Two Little Girls
Part I
A Shoujo Kakumei Utena fanfic.
Written by Juri-chan (aka cigam - cigam@cigamerisedi.com)
Disclaimer : These sexy ladies are not mine. Characters and story belong to BePapas and Saito, lyrics are Ani DiFranco's.
Summary : Shiori finds Juri and they begin a fragile life together.
Author's Note : These early chapters were written awhile ago, but I refuse to rewrite. I'm just going to take off where I started. Let me know how you liked the original, though, so I know how much I should stick to the style.
----------
When I reached the station I found that her train was running at least a half an hour behind, so I bought a cup of coffee from a stand and some random fashion magazine with a dramatic girl made up with a pale complexion and dark eyes. Her deep red lips caught my eye, but mostly I was anxious and wanted anything to busy my hands with. Flipping through the pages I barely paid attention to the stylish photos and empty articles until I came across the clothing ad with my own visage across the spread.
That's how she found me. She saw me in some fashion magazine; perhaps this very one. I'm not sure what she did from there. The strings she pulled or the lies she told in order to get her name mentioned to me. But I'm sure it wasn't hard. I wasn't a familiar face yet. No supermodel material. I'd only been in New York a year and 'in the business' a few months. She simply tracked me to the city and found my agency. Once I heard it was her that was searching, it was easy from there. I bit eagerly at her bait though I tried to hold back.
As I stared at the ad I was lost in memories. Of her and Ootori. What would she be like, now? With reality on her skin and truth running through her veins. How had four years of real life changed her? Part of me doubted she'd ever change at all. Yet I still felt.. excited. It's really the best way to put it. I had acquired a lot of emotions the past year that I had allowed myself to bury, but excitement was still kept under control for the most part. I was never nervous in front of a camera. The sleek, detached look my face so naturally held was exactly what they wanted.
"Juri-sempai..?"
Her voice broke through my thoughts like a small cut.. actually, exactly like that. She jarred me so that I ran my finger to roughly across the magazine page and caught my skin, tearing a small slit. But I didn't even think about it, really. I immediately looked up.
She was so real standing there in front of me that I thought she may be a dream. You know.. the kind of ghost so tangible that walks out of late night dreams. Her hair had grown out a little. I understood that, because mine had too. It worked well for her. Added some kind of maturity. And she was slightly tanned since the last time I'd seen her, though the pale complexion of her skin against slightly plum colored dark hair was still drastic and.. beautiful. My muscles tightened at that moment because she was beautiful, and I couldn't deny it, and something in those eyes of hers gave away the fact that she knew I couldn't.
"Oh.. you're bleeding. Is that my fault?"
I must of gasped when she took my hand in her own. The warmth from it was something I didn't remember. When I thought of her touch I usually felt cold, but this was a comforting hand. Warm and tender as it lifted my cut finger to her lips and held her tongue over the cut. Had she even had luggage? Did she set them down? Had any time passed between her standing before me and then being seated beside? I closed my eyes as her lips surrounded my finger. How could something so simple send those shivers through me?
She pulled away, taking a napkin from under the teacup I had and dabbed her lips. Had they always looked so... I shook my head in agony. One minute with her and already this. I curled my finger into my palm, making a loose fist, trying to calm my body from reacting to her. I wanted to hate her. There was this sudden, urgent need for me to hate her. But there she was. Smiling brightly as though nothing had changed since almost seven years ago when we had been happy.
I should have stood up right then and walked away. Took that cut as some sort of screwed up sign and ran from her and the life we would have together from then on. Instead I allowed her smile to lure me in and her warm arms (god, why were they so warm) to pull me to her as if we had always been the closest of friends and her voice to lull my anxieties as she murmured,
"I've been looking for you so long.. ouji-sama.."
