Act I, scene i; in which autumn has begun

"I don't think he's stupid."

Juunanagou looked at her. She was stretched out, chin resting at the crook of an elbow, looking for all the world as if she was perched comfortably on a cloudbank. "I mean it," she said. "I think you look at him and you think, there's that ugly, stupid midget who's crushing on my sister. I really do."

The late morning activity of nature had tumbled into the lethargy characteristic of mid-afternoon. They watched dispassionately as the waves wearily rolled up onto the shore, almost managing to catch the toes of the small figure on the beach. Kuririn laughed, twirled away; mocked the sluggishness of world around him and its inability to catch him, time and time again. "I don't," Juunanagou replied, a beat too late.

A gentle wind coaxed a lock of blonde hair from behind her ear and allowed it to tumble into her eyes. "Don't lie to me."

"I'm not."

"I can always tell when you lie. Don't bother."

"Fine," he said, "I won't." And then, because it felt proper to say so, "And he's ugly even with hair."

Juuhachigou moved her head slightly so her cheek rested against her arm. She tired more and more easily these days, though not physically –seldom was there physical sensation she trusted to be real—but mentally, and of things that had once given her comfort. "And you," she said, "would be just as ugly with or without hair."

Juunanagou pressed a hand over where his heart was, or was supposed to be, and even that movement appeared mechanical. "You wound me."

"But really, I'm not at all convinced he's stupid." Her fingers trailed through the top of the cloud and came away damp. "Though he looks it. He acts a lot different when he thinks he's alone."

"Who are you trying to persuade? Is it me, honestly? I'm just saying, it better not be, because there isn't even a way to express how much I just don't care. You're in love with an ugly ex-monk. You can't sink much deeper than that."

The waves, as if provoked into action, suddenly seemed to gain a burst of energy and charged up the sand. Caught off guard, Kuririn yelped and jumped back, promptly tripping on a half-finished sandcastle and sprawling to the ground. The waves came up again, effectively soaking the seat of his trunks. Laughing, he rolled into it and chased it back down toward the sea. "You're wrong," she said, and faced her twin. "There is no love. And you can always sink deeper, there is no rock bottom."

"Of course there's a rock bottom. We walk on it every goddamn day." Juunanagou squinted down at Kuririn; mimed holding a gun. "As for love," he said, "you really don't know anything about it."

The unwitting hypocrisy unnerved her. "I know it doesn't exist."

"I think it does. Furthermore, I think you do, too." His index finger curled, and he rocked his hand gently. "Bang."

Juuhachigou shifted in the air, raising herself to her knees. Though her face was expressionless, there was a tenseness to her limbs that betrayed her agitation. "You don't know what I believe."

"Sure I do. Since when have we had separate beliefs? I know you, dear sister, and more importantly, I know how you operate." Juunanagou's hand lowered into his pocket. His tone was bland. "You don't want to kill him. You don't want to lay with him. You don't want to break him. You want to hate him."

"And that's love?"

"That's love."

"You're full of it," she said.

Down below, Kuririn gave a whoop and shot into the air. Thirty some feet later he somersaulted and cannonballed into the sea with unchecked speed. The impact knocked a good percentage of the tide onto the island. From inside the hut came the sound of dishes against tile, followed by a flurry of curses. "Don't get me wrong," said Juunanagou. "If I thought I'd eventually be able to get you off my ass about the whole thing I would go right ahead and kill him. It would be extremely entertaining. I'd make him suffer needlessly. The screams would last for days."

She shrugged. "We both know you're sadistic. That's fine. I'm not going to dick around trying to disagree with you. If you're going to kill him, kill him, but don't feel the need to waste my time talking about it."

"Maybe I will kill him. Slowly. Then again, he has that irritating, nasally voice. I'll have to do something about that, maybe. Gag him? Or maybe I'd just tie him up somewhere and let him scream himself hoarse before coming back to finish him. Then there's the matter of method. What do you think? Ki style? Or should I be old-fashioned about it?"

"Juunana," she said.

"All right, all right, I'll stop. Maybe I'll tape it. That would be interesting. Put in subtitles. Can you see it? Damn. But." His gaze grew intense. "I'm serious. The more he makes you love him the more you try to hate him. Eventually one's going to win. You'll either kill him or marry him."

She got up. "I think you're an ass."

"I don't think you want him to die."

