ADVENT CHILDREN IS OUT!
Hey. A little late update, but sorry, I'm cramming Physics and Chemistry and Calculus and it's killing my brain cells.
There's some rip-off in this chapter from another work - it's anime, and it's called Jojo's Bizzarre Adventures. But it won't interfere with the canon of this story, I think.
Raspberry Polar Bear - LOL, I kinda liked that idiom myself. Thankee thankee. Geostigma is a gruesome disease, but I didn't make it ugly, I hope. Don't worry, Arien won't die. I'm planning a sequel for this, how can the main character die?
Amigirl - yey, another reader! Arien has tough time coming. Honestly, I'm glad I'm not her... and yes, I wrote her, so I guess I'm evil. I honestly love making my characters suffer to a certain point... it's so fun to watch them wallow in misery. (evil cackle)
toyBOX - Your name reminds me of Mystery Case Files: Huntsville. I loved that game. Anyways, I'll be dropping off hints and such for the next scene, but not too much... hope you enjoy the story. I've decided this is going to be a quartet, with Reno's beginning, C'Est La Vie, The Footsteps of Life, and a sequel to this.
Chapter VI: The Hook
Pain…
She had known it all her life. Not physical pain, not necessarily, but a pain in the heart, pain of her soul, then yes. Then she came to know true physical pain as well.
Ouch.
She floated, wandering, aimlessly, through the dark hazy air. The air was like a clear jelly, viscous and warm, wrapping around her like a hand of a tender lover – like Reno's hand, she thought. His hand could be lethal, harsh, and gentle. It was all the same hand, but it functioned differently for different people. She knew his touch, the slender, well-formed fingers entwined in her hair, the fingertips on her mouth, on her arm.
She continued wandering, and thought she saw a flash of gold in the darkness. But upon further observation, it seemed to be just a trick of the eye; nothing was there. Then she heard Reno calling to her, calling her name, hopelessly, in despair; and she wanted to reach out, to tell him that there was nothing wrong, that she was there. But somehow, no matter what she did, the voice kept floating away from her; and in the midst of her bitterness she reached out again, her fingertips extended, and touched something soft and supple. And then it crumbled on her fingertips into nothing more than fine grey dust.
"No...!" she cried out, flailing. Then a hand jerked her shoulder, and she opened her eyes. Reno was next to her, topless, his hair carelessly on his face. His hand was around her shoulder; she was topless as well. His hand was gentle on her skin, and it moved slightly down. She felt herself breathing. "Reno…"
"You're awake." He kissed her forehead. "How you feelin?"
"My wrist is… numb." She gestured with her right hand. "But otherwise I'm okay." Then a memory came back, and she jerked herself away from his touch. That morning, Elena and Reno. Walking together. A sudden, cold detachment rose in her mind.
"What, yo?" he asked. "Come on, Arie, don't keep secrets. I don't."
"Really?" her voice was dripping with sarcasm. He looked at her, surprised.
"I keep a few, like where I keep my stash of smokes, but otherwise no. Why? Did ya think so, yo?"
An eyebrow shot up to the hairline. "What about you and Elena this morning, then? Care to explain?"
Arrow was shot, dripping in venom. Arien was jealous, and Reno was surprised. She seemed to be… above those things. Apparently not. "We were having fun."
"Fun? Or something more?"
"Holy, Arien! What are you thinking?"
"I'm not thinking. I just know you more than I'd care to." Another sarcasm. She turned away, and he gently pulled her back.
"Look, you can be as skeptic as you want, yo," he said earnestly. "But there's nothing between me and Elena. Honest."
Another twitch in her eyebrow. "Truly?"
"Truly."
"Fine…" her raven hair mingled with his red, and the light cast from the nighttable burned them into the color of the flame. Neither of them noticed, as they sought each other in each other's arms.
"Oh Holy, Arien, oh God…" He breathed on her. A sudden grin came on his face. Maybe he wasn't losing her as he thought. Maybe she was still there, waiting for him with open, eager arms.
"She was lanced, Bucciarati."
The team leader turned to see the informer. It was a young boy, barely sixteen, with a bandanna around his black hair. He was short, wiry, and had the agile reflexes of a sixteen year old. "My Aerosmith saw it. She was lanced."
"Did she survive, Narancia?" The twenty-four year old team leader, a member of the gang Passione execs asked. The boy nodded.
