Here's the next installment. Thank you so much for all the reviews! I know I haven't done much justice to the title of this fic yet but I'll try to get to it ASAP. ^^;; Anyways, I apologize in advance if certain things don't seem right to you but I just write the way I interpret the characters and essentially, for my own amusement. (Of course if you get amused, the more, the merrier, neh? ^_^) In the meantime, I just enjoy the fic as much as you can.
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It was two hours after the six had left that Kurotopi began to feel disturbed by something.
She had spent the time peacefully, reading the newspaper in the tranquil silence by the light of Pakunoda's candles. Still, it was fairly dark inside the hideout and some may have questioned her ability to relax so entirely in this place of shadows.
But she knew that there was no other place where she was as welcome. No other place she could possibly feel as at home. And the Genrei Ryodan, despite what they did, had done, and were still capable of—they were the closest thing she had to a family.
Her violet eyes, shielded behind a thick veil of greenish hair, took in the surroundings with a faint sense of appreciation.
Minutes passed and the appreciation faded to a sense of foreboding. Hidden lips frowned lightly.
Something was wrong. Something didn't quite fit the picture.
She looked around the room and then focused on Nobunaga.
That was it. That was what had been disturbing her. Nobunaga hadn't moved an inch during the past two hours.
Her frown deepened. That wasn't like him. That wasn't like him at all. The man was restless by nature, impatient, often rash. Yet, here he was, leaning against the wall and still as could be.
"Nobunaga…" she compelled herself to speak.
It was as if he hadn't heard her. He was so lost in thought that his eyes seemed to be seeing something else, something that wasn't there.
"Nobunaga…" she called out again. The others were looking at her in surprise. She knew how odd it must seem. Her actions went against her typical, silent persona. But Nobunaga's behavior was troubling in a way she could not explain, "Nobunaga…"
Finally, "NOBUNAGA!"
He jerked, as if coming out of a daze. "What?" he demanded, irritated by the interruption. He stared at Franklin for an explanation.
"Iie," his comrade spoke, "I didn't call you. It was Kurotopi."
"Kurotopi?" He turned to her, a bit startled.
She had never been good with confrontations, even casual ones like this. Only dire situations could push her to it. The glances of people, even her fellow teammates, made her nervous. That was one of the reasons she hid behind her long strands. Only one person had ever seen the face behind those locks of hair and Kuroro had told her she was beautiful. He was the only person she actually enjoyed conversing with.
But he was gone and now, they were gazing her expectantly. She was unused to being the center of attention. Her own eyes fell to the floor and she clutched her hands nervously, habits long established by years at an orphanage. Humility was beaten into one there and she had never forgotten.
"Well?"
But even if she liked keeping silent, she was not a lowly, humble person at heart. She had the scars to prove it. "What's going on with you?" she asked at last.
"What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean."
Nobunaga sighed, "I don't know how to explain it… But something about the Dancho's a little off today… He punished Machi for breaking the rules but let Phinks off for the same crime… He's never been so unfair."
"I've noticed it, too," she admitted, "But who are we to question him? He is the Dancho. He does what is best for the group and conflict between members is dangerous at a time like this. The chain-killer—"
"That, too!" Nobunaga broke in loudly with anger, "He wants the chain-killer to join, even after he killed Ubo!"
"So?" Kurotopi shrugged, not comprehending. She said dryly, "Hisoka killed someone before he joined, right? What's the difference?"
Nobunaga brushed away her comments with disgust, "You wouldn't understand. You haven't known Kuroro as long as I have. Ubo was there at the beginning. His death… and Pakunoda's…"
She blazed at that, standing up indignantly. What was he implying? That Ubo had been more valuable than the rest of them? But her voice remained crystal clear and calm, even polite, the result of many years of holding her tongue when to speak would've resulted in pain, "I may not have been here as long as Ubogin but the rules still stand regardless. Who are you to question what the Dancho wants, Nobunaga?"
From a corner of her mind, she noted that some of the candles had disappeared. The remained few could not fight against the darkness on their own.
"Dammit! I knew you wouldn't understand!" Nobunaga glared at her before walking away, "I need some fresh air."
