by CrimsonNoble
A/N: Astonishingly, now that I've just finished and posted chapter
seventeen, I immediately start to work on eighteen. Without any
reviews. I feel that I broke seventeen off at a good place, but it was
not quite where I had planned to. And yet it took me forever to
actually post this blasted thing. Sexy.
On female sexuality:
Her skin will flush very slightly. If she's pale as death ordinarily
and has suddenly turned rosy, she wants it. Her lips will especially
flush, and may even "swell" up a bit.
(the biological reason for this is that the lips are trying to
suggest... well, another set of lips).
A man said to the universe: 'Sir, I exist!' However, replied the
universe: 'The fact has not created in me a sense of obligation.'"
--Stephan Crane
Disclaimer: I make no claims toward ownership of Harry Potter. I do,
however, claim ownership of Ange. 'Cause they're mine.
WARNING: This is rated R for a reason. Should you choose to ignore
said reason, read at your own risk. Masochism, sadism, sensuality,
graphic violence, and harsh language. Possible male/male
relationships, and definite female/female. Quite probable threesome
relationship between any of the above. Ye hast been warned. Should
any of the above be objectionable to you, there is a back button on
your browser, a convienient hyperlink back to the main Harry Potter
section of the site, and a simple right-click will reveal an option
for "back", if your computer works like mine. Can't help mac users
there.
Spoilers: OotP, GoF, PoA, CoS, SS.
Chapter 18:
Nymphadora Tonks' Apartment, ????. January 19, 1420.
Raye slipped through the door quietly, closing it softly. She leaned
against the wall, her eyes closed, the back of her head impacting with
a dull thud. She really hadn't meant to do that. Immediately after the
kiss, she'd fled. Luna was probably still there.
Shit.
Her fist hammered into the wall next to the door.
"Is something wrong?"
It was, naturally, Tonks. Had it been anyone else, Raye would have
been greatly offended. It was Tonks' flat, after all.
"No," she responded. "Or it might be. I do not know."
Tonks waited. Not patiently, because she didn't want to know all that
much in the first place. She faked it almost well enough though.
Of course, had Raye been in some other state of mind, she would have
seen that. "Have you ever killed someone?"
Tonks looked not unlike someone caught between lying or her not-happy
place. That was not somewhere she wanted to go. "No," she snapped
shortly.
"Try it. Then tell me how that would have felt at sixteen."
Tonks tilted her head, considering the idea. Sixteen? "Did something
happen to Luna?"
Raye's hand curled tightly around the key she had borrowed. When her
voice finally came, her accent was, if possible, thicker. "She killed
someone."
Tonks muttered darkly. "Wizard or a muggle?"
It was a critical question. Though it was pitiful, it was a fact that
the Ministry didn't prosecute witches or wizards who killed muggles.
They left that to the muggles themselves. If Luna had killed a muggle,
she wouldn't need to arrest her.
"What?"
"Did she kill a magical person or a non magical person?"
"Ah." Raye said, understanding dawning. It had been such a long time
since the last occasion she had even thought about the word muggle.
"A norm. Damn, I did not know she had yet to kill anyone."
Curiosity overwhelmed Tonks. What kind of world would you have to call
your own to assume that everyone you met was a killer?
"How many people have you killed?"
Raye blinked several times. Then several more. "Loki... I do not know
the correct numerical designation. But if you round... there are a lot
of zeroes. After other numbers. If I went to Dante's Hell, it would
need a whole new level of boiling blood for me."
"How many zeros?"
"A lot."
Nymphadora Tonks' Apartment, ????. January 19, 1450.
-------
UNKNOWN!UKNOWN!UNKOWN!UNKOWN!
Lie seated himself, and Severus babbled.
He wasn't sure how long it had been since he had come, only that he
was now a full Ange. Not a Master, but an Ange.
"Now," the platinum-haired woman began, "until you kill either Euri or
myself, I merely have to train you to be a better killer. Have you
ever killed anyone?"
Lie thought, and Severus prayed he would say 'yes'. "I tried a few
times." He said. "It didn't work so good."
The woman's lips thinned and stretched, but without twisting her face.
It was as if she had merely recreated her face, with a longer mouth.
While it was not quite right, the description wasn't exactly wrong
either. "We'll have to fix that."
"Really?" Lie eager, Severus fearing the imminent loss of the child's
innocence.
"I would not lie so brazenly. Do not take me for a fool."
UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!UNKNOWN!
-------
Final, ????. January 20, 0023.
Raye exited her cell, letting the breeze play with her hair as she
crossed the open hallway. She didn't have to go far, and almost before
her hair had started dancing, she was away from the wind. Why it was
above ground this time was something she wasn't going to bother
wondering at. She was more concerned, though that wasn't exactly the
right word, because she already knew the outcome, with the imminent
conflict.
It sounded so pretty like that, she observed.
The thought drew a sardonic giggle. Death is pretty...
