Tokyo time. "Well, okay...nah, I'm feelin' fine...uh....Strike? I dunno where he is..." Strike sighed gratefully. "OK. Seven? Sounds good. See ya."
"What's up?" Strike inquired, sliding off the bed, gray kimono rustling after him. Why had Heat's little bitch called?
"Comet's organizing this big practice for the original groovers," Hiro explained, sitting down. "She wants us to start practicing regularly now...y'know...for BAG4."
"For real? Why'd she wanna see me?"
"She didn't wanna see you; Kitty wanted to see you. She was askin' where you were..."
"Damn!" Strike cursed. "I never wanna see dat slut again!" He drew in a deep breath and exhaled. "I ain't goin'. I never wanna see any of those losers again."
Hiro sighed. "Well, if that's what you wanna do...I'm goin' though."
"You sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine. I told ya, it only happens sometimes. And it doesn't happen when I'm around people...but for some reason, it happened when I was around you..."
"You should be put away," Strike replied, his nastiness starting to flare up again.
"You should talk," Hiro retorted. He swiftly stood. "Come on, Strike. You can't just stay here the rest of your life. Own up to the fact that you tried to be with Heat. Maybe you could say you're sorry...?"
"Are you kiddin' me?! Say sorry after doin' a thing like that? You must still be nuts."
"What else can you do? I don't think Fireboy's gonna call the cops or anything..."
Strike said nothing.
Hiro went to his closet and pulled out an outfit fitted with paper, indicating it had just come from the cleaners. He quickly went into the bathroom while Strike brooded on the bed, thinking of all his possible decisions...
If he went, he would have to face Heat. Hey, Fireboy's the kind to keep grudges, right? For once in my life, I'm ashamed of what I did...or tried to do...
If he stayed, it would haunt him. Hiro's right...I can't stay here all my life!! I feel so guilty, man...
If he went, and Heat said nothing about it. Forgive and forget, yeah, just like dat show Kitty used to watch...suppose that's the way it'll be?
If he went, and Heat told everyone about it. No one would ever trust me again...
Hiro came out, looking like the Playboy Strike had always known him to be. He was wearing a new outfit; black velvet flares, with a blue silk disco shirt and a matching black velvet vest. The only thing that hadn't changed was his hair, which was still very spiky and modern-looking. "I ran outta hair gel," he explained.
"Shouldn't you be screaming and shouting?"
"I've done enough screaming and shouting this week," Hiro answered. "So, you're going?"
"Uh—"
Hiro was already fishing around in his closet, already back in his Playboy mode. "What're ya gonna wear? If I'm wearing something new, you should too...I'd be so humiliated if you weren't...ah, here. My hacker clothes."
Baggy dark blue parachutes and a long orange t-shirt were tossed into Strike's lap. "Whoa, you got normal clothes?!" Strike exclaimed, unbelieving. He had always thought Hiro was permanently stuck in the 70s. The last night had convinced him, though, that Hiro was far from dated.
Hiro smiled. "Ain't ya forgettin' that I break too? So do you, Strike."
"Oh yeah," Strike replied. He had forgotten that he and Hiro were considered the semi-b-boys of BAG; Heat, Gas-O, and Tsutomu being the real b-boys. He himself could do a few moves; still, Hiro knew a few more moves. "But no way am I puttin dis on! Who knows whatcha coulda been doing in it?"
"Yeah, I was doing something really dirty," Hiro agreed, sitting down on the bed. He was facing towards the window, looking at the red sky.
"So...are you planning to tell Shorty?"
"I don't know what to tell her."
"Tell her you don't really love her."
"It ain't that easy, ya know. She...she's too sweet...I could never tell her that."
"You gettin' shy again?"
"Nah, it's just...listen, don't tell Kitty I was the one who showed you her secret, kay? She'd kill me."
"How'd you find out about that?"
"News travels fast, Strike. Especially in my network."
Hiro turned impatiently towards Strike. "You dressed yet?"
Strike stood there, wearing the blue parachutes and orange top, his black dreads hanging limply down his back. "Yeah, I'm ready," he replied. "My shades, though."
Hiro reached for the glasses, which lay on the floor. Strike put them on, comforted to be masked once again. "OK, let's go."
The boys tramped down the flights of stairs, down to street level. They walked down the street, trying to remain unaware of all the heads they turned. Strike played it cool; he was used to being looked at. Hiro turned red and quickened his pace.
