Chapter 1: Alignment
A/N: Sorry 'bout the confusion in the prologue! Apparently FF.net didn't recognize the
dividers I put in to indicate changes in POV. Guess I'll be using my old divider. ^^;
As far as Naoko sounding like Watson, don't worry, they'll eventually develop their own
voices as the story goes on. ^_^;
~*~*~*~*~*~
Emeraude and I rushed in hurriedly, shoving Hunter aside in our quest to get to the
radiator. Passing through the landing and clattering noisily up the bare stairs, we rounded
around to the TV room, and rushed into the door less entry (the door had long been torn
off by more violent tenants) and at last found a source of heat. Thank Kami-sama(1) for
technology! We hovered inches from the radiator, still mummified in the clothes we
wore outside. It wasn't for five minutes before we finally started to peel the layers off.
Emeraude pulled her gloves from her fingers, and a worn hooded sweatshirt over her
head, letting her platinum, thigh length, hair swing loose. She affixed her faded purple
bandana that separated her cobalt, chest length, bangs from the rest of her mane, and
dumped all of her things on the couch. I walked over to the old iron coat rack mounted on the wall and hung my things.
I found that a strange unwritten rule of the house was that nothing on the rack could be
touched, unless yours, but items left everywhere else were fair game. The others didn't
seem to mind it too much, ("What goes around, comes around," was Emeraude's
response to the whole situation) but I'm rather territorial about my possessions, so I
became careful to always hang my things on the sacred Iron Rack.
I could not help but steal a glance at my reflection in the mirror that accompanied the
Iron Rack on the wall. I had the overall appearance of the English's stereotype of an
Oriental: Black, shoulder length hair, slightly tanned skin, and tightly stretched skin by
the eyes. It was my actual eyes that separated me from other Orientals, not only in
appearance, but in blood as well. As opposed to the dark brown eyes that were usually
present, there were soft sea gray irises with flecks of blue embedded in the edges. Eyes
of an Englishman.
I caught my friend's reflection passing over the mirror's surface behind my own to settle
on the couch. Even with her habitual bandana over her forehead and her colored bangs,
she seemed to retain a fragile and innocent appearance at a distance. It was an illusion
that was maintained up to the point you encountered her eyes. Her sharp, intense aqua
irises, always holding a predatory gleam, were enough to shatter any poetic delusions
that she was merely a sweet young thing lost in the world.
One night, I even ventured to comment on them. I believe my exact words were 'The
eyes of a murderer.' She stared at me for a few seconds, her face unreadable, before she
collapsed into gales of laughter. She eventually laughed herself off the couch, before she
caught my expression. I suppose it was one of hurt, as I usually considered myself as an
astute observer.
"Gomen nasi (2), Naoko," she apologized to me in my home tongue. "I didn't mean to
mock you, it's just…" she smiled, her intense eyes closing, abruptly giving her the
complete appearance of an angel. "You surprised me. No one had ever said that about
me before."
"N-no that's ok, it was a pretty dumb idea, anyway," I replied with a smile of my own.
But she remained strangely quiet and pensive and pretty much… out of it for the rest of
that evening. I still wonder why.
I abandoned the mirror, and flopped down on a dusty easy chair, while Emeraude
stretched out on the couch, channel surfing. Our temporary quiet, however, was not to be
for long. A blur of black and blue topped with fiery red hair vaulted over the back of the
couch, flopping partially on the cushions, and partially on Emeraude.
"YOINK!" he shouted exuberantly, snatching the remote from her.
"PYRO! You ass, give it back!" roared Emeraude. She tackled the spiky haired boy,
crashing down on the floor. "YOU CHOSE LAST NIGHT!"
"Hey!" called Hunter from the doorway, "In case you forgot, it's MY turn to control the
remote tonight!"
