Magician's Note and Disclaimer: And we're back once again, after a short sabbatical! Why the sabbatical? Hell if I know. Sorry for anybody who might have been annoyed that the Interlude went up instead of a new chapter, but since the overall response has been pretty positive, I think I'll not worry about it. I doubt the story will end up being long enough to warrant a second Interlude though, so no concerns there.
I'm ready for more action now, having just watched the last episode of Love Hina Again this morning, and action there shall be! The mystery is getting closer and closer to a resolution, or at least a little bit of illumination, so I suppose I had better figure out who the fake Seta is. (Just kidding. I know what's going to happen.) When we last left off, Keitaro, Shinobu, and Kitsune were all on their way to the police station in search of some much-needed info on the whereabouts of the other girls. Will somebody else finally turn up? Just maybe...
Two Down and Three to the Left
A Love Hina Story by MagicianXV
"It's a funny thing," Kitsune said brightly, shaking away the droplets of water that had begun to bead on her whiskers, "but foxes don't mind rain. I mean, nobody likes being cold and wet, but I'll bet my tail that I don't mind this nearly as much as you do, Shinobu." Shinobu, huddled miserably against Keitaro chest, said nothing. "Yesiree, I am just peachy down here. I can walk through puddles and I hardly notice. I—"
"Can it, Kitsune," Keitaro snapped. He, too, was looking more than a little soggy, and Kitsune's interminable good mood wasn't helping matters. "I think turning into a fox has made you even more annoying, if that's possible." Kitsune's brown eyes flew open in mock horror.
"You thought I was annoying before? I'm crushed!"
In unison, both Keitaro and Shinobu muttered, "Don't I wish." Finally seeming to take a hint, Kitsune clammed up.
They trudged on in silence for some time, bombarded by fat, heavy drops of rain. Keitaro shifted Shinobu carefully to the other arm and gave his sopping shirt a flap; it was clinging to his skin, feeling more than anything else like a piece of wet paper. Kitsune took no notice, and danced lightly around a wide puddle. Keitaro watched her, curious despite himself and his extra-hydrated condition. Why was she acting so strangely? Foxes in general weren't overly animated creatures, so why would Kitsune—usually prone to long, unannounced naps—be under the effects of a sugar binge?
"Sakura trees are beautiful in the rain, aren't they?" she asked suddenly, staring up at the pink blossoms. "I never really noticed before, but the way the rain slides down the petals...it's like someone put little drops of glass on them." She paused, one paw hovering above the damp cement. "There's a song about that, isn't there?" she murmured. "About rain, and sakura petals...do you know it, Keitaro?"
"I don't think so," he said. "I must not have heard it before."
"That's too bad...I can't remember it either. I wonder how long ago I heard it last? Must have been years, at least...I'll ask Naru when we find her. She may know it."
"Can we keep going?" Shinobu mewed, shivering as water slid down her nose. "I'm really cold, and the storm's about to get worse."
"It is?" Keitaro looked up at the dark sky, trying to figure out how she could say so with such certainty. "Can you see something I can't?"
"No," the kitten said, also looking up, "it's a smell. Like...like when a storm is just about to start. You can smell it on the breeze, and you know it's time to go inside. Like that, but a little different."
"She's right," Kitsune agreed. "I didn't notice it before, but it's definitely about to get a lot worse."
"When?" Keitaro asked. "I can't smell it."
"Soon," said both of the girls. Deciding he would be a fool to argue with noses that were surely better than his own, Keitaro picked up his pace and made a beeline for the police station. Kitsune kept up easily, dodging back and forth around puddles the entire time.
*****
Roughly three blocks away from the Hinata Police Station, Shinjomi Amato was in an extremely grouchy frame of mind. He had been trying for nearly an hour, with no success to speak of, to convince his television set to show him the baseball game. The television, in a stunning display of eloquence and good humor, had politely (by way of a static-filled screen and a lot of buzzing) told him to shove the remote wherever it fit best and leave him alone.
Shinjomi was not pleased with this development.
"Piece of junk," he growled, paging viciously through the owner's manual. "Don't get a damn thing for your money these days...when I was a kid, you got a good piece of equipment when you paid this much for it. Now everything goes nuts the second a rainstorm comes along."
"I'm making rice balls!" called his wife from the kitchen. "The little ones that you like!"
"Good," Shinjomi replied, thinking how much he hated his wife's cooking. He had never, in the thirty-nine years they had been married, been able to tell her how much he hated her cooking.
"I'll make a lot of them, since you like them so much!"
"You do that," said Shinjomi. He wondered if throwing his television through a window would help anything, then decided that would be slightly counterproductive. He then weighed the possibility of throwing his wife through a window to prevent her from cooking, and came to the conclusion that, while it would prevent any rice balls from being served, it was probably a better idea to leave her where she was.
"Could you stop playing with the lights, dear? I'm having trouble seeing my cookbook!"
"I'm not doing anything with the lights," said Shinjomi, frowning. Was the television starting to blow the fuses now?
"But the lights in here are flickering. You must be doing something."