"Don't wander too far," Franklin told him sternly.
"I won't."
Franklin lifted an eyebrow, "He's just worried. Don't let him get to you."
Kurotopi sat back down, more frustrated than she was willing to show. "Baka," she muttered after Nobunaga had left, clenching her gloved fists repeatedly to try and relieve the tension. When that didn't work, she walked over to Pakunoda's grave and picked up a candle. Focusing slightly, a duplicate appeared. Again and again, until the light was burning brightly once more. Kneeling so that she could sense the radiating heat, Kurotopi let her uneasy spirit be comforted.
The sight of light surrounding the grave was precious to her in a way she could not explain.
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The room they entered was sparkling clean, airy and comfortable. Before them sat a woman at a desk. Despite the wrinkles on her face that indicated old age, her gaze remained piercing and alert. Shalnark blanched a bit at the freakishly odd red color of her eyes, which reminded him instantly of the chain-killer. The audible gasp that escaped from Shizuku told him that she had noticed it as well.
The old woman raised her eyebrows critically. Her voice was thin but boasted of authority, "Is something the matter?"
Shizuku seemed to wilter under the harshly delivered question. "No," she said weakly, shrinking back a little.
"Names?"
"Shizuku," answered Shizuku.
"Daisuke," answered Shalnark.
He could feel his partner's quick glance. But Shizuku had enough sense not to appear too astonished. Falsehoods were not uncommon for them, after all. Deception was a necessary part of the job.
"What? No last names?"
They looked at each other, unsure as what to say. Before a tense silence could reign, Shalnark opened his mouth to invent some believable surname. Certainly, one more lie couldn't hurt. But he was cut off before he could say a word.
"Alright, that's fine. They don't matter. We don't hire based on your identity," the woman continued. With a haughty demeanor, she told them, "What we want are workers of high maintenance and quality. The people you work for don't take on trash, you know. Even if you are from a background of trash, what is important is that you appear not to be."
Shizuku smiled wryly and even Shalnark coughed to hide a bitter laugh.
And the woman pointed proudly at herself, "My name is Yukina Togashi."
"Togashi-san…" Shizuku suddenly said curiously and casually, her innocence creeping subtly into her voice to throw off the older woman, "Do you happen to know of the Kurata Clan?"
Shalnark tensed, his fingers clenching tightly around the phone in his pocket. If she replied in the affirmative, then her death was sealed. But Togashi seemed more puzzled than anything by the abrupt inquiry.
"Kurata? What's that?'
"Iie. Nothing important," Shizuku replied sweetly and the matter was easily dismissed.
"I don't know about anything outside my line of work. And you shouldn't either, if you want to be hired," Togashi instructed firmly, "Now I need to ask a few more questions… Are you two married?"
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"Are you two married?" the question was delivered in a bored tone.
The interviewer looked as if he couldn't care less what their response was. He was a tired-looking, middle-aged man. The kind that appeared as if all the fun and spirit had been sucked out of him and his only purpose for life was to ask insignificant, easy questions that mattered to noone.
Except this question wasn't as easy to answer as one would think.
Machi and Hisoka looked at each other in surprise.
"No," she said.
"Yes," he said.
Annoyed that his grey existence had been disturbed by a possible conflict, the interviewer looked up, "Well? So which one is it?"
"No," Machi said through gritted teeth. She knew Hisoka liked to lie and to irritate her with his advances but this was going a bit too far.
"Yes," Hisoka answered again, lightly.
"If you two can't make up your mind, " the interviewer – Saki Yoshimoto – told them grumpily, "I'll just tell you that a married couple gets a special deal. When you work here, you have to live here as well. A married couple gets to stay for less so it's cheaper."
Cheaper? Machi's eyebrow twitched indecisively. The purple-haired beauty pursed her lips as she weighed saving money to being hitched to Hisoka.
"How much does it cost to stay here?" she pressed.
"Ten billion a night."
"A night?!" she nearly shrieked before calming herself down and glaring at the man in dismay.
"That includes food and clothes and protection."
When the animosity did not fade, he said defensively, "I don't set the prices."