"She's staying in the villa, with a man and a woman. The man… you can't miss it, Bucciarati. He has red hair."
"Hunh." Pause. Then: "Does she know what her wound will mean?"
The boy named Narancia shrugged. "I don't know, Bucciarati."
The leader remained silent, his chin-length hair blown by the breeze. Their hideout faced the sea on one side, looking upon the merry happenings of the seaside. Narancia sat down, crossing his legs and toying with the orange cloth wrapped around his hips.
"Either way, she will seek us out," Bucciarati whispered. "But she will need a lead."
Narancia did not reply; he continued toying with the cloth. Bucciarati looked down upon the boy and said, "Get Abbacchio, Fugo and Giorno in here. I need to talk to them."
The boy nodded and walked out. Bucciarati continued gazing upon the sea.
"DeVir… Arien DeVir…"
The three men – two barely out of boyhood – came in minutes after Narancia walked out, along with Narancia himself. The team leader looked around and said, "You need to do something for me. You too, Narancia."
"Sure. What?" Abbaccio asked. He was a slender man in his mid-twenties, the eldest of the group. Pensive and dedicated, he was the most reliable, and was most relied on as the elder brother and a mentor. His silver hair was shoulder length, and his mouth was blood-red. He was always serious, always mission first.
"I need you to track someone down. Her name is DeVir. She was lanced few days ago."
"Why bother tracking her, then?" Fugo spoke up. He was a little younger than Bucciarati and Abbacchio, with spiked pale blond hair. "She'll come to us anyways, Bucciarati. To Passione."
"She'll have no idea where we are going to be; besides, she took the arrow with her. We need that back."
Giorno, often called by his friends as Jojo, was silent. He was a straightforward youth, barely out of his teens; his blue eyes were honest, and his hair was in a single braid down his back. His blond hair shone in the sunlight like molten gold. Then he asked, "Who is she?"
"There is no information right now," Bucciarati responded. "She's at the Shinra Villa with two others. "She's the only brunette there – easy to spot."
"What do we do after we find her?" Giorno asked again.
"Contact her, get the arrow back, without alerting them of the arrow's importance; she might be hostile, but with Fugo's Purple Haze that won't be a problem."
"What does she look like?" Giorno asked. Bucciarati threw a photograph of a woman, a profile shot – raven hair tossed in the wind, eyes looking toward the distance, mouth slightly open. Her head was turned towards the lens, an expression of wry humor on her face. Her hands were in her pockets, and a pair of sunglasses was perched on her head. She was a Wutaian; her eyes were slanted in the particular way Wutaians' did. She was standing next to a slender man with flaming red hair and a sly grin on his face. His eyes were mischievous aquamarine, nose smallish and thin lips that curved into a lopsided grin.
"That's her," Bucciarati said.
To the natives of Costa del Sol – Passione's headquarters were in The Edge, but this particular group was from Costa – the novelty of a Wutaian was fresh to them. She was not beautiful, but she looked mysterious and exotic enough to tickle the three's minds. Bucciarati watched them in amusement as colors changed on the three's faces. Especially Fugo; he was usually cool and composed, even detached, but this change upon his face was amazing. He flushed slightly, and his pupils dilated.
"Cut it out," he said finally. "This is an assignment, not an excursion."
Elena was out swimming. Reno and Arien were walking the beach, wordless but taking comfort in each other's presences. The sun was setting, casting long shadows on the golden sand, turning the gold into brilliant orange.
Arien had recovered her health fairly quickly, and when she woke up from her deep sleep again she was well enough to walk around. Her wrist was still bandaged, but the blood had stopped and the pain was slowly fading away.
She was in a jovial mood. She was regaining herself; under the blue sky of Costa del Sol, she was slowly refocusing on her life. It wasn't over. Sure, what she did was wrong, it was terribly wrong; every man she had killed, and every tear she had caused would be stained on her forever. Reniel's woeful life would be on her for the rest of her life; she had condemned her twin to a mental prison. But she couldn't hang onto that forever; she needed to bear the weight and move forward. She could not go back. She needed to go on, dragging the guilt behind her.
She absently touched her wrist; the hole was mending slowly, and the pain was gone, but she still remembered the acute agony she was going through only a day ago. The couple's bare feet imprinted footprints in the sand, only to be washed away by the waves. Water sprayed on their clothes in white specks; mud crusted their toes.