"Oh, GAAAWWD! If we are, like, watching WWF tonight, I'm SOOO staying in my
room," whined another figure in the door. Etna sauntered her way in, her high heel boots
clicking on the bare wooden floor. She tossed her bleached blonde hair, and straightened
her overly tight shirt. She sat daintily on a chair, careful to keep herself, ah, covered in
her miniskirt. It was a great mystery to me how she managed to survive as long as she
did around here. I guess she had Hunter, her stepbrother, to thank for that blessing, or
curse, depending on how you looked at it.
"Too bad! Cuz there's gonna be a HUGE showdown tonight, and I sure as hell ain't
missin' it!" retorted Hunter and he snatched the remote from Pyro.
"Fine with me," the red head replied in a bored tone.
"I'm outta here," muttered Emeraude, and she swiftly exited to the girl's bedroom. I
decided that I was not in the mood for the lousy acting they called brawling, either, and
followed her. Etna, of course, stayed. She was pretty much willing to watch anything on
the boob tube.
~*~*~*~*~*~
The Lancet had long slid off my lap where it rested while I dozed. I was awakened,
however, by the slamming of the door, and the clattering of my companion's boots on
the stairs. I groaned a bit from my stiffness, as I stood to build the fire. I imagined that he
was chilled, through and through, and decided to warm things up a bit for him.
Throwing the door open, Holmes, indeed, did look incredibly chilled, but satisfied as
well. "One tends to forget the greatness of something, if has not recently seen it," was his
greeting, as he began to shed his outer garments onto the wooden coat rack that stood by
the door.
"I take it that the sightseeing was up to expectations?" I asked, sitting down once more.
"Up to, and exceeding, Watson. You really have no idea what you missed."
He collapsed into his favorite chair, stretching his feet out to the fire and sighing.
"Watson, would you please hand me the agony columns? I do believe I had forgotten to
scan them this morning."
I was startled a bit. Holmes never forgot to read the agony columns… I suspected it was
another desperate attempt to find something to do. It touched me that he would try so
many different techniques to avoid my distress over his health. I stooped over the pile of
newspapers, hoping that I didn't accidentally use them for kindling. 'Let's see…' I
thought to myself. 'Saturday the thirteenth… Sunday…Monday the fifteenth!' I tugged it
out from the pile and handed it to him, and returned to the Lancet, praying the whole
time that a case would turn up soon, for the sake of my friend.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Oy (3), Naoko-chan (4)! You know 'bout that rave that's gonna be down the street?" I
started a bit, since it was the first verbal exchange we had in forty-five minutes. "Yeah,
what about it?" I replied, peering over the edge of the bunk bed down at Emeraude, who
was sitting at her drafting table under the top bunk of the other bunk bed that occupied
the tiny room, drawing obsessively as usual. "Well, you going?" she prodded a bit
impatiently, not looking up from her sketch.
"I dunno… never been to one…are you?"
"Yeah, I could use a good rave."
I had heard about these 'raves'… mostly pertaining to the drugs that were passed out
there. I was not sure it was something I wanted to take part in. "Umm… Emeraude, you
aren't into… you know…drugs…"
"Hell, no! You should know by now I'm dangerous enough just off of sugar!" I giggled a
bit at that. She was the first person I've ever seen go from completely calm and
composed to doing the Can Cun on the tables after drinking a half of a can of Cherry
Coke. And according to Pyro, her cousin, that was one of her milder episodes. "But in all
seriousness, I go 'cuz of the music and freestyle dancing. I'm not into getting high and
all that crap."
"Any particular reason?" I asked, thinking along the lines of a family member's death.
" Too damn expensive. I'd rather spend my dough on art materials."
Had I been a character in the manga I was reading, I would have fallen over. We both
turned back to our activities, the muffled sounds of WWF wrestling creeping through
the walls from the TV room.
A/N: Yes, yes, very minimal amount of Holmes in there, but he will be ruling the next
chapter! I swear!
