Hard to Swallow
Chapter the Second- The Winds Blew Me to You

Word Count: 1,549
Pairing: Friend x Friend
Rating: T
Disclaimer: ibid
Inspired by the friendships that nobody notices, because those are the most beautiful.

Ignore the earth; look up to the clouds. Unlike the ground, the sky changes.
So that's about it, the letter read. I'm working with a witch of a woman, whose only concern is to move up in ranks. Me, I don't give a damn as long as I can keep fighting. I think the president notices that we're writing letters, though. Dunno what he'll do about it.

She laughed and wrote back.
We are using his own mailing system, after all. But I don't mind. I bought a new dress today, bright yellow to match the earrings you bought me before you left with your new job. I still don't see why it's funny, but it looks nice. I'll send a picture some day.

A wingbeat of a week brought his next letter.
It's because you're so hyper all the time, I thought the president might like it better if you were sourer. You know, he seems to like people like that. You should see my partner; she's a real bitch. The president must've thought she could hide underground when I let loose, but she's always bitching and yelling about things and calling me half an idiot. Damn, I wish you were here, but you know the president. He only wants people with powers. You should see his vice, though.

The pen met the paper.
I've heard about her. You like her better than me?
She paused, unsure of what to write. His sentence seemed strange to her; it was not in his character to talk about women. He must have been joking or acting. It made her miss him more.
I wish I could be at your level again. Do you know of anyone about to get the boot? I'm stronger now.

He pondered.
I've heard people whispering. They say Independence is going to be forcefully evicted for her method of dealing with the propaganda issue. But she's two above me, and he won't let you unless you complement me, even if you are closer to me 'personally' than this mole bitch. And what're the chances of finding one and having it compliment me?

She refused to let go.
Very much, anything is possible. It's Valentine to you now, Five-kun. I've been promoted to Twelve, and I bet you my partner's twice as bad as yours.

He might have been surprised.
Congratulations. Stop calling me Five-kun, it makes me feel like we're companions. Independence 'disappeared' last night, so the Three spot's open right now. I wouldn't want it if I was you- Three's a bastard candle, and I think Golden Week's going to get the spot. She didn't work well with the big mass Four either; he's a huge, slow mass of lard and she's a stupid little kid.

She was surprised.
So if Golden Week becomes Three, maybe this Christmas you're always on about will become Four. After all, if she is the bitch you said she is, she could knock some sense into Four. What's his Type, anyways?

He wasn't surprised.
He doesn't have one, his gun does. It's a dog.

She tilted her head.
Don't you mean his dog is a gun?
People have been watching me lately training and stuff. It's scary. Write back soon, I miss you and the days when we were Billions together.


He didn't reply; the next letter she received was a package. She was worried that Zero might have been pissed for them misusing the Unluckies, but it wasn't like they had something to do every minute of the day, right? A monkey and a chicken have little to do to entertain themselves when they're not off telling someone that they'd better pack up and leave or they'd find their head neatly removed from their shoulders.

Said otter and said vulture looked at her with a cold glare that only animals are capable of while she opened the box. It smelled deeply but not strongly of flower petals, like the young woman of perhaps thirty years who had been there on the day of her promotion who spoke with a slow softness that permeated the air like her gentle scent.

Twelve sat too close to her on the wooden bench in the busy town centre they were infiltrating or something, starting to put his hand in an interesting place. She slapped it, and it retreated again; did he think it was a game, this advance and retreat and advance and retreat? Did all men play the game just to touch a woman's backside, or was it just Twelve? Five did not; he did what he was told and nothing else.

"What is it?"
"I have to go to the bathroom." She laughed, high and annoying, but her heart wasn't in it. Twelve never understood that she laughed because she didn't like the person she was laughing at.
"Can I join you?"
"The Ladies room."
"Can I come?"
"No."

Alone in the confines of a lonely pub basement, she drew in a long breath and savoured the scent again before peaking into the box and trying to still her heart. This was her answer, her dream, her message from someone above saying that she could have him back.

It was a ghostly, sick yellow, like lemons left in the sun for too long and vaguely lemon-shaped, with rough bristles sticking out of the firm skin. She rubbed it with the back of her hand absent-mindedly. If she could be with Five again, maybe one day she could laugh for real like she had not been able to since her mother passed away and she joined this…corporation to make ends meet.
"Valentine? Are you down there?" The sugary voice of Wednesday, Nine's partner, floated down the stairs. "Nine and I are going to look for some new thorns to add to the cacti. Are you coming?"
"Don't you have a mission?" She loved swindling naive pirates, but now wasn't the time.
"No, though I did see the Unluckies today. Did you get a notice? Are you all right?"
"Ah…no, just that Independence was evicted, and the Three spot's open."
"Why would anyone be telling you that?"
"Just because. Not telling." She laughed again, a little sourly; if there was anyone she secretly disliked it was Wednesday, the peacock-duck girl with blue hair. Everything about her was awkward, as if she didn't belong in a criminal organization but in a throne room.
"Valentine?" Oh, lumpingbiscuts. How did Twelve know where she was? She couldn't stay here, confined to where people could find her. She couldn't stay around weak people who didn't understand that some people just wanted to be cheerful and laugh sometimes. Sure, she was a criminal; criminals are what they are because they want to be free.

She could hear his footsteps pounding absent baselines on the stairs. She had to get rid of the thing. Knowing how rare they were, this would be more of a prize to him than her chest. That didn't make her want to eat it. She didn't want to eat it because he was going to see it and sell it, and she didn't want to eat it because it was rare, and she didn't want to eat it to be powerful. She wanted to eat it to be free.

And what was freedom? Freedom was being strong, freedom was the sea she had now forever forgotten, and freedom was the sky. She could taste clouds and singing women in the aura around the cursed thing in her bleeding hands. Her skin was crying crimson things to the battered air silent and wooden around her. Twelve opened the door. She shoved the thing into her mouth and swallowed hard with bitterness and the faintest taste of a far-off melody.

Even with its roughness, it slid down rather easily without being chewed. It was like a thing that wanted to be eaten; a destiny meant to be manifested, a virus meant to be infected. She could accept that. She could accept a lot of things. She rushed up the stairs, past Twelve saying that he brought alcohol. Out the building, past Wednesday feeding her stupid duck. Past Eight and his stupid hair, past Monday and her stupid muscles. She hated them all. She needed to be free, away, whatever. Her feet remembered the way to dead things on green mountains.

She had just eaten…

She had…

There was a woman there, planting flower seeds at the base of one of the larger cacti. It was her, the tall woman who always smelled of loneliness and forgotten things. Her raven hair shifted slightly in the rising wind; her eyes saw everything and then some. "Well?"
She blanched. "Who are you?"
A smile that made her entire body freeze. "Many things. You can call me Miss All-Sunday."
Miss All-Sun…She shivered.
"You're Baroque Works' Vice President?"
"You may want to use more respect when speaking to the other Officer Agents. They take offence to strange things like that." She spoke slowly, carefully, as though everything she said was worth gold.
"How do you…why…what…why are you here? What about the Officer Agents?"
"The Unluckies were busy taking your message to Mr. 5, so I came myself. I was in the area." She shrugged, lifting slender arms. "You've been promoted to Five."

Oh.

She laughed, free at last. The winds had carried her home.

and that, kanthia notes, is some random ooc baroque works lovin'.

owarai

/kanthia