Ulteriour Motives - Chapter 3
(Disclaimer: I own these characters and this story, except the name Ansatsu, which comes from a Yu-Gi-Oh! Card, designed by Kazuki Takahashi.)

The digital clock's buzzing attempt to wake me was loud and highly effective. A jump from a state of shock jumped through my previously idle body, wrapped in comfortable and soft sheets and comforters. I felt my hand unconsciously fumble for the sliding button that shut the atrocious clamour off, then scratching the side of my head.
"Let us get up, Asata," I muttered to myself. My will pulled my legs out of bed and set my feet on the floor, only for me to rise and turn on the shower. Stepping in, deviant blessed water streaming in rigid but soft torrents over my face and back.
I stepped out, wrapping a towel around my body and another, smaller one around my damp hair, making sure it would not drip. Just then, the doorbell rang. I looked up out of the bathroom door at my oaken front entrance.
"Shit, who could that be? I hope it's not that agent, he's over forty- five minutes early." I walked to the door, taking my time, and looked through the peephole. Sure enough, it was the agent. I sighed, annoyed at his punctuality, but opened the door nevertheless. If he could know about my ansatsu, he would know that I was standing on the other side of this door.
Upon release of the lock, the wooden fortress slipped away and revealed a familiar face. The man took off his sunglasses and slipped them into his breast pocket, reminding me slightly of a friend. He then smiled, looking up at me.
"Am I too early? I thought it would be a nice surprise to catch you before I was supposed to, and get a glimpse of your normal, everyday life. I can see that you are not dressed though." I raised my eyebrows at him, somewhat irritated but still feeling rather friendly.
"Yes, you are early, but you may come in and make yourself at home, Mister.?"
"Oh, I'm sorry," he said, sticking out his hand to shake mine, "Yurisatso Tahashiu." I shook his hand, noticing it was rather large. For the first time, I also realized that he was a rather large, lean man, and also quite handsome. I looked down for a minute, and then motioned toward one of the black leather sofas, separated by a small glass table with a silver frame.
"I will be finished dressing shortly, please sit, Mr. Tahashiu." He nodded and sat on the couch with a comfortable posture, folding his hands in his lap and looking about my home.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

As I walked out of my bedroom, opening the door, I noticed he was still in the same position on the sofa, with his hands folded and head down, seeming to enjoy the rest he was perhaps getting from his hard work. My shoulder-length brunette hair was now dry; my clothing was on - black creased slacks, a white button-up shirt, a black tie and leather shoes of the same colour. I stood in the doorway for a moment and noted to myself to make some tea for the both of us while discussing this business of many a great oddity.
"Mr. Tahashiu, I will be in the living room in just a moment, I am making some tea for us." I watched for his reaction. Yurisatso looked up with his large brown eyes and smiled, a small, thin line across his somewhat pale face, and nodded.
"That will be nice, some tea. No one has ever really offered me anything of the kind. Actually, you'd be surprised at something - maybe about as surprised as I was." I talked to him from my kitchen in a little bit of a louder voice while filling the pot with water to boil.
"What's that?" He seemed hesitant for a moment. Not because of the delay in his speech, but because it just felt like he was irresolute. I glanced at him from the doorway with no door, and he rubbed his temples slowly with his pointer and index fingers. Then he looked straightforward and spoke:
"This means nothing toward you of course, but most people with this. gift. cannot control it - or themselves. Mostly all others have found themselves in mental hospitals where no doctor can understand how to help someone as special as that. It's the instinct of the person. But the people I've visited. Jesus. Your home is beautiful, how do you keep yourself under such. lock and key, if I can call it that?" Now it was my turn to hesitate, setting the kettle on the stove and turning the gas burner on and watching the steam move up the outside of the metal due to the heat.
"Keep myself under. controlling myself. what." I looked puzzled and lost, I'm sure; I had no idea of how he knew any of this. Mr. Tahashiu looked at me and shook his head, somewhat disappointedly, and then looked reassured after seeing the worried expression on my face.
"Don't fret, Mr. Kawashita, we will find out what it is, soon enough," he said. As soon as he had finished the sentence, my teakettle started its incessant, extremely loud and irritating whistle as steam shot up through the angled nozzle's hole. With a quick flick of my wrist, the burner was shut off and the shrieking had departed. Two cups sat empty on the slick black kitchen counters - an expensive marble - and were gratefully filled with the swirling hot clear liquid. A tea bag was dropped into each, making much the same noise that a pebble dropped into a lake makes. Both were brought into the social room and placed on brushed titanium coasters on the zenith of the glass-top table. He watched the white teacups descend.
"Thank you," he said quietly, yet gratefully. I nodded to him and sat on the sofa across from him, slipping my shoes off and tucking my feet underneath the opposite leg. I watched him pick up the cup and gently sip some of the liquid herb, and then placed it back down again on the shining coaster.
"Mr. Tahashiu, what did you mean by control? Does it not look like I am controlling my . life?" I asked this politely, but he seemed uncomfortable.
"Asata, here is the problem. You seem fine. This may not seem like a problem to you, but it is - oh yes. In my line of work, definitely - It's all too common to be invited into one's home to a sullen face with sunken- in eyes; greasy hair; you name it. Pots and pans and anything else you can eat off of littering the sink even though the person looks like they haven't eaten a real meal in months. The apartments - always apartments - most often have little furniture, if any, and are never decorated. Do you see the problem? Your living space is an apartment, but it is exquisitely furnished. Glass table, not one, but two leather sofas, a snow-white carpet, and look at you. You look completely healthy, yet you sound somewhat depressed. Whatever is making you depressed, I'm sure that's the problem." I stood dumbfounded by his explanation of my home, and his very quick evaluation of my state of mind.
"I look none the sort, Tahashiu, how did you know such a thing?"
"Well," he started, "One must be one to know one. I am an ansatsu also, trained by the best to be the best. The society sees real potential in you, Asata." He ran a hand through his dark, somewhat long hair.