Glossary~
1) Kami-sama: God
2) Gomen nasi: Sorry
3) Oy: Hey
4) –chan: ending pertaining to casual familiarity
A/N: Sorry 'bout the confusion in the prologue! Apparently FF.net didn't recognize the
dividers I put in to indicate changes in POV. Guess I'll be using my old divider. ^^;
As far as Naoko sounding like Watson, don't worry, they'll eventually develop their own
voices as the story goes on. ^_^;
~*~*~*~*~*~
Emeraude and I rushed in hurriedly, shoving Hunter aside in our quest to get to the
radiator. Passing through the landing and clattering noisily up the bare stairs, we rounded
around to the TV room, and rushed into the door less entry (the door had long been torn
off by more violent tenants) and at last found a source of heat. Thank Kami-sama(1) for
technology! We hovered inches from the radiator, still mummified in the clothes we
wore outside. It wasn't for five minutes before we finally started to peel the layers off.
Emeraude pulled her gloves from her fingers, and a worn hooded sweatshirt over her
head, letting her platinum, thigh length, hair swing loose. She affixed her faded purple
bandana that separated her cobalt, chest length, bangs from the rest of her mane, and
dumped all of her things on the couch. I walked over to the old iron coat rack mounted on the wall and hung my things.
I found that a strange unwritten rule of the house was that nothing on the rack could be
touched, unless yours, but items left everywhere else were fair game. The others didn't
seem to mind it too much, ("What goes around, comes around," was Emeraude's
response to the whole situation) but I'm rather territorial about my possessions, so I
became careful to always hang my things on the sacred Iron Rack.
I could not help but steal a glance at my reflection in the mirror that accompanied the
Iron Rack on the wall. I had the overall appearance of the English's stereotype of an
Oriental: Black, shoulder length hair, slightly tanned skin, and tightly stretched skin by
the eyes. It was my actual eyes that separated me from other Orientals, not only in
appearance, but in blood as well. As opposed to the dark brown eyes that were usually
present, there were soft sea gray irises with flecks of blue embedded in the edges. Eyes
of an Englishman.
I caught my friend's reflection passing over the mirror's surface behind my own to settle
on the couch. Even with her habitual bandana over her forehead and her colored bangs,
she seemed to retain a fragile and innocent appearance at a distance. It was an illusion
that was maintained up to the point you encountered her eyes. Her sharp, intense aqua
irises, always holding a predatory gleam, were enough to shatter any poetic delusions
that she was merely a sweet young thing lost in the world.
One night, I even ventured to comment on them. I believe my exact words were 'The
eyes of a murderer.' She stared at me for a few seconds, her face unreadable, before she
collapsed into gales of laughter. She eventually laughed herself off the couch, before she
caught my expression. I suppose it was one of hurt, as I usually considered myself as an
astute observer.
"Gomen nasi (2), Naoko," she apologized to me in my home tongue. "I didn't mean to
mock you, it's just…" she smiled, her intense eyes closing, abruptly giving her the
complete appearance of an angel. "You surprised me. No one had ever said that about
me before."
"N-no that's ok, it was a pretty dumb idea, anyway," I replied with a smile of my own.
But she remained strangely quiet and pensive and pretty much… out of it for the rest of
that evening. I still wonder why.
I abandoned the mirror, and flopped down on a dusty easy chair, while Emeraude
stretched out on the couch, channel surfing. Our temporary quiet, however, was not to be
for long. A blur of black and blue topped with fiery red hair vaulted over the back of the
couch, flopping partially on the cushions, and partially on Emeraude.
"YOINK!" he shouted exuberantly, snatching the remote from her.
"PYRO! You ass, give it back!" roared Emeraude. She tackled the spiky haired boy,
crashing down on the floor. "YOU CHOSE LAST NIGHT!"
"Hey!" called Hunter from the doorway, "In case you forgot, it's MY turn to control the
remote tonight!"