"I told you, I'm not—" he broke off, looking up in surprise, as the lights over his own head began to fade on and off. "Now what's that all about?" he muttered. It had to be the fuses...or, he reasoned, perhaps a downed power line. Best to check, either way. "I'm going to make sure the fuses are working," he called, shoving his toolbox aside and getting to his feet.
"That's good, dear. I'll make some tea."
"Please don't," he didn't say, and went outside with a curt nod.
The fuse box, although it would have made far more sense, was not inside the house. It was stored instead in a small alcove along the house's east wall, blocked from the elements by a metal hood. Shinjomi ducked under this and popped the latch, opening the case. All the fuses were intact.
"Power line," he sighed. "That'll take 'em a few weeks to fix, if they get around to it that quickly." He closed the fuse box and turned to go back inside, but he never finished. In mid-movement, something caught the corner of his eye, and he looked slowly toward the street.
From Shinjomi's house, he had a good view of Hinata's main drive, which held a grocery store, post office, and the police station. The first two were in order, which was to say that they were silent and dark—no one was out in a storm like this one was becoming, and he knew that, should he check, there would be 'Closed for the Day' signs on both buildings' doors. The police station, however, was an object of some curiosity; the blinds were pulled on both windows, but even through the plastic, Shinjomi could see swells of light rising and falling, as if someone was toying with a dimmer switch. This was odd enough by itself, but made even more unusual by the type of light. Instead of a normal, yellow glow, the police station was emitting a deep, crimson haze. It caught on the streams of rainwater running down the street, making it appear that there was blood flowing into the sewers.
"Now that just isn't proper," Shinjomi muttered critically, frowning. "No police station I ever saw had lights like that."
Shivering under the cold rain, he went back into the house and directly to the telephone. One of the lieutenants was an old friend of his, and would surely know why there were such ridiculous things going on at what should have been a respectable place. Shinjomi dialed the number and waited impatiently. A few seconds later there was the sound of a phone being picked up...and then nothing. Well, almost nothing—there was a fuzzy, crinkly sort of static, but aside from that, silence was the only sound.
"Hello?" he called, wondering if his phone was also on the fritz. "Is Yamato Rimoda in? I want to talk to him." The phone crackled at him in response. "Hey, what's going on down there? Are you having a party or something? Because—"
"Please, Mr. Amato, spare me your old man's wheezing and do shut up." For a long moment, Shinjomi was dumbstruck, and the person on the other end got its wish. Then his voice returned, and unlike his television, it was definitely not on the fritz.
"Now you just see here!" he shouted, anger rising in his chest, "Who do you think you are, talking to me like that? Why don't you show a little respect for your elders, eh?"
"You are not my elder, Mr. Amato, nor do I have any respect for you. If I did, I would have paid some sort of attention to you before now. As it stands, you are a bore and a hassle, and I suggest you show me a little respect before I become impatient."
"Well I—if I didn't—what's your name, boy?" Shinjomi sputtered furiously. "I'll be reporting to your superiors, you can count on that! Who are you?"
"You wouldn't be capable of pronouncing my name even if I did tell you, Mr. Amato. I, on the other hand, can pronounce your name quite easily. Did it not even occur to your feeble mind to wonder how I know it?" The hot anger in Shinjomi's chest deflated substantially as he realized that the person was right; he been called by name three times now.
"Just...who are you?" he said, but his voice was sounding much weaker. "What's going on down there?"
"You must not be a smart man. I believe I told you not to make me impatient, and that is exactly what you are currently doing. I'm quite busy at the moment, so I'll give you one opportunity to make amends—apologize for your rudeness, and I'll forget this little incident ever happened."
"I'll do no such thing!" Shinjomi snapped. His heart was beating like a jackhammer, but scared or not, he wasn't going to let some prankster boss him around. "You get out of that station right now or I'm calling—"
"You're a very slow leaner, aren't you, Mr. Amato? Not only have you missed your opportunity to apologize, but you seem intent on further antagonizing me. I'm afraid you'll have to be taught a lesson. I'd suggest you find a hiding place, Mr. Amato, or the next few minutes could be quite hazardous to your health."
Years afterward, Shinjomi was still never exactly sure what happened next. He heard the phone being hung up, and the crinkly static stop, but at the same time he was hearing what he thought was a siren. Then he realized that it was much closer than a siren could have been—coming from his kitchen, to be exact. A moment later his wife came barreling out, howling and shrieking about a stalker in the house, waving a ceramic bowl around and spraying the entire living room with rice. The next bit was the confusing one—something else left the kitchen, but so quickly he never even got a good look. It was tall, he knew that much, and he thought it might have been wearing—
But that was ridiculous, wasn't it?
Why would an intruder be running around in kendo armor?
Either way, he had very little time to ponder it. The thing shot into the room and froze momentarily in the corner, blocked from view by shadows cast by the enormous storm clouds. Then it was off again, flashing and flailing in all directions. Something slashed to the left and Shinjomi's television set fell into two pieces. The couch met a similar fate, and Shinjomi himself maintained that he nearly lost a shoulder.