"You told I had the eyes of a wolf, search them and find the beauty of
the beast..." she hummed quietly. The lyrics had come out of nowhere,
from a song she had heard a long time ago.
And then she was in the arena.
It was oblong, was her first thought. Closely on the heels of that
came the possibility that it had once been a church. There were,
suffice to say, a lot of crucifixes. What better place to commit the sin?
Raye giggled as she watched her opponent step into the oblong perimiter.
That had not been a phrase she had thought of ever before, and
probably would never have. It made her wonder what else she had never
thought of. Her mind rapidly degenerated into the proverbial gutter.
Her opponent gripped his weapon at the sight of her twisted expression,
a mix of interest, disgust, and a certain degree of horror. She mocked
him! He, the only successor to the Itagaki style, was being mocked by
some woman without even a surname!
His almost almond-shaped eyes, but just a little too round for that,
narrowed in anger. She was even shorter than he was, and he stood a
mere five feet three inches. Quite nearly a midget himself.
It made things hard for him. Contrary to what people said, size did
matter. Small things tended to be squashed easily. And being squahed
was never a good thing.
And she was purple. What kind of moron went purple in a war tournament?
Death would be her reward. It would be swift, and merciful. One strike
no more, no less.
He looked down, settling into a perfect Iai stance, his blade popped
free of the saya.
His eyes unfocused as he began to narrate how the battle would go to
himself. He would lunge, his blade singing from its saya as her weapon
missed. His weapon would strike at her neck, severing her head in one
smooth motion, she would not have time to realize her defeat. A
warrior's death.
Raye stretched her knit hands in front of her, cracking her knuckles,
and, by pure accident, her elbows as well. Her left went to her Eagle,
sliding it part-way out of the holster, making sure it was completely
free, and wouldn't catch when she drew it. It was an unnecessary
gesture, had it caught on something it would have ripped free. Though
that was unlikely in the extreme, her care of her weapons was second
only to her love of pain.
And then she lifted her right hand, placing her thumb between the
first and second fingers of her closed fist. This she waved at the
man, who clearly did not understand the significance.
Idiot.
Beneath the black material, the man's arms flexed in preparation. He
would win this, for his master.
His master, Perio.
The gong sounded, though Raye had not heard the introductions. Perhaps
they had not been given, perhaps she had been distracted.
For twenty impossibly long seconds, her opponent simply stared at her,
as if trying to gauge her abilites.
The thought nearly made her cry with laughter. Gauge her? Impossible.
She knew of one person who might be able to do so. And she hadn't seen
that person in more years than she knew how to count.
And then he lunged. His speed was not hindered by the way he was
moving, shuffling his right foot forward, never letting his left take
the lead. He was moving perfectly according to his training.
And then Raye drew her magnum, left handed, and fired. The fifty
caliber bullet vaporized the man's shoulder, streaking away to shatter
the lock of the double doors. A scream echoed from beyond, harmonizing
quickly with the fallen man's.
Raye approached boredly, listening as the scream died away, and gazing
at the immense hole in her opponent. His eyes plead for a warrior's
death, an honorable beheading.
Raye kicked him onto his stomach, before shooting him again. The
bullet tore a gaping hole in his back, perfectly centered between the
shoulder blades, and buried itself in the earth beneath the half
rotten wood floor.
Raye muttered something in a harsh language that was not German about
the man's ancestry, inbreeding, genetic defects, and sexual impotence.
Weapons Free, Team Shike Victors. January 20, 0031.
-------
Street, London. January 20, 0246.
Raye stepped out of the convinence store without sound. The cashier
within was lying across the counter, a long slash across his eyes,
and another that looked like something flat had punctured entirely
through his neck. What was supposed to be a security camera was now
merely a pile of still-slightly molten slag.
Raye gazed curiously at the box in her hand, some brand or other of
cigarettes, she hadn't been picky. It was something she had wanted to
try for a week or so now, an almost unheard-of length of time for
something she wanted.
A transparent blue plastic lighter burst into flame after several
awkward tries, and the fire caressed the end of one of the sticks, and
the harsh aroma of a French blend fled onto the night air.
Raye took it between her lips, and drew a deep breath through it.
Without releasing it, she tilted her head slightly, and considered.
It was nothing special, she decided, and dropped the mostly-whole
cigarette to the pavement, along with the rest of the pack, and the
lighter. She crushed it, and walked away.
And then the store exploded.
Street, London. January 20, 0259.
ReginaLucifer--Now now, that's jumping to conclusions. But yeah, I
expect the first time you kill someone is rather shocking.
Relle--You know, it seems like I just can't update if I don't get a
review from you. Strange.
Dante's Hell reference: One of the Circles is a river of boiling
blood. Depending on how many people someone has killed, you go deeper.
Alexander the Great is completely submerged. Raye would be
significantly deeper.
Raye's gesture:
This is known as a 'fig'. Greatly obscene, the first and second
fingers represent the lips of a vagina, the thumb a penis. Highly
disrespectful.