Key
dialogue
-strikethrough-
Author's Note: This began as a venturous scribble of my imagination, hence the rambling-scrambling poetry at the beginning, regardless of the fact that it is hardly poetry. More befuddled regurgitation of previously absorbed media of all kinds, it put me in the strange mindset I was in when the actual story began. I doubt I'll ever quite be able to duplicate either the circumstances leading to or the writing style itself, so this may be the only piece of the like that you see from me. It is not necessary to read the "poetry" coughdoggerelcough included at the beginning, but as it was a crucial part of the writing process and feels, to me, a great deal a part of the story, I chose to allow it to remain as it was.
Disclaimer: In all its glory, horror, or triteness, this piece does in fact fall under fanfiction, specifically and exclusively under GetBackers fanfiction. The character(s) featured in this piece also featured in the aforementioned manga/anime are copyrighted to Yuya Aoki and Rando Ayamine, the creators, and I suppose associated, right-holding companies deserve a somewhat cheap mention too. What's left after everyone has had claim belongs to the speaking author, me.
And now, without any further, wordy ado
Darkmouse Jumu Presents
Rendezvous
Trade fourteen emerald green
Lackadaisy paste and pie scum
Personal savoir faire, catalogued horseshoes
Random favorings, thirty-one favors
Bend and twist, raisin daydream
Pick a whisper, settle a date
Rendezvous, RSVP, Reconaissance
We're fifty strong and Fifty Frenchmen can't be wrong…Pie plates, cups of chai tea
Chamomile herb and flavoring
Pivot, about face
What's your story, what's your place?
Shake off the emotions, burn the red lines
Seeking and always, hoping to find
A light in the dark, an afterthought, a lark
You hit the watermarkBut the dog didn't bark
Say oh yeah, that's the sound of the pleas…
Set free all the heathens that live in the streets
See the promise of pain runs hand in hand
The streets is watchin' so keep on talkin, your time is driftin down down down…
Black hat, suit and tie, wandering forth with a handful of chai. Sipping the tea he sat, quietly, lurking the streets with cat-slit eyes. This is weird, he thought to me, sipping his tea and turning his eyes away from the street.
You think too much, did I reply, sitting across and matching in a black suit and tie. All that's left is you and me, it's desperate, but it's not weird.
To this he had no response, casting his eyes away and picking up his tea to sip again. Under the table, I held my hands, wishing the umbrella cast a little more shade. Emerald-bobbed trees lined our street on both my left and right, evenly spaced and the closest towering behind me. Beneath the umbrella was the table, and sur la table, dans la chaise was my companion, pale skinned, dark haired, small pupils. He'd never held the appearance of being very healthy, today especially so.
I reclasped my hands between my thighs, gruesome blackmail between my palms.
You're not one for social situations, he commented amiably, sipping his tea once again.
I grinned. I simply had a change of heart, I shrugged, no two ways around it.
Indeed. He sipped his tea. I would suppose the same of your sunglasses, are those new?
Remarkably so.
You felt it in the dawn didn't you, and simply had to go out and buy a pair.
Do not mock me, friend, you cannot afford it. I shifted in my seat, drawing my knees closer together. A napkin curled about his fist and covered his face, absorbing the blood that had begun to dribble from his nose.
Crystal cubes chinked and chanked as a white-gloved hand set the glass on the table. Half-liquid, half-ice, I sipped the lemonade pensively, sucking the liquid through a straw. The effect was refreshing, my doubts about the concoction ceased.
You were right, I do enjoy this.
He stared at me, tea forgotten and cooling next to a pale hand on the table. Why did you bring me here?
Chugging the lemonade, I massaged my temples, willing the brainfreeze away. I have, I began, two questions.
And then?
I will have your answers, making four, I suppose. Shall I ask them, or will you continue to wander as you have?
He appeared to think now, debating the strength of the proposal. Finally, he nodded. Your questions, one at a time please.
The ice shifted in the glass, melting subtlely. 'Is this really what you want? I asked, shifting my hands meaningfully. He felt it, certain enough. His response was drawn, tight.
Y…Yes.
Then, I began rapidly. Is it for you, or for me?
For me, he said at length. This is my resignation.
You will cease to wander.
I know.
Screams ripped through the open, outdoor café. A man in a hat, a black suit and tie fell out of his chair, onto the sidewalk, limp as a noodle, dead as doornail. As people gathered round or shielded their children's eyes from the blood pouring onto the cement, I sat back, unnoticed. A black book I extracted from my inner blazer pocket opened obligingly in my hand, and I slid my index finger across a name written in black. -Akabane Kurodo- it now read. Replacing the book in my blazer pocket, I stood and let my hands rise with me, hovering now at my waist. The heart on my palms was already beginning to stink in the hot sun of Shinjuku, the blazing temperatures affecting me as well. Sighing, I looked back at the scene. A child was staring wide-eyed, not at the dead man but at me, right at me. It chilled me to the core. Gathering my belongings, the heart and my scythe, I started off down the street, waving casually to the boy and bidding him goodbye.