"Damn, Hiro, you're all over the place, y'know?" Strike commented as they passed the Disco Fashion, where only the night before he had fired his rifle, setting all the girls scrambling. Had it only been the night before? Or was it days? Or years?
"Sorry," Hiro replied, running his fingers through his hair. "You learned stuff about me, huh?"
"More than I wanted to know."
Hiro was silent for a while; he didn't want to say anything inappropriate.
They kept walking, down the street, up the street, to the left, to the right; on and on and on. Through the shadows and garbage cans, they kept their eyes on the ground, following their own feet. Walking and walking and walking until—
They stood at the foot of the tall yellow building. Its many windows gleamed in the afternoon sunlight; inside many of the familiar dancers could be spotted. Kelly, Gas-O, Frida...all could be seen performing their familiar moves, oblivious to the two boys watching them from down below.
"Hiro? Strike?" A soft voice asked. Strike turned to see Comet diminutively standing behind them. She was garbed in her revealing black bunny outfit, velvet jumpsuit and all. Her eyes sparkled seductively; her blue hair, combed and bobbed, curled up at the edges. On her head she donned a pair of bunny ears, making her look mature and innocent at the same time. She smiled at them. "Long time no see, guys."
Strike glared at her through her shades. Good thing she couldn't see his grey eyes sparking anger. His looks killed. Literally.
Hiro laughed. "Well whaddya know, a bunny for the Playboy." He went up to Comet and gave her a hug. Comet was one of the few women he could actually have a conversation with. "Commie!! I heard you and Heat are goin' out now?"
Comet smiled. "Yep. And guess what?!" She held out her hand. On her finger glistened a very beautiful, polished diamond ring.
"Whoa?! You guys are engaged?!" Hiro exclaimed, perhaps a bit too loudly. Strike turned his head very slowly to see the piece of jewelry Comet now owned.
"Yeah. He proposed to me today...he said something made him run out and buy it last night," Comet explained. "But we're still gonna wait a while. I'm only 17, y'know?" She grinned. "Everyone's inside, boys. Let's go."
She turned on her heels and skated gracefully inside, her white bunny tail wagging after her. Strike looked at her as she disappeared through the doors. He said nothing.
"Strike...you're not angry...are you?"
"Hembra," Strike muttered under his breath. He crossed his arms. "He was mine, dammit. I'll finda way ta get ridda dat bitch."
"And would Heat still have you if you did?"
Strike threw his hawklike glance to Hiro, who sighed.
"Now, Strike...don't...oh shit, just forget it. C'mon, let's go." He led the way towards the revolving door, trying to ignore the bad karma radiating from the dark presence which loomed behind him.
The lobby was still the same. Everywhere, the familiar BAG dancers lounged around, talking, laughing. Oblivious to the two boys who walked in, one scowling, the other trying not to scream. A pink swirl rushed up to Hiro and hugged him from behind. "Hey baby," Miss Pinky greeted, squeezing him.
"Ah! Pinky...don't do that! Ya scared me!" Hiro gasped, turning his head to see her. She was still the same...hot and sexy, the way she was supposed to be.
"Oh sorry," Pinky apologized.
"So," Hiro continued, lowering his voice. "About last night..."
"It was an easy job," Pinky whispered back. "He went down just like that." She snapped her fingers to demonstrate. "They have another job for us..."
Strike, seeing that his acquaintance was preoccupied, continued walking. He stopped short once he spotted Heat and Comet standing by the reception counter, laughing. Heat was wearing the same thing he had worn the night before. Strike would've thought that Heat would burn those clothes...after what almost happened in them.
Heat's brown eyes swept over Strike at that moment. He stopped laughing and looked gravely at the gangster standing there.
What emotion did they hold? Heat's mysterious eyes...it was hard to tell what they were thinking. "Hey Heat," Strike greeted blandly, coming up to them.
"Hey Strike," Heat answered, emotionless.
Comet either didn't notice or decided not to question. "Isn't it great that everybody could come?" she asked. "I know you two haven't seen each other for a while." Her eyes wandered to the door. "Oh, Kel!" she cried, breaking away from Heat and practically jumping over to the smiling Kelly, baton in hand.
Which left the two men alone. Despite the noise in the room, an uncomfortable silence seemed to invade the spot they stood on. Heat's piercing eyes penetrated Strike's shades—it was as if he could see through Strike, above him, under him, in him. Everything. Turn him inside out and examine his very conscience. His very soul. His—
"I...I..."
