Machi had a horrible feeling when she reached her room. The minute her hand touched the doorknob to her and Hisoka's room, her instinct was set off like an alarm. Forewarned, she prepared herself for whatever disaster or enemy she would find and then inserted the key to open the room.
But what met her eyes was fairly untroubling.
Her gaze quickly scanned the room. Aside from the fact that it was exceptionally well-adorned, the room did not appear as anything out of the ordinary. There was a queen-sized bed with abundant, richly ornamented pillows. To the left, there was a richly-crafted couch and coffee table set, oriented around a small television set. To the right of her, there was a door leading to an empty bathroom that appeared generously sized and clean.
She studied the curtains at the back of the room that were drawn to reveal glass door overlooking an elegantly-styled balcony. Night was approaching and she could see the fading of the sunlight. If somebody wanted to attack them, darkness would be the perfect cover. But nobody seemed to be outside. In fact, there wasn't a foe in sight. Had her instinct been wrong? Dubiously, she checked and re-checked the room. When nothing threatening could be found, her doubts grew and she debated with herself whether to enter.
Somebody said from behind, "Is this our room?"
She turned her head to see Hisoka, who was peering over her shoulder.
"…Not half-bad," he shrugged, dismissing the extravagance of the ornate room, "But why are you waiting outside for?"
"Something's wrong," she answered, returning her attention back to the scene before her, "but I don't know what it is."
Her seriousness rubbed off on him and his demeanor became more alert as he, too, studied the room, "Is it instinct?"
"Hai."
"I don't feel anything," he said after a moment, "I don't detect any Nen."
"Me, neither," she said, perplexed, "But I feel like something's not right—"
To her surprise and immediate annoyance, he began to chuckle. Aggravated, she crossed her arms and stared at him frostily, "What's so funny?"
"I think I know what it is," he paused and then decided to add, "…Machi-chan."
"Well?" she demanded, ignoring the fond name but feeling all the more apprehensive. Hisoka never called her that unless he was about to spring something unpleasant on her. He withdrew his cards and shuffled them easily, delaying her apprehension. She waited with increasing dread.
"There's only one bed," he told her, flashing a card at the same. The Ace of Hearts.
"Nani?!" she exclaimed in utter horror.
Recollecting herself, she said coolly, "That's not a problem. You can sleep on the couch or the floor."
"What if I don't want to?" he returned, displaying a stubbornness that made her want to wrench out his heart and step on it, "Gomen, but I'm not exactly the gentlemanly type. I won't fight a lady but that doesn't mean I won't argue with her over the bed."
He ignored her chilling glare, "Hate me all you want but I enjoy a good night's sleep as well as the next guy." He suggested innocently, "Why don't we just share?"
"No," she said dryly.
He threw her an inviting, sensual look, "But it's big enough—"
"No. And I'm not going to repeat myself gain"
"Then what do we do?"
"Let's flip for it," she held up the infamous coin, "I call Heads."
Without waiting for his response, she flicked the coin into the air. Briefly, it seemed to hang there, spinning vigorously before being snatched abruptly by Machi's swift fingers and slammed onto her palm. Slowly, she removed her hand.
"Heads, it is," she announced with a contented smile.
Hisoka pouted but said nothing.
Machi walked briskly toward the bed and threw the clown a pillow. Night had fallen outside at last and she turned on the lamp on her bedstand. Then, pointedly ignoring him, she entered the bathroom to ready herself for sleep.
When she returned, her ponytail had been undone, letting her purple hair cascade down onto her back. She had also removed her kimono to reveal a simple, white tanktop. Hisoka relished the sight before him, admiring her sleek form and the hidden strength that it possessed. Her skin was unblemished, white as snow, and her beauty even more apparent despite the dim lighting.
Propped on one elbow on the floor, he stared with open admiration as she climbed gracefully into bed, wishing to join her. Then again, he was lucky enough to be sharing a room with her.
"Machi-chan…" he murmured under his breath, "You really are…"
"What did you say?" she said, golden eyes gleaming with warning.