-----
You were fresh off the boat from Virginia
I had a year in New York City under my belt
We met in a dream, we were both 19
I remember where we were standing, I remember how it felt
Verse I : Black Silk
-----
She immediately moved into my studio apartment and I began to forget life without her. The little quirks she added to the place seemed to complete it. She would put a new batch of flowers into the main vase on our kitchen table every week. Sometimes roses, though the smell of them always made be think of the past and I couldn't stand them for long. Couldn't stand the glint of a sword, the flow of pink strands, or the whisper of "..believe.." that would haunt my thoughts. So she would replace them with violets or often times lilies, which were my favorites. She said I constantly smelled of lilies. I loved it when I could also catch the hint of them on her. As crude as it sounds, it was like marking her.
She also had an amazing way with color. I had liked the minimalistic ivory and light gold tones I had been accustomed to before her arrival, but with her there they seemed all wrong. Together we repainted the walls light tones of burgundy with violet trim. We worked late into the night and all during the day for a few days just painting. No music, no television, no distractions. Just the steady sound of a brush against a wall. Soft and soothing. That's when it really hit me. Though it was serene I suddenly realized I was not alone anymore. I could feel her presence though she was painting across the room. This place was ours now. Everything became "ours" and sometimes I felt trapped, but as always it somehow felt comforting. Natural.
Our glasses were shaped like goblets with thin stems and small roses trimmed the rims the dull color of her eyes. Our dishes were plum, the color of her hair. Our sheets were black silk. Yes, our sheets. Our depthless midnight-esque sheets. I wasn't used to such dark bedding, but she had insisted. I didn't argue much since they were incredibly soft and I loved the way she laid in them. Running her skin across them all through the night.
Sharing a bed I spent many a night tortured by the presence of her petite form rested next to mine. The way she breathed so softly as her chest would rise and fall with a relaxation I never knew she could feel near me. And the smooth feel of her skin when she'd curl up reflexively close to my body during the night. It was so sick because I looked forward to this hell every evening. To watch her sleep so soundly beside me. The warmth she exuded and the look in her somehow childishly innocent face as she slept was addictive.
Sometimes she would talk in her sleep. Well, that's not an accurate definition. She would talk before we actually fell asleep. A surreal one-sided conversation spoken in her gentle sleepy voice. My back would be turned to her and she would lay flat on the bed, twisting her fingers amongst the sheets, brushing the tips across my arm. She would mention the school and what happened when I left. We never talked about it much anymore openly. It was a past at least I was trying to put behind me. But I couldn't resist lying awake listening to her attentively as she explained how students began disappearing.
As far as she knew Miki had stayed permanently with Kozue and Touga never left his position, though Nanami and Tsuwabuki had. He gave them his blessing and it had apparently been a rather tearful departure for Nanami. Touga had grown stoic, though. Much more than usual. He was seen frequently visiting the Dean and doing his bidding, but they both had the appearance of two hard worked men with nothing left to do. Each chore or task he carried out was actually meaningless and the students began to lose faith in the school and the Dean and their seitokaichou. That's when several students began disappearing. No one gave notice any longer, they were simply gone and it was just accepted. No answers given since there were no questions and the rose garden began to die.
Her stories would lull me into a restless sleep. But she immediately remedied that by curling next to me and nuzzling herself against my back. Her warm breath falling slowly and rhythmically across my skin soothed my heartache for our forgotten past. After weeks of this I began falling in love with her. Again. Though, honestly, had I ever fallen out?
We began acting like a seriously upside down married couple. I would wake up to the smell of her cooking eggs or rice or maybe just cereal. I would get dressed, and she'd help if needed. Soft fingers zipping the back of a dress or shirt. And the way her hands would run through my hair. She always said how much she loved it as though it were a cherished possession. She loved the look of it slightly uncurled and the tendrils seemed to instinctively wrap around her fingers as she styled it before I left for work. It was silly, really. Hairdressers at the modeling shoots would completely redo my hair anyway, but I never wanted to spoil the moment of having her wrapped up in touching me.
