There's no such thing as silence. Whether she acknowledges it or not, Miho does speak, just the kind of speech you can't hear. She moves, the muscles below that perfect skin twitching, her eyes widen, narrow, hips change sway, swagger, stalk. She has the manners to let you know you're going to die before she kills you; you just have to know how to read her.
It could be that she just doesn't have anything nice to say. I know as much about her as Gail told me and that I've seen for myself; Deadly Little Miho. 'She'll kill ya quiet, she'll kill ya quick, you won't feel a thing unless she wants you too.' Without the swords and the silence, she'd be right at home somewhere far, far away from here, somewhere that smells like flowers and the earth is jade and flawless. Somewhere far far away from me, from my problems, from the debt I owe Gail and most of the rest of Old Town.
But here she is, using my leg as a pillow and watching our impromptu chauffer out of the corner of an almond-shaped eye. We make a good team, but I'm not fooling myself into thinking it's because of anything I've done, no. This little arrangement is once again, all thanks to Gail, my warrior-woman, my valkyrie…so does that make Miho my kunoichi? Both are just as rare and truly unattainable; always and never always and never always and never, my mantra, proof that when it comes down to it I'm just a fool and sucker for a pretty face. I've spent more of this job feeling like a heel than is healthy and if I don't light up soon I'm gonna be a piece of work by the time we finally get where we're going. Damn.
It's impossible to tell if Miho is asleep just by seeing her close her eyes. Her breathing hasn't changed but her body is relaxed—I can barely feel her weight against me through the coat and it occurs to me that if she had to kill our chauffer I wouldn't even feel her leave my side, probably wouldn't see her either. She's a shadow, a dream, part of me is tempted to believe that she isn't really here but a figment of my paranoid imagination that kills any thing—and one—that I couldn't. It's barely the end of the night and I owe her my life so many times over I've given up counting. And there was that time at the pits.
'Miho, you're an angel, you're a saint, you're a blessing from above, you're Mother Teresa, you're Elvis, you're God you're…'
You're a little girl with a sword and a temper to cow the Gods and a loyal streak a mile long. And for tonight, you're mine. And through it all I can't help but wonder if this is really what you expected out of your life, or if you just learned to like the sight and smell of blood accompanied by that wild-eyed look of surprise that comes with underestimating a 5'00 stealthy terror on roller blades.
There's no such thing as silence. Not here, in this loud, morally obnoxious world that you and I inhabit Miho. But there is quiet, quiet like you in all your beauty and cold warmth. Quiet like me and my dumb ass that can't say no to anything with breasts and a smile. I have to remind myself that this is special, that I'm not just doing this because I have to be at Gail's beck and call 24/7 until I drop dead paying a debt off that I can never really repay. This is about Carmen, about Daisy crying alone, screaming over the line, "Carmen, Carmen baby, what happened!" And the silence that followed. This is about the silence that doesn't exisit and never will.