"It was like this at the camp," she said absently. Reno focused on her.
"What?"
"At Wutai, at the camp. God, that was so long ago." She shook her head. "So much has changed since then."
"We haven't."
"Haven't we?" she asked back. Reno picked a dry spot, sat down, and urged his girlfriend to do the same. "We've changed, Reno; you've changed, and so have I. We aren't what we used to be."
"Feeling melancholy, eh?" He picked up a shell and tossed it into the blue wave. Arien nodded.
"A little. So much has been lost, you know? Somehow I thought we'd continue the life as the execs of Shinra forever… but that didn't happen." She picked up a small pebble and squeezed it in her hand. It was warm from the sun, and smooth. "It's just that… so much has changed."
"That much is true," Reno replied dryly. "But some things haven't changed."
"Like what?"
"Like this." He picked up a handful of sand and threw it in her hair. She yelped, then stood up as soon as Reno dashed away. "Reno!"
"You asked, yo!" he protested, laughing. "It ain't my…"
A hint of gold flashed before her eyes, then metallic spectra spread out before her. It was shaped like a robot, a humanoid shape; she dodged and rolled on the soft sand, then stood up again, dusting herself off. She counted three, and was about to turn and run when she saw Reno running back to her.
"Whatcha lookin' at, yo?" he asked. She looked at him curiously.
"Don't you see them?"
"See what? The bikini chicks? Yeah, I see them, but…" he looked at her, frowning. "What's so special about them? They're around everyday."
"No, those… I don't know, those robots…" she shook her hands in circles impatiently, unsure of the words. She honestly did not know how to describe them. Metallic and expressionless, they were both human and inhuman.
"I believe I can answer," said a male voice. The two Turks turned, surprised.
In front of them stood three men; two were quite young, another was about the same age as Reno. They looked quite peculiar, not dressed for the summer beach but rather for ease of movements. Two were quite distinctly blond; the other had silvery hair that was shoulder length. Instinctively the two Turks closed in on each other, each reaching for a weapon concealed about them. Three vs two was not such a good odd, but it still paid off to be prepared.
"We don't mean harm," the one who looked the youngest spoke up. "We just need to talk to the woman."
Arien raised her eyebrows, her hand on the trigger of her pistol, ready to shoot; it was concealed behind her back, but it was ready nonetheless. "About what?"
The three's glances all turned to her wrist. Her injured wrist. This was getting fishy. "Now wait a minute," she said, stepping back, "how do you know about my wr…"
She shut up. Everything made sense now. It also only took a nanosecond for the two to react. Immediately Reno launched a kick, while Arien brought up the pistol in a flash and pulled the trigger.
"You goddamn fucking bastards!" Reno yelled loudly as he brought up his EMR in defense as the blondie crashed a punch in. Arien shot at the other blondie, while tossing her other pistol to her partner.
"We don't… mean… harm!" The blondie (the younger one) shouted. Arien shot while sticking out her wrist.
"Yes? And I'm guessing this was a mistake."
"It was!" The other blond gasped as Reno launched another attack. Then from the corner of the eye Arien saw the older blond's metallic robot – if it was a robot – sneak behind Reno.
"Watch out!" She screamed, and Reno threw himself onto the floor just as the robot lunged. It sprayed something that was like a hazy mist, which fell on the sand and nearby shells. The shells dissolved slowly into a slime.
Arien watched in horror with the stark realization that the shell could have been… well, Reno. She stopped moving. "Alright," she said. "I'll… talk. And I'm guessing you want privacy."
"Arien, don't be an idiot!" Reno shouted, standing up and dusting himself off.
"I'm not." She looked at the three. "One of you has to stay here with my partner, to ensure my safety. I'm not going otherwise."
The older blond stepped up. "I'll stay."
"Fine." She waved vacantly. "If I'm not back within half an hour, Reno…"
"I'll make him into a fricassee." He grinned.
"Whatever you say."
The three – the younger blond, the silver-hair, and Arien, that is – walked a few yards. As soon as they were out of earshot, the silver-hair said, "We need the arrow back."
"First of all, who is 'we'? Second of all, what arrow?" Arien stood feet apart and hands on her hips. "I've never seen you before."