"I already told you, I don't care."

"I think you do." He smiled. His teeth were perfectly aligned; it was a very nice smile. "It really is very touching, sis. I actually might decide not to kill him. Maybe it's up to you."

"Maybe it isn't."

Though his expression remained amused, his ice-blue eyes were flat. "Are you willing to take that risk?"

She did not reply. But, then again, she never needed to.

Act I, scene ii, the same

She made no sound when she was near, and she emitted no ki. It was within her power to do so, and what she had power to do, she did. In time, though, she began to notice the subtle shift of his gaze, and she became aware that he was, on some level, aware. Whether he was playing with Goten and Trunks, or washing the windows, or fixing the newest leak on the Kame hut, whenever she was around and out of sight he would occasionally pause, cracking his back to mask his hesitation, and then listen. She would hold her breath and wait, silent as a wraith, until that gentle, infuriating smile came to his face and he returned to his work, performing whatever task it was with a new kind of deliberation. Even through the clouds, and high enough that she knew there was absolutely no way he could possibly see her, whenever she was preparing to leave he always looked up at the last minute, gaze on the sky and on her, uncanny in his accuracy. It unnerved and annoyed her, and…?

When she did finally confront him, it was a Tuesday and he was wearing shorts.

Juuhachigou landed silently on the back lawn, then leaned against the house, folding her arms. The sun had already started its downward climb, shrouding her in the lengthening shadows of the palm trees. Kuririn was deeply engaged in a battle with an invisible opponent, motions blurring, breath steaming in the frigid air. It was barely morning and uncommonly cold for both the month and the location and was, all in all, no place at all to be wearing shorts. After a moment she realized that he was muttering to himself, too: breathing out the names of motions and the mistakes he was making, dear Kami, and the rapid one-two-three pattern he was pacing himself at, and it could have been faster, stronger, he could smarter, better, and then he was taunting his enemy, is that all you got? 'Cause, you know, it's gonna take more than that to beat me…

Juuhachigou let her arms fall back to her sides, unsure whether or not to approach him or let him stumble upon her himself. As it turned out, the next motion spun him around to face the house, solving the problem for her. His reaction was comical: gaping at her, he accidentally overextending on a kick, then overcompensated for it by jerking himself back. The motion knocked him further off-balance. Windmilling frantically, he finally fell to the wet sand with an 'oomph'. The grunt turned into a squeal as the shore rushed up to douse his shorts. He leapt up, clutching his backside and yelping, "Cold! Cold!"

Juuhachigou gently pushed herself from the hut and walked toward him. Forgetting his shorts, he spun to face her, wide-eyed, even as his sand-caked hands lifted palm-first out in front of him in an oddly demonstrative manner: I'm not holding any weapons. "Your technique needs work," she said.

A long, tense pause. Kuririn's eyes darted to her face, her hands, and somewhere behind her. "Yeah," he said cautiously. Then, as his hands lowered, a sheepish: "Hi."

She narrowed her eyes. If she inspected him closely, which she did, she could see goosebumps on his skin even as his face heated. As a random observation she noted how obscenely tiny his toes were–still able to wiggle, amazingly, even though they were gaining a blue tinge—and she said, "You're an idiot."

"Okay," said Kuririn. His eyes slid to the ground and roamed back and forth pleasantly, as if searching for something. "Any… particular reason?"

"It's barely fifty degrees out here. You're wearing shorts and a short-sleeve shirt."

He relaxed. "Oh, that. Well, I figured –see, it never gets this cold out here, and I thought… well, I haven't felt this kind of cold for a long time –I mean, here, that is, on the island—so I thought I'd go out and see what it was like in my normal clothes. … Actually, I think I just kind of hopped out of bed this morning and threw something on. I've just been too lazy to go and dress properly, I guess."

She stared at him impassively. Kuririn suddenly found the ground worthy of inspection. "Shut up, I know," he muttered.

Juuhachigou had never kicked a dog. Still, watching him fumble for words, perpetually frozen in a half-cringe, she felt as if she were in the process of beating one over and over again, and making it run in circles, like a merry-go-round or Juunanagou's squirrels. She folded her arms, waiting. When he finally did look up, it was nearly a minute later and was not at her, but at the sky. "You know, it looks like rain," he decided.

"It's looked like rain for a while."

He nodded. "Yeah," he said.