Within seconds it was gone again, basting its way through the front window in a hail of glass and wood. Rain poured in through the shattered pane, and a bolt of lightning reflected off the destroyed television screen. The room was entirely dark now—the electrical cords to every light in the room had been severed. Shinjomi's wife was still wailing away, apparently oblivious to the fact that the threat was over. Or...was it?
A deep, guttural groaning was issuing from the walls and ceiling, and Shinjomi scrambled to his feet, fueled by adrenaline alone. He hauled his wife up as well and dragged her bodily out the back door. They ran for twenty feet before the groaning reached his ears again, and he stopped, gasping for breath. He turned and watched, not completely able to process what he was seeing, as his entire house fell in upon itself. The walls and roof simply collapsed; they didn't exactly crumble, but fell apart, as if they had been cut clean through into sections.
A thunderclap sounded overhead. Rain soaked Shinjomi's gray hair, but he didn't even notice.
Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked.
*****
"I am not going in there," Kitsune said. "Not for all the sake in Hinata."
"If you drank all the sake in Hinata, I don't think you'd be saying no to anything," Keitaro countered, pushing his hair out of his eyes. She did have a point, though—it wasn't as if he wanted to go into a building with a red glow coming from the windows either.
"No," Kitsune murmured, "I guess I wouldn't. My morning buzz is all gone though. Do you realize what that means, Keitaro?" He shook his head absently, wondering if sliding a polite note under the door would be too subtle. "It means I'm sober. I hate being sober. Life is a lot more fun when you're looking at it with that little edge that a couple of good drinks give you."
"I'll buy you a drink as soon as we get this figured out," Keitaro promised. "We've come this far already though, and I for one would like to know what happened to everybody else."
"So would I!" Kitsune said earnestly, dashing up the police station's steps after Keitaro. "I just think we might be better prepared after a round or two. Or three. You know what I mean."
"Yeah, I do," he said, trying very hard to ignore how enticing Kitsune's reasoning was. "Let's just...we'll make it quick, okay? In and out. If we don't find anything, we'll go back to Hinata House and think things over with some hot sake."
"Now that is a plan I can deal with," the fox said, grinning. "But make sure Shinobu gets some too, right? I've always wanted to see a drunk kitten."
"I'm tired of being a kitten," Shinobu muttered. "I want to be a person again."
"That's fine," Kitsune said agreeably. "I'd like to see you drunk as a human too. I'll bet you'd take off all your clothes and run around the house singing anime theme songs." She nodded to herself. "Yep. Wait...I did that, didn't I?"
"Yes," Keitaro confirmed, "you did." He tried the door handle, fully expecting it to be locked, and was caused a great deal of surprise when the door opened smoothly.
"It worked!" Kitsune said, unmasked astonishment in her voice. "Dammit! Er—I mean—good!" Keitaro shoved the door completely open, and the three of them moved cautiously inside.
The lobby was vacant. A long desk sat against the far wall, covered with stacks of papers and three black phones, but no police officers were seated behind it. The only sign of life in the entire room was a potted plant beside one of the front windows. The red glow was even more vivid than it had been from outside, however—it reminded Keitaro of light he had seen cast from a burning house some years before. He walked a few steps into the room, holding Shinobu tightly and trailed closely by Kitsune, before he stopped and realized that there was no source for the red light. It filled the entire lobby, but not a lamp or light bulb was anywhere within sight.
"Where is that coming from?" he asked, not really directing the question to anyone in particular. The light pulsed rhythmically, but no matter where he turned, Keitaro couldn't identify anything casting it.
"It's like it's coming from the building," Shinobu said softly, eyes wide with apprehension. "But that's impossible...isn't it?"
"Well, I don't know about the two of you," Kitsune said loudly, taking a few steps backwards, "but I've had my fill of ass-freaking weirdness for the day. What say we head back to the house for that hot sake, huh?"
"We can't," Keitaro said, swallowing. "We have to keep going, Kitsune...the other girls need us, and this might be the clue to finding them."
"You give them my best then, okay?" Kitsune said, spinning on her paws. "I'll make sure everything is safe back at home. Later!" She made a dash for the still-open door, but it suddenly slammed shut in her face. At the same time, all three phones on the desk began to ring. Keitaro stopped in his tracks, barely noticing Shinobu's tiny claws dig through his shirt and into his chest.
And then, without warning, the lights went out.
Magician's Note: Damn, this one took me a while. Sorry to anybody who's been keeping up with me, but this chapter was, for some reason, particularly hard to get out of my head and into text. I guess it's a lot easier to write fluff and strip poker than it is to actually wrap up a plot. Honestly though, I didn't intend for this story to have a plot. I swear! It was all an accident!
I leave everybody with a cliffhanger, more because I can't think how to describe what comes next than I actually want to end it here. I need a day or two to mull this over. I can tell that Keitaro and Shinobu are giving me dirty looks, though...heh. In the meantime, everyone go play some Halo.
PS—I am a Kitsune fan, and I don't generally think of her as a coward. I know she's a little OOC here, but I have a reason. Bear with me, folks. You're in good hands.
Snicker.