After work I would call and we'd either go out to eat at some little restaurant and maybe catch a movie or a museum or even a play. Other times she'd cook or we'd order in and eat off the plates the color of her hair and drink from the glasses the color of her eyes and fall asleep wrapped in the sheets that reminded me of everything about her. I'm not sure exactly when things began to change, but once they did they couldn't be stopped.
My earliest memory of noticing the mutuality of our feelings or at least of some feeling was one rainy night when the electricity had been knocked out after we had eaten a meal that she'd spent the afternoon cooking. Maybe it was the wine or the candlelight we were forced to use or the ripe red cherries she presented as dessert. But something drew me to her and the way her pale fingers would caress the cherry stem as she rolled the fruit in her wine glass and then lifted it to her matching red mouth, pulling the cherry from its root as drips of wine would run down her tongue and wet her lips.
Of course I'd noticed these small things before. How the way she moved made me yearn and the way she sat perfectly still caused me to ache. Maybe I'd grown up too much for my own good because I wanted nothing more than to touch her. And no longer as a friend. The excitement she had brought to my life was overwhelming at times. But now it was heightened by the candles and the rain pouring down our large bay windows as we sat on the sheets pulled down to the floor beside our bed. The shadows playing across her face made several emotions appear and I couldn't choose between the masks as to which was reflecting her actual thoughts. So I just watched and pined to lick the wine from her lips.
As if by some twisted turn of fate, for once I got exactly what I wanted. She held a dripping cherry in front of my face and it took me a moment to focus and notice it there before I leaned forward and pulled the fruit. She pulled back on the stem and smiled as wine slid down over my chin. Again time seemed to speed up and then come to a complete stop. She was straddling my legs and running her tongue up from my chin to my mouth before initiating our first kiss. Our first kiss. Even now it seems unreal. It all does. The heated breath, the sweating skin, the passionate gasps and pained moans of holding back before completely letting go. Our sheets and our bodies lost definition as our senses became numbed by the suffocating intensity of it all. Everything was silk.
Part I
A Shoujo Kakumei Utena fanfic.
Written by Juri-chan (aka cigam - cigam@cigamerisedi.com)
Disclaimer : These sexy ladies are not mine. Characters and story belong to BePapas and Saito, lyrics are Ani DiFranco's.
Summary : Shiori finds Juri and they begin a fragile life together.
Author's Note : These early chapters were written awhile ago, but I refuse to rewrite. I'm just going to take off where I started. Let me know how you liked the original, though, so I know how much I should stick to the style.
----------
When I reached the station I found that her train was running at least a half an hour behind, so I bought a cup of coffee from a stand and some random fashion magazine with a dramatic girl made up with a pale complexion and dark eyes. Her deep red lips caught my eye, but mostly I was anxious and wanted anything to busy my hands with. Flipping through the pages I barely paid attention to the stylish photos and empty articles until I came across the clothing ad with my own visage across the spread.
That's how she found me. She saw me in some fashion magazine; perhaps this very one. I'm not sure what she did from there. The strings she pulled or the lies she told in order to get her name mentioned to me. But I'm sure it wasn't hard. I wasn't a familiar face yet. No supermodel material. I'd only been in New York a year and 'in the business' a few months. She simply tracked me to the city and found my agency. Once I heard it was her that was searching, it was easy from there. I bit eagerly at her bait though I tried to hold back.
As I stared at the ad I was lost in memories. Of her and Ootori. What would she be like, now? With reality on her skin and truth running through her veins. How had four years of real life changed her? Part of me doubted she'd ever change at all. Yet I still felt.. excited. It's really the best way to put it. I had acquired a lot of emotions the past year that I had allowed myself to bury, but excitement was still kept under control for the most part. I was never nervous in front of a camera. The sleek, detached look my face so naturally held was exactly what they wanted.
"Juri-sempai..?"