"A storm, in fact."

"Yeah."

"Violent."

"Yeah."

"Do you ever have your own opinions?"

"Yeah," he said, and smiled. It was shy, but she could see genuine humor glinting in his eyes. "Though it's not usually a good idea, seeing as those who I'm disagreeing with are always stronger than me."

"Like me?"

"Like everyone." His tone was oddly wistful. "Like you."

A surge of wind blew sand up over the top of her boots. Juuhachigou shifted, lifted her foot. Kuririn's smile instantly froze as every muscle in his body tensed, ready. She stopped, putting her hands on her hips. He colored instantly, looking down. "What was that about?" she snapped.

He did not look at her. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "You didn't deserve that."

She watched his toes wiggle feebly. "You're afraid of me," she said.

He opened his mouth. Shut it. Said, "It's not that I—"

"I'm wondering," she said, "if your weakness bothers you. Honestly. Do you ever look at yourself in the mirror and wonder why you're so pathetic?"

Kuririn jerked as if slapped. "I…"

"My brother wonders why." Though something in her expression twitched, there was a strange lack of emotion in her voice, like a void half-formed. "He's offered to kill you more than once. He hates weakness."

"So I've gathered." He let out his breath slowly, absently scratching above his collarbone. "Um… are you threatening me?"

"I could make you strong."

He shook his head. "I'm sorry?"

"Strong." And she shrugged, though the casual gesture was jerky. "So you wouldn't have to worry. Unless, of course, you want to be beaten up on."     

"Oh." Kuririn ran his hand over the top of his head, then raked his fingers up the back agitatedly, coaxing short, raven-dark locks into a chaotic gathering of tangles and wisps. "Look," he said. "I'm not sure why you're here, but… it's getting late, and I know we're going to be having dinner soon. You're welcome to stay, of course…"

A strange, inexplicable fury seized a hold of her. This was not what she wanted. She did not want to hear the sincerity in his voice, or see the hopeful expression lurking behind the sudden fatigue in his eyes. She wanted him to bristle at her sarcasm, or curse at her, or simply take offense. To be human.

Her aura suddenly flared, blasting a crater in the sand beneath her. She felt an absurd urge to laugh. "Stay," she repeated.

Kuririn's hands were clutching at the sides of his shorts, white-knuckled. "Miss Juuhachigou…"

Juuhachigou's nostrils flared. She could smell his fear, see it gathering between his shoulder blades and beading on his upper lip, and some primal part of her enjoyed the way it made her liken to a tigress on the trail of an animal too bewildered to know where to run next. She watched his muscles tense and relax, his fists clench and unclench, and –when she stepped closer—his pupils dilate slightly. "Block this," she said gently.

Taken completely by surprise, Kuririn was unable to avoid the backhand. The force of the blow sent him reeling to the sand. Juuhachigou placed her hands on her hips. Her face was expressionless.

Kuririn scrambled to his feet. The mark was already crimson on his face. "What…" he gasped. "W-what are you…?"

She advanced. Kuririn stumbled backwards, paling. "Get your guard up," she said.

"What are you doing?"

"Get your guard up!" she roared. "Are you a fighter or not?"

He did, hesitantly. Juuhachigou darted in without warning, throwing a simple punch. Kuririn moved his head minutely, not taking his eyes from her face. "Why are you doing this?" he asked urgently. "I… I don't understand…"

Juuhachigou overextended and shot a fist past his head, then snapped back and caught his neck in the crook of her elbow. He struggled against her. Sighing, she released him and lashed out with another backhand. He ducked, albeit clumsily. "Quit hiding," she snapped. "You and I both know you're faster than that."

"But I don't want to fight you." Kuririn raised the back of his hand and swept it across his mouth. It came away red; his lip was split. "I'm not looking to fight anyone. Especially when there's no point."

Juuhachigou launched into a generic series of attacks. At the end she threw in a hammer fist to catch him off-guard. There was a very brief moment in which she saw his dark eyes narrow, and his muscles relax, allowing the adroit evasion to blur in the air, ghostlike. Then the instant passed and Kuririn was back again, grim-faced and ashen. "Of course there's a point," she said. "Don't you want to be strong?"

He shook his head once, shortly, then hissed what sounded suspiciously like a curse when she viciously slammed a knee into his stomach. Amused, she let him go. He fell to his knees, wrapping his arms around his midsection.