"Sorry," the younger blond apologized sincerely. "But we can't tell you who we are."
Secretive, huh. "I understand," she nodded. "What arrow?"
"The thing that did that to your wrist."
Arien realized that they were talking about the hook that pierced her wrist. She had put it by the bed, unable to throw it away for some reason, the previous night. And now they wanted it back. They wanted it back, which meant it was important. For what? She had to find out. She had a vague voice saying in her head, "Curiosity killed a cactuar", but keeping her mouth shut meant no information at all. "Obviously it's important," she said carefully, "and I went through a lot of pain getting it. I don't plan to hand it back so readily."
"We need it back," the younger blond said. Arien raised her eyebrow.
"I think we've already established that, gentlemen. What I'm discussing is the price for that confounded hook. It nearly took my hand off." She gestured at her bandaged wrist. "You can have it back – for a price."
"Name it," the silver-hair said quietly. Arien was taken back. She was ready for some haggling, not this immediate barter. "Tell me the name of the group you're in, why that stupid hook made me sick that bad, and what that hook does."
The two looked at each other. "We're from Passione," the silver-hair said finally. "That arrow transmits a virus that is fatal most of the time through fluid– if it doesn't kill you, it does something to you."
"Do what to me?" she asked waspishly.
"It's very hard to say," the man replied. "But you'll know…" he looked at her, how she was still having a pistol in her hand, her dubious expression, and her ready-to-attack stance. And her clothes, which were not inexpensive. "You're a Turk, aren't you?"
"No," she lied. Saying anything else was a complete giveaway. "I'm from the Midgar Intelligence – or used to be." Shrug. "I can't get the hook right now, it's in my bedroom. But if you three – including your blond friend over there – would escort the two of us back, I can get it and give it back to you."
"Fine," the silver-hair said tersely.
The walk back was quiet – the youngest was somehow picked to escort the two back, and were trailing behind the Turks. The other two – the silver-hair and the older blondie – had left after a quick call on the cell phone. "Who the hell are they?" Reno asked. "And what the hell do they want?"
"They're from this group called Passione, I don't think they're environmentalist group." Arien grinned. "They want the hook back, because apparently it's more important than life to them. That's all I got."
"Huh, sounds fishy, yo." Reno frowned. "If it's that important, why the hell did they lose it?"
"I don't know, maybe they had someone like you…" she kissed him on the cheek as he started to fume. "I'm joking. I think they meant it for someone else – for whom, I don't know. But I'm pretty positive it wasn't me."
They climbed up the steps to the door. The blond stopped at the threshold; the Turks entered the villa without much concern.
Reno walked into the kitchen, while Arien turned to the right and into their bedroom. The hook was there, gleaming coldly, blood gone and clean. She picked it up, feeling its weight in her hand, then walked back to the door.
"Here," she said, handing the thing to the blondie. The man – or boy? Just like Reno, it was hard to tell – stood there quietly, staring at her. She stared back, her eyes boring into his.
"What is your name?" she whispered, a soft sound in the ocean breeze. The blond opened his mouth.
"Giorno Jiovanna," he said haltingly.
"I see…" she grasped the doorknob. "Goodbye," she said as she closed the door.
Yes, I know, there's some explanation due. I'm sorry, but I just couldn't think up of a gang in a hurry, and I decided that this will do. Passione is a gang group from The Edge (not really, I made some modifications to fit the story). It's divided into little groups, and there's the big boss who will not make an appearance. Bucciarati is the leader of a small group. The dudes from Passione are Stand-users (you'll meet them in this chapter)stands are super-powers made 3D, to put it simply. You don't have to memorize them or remember them to understand the story, because they don't play a big role. Here are the list of the members and their stands:
Bucciarati - leader. His stand is called Sticky Fingers. It creates zippers practically everywhere.
Mista - Stand: Sex Pistols. Sentient bullets of the pistol. (Does not make appearance yet)
Fugo - The older blondie. Stand: Purple Haze. Releases virus that melts organisms.
Giorno - The younger blondie. Stand: Gold Experience. Gives life. (think of healing potions)
Abbacchio - The silver-hair. Stand: Moody Blues. Replays the past.
Narancia - The kid who told the leader that Arien was lanced. Stand: Aerosmith. A small aeroplane that detects CO2 and shoots bullets like a regular attacker aircraft.