"No need for words," Heat interrupted, crossing his arms across his chest.
Strike looked down. What could he say? To a person he would've raped if he hadn't come to his senses. Apologize? No, that wouldn't fit. Act like nothing happened? That wouldn't fit either.
"I dunno what ta say, man," Strike admitted. "I just couldn't help it. I...dammit, Heat...I'm....I...uh..."
Heat didn't know what it was that made him do what he did next. If he had had his way, Strike would be lying dead on the floor, burned by the fireballs shooting out of his hand. But that wasn't what Heat did.
Maybe it was the desire to get the whole situation over with, to forget and never talk to Strike again.
Perhaps it was wish to be with Comet, not in the company of his would-be rapist.
Or maybe it was the cross that hung around his neck, which at that moment was gleaming with an emotion that has yet to be named by human kind.
"Frere...we make mistakes sometimes. Even me. Even you. But everyone keeps sayin' forgive and forget, like that show on TV, y'know? So..let's just do dat."
Strike blinked, not believing his ears. "H-Heat...are ya actually forgivin' me?"
Heat flashed a sad version of his usual winning grin. Sadness for the situation into which both found themselves thrust in. "Yeah, I guess so."
"But...why?"
"I dunno. I just don't feel like bein' angry at ya today, Strike," Heat answered. "It don't matter anymore."
"I don't deserve your forgiveness..."
Heat responded by snapping his fingers in front of Strike's face. "Yo! Are you really Strike? Or are you some kinda defective clone?" He put his hand on Strike's shoulder. "Listen...I love you too, alright? I mean, I love everybody in BAG...we all love each other, ya know? Anyways, you and I are still gonna be brothers, right? Nothing's changed."
"But...but..."
"I love ya, Strike," Heat whispered, giving Strike a wispy embrace. "Leave it at that. 'Cause I know ya love me too...but you have another."
With that he turned to join Comet, who was gaily chatting with Kelly and Tsutomu. Strike was left stunned.
What da hell just happened? Did I deserve that? Did he need to do that? What...? Strike's head felt like it would explode. I don't get it... He sighed. Why did he do that? Makes me feel even lower than I do right now...but...another? Who?
"Strrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiikkkkkkkeeeeeyyyyyyy!!!"
Oh shit.
A girl in a catsuit bounded through the door and wrapped her arms around Strike, smothering him. She wore a strange pink and white suit, complete with a cat-eared helmet and luminous green hair.
The infamous Kitty-N. We've heard so much about you.
"Hey Strikey-poo! I've been looking all over for you! Where have you been?" she asked, her high-pitched voice annoying everyone in the room.
"Kitty..." Strike managed to break free of her sugary destructive embrace. "We need to talk..."
-
"Yeah, next week," Pinky finished, ending her description of the next job. She and Hiro were seated on the couch, discussing their business interactions.
"Sounds good," Hiro answered. "It'll be the most we've gotten for one job."
"Yeah! Isn't it great?" Pinky exclaimed. She smiled. "You and me have gone a long way, partner. Soon our business will be global."
"I'm not so sure about that," Hiro answered, grinning.
"Hey you guys," a very raspy, muffled voice greeted. Gas-O had just emerged from the elevator. The mohawked teenager approached the two.
"Hey Gassy," Pinky greeted, rising to give him a kiss on cheek.
"Yo Gas. What's up?" Hiro asked, giving him a slap on the back.
"Actually, Shorty is lookin' for you, Hiro. She's on the 17th floor right now," Gas-O replied matter-of-factly. "She asked me to tell you that she needed to see you."
"For real? Uh...okay," Hiro answered. Hmmm...sounds interesting...
He got up and went to the elevator, leaving Pinky and Gas-O to flirt mercilessly. Pushing the buttons...like pushing buttons on a keyboard...17th floor, please.
It seemed like a short time before the door opened. Hiro didn't even have time to think about why Shorty had wanted to see him. She still upset about today? Aw, what am I gonna tell her?
As soon as he stepped out, he was ambushed by a little girl wearing black capris, a long sleeved shirt, and hair done in tiny curls framed with ribbons. "Hiro-kun," Shorty whispered, giving him a hug. She looked so much younger and innocent in this stage—like the candy girl she really was.
"Hey Shorty-pie," Hiro answered, hugging her back. "Why are you all the way up here?"
"Uh...I wanna ask you something..." Shorty's voice trailed off. She looked down at the floor, her violet eyes strangely dull.