A breeze pushed the hair from her face. Juuhachigou glanced up as a drop of rain fell on her forehead, followed by another. Turning her head slightly, she could hear the rumble of thunder from across the sea. "I was taught," said Kuririn, bringing her gaze back down, "that strength is relative. You can be the strongest person physically, but… but you can still be defeated by someone who has enough heart to win, and—"

"If you have enough energy to talk then you have enough strength to fight." Juuhachigou yanked him up and shoved him away from her. He tottered, almost fell, and painfully turned to face her. "Come on," she ordered. "Stop stalling and fight me!"

The heavens opened with a low grumble, releasing a torrent that instantly drenched them both. Kuririn straightened very slowly, wearily, arms loose at his sides. "Miss Juuhachigou…"

Lightning flashed close by. In the span of an instant she rushed in, delivering a knife hand to the nerve at his shoulder, a kick to his floating rib, and jab at his solar plexus. His defense crumbled under the onslaught. "You want to be able to defend yourself," she snapped. "You want to be strong, don't you? Fight!"

He stumbled, gasping for breath. For a wild instant she felt the tigress in her bare her teeth in anticipation for the kill. Here, in the torrent, she was queen, and the thunder, and time, and could smell the blood as clearly as she could smell the sea. "I'm trying to help you," she said. A jab bent him double, and she pressed her attack. "This is all for your own good. You're useless otherwise."

Kuririn made a soft noise of protest that the wind pulled away. Juuhachigou laughed suddenly, and it was wild, like the storm on the shore. "And since you can't fix your own problems," she said, and raised her hand for a finishing blow, "then I will fix them for you!"

Thunder, and a flurry of movement; her forearm was suddenly caught in an iron grip. The visions tumbled away, leaving her alone with the hunted. Kuririn's chest was heaving. He shook her once, firmly, scarlet with vehemence. "What is it with you?" he snapped. "What the heck is your problem?"

Juuhachigou stared at him, too taken aback to respond.

"Listen, I understand if you're having problems, and… and if beating up on me will make you feel better, I'm perfectly willing to be your punching bag, but you know what? This is not my problem. This is yours." He ducked his head. He was shaking, whether it was due to the cold or fury or pain she could not tell. His fingers clutched at her arm with force enough to bruise. "This is not my problem," he whispered again. "You talk about strength, about limitations… but I'm not the one who worries about those. I'll give you help whenever you need it, but don't try and tell me it's my problem."

Juuhachigou was snapped from her daze. Snatching his wrist, she twisted it sharply, eliciting a cry of pain, and flung him to the ground. He bounced once, hard, and rolled, skidding to a halt several yards away. "How dare you speak to me like that," she hissed. "Don't you understand that it's because of me that you're still alive? That if I hadn't have stopped my brother time and time again he would have hunted you down and killed you?"

Kuririn pushed himself upward one-handed, head bowed. She moved forward he flinched. A wave of contempt overrode her better judgment, and she raised her hand. Ki began swirling past her fingertips and up her arms, snapping her hair about her face. "Pathetic," she whispered, and readied her ki to shoot.

His head lifted. Juuhachigou froze. In his gaze was something intimately and hideously familiar –not the pain, necessarily, or the exhaustion, or even the fear—and images flashed unbidden before her eyes; of Juunana, reclining in the air, finger drawn in lazy circles, sending ki blasts rocketing into the clearings; of the scuttling of tiny feet, made quick with greed; of the terrible, all-too-human expression of resignation in the eyes of his prey as they huddled in the grass. A sudden terror seized her. She let her arm drop, stumbling backwards. The ki light faded slowly, sinking into the sand and sending violet undercurrents through the tide.

"What's the matter?"

Stricken, she looked at him. His smile was tired. "Don't you want to kill me?" he asked.

"Shut up," she whispered.

"Because I don't mind dying." He dragged himself to his knees, pressing the back of his hand to his lower lip briefly. "I'm not doing anybody any good anyway. If it'll make you feel better…"

Juuhachigou made as if to advance. His mouth shut, though his smile did not fade. His hand shook, and he lowered it. "Go ahead," he said softly.

She stared at him. A flash of lightning, and the acrid scent of ozone, and the brightness in his eyes suddenly shivered; spilled.

She took a step backwards, then turned and fled.