Her voice broke through my thoughts like a small cut.. actually, exactly like that. She jarred me so that I ran my finger to roughly across the magazine page and caught my skin, tearing a small slit. But I didn't even think about it, really. I immediately looked up.
She was so real standing there in front of me that I thought she may be a dream. You know.. the kind of ghost so tangible that walks out of late night dreams. Her hair had grown out a little. I understood that, because mine had too. It worked well for her. Added some kind of maturity. And she was slightly tanned since the last time I'd seen her, though the pale complexion of her skin against slightly plum colored dark hair was still drastic and.. beautiful. My muscles tightened at that moment because she was beautiful, and I couldn't deny it, and something in those eyes of hers gave away the fact that she knew I couldn't.
"Oh.. you're bleeding. Is that my fault?"
I must of gasped when she took my hand in her own. The warmth from it was something I didn't remember. When I thought of her touch I usually felt cold, but this was a comforting hand. Warm and tender as it lifted my cut finger to her lips and held her tongue over the cut. Had she even had luggage? Did she set them down? Had any time passed between her standing before me and then being seated beside? I closed my eyes as her lips surrounded my finger. How could something so simple send those shivers through me?
She pulled away, taking a napkin from under the teacup I had and dabbed her lips. Had they always looked so... I shook my head in agony. One minute with her and already this. I curled my finger into my palm, making a loose fist, trying to calm my body from reacting to her. I wanted to hate her. There was this sudden, urgent need for me to hate her. But there she was. Smiling brightly as though nothing had changed since almost seven years ago when we had been happy.
I should have stood up right then and walked away. Took that cut as some sort of screwed up sign and ran from her and the life we would have together from then on. Instead I allowed her smile to lure me in and her warm arms (god, why were they so warm) to pull me to her as if we had always been the closest of friends and her voice to lull my anxieties as she murmured,
"I've been looking for you so long.. ouji-sama.."
-----
You were fresh off the boat from Virginia
I had a year in New York City under my belt
We met in a dream, we were both 19
I remember where we were standing, I remember how it felt
Verse I : Black Silk
-----
She immediately moved into my studio apartment and I began to forget life without her. The little quirks she added to the place seemed to complete it. She would put a new batch of flowers into the main vase on our kitchen table every week. Sometimes roses, though the smell of them always made be think of the past and I couldn't stand them for long. Couldn't stand the glint of a sword, the flow of pink strands, or the whisper of "..believe.." that would haunt my thoughts. So she would replace them with violets or often times lilies, which were my favorites. She said I constantly smelled of lilies. I loved it when I could also catch the hint of them on her. As crude as it sounds, it was like marking her.
She also had an amazing way with color. I had liked the minimalistic ivory and light gold tones I had been accustomed to before her arrival, but with her there they seemed all wrong. Together we repainted the walls light tones of burgundy with violet trim. We worked late into the night and all during the day for a few days just painting. No music, no television, no distractions. Just the steady sound of a brush against a wall. Soft and soothing. That's when it really hit me. Though it was serene I suddenly realized I was not alone anymore. I could feel her presence though she was painting across the room. This place was ours now. Everything became "ours" and sometimes I felt trapped, but as always it somehow felt comforting. Natural.
Our glasses were shaped like goblets with thin stems and small roses trimmed the rims the dull color of her eyes. Our dishes were plum, the color of her hair. Our sheets were black silk. Yes, our sheets. Our depthless midnight-esque sheets. I wasn't used to such dark bedding, but she had insisted. I didn't argue much since they were incredibly soft and I loved the way she laid in them. Running her skin across them all through the night.
Sharing a bed I spent many a night tortured by the presence of her petite form rested next to mine. The way she breathed so softly as her chest would rise and fall with a relaxation I never knew she could feel near me. And the smooth feel of her skin when she'd curl up reflexively close to my body during the night. It was so sick because I looked forward to this hell every evening. To watch her sleep so soundly beside me. The warmth she exuded and the look in her somehow childishly innocent face as she slept was addictive.