"I'd hang you anyway," she muttered under her breath, deeply unhappy.
"What was that?"
"She said, how much again to pay?" Hisoka covered smoothly.
"Ten billion. Per night."
"That's very expensive… Very expensive," the clown repeated for emphasis, slowly and thoughtfully. He shot a cunning smirk at Machi before asking, "And how much if we were married?"
"Five billion but the protection won't be provided."
Yoshimoto narrowed his eyes in confusion when Hisoka chuckled as if he were knew a secret that the rest of the world was unaware of. This guy was perhaps a bigger fool than he appeared, the weary man thought. Everybody knew that working for a Mafia boss was dangerous work, even if it paid extremely well. Unconsciously, he fingered the gun taped under his desk.
"The protection won't be needed," the joker grinned as if that explained everything.
"Well then, it's up to you," Yoshimoto told Hisoka.
"It's up to you," Hisoka told Machi, unexpectedly neutral.
She gave him a cool, appraising study.
But he was blank, even serious, and like so many times before, she could figure out nothing…
Only Hisoka knew and he knew that when he appeared serious, it was because he was unsure of what the outcome would be. And as it turned out, though he had a good hunch, he could not predict Machi's response. But he was never completely sure about the girl, which made being with her all the more exciting.
The silence was dull but also loud to Hisoka in a thousand ways. He gazed at Machi openly, his heart beating awkwardly as it always did when it encountered something darkly wonderful. He could detect nothing on her face for it was only a stone-like visage. Beautiful, but hard and cold at the same time. Her delicate features remained mysterious and the only sign that she was even thinking at all were the whirring emotions in her intelligent, golden eyes. And Hisoka was disappointed that he couldn't even identify those. It was unsettling, to say the least.
To pass the time, he shuffled skillfully, relieving the tension he felt by the swift motions of his cards. As he waited for her response, he was slightly stunned to find his palms tainted with moisture.
"Fine," Machi snapped at last, "We're married then."
She glowered at Hisoka, swearing to herself that if he provoked her in any little way at the moment, she would change her mind immediately. "Don't you dare say a word," she hissed as a warning when Yoshimoto went to get the paperwork turned in.
But he merely stared back. There was not even the slightest of smiles. Nothing but dead seriousness slowly being taken over by a shade of shock.
"This is certainly unexpected," he murmured to himself. His voice sounded less clear than usual, as if he didn't whether or not to laugh or just muddle in confusion, "You agreed to marry …me?"
He gazed at her in wonder but she ignored him and turned away with a disdainful twist of her head. The prospect of being his bride made slightly sick but that would only be temporary. Losing money was a more unforgivable crime, in her opinion. Sure, she could always earn it back but the amount of time that would take was immeasurable. Plus, she treasured every cent like a miser.
"Ok," Yoshimoto returned, "Your rooms are on the seventieth floor. Job starts tomorrow morning. Report to the third floor at seven o' clock sharp or be fired." He handed them the keys, which Machi swiped in a huff before stalking out of the room.
Hisoka watched her go before solemnly following her. To a normal observer, he would not be any different. His step was steady and strong; his face, unperturbed and relaxed. But a sharper look would show that the fascination had not faded and that he gave the impression of being mesmerized.
Yoshimoto let out a sigh as the man disappeared and then sank into his chair with a shudder. There was something wrong with that clown. Despite his façade of friendliness, the aura around him was more threatening than anything else. He almost felt sorry for that poor girl, being married to a freakish clown like that. But the sympathy vanished as quickly as it came and was followed by an uneasy observance. They were an unlikely couple. Surely, the lady had deserved better with her striking looks and all. But they were ominously alike in some ways… He couldn't quite put his finger on it… How they matched… It was something unnerving, something beyond him…
Giving up, he shrugged. The last traces of concern were gone forever.
It had been her choice anyway.
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Oh, quick note. If it isn't clear, each pair (Machi/Hisoka, Feitan/Phinks, Shalnark/Shizuku) have gone undercover at different places. ^^;; And the whole Kuroro thing, I'll try to explain later. But don't expect too much from his perspective since I like to imagine him as a more closed, mysterious character.