"...yeah?" Hiro asked, putting his hands on her shoulders. Shorty sighed.
"Do you love me?"
The question caught Hiro off guard. Do you love me? Do you love me? Do you?
Huh?
"It's just that...well, today...you were with Strike. And I was thinking...maybe you didn't wanna be with me anymore..."
No! Hiro screamed his inside his mind. Shorty...why do you have to ask me this now?!
"Shorty-pie," he began, trying to mask his indecision. "I love you very much—"
"Liar!! Say what you're thinking!" Shorty demanded, her face scrunching up. Her violet eyes glittered and threatened to overflow with tears.
"Shorty...now come on," Hiro tried, pulling her into a tight embrace. "I..."
"Just tell me if you love me or not," Shorty answered. Her voice sounded hoarse; as if she was trying to be emotionless, but failed miserably.
"Shorty..." Hiro closed his eyes. Sweet, little Shorty...she was almost like a little sister to him. He cared for her and was concerned about her, but did he...?
Still... He thought back to what he had told Strike. I don't love her...I'm just using her... Was that really true? Had he been telling the truth? Was he just using her?
The obsession had he developed for her when she was just a little girl...in the asylum in Italy...what was that? Was that love? Or was that something else?
He pondered for a moment. What was love? Was it care? Was it friendliness? Was it affection? Trust? Obsession? Hate?
Who did he love?
She gave Shorty a tight squeeze. "How could you ever think I didn't love you?! Of course I do! How could I not?!"
Shorty's eyes glistened with fresh tears. "Do you really mean that?"
"You are the only reason I'm here. In Japan, right now. If not for you, I wouldn't have come here, I wouldn't have been in BAG, I wouldn't have learned disco...damn, kid, you're all I am."
"Huh?" She looked up at him, confused. "What do you mean?"
"All I wanna say is that I do love you, Shorty. Always. Even when I say I don't, even when I say other stuff, it's not true. Just remember that, kay?"
Shorty smiled through her tears. "I'm glad. I was beginning to think...that you didn't like me anymore."
Is that the truth? Hiro thought to himself. Yes, it is, his conscience answered. He sighed and smiled.
Hiro patted her on the back as she continued crying. Soon though, he couldn't help it; the two stood, sobbing, until both were pacified.
-
"Mrow!!?! Strikeypoo, what do you mean?!" Kitty's voice was filled with emotion.
"What I mean is that we're done. Through. Dat's it," Strike answered grimly, his grey eyes flashing under his shades. The two had moved to a room on the 2nd floor, to escape any prying ears that might hear their conversation.
"But why? What's wrong with me? Am I not pretty enough?" Kitty questioned, tears beginning to form.
"Nah. It's just dat...you're not my kind of girl," Strike answered, looking down at the ground. He didn't want to do this. Inside, there was still a tiny bit of affection left for the girl. She and him had done so many things together; they had laughed, they had smiled, they had made love. Maybe...maybe this was the wrong thing to do? Maybe he should forgive and forget, just like Heat said?
But...who was the another that Heat had been talking about?
It wasn't Kitty, that's for sure.
"Sorry Kitty. You shoulda thought about dat before," Strike answered, turning away. "It's better for both of us. You can do your thing, I can do mine."
"But Strikey!" Kitty begged. "I'll be good!! I think I know what you're talking about...and I'll stop that!! Honest! Just please...let me be your girlfriend still!"
Strike slowly walked out of the room, his dreads swinging against his back. He slowly walked down the hall. Into the elevator. Pushed the buttons for the roof.
He was gone. From her.
"You bastard!! You mother-fucking shithead!!" Kitty cursed, rising. She was left alone in the room, surrounded by mirrors. She could see every angle of herself—her beautiful, slim self, too pretty for any one. "I'll show you, Strike! I'm better off without you anyway! Cause I'm Love Love Miracle Kitty-N, solider of Love! I can do whatever I want, with whomever I want!! Do you hear that, Strike?! Strike!!"
She stopped and sighed, before collapsing onto the blue mats on the floor.
"Strike..."
TBC
Notes: Hmmm....I'm not sure about this chapter. While I was writing I was greatly distracted, so it might not have turned out as well as I wanted it to. Is it too nice? Too upbeat? You tell me, and I'll fix it, kay? Does anyone want more angst or shocking things? Review or e-mail me and I'll see if I can make it better. Chapter 6 is being added together with this, so go ahead