Sometimes she would talk in her sleep. Well, that's not an accurate definition. She would talk before we actually fell asleep. A surreal one-sided conversation spoken in her gentle sleepy voice. My back would be turned to her and she would lay flat on the bed, twisting her fingers amongst the sheets, brushing the tips across my arm. She would mention the school and what happened when I left. We never talked about it much anymore openly. It was a past at least I was trying to put behind me. But I couldn't resist lying awake listening to her attentively as she explained how students began disappearing.
As far as she knew Miki had stayed permanently with Kozue and Touga never left his position, though Nanami and Tsuwabuki had. He gave them his blessing and it had apparently been a rather tearful departure for Nanami. Touga had grown stoic, though. Much more than usual. He was seen frequently visiting the Dean and doing his bidding, but they both had the appearance of two hard worked men with nothing left to do. Each chore or task he carried out was actually meaningless and the students began to lose faith in the school and the Dean and their seitokaichou. That's when several students began disappearing. No one gave notice any longer, they were simply gone and it was just accepted. No answers given since there were no questions and the rose garden began to die.
Her stories would lull me into a restless sleep. But she immediately remedied that by curling next to me and nuzzling herself against my back. Her warm breath falling slowly and rhythmically across my skin soothed my heartache for our forgotten past. After weeks of this I began falling in love with her. Again. Though, honestly, had I ever fallen out?
We began acting like a seriously upside down married couple. I would wake up to the smell of her cooking eggs or rice or maybe just cereal. I would get dressed, and she'd help if needed. Soft fingers zipping the back of a dress or shirt. And the way her hands would run through my hair. She always said how much she loved it as though it were a cherished possession. She loved the look of it slightly uncurled and the tendrils seemed to instinctively wrap around her fingers as she styled it before I left for work. It was silly, really. Hairdressers at the modeling shoots would completely redo my hair anyway, but I never wanted to spoil the moment of having her wrapped up in touching me.
After work I would call and we'd either go out to eat at some little restaurant and maybe catch a movie or a museum or even a play. Other times she'd cook or we'd order in and eat off the plates the color of her hair and drink from the glasses the color of her eyes and fall asleep wrapped in the sheets that reminded me of everything about her. I'm not sure exactly when things began to change, but once they did they couldn't be stopped.
My earliest memory of noticing the mutuality of our feelings or at least of some feeling was one rainy night when the electricity had been knocked out after we had eaten a meal that she'd spent the afternoon cooking. Maybe it was the wine or the candlelight we were forced to use or the ripe red cherries she presented as dessert. But something drew me to her and the way her pale fingers would caress the cherry stem as she rolled the fruit in her wine glass and then lifted it to her matching red mouth, pulling the cherry from its root as drips of wine would run down her tongue and wet her lips.
Of course I'd noticed these small things before. How the way she moved made me yearn and the way she sat perfectly still caused me to ache. Maybe I'd grown up too much for my own good because I wanted nothing more than to touch her. And no longer as a friend. The excitement she had brought to my life was overwhelming at times. But now it was heightened by the candles and the rain pouring down our large bay windows as we sat on the sheets pulled down to the floor beside our bed. The shadows playing across her face made several emotions appear and I couldn't choose between the masks as to which was reflecting her actual thoughts. So I just watched and pined to lick the wine from her lips.
As if by some twisted turn of fate, for once I got exactly what I wanted. She held a dripping cherry in front of my face and it took me a moment to focus and notice it there before I leaned forward and pulled the fruit. She pulled back on the stem and smiled as wine slid down over my chin. Again time seemed to speed up and then come to a complete stop. She was straddling my legs and running her tongue up from my chin to my mouth before initiating our first kiss. Our first kiss. Even now it seems unreal. It all does. The heated breath, the sweating skin, the passionate gasps and pained moans of holding back before completely letting go. Our sheets and our bodies lost definition as our senses became numbed by the suffocating intensity of it all. Everything was silk.