"Oh, GAAAWWD! If we are, like, watching WWF tonight, I'm SOOO staying in my
room," whined another figure in the door. Etna sauntered her way in, her high heel boots
clicking on the bare wooden floor. She tossed her bleached blonde hair, and straightened
her overly tight shirt. She sat daintily on a chair, careful to keep herself, ah, covered in
her miniskirt. It was a great mystery to me how she managed to survive as long as she
did around here. I guess she had Hunter, her stepbrother, to thank for that blessing, or
curse, depending on how you looked at it.
"Too bad! Cuz there's gonna be a HUGE showdown tonight, and I sure as hell ain't
missin' it!" retorted Hunter and he snatched the remote from Pyro.
"Fine with me," the red head replied in a bored tone.
"I'm outta here," muttered Emeraude, and she swiftly exited to the girl's bedroom. I
decided that I was not in the mood for the lousy acting they called brawling, either, and
followed her. Etna, of course, stayed. She was pretty much willing to watch anything on
the boob tube.
~*~*~*~*~*~
The Lancet had long slid off my lap where it rested while I dozed. I was awakened,
however, by the slamming of the door, and the clattering of my companion's boots on
the stairs. I groaned a bit from my stiffness, as I stood to build the fire. I imagined that he
was chilled, through and through, and decided to warm things up a bit for him.
Throwing the door open, Holmes, indeed, did look incredibly chilled, but satisfied as
well. "One tends to forget the greatness of something, if has not recently seen it," was his
greeting, as he began to shed his outer garments onto the wooden coat rack that stood by
the door.
"I take it that the sightseeing was up to expectations?" I asked, sitting down once more.
"Up to, and exceeding, Watson. You really have no idea what you missed."
He collapsed into his favorite chair, stretching his feet out to the fire and sighing.
"Watson, would you please hand me the agony columns? I do believe I had forgotten to
scan them this morning."
I was startled a bit. Holmes never forgot to read the agony columns… I suspected it was
another desperate attempt to find something to do. It touched me that he would try so
many different techniques to avoid my distress over his health. I stooped over the pile of
newspapers, hoping that I didn't accidentally use them for kindling. 'Let's see…' I
thought to myself. 'Saturday the thirteenth… Sunday…Monday the fifteenth!' I tugged it
out from the pile and handed it to him, and returned to the Lancet, praying the whole
time that a case would turn up soon, for the sake of my friend.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Oy (3), Naoko-chan (4)! You know 'bout that rave that's gonna be down the street?" I
started a bit, since it was the first verbal exchange we had in forty-five minutes. "Yeah,
what about it?" I replied, peering over the edge of the bunk bed down at Emeraude, who
was sitting at her drafting table under the top bunk of the other bunk bed that occupied
the tiny room, drawing obsessively as usual. "Well, you going?" she prodded a bit
impatiently, not looking up from her sketch.
"I dunno… never been to one…are you?"
"Yeah, I could use a good rave."
I had heard about these 'raves'… mostly pertaining to the drugs that were passed out
there. I was not sure it was something I wanted to take part in. "Umm… Emeraude, you
aren't into… you know…drugs…"
"Hell, no! You should know by now I'm dangerous enough just off of sugar!" I giggled a
bit at that. She was the first person I've ever seen go from completely calm and
composed to doing the Can Cun on the tables after drinking a half of a can of Cherry
Coke. And according to Pyro, her cousin, that was one of her milder episodes. "But in all
seriousness, I go 'cuz of the music and freestyle dancing. I'm not into getting high and
all that crap."
"Any particular reason?" I asked, thinking along the lines of a family member's death.
" Too damn expensive. I'd rather spend my dough on art materials."
Had I been a character in the manga I was reading, I would have fallen over. We both
turned back to our activities, the muffled sounds of WWF wrestling creeping through
the walls from the TV room.
A/N: Yes, yes, very minimal amount of Holmes in there, but he will be ruling the next
chapter! I swear!
Glossary~
1) Kami-sama: God
2) Gomen nasi: Sorry
3) Oy: Hey
4) –chan: ending pertaining to casual familiarity