Hisoka laid his head back on his pillow with a smile that only made her more wary, "Nothing. Just… good night."
~@@@~
She played the piano beautifully.
Feitan watched his new charge quietly from a corner. It was almost astonishing how well she played. Her long, lithe fingers flew over the keys as if by magic, drawn by invisible strings. The resulting notes were sublime, delicate, yet powerful.
He stood, leaning by the window. His arms were crossed and his form more languid than usual. But overall, he would've been infinitely bored were it not for the melody filling the room.
Outside, he could see Phinks grumbling bitterly as he scattered fertilizer carelessly over the carefully groomed lawn. They both had applied for jobs at the Toko Mansion. Funny how he managed to secure a position as top bodyguard while Phinks was hired as a lowly gardener. Indeed, quite funny actually. He sniggered to himself.
He was compelled to wave mockingly to his partner, who returned the wave with a more hostile gesture involving a single finger.
Feitan snorted before turning away, not the least bit insulted. Hmph. At least I don't have to work with horse crap.
His sharp eyes rested lazily on the young woman before him, who was still earnestly playing. She played the role of the niece of Mafia boss quite well, looking not the least bit average. Long, silver hair… The glinting strands captured the light rather than reflect it and she seemed aglow like a princess with a crown of silver… And eyes of turquoise, deep like the sea and just as peaceful…
But it was her hands that attracted his attention the most. He could care less about her appearance; it was her skill that impressed him. One of the attributes he valued most was ability and Kita Toko had an exceptional amount. Her slender fingers were flawless in their art. Each key was pressed perfectly, each note held just quite right.
Perhaps she felt his stare for she halted abruptly and tilted her head toward him. A gentle smile spread across her face as she questioned in a tinkling voice, "I can feel you watching me… Do you like it?"
"It?" he repeated and uncomfortably, he noticed how his own voice sounded lifeless and drab compared to hers.
"The song, of course."
Well, he hadn't been paying too much attention to the piano. Music generally didn't interest him but by the flurry of scales and beats, he judged the composition fairly complicated.
"You play well," he said at last. Compliments rarely escaped his lips unless they were well-deserved.
As if sensing the importance of his opinion, she bowed her head humbly, "Arigatou. I practice a lot. It is one of the only things I can do."
He didn't know what to make of that so he remained silent.
"Koto-san, is it?" she asked curiously. "That's your name?"
"Hai."
"Where do you come from, Koto-san? Or did you always live here in Yorkshin?"
"Here," he replied monotonously, wishing she would return to her music. Her questions were insipid and bothersome since he could tell her nothing but lies. Besides, talk held no significance for him. In battle, it was inefficient to bother with words when actions – such as killing one's opponent – obviously achieved the point quicker and with more emphasis.
"Koto-san…" she said after a while when she realized he would not continue the conversation unless forced, "Can I ask you something?"
"Fine."
For some reason, she was hesitant and the insecurity traveled clear across the room, "Can you tell me what you look like?"
Feitan was caught offguard, shooting the girl a glance that confirmed his aroused suspicions. Her blue-green eyes, though spectacular in color, lacked depth. He decided to do a quick test. With incredible speed, he rushed at her, only to stop a few centimeters before her face and leap back easily to his original position. It happened in the span of a second.
Kita Toko never blinked but she wondered at the sudden breeze of wind.
She coughed lightly, as if embarrassed, "There was a fire a couple of years ago and I got caught up in the flames."
Once again, he didn't know how to respond. He had always prided himself on being exceptionally observant but when he had entered the room to start his shift, she had already been playing. The grace of her technique and the flow of her music had deceived him.
"Do you feel sorry for me?"
"No," he answered honestly. The revelation was nothing to him.
"Good. I don't want sympathy from anyone," she spoke rather firmly.
"Well, I wouldn't give it to you even if you wanted me to."
There was a cruel edge in that but it didn't seem to daunt her. Her expression grew more sardonic than sweet, but was strangely more attractive as well. If anything, her grin widened even more at his cold remark. "I'm glad. In that case, I think we'll get along just fine, Koto-san."
"………"
A knock on the door interrupted the half-hearted conversation. A well-muscled, bald man entered, informing Feitan gruffly, "Your shift's up. I'll be taking over the watch now."
To Kita, he said, "It's time for your Braille lessons, Miss."
"Already?" Kita said, sounding disappointed. But she got up from her piano bench and smoothed her dress complacently. The man walked close to her and placed her hand on his arm, leading her out the room.
Before she left, however, she called back, "Koto-san. The next time we meet, answer my question. Onegai. You sound like an interesting person and I'm afraid I haven't known very many interesting people in my life, except killers."
Stonily, Feitan watched them disappear, not knowing whether the whole scenario had been amusing or irrelevant.
Once they were gone, however, he allowed himself a smile that was more chilling than anything else, "Interesting, huh?"
~@@@~
He saw himself through her eyes sometimes. That was how it worked, usually. The perspective was not your own but that of the one who owned the memories. And these were hers. Undoubtedly.
Maybe that's why they were exceptionally clear. Everytime he decided to visit one, his senses were overwhelmed by the vividness. The smell, the feel, even occasionally the taste of what she had tasted. He never knew that she adored strawberries.
This time, however, it was just what she had seen. And what she had seen was himself, lying and bleeding. Wounded, it seemed, beyond repair.
It had been one of the Spider's first missions and the confidence from previous success, had caused him to make a serious mistake during battle. As a result, he had been wounded drastically. In his own memories, the pain had been searing, distorting his thoughts until he was ready to faint for relief.
But in hers, the pain was of a different nature.
Is he hurt? Will he die? He relived her thoughts, which were panicky, fearful. Ubo will be grief-strickken…
She forced herself to remain calm, to instruct in a patient, detached voice that would be soothing.
"Nobunaga, don't move. Your arm… It's been cut off. But Machi can sew it back on if we find her in time. Everything will be fine if you just listen to what I say and don't close your eyes."
But she was afraid by his non-verbal response, an irrepressible moan of suffering.
"NOBUNAGA! You bastard! Don't close your eyes!!" she had shrieked as her thoughts raced wildly. PLEASE DON'T DIE ON ME…
At the time, he had been annoyed her selfishness, her fear. Members of the Spiders shouldn't fear Death, he had accused her. "Why can you just let me die in peace, woman?!" he had yelled back when she had slapped him in her efforts to keep him awake.
But in the end, she had saved him.
He had never thanked her for that. Never bothered because his memory of her fear at the time had disgusted him. It had tainted his opinion. But now, as he relived her memories, as he looked beyond his own, he saw the undeniable truth. Felt it. And it was more painful than he could've imagined.
Even now, her thoughts at the time made him sorrowful for the friend he had lost. Made the tears fall when noone else was there to witness them.
Please don't die, Nobunaga… Stay alive…The Spider needs you…I don't want you to die…
She had been afraid. Not for herself, not for her life, but for him and his. Because his life had been meaningful to her, meaningful even if it was just an insignificant life. At that time, she had seen him not as just a broken limb to be replaced but one to heal. Only two people had ever cared selflessly about his existence that way and now, they were both dead.
…It WASN'T fair!! Why did he have to lose such rare people? Was this the curse of being born on Shooting Star Street? To find and lose family continually?
The tears stopped at last. He recovered himself, putting on the unfeeling mask of the samurai. Loss could not touch him there, only vengeance if only because it was less painful.
"Ubogin, Pakunoda," he said quietly to himself, gripping the handle of his sword so tightly that his knuckles grew white, "The chain-killer will die. I promise you."
~@@@~
Ok, ok, I guess I'm guilty of something that is not usually well-received by people – OC. Nevertheless, I hope you will bear with him. Kita's purpose is not for the sake of making something up but of promoting character development. Hopefully she'll fulfill this purpose well enough to avoid being disliked. ^^;;