Growing Pains
20: Candlefire
Auteur : Rain
Disclaimer : Shaman King…. Doesn't belong to me! How surprising! I am only playing with borrowed toys.
Notes :
To awaken; to talk; to take.
Hello everyone!
This took a bit longer than expected. I wasn't happy with the result so I rewrote the whole thing. And I like what happened instead! I hope you do too.
"Ne pleure pas" means "Don't cry" in French.
Happy holidays!
Thank you for your support. A special thanks to CorporalQueen, Realgya, Gaianee, Solemntempo, LugiaP2K, Allie, Julia, Hessy, the rest of the Funbari Hill server and everyone who ever left a comment here. Reading means a lot to me and commenting even more. Thank you again!
Previously on: Growing Pains
Jeanne goes through hell and confronts her own grief and guilt. Luchist protects Tamao from the X-Laws' unclear intentions after it is revealed she is Hao's soulmate, before trying to assuage the girl's position for himself. Meanwhile, Hao is trying to clear his thoughts.
...
Jeanne crashes through stained glass and lands in a strange place, flat on her back. Somehow, it feels less real than the cathedral, and Jeanne floats for a moment in a strange uncertain world.
Then she inventories the things she knows:
- she can see the ceiling. It is pale, close, and flaking.
- she is covered in fabric, heavy and white. Her chest pushes against it when she breathes in, and it is a strain, though a slight one.
- she can feel her body, heavy, painful.
- as she comes to, someone is crying.
Someone – a girl, pink hair over a red familiar face, Jeanne knows her name but remembering takes so much, too much – the girl is sitting above her prone body and crying.
It breaks her heart. The sound reverberates in her bones, like a stray bullet ricocheting between steel walls, somehow finding the secret rhythm that shatters them all at once. The crying leaves Jeanne a miserable little pile of flesh and wants.
She raises a heavy hand towards the girl's face. The tears there, Jeanne wants them gone, wiped off, and she wants to be the one to do it.
Her mouth opens, tastes words, pushes them out through rubber lips: "Ne pleure pas."
Holding her hand aloft is costing her every ounce of energy inside her body. She is seeing double, and does not know if she is touching the girl at all; Jeanne cannot legitimately tell.
The girl above her stiffens, and their eyes meet. Red against pink, pink with red, the tears stop, and Tamao grasps her hand. Their fingers intermingle, and it almost drags Jeanne out of the pit her soul is in.
"You're alive," Tamao hiccups. "You're back, I…"
Everything comes back to Jeanne, all at once. The first impact, Marco's seat filling with blood. Rage, a terrifying tidal wave of fury exploding all over her, the desire to rip his murderer apart – and then, just as terrifying, the frigid realization when she saw his face. Her grief, so perfectly mirrored that she could not raise her hand and kill him too.
"C-can," Tamao says, "can you hear me? Please talk to me. Squeeze my hand. I…"
Jeanne tries, she really does. It is however too much to ask her body, and she sinks back into oblivion.
In the dark, she feels a warm presence, and then nothing.
She wakes up, later, to an empty room.
She remembers everything, immediately. The impossible sea of blood in the car, the absolute knowledge that she lost and was going to lose, to die, Lyserg's panic, her own… She remembers.
The light hurts her eyes, but still she rises. Shamash is here; she reaches for him, and forces the world to turn a little smoother.
Beside hers is a bed unmade, and a window left cracked open, and the wall is washed in sunlight. Jeanne herself is clothed in clothes she does not recognize, dark pants and a white tee-shirt, both very clean. Where did anyone get those?
She does not dislike it, the feeling these give her. For a moment, she forgets herself; simply stands there.
"Where am I," she whispers to the empty room.
Marco and the others had you taken to the Gandhara.
"Marco," she repeats. "I saved him." She frowns. "I saved him?"
"You did," says a voice behind her, and she turns to recognize Luchist at the door.
Instantly her Oversoul locks on, ready for anything.
Luchist shows her his empty palms. It is not enough to make her drop her guard; she knows better than to assume weakness or mercy.
For a moment, silence stretches between them.
Luchist gives in first. "I did not come here to hurt you."
"I find that hard to believe," Jeanne replies, as evenly as she can. Her Oversoul vibrates around her, and she loses some of her calm as she continues: "What are you doing? I ask you for your aid, you deny me, then you do help us, and then we get ambushed. Marco died because of you. He was dead. Why would you help me free Meene if you meant to have him killed? Why him?"
"I did not free the woman," he says quietly, and she stops. Of course he did. Who else?
"That makes no sense."
The old man takes his hat off and looks around the room, almost as if he was expecting to see someone else there. "I wish you no ill will, child, but you have to understand that I do not control my master, nor can anticipate his whims."
She looks at him, really looks at him then. He looks small. Ceilings are not kind to his stature; he has to hunch over slightly, and without the usual self-assured smirk he looks older. Quite pathetic, honestly.
In combat, for all he is swift and strong she could put him down. They both know it.
"You are of no use to me, then," she says, and though her body aches to sway and her Oversoul to buckle she maintains both as she makes for the door. "I regret asking you for help."
"Jeanne, I…"
She whirls around faster than a coil of wire and there is then a weapon at his throat. It doesn't matter what, exactly; it has no shape, just an edge.
"You have no right to that name."
He raises an eyebrow, but she does not waver.
"Perhaps not," he admits after a few moments. "But there are additional items of clothing in that chest, over there. You should probably find a jacket before you go."
She frowns. She does not usually wear tee-shirts, for sure, but she is not cold or indecent.
Luchist gestures to her left arm. "Have you not noticed?"
She looks where he is pointing. Her bicep is adorned with a golden scrawl.
She is flared.
Jeanne stops. The whole of her just stops.
"I'll leave you to it," the old man adds, gentler than he has any right to be.
Faster than she can think, her hand shoots out and grabs his wrist. Then it hits her, what she's doing. For a second, her face cracks. For a second, his does, too.
"Do – do you know," she chokes out.
"Know what?"
Jeanne's eyes go from his to her flared mark. She still has no idea what the words there mean or what to do about them. She was not supposed to be flared. She was not supposed to burn.
And yet – and yet, down below, in the dream – the hell – the words saved her. The gold.
"Who flared me?"
She was dead, but he wasn't. If he's here now – maybe he saw. Or heard. Did anyone else? Did Marco? Her arm feels hot. She is sweating.
The old man watches her face carefully. He has a strange look on his face. Like she's some wild beast caught in a cage too small for her, looking for an exit that does not exist.
"I think you already know," he says at length.
But she does not. Why does he make it sound so outlandish, that she wouldn't know? She was dead.
Letting go of him, she palms the words, wraps her fingers around her arm. Should she not – feel something? Hear a piano?
You cut yourself off, Shamash reminds her. You walled yourself in.
Glancing at her spirit, Jeanne hesitates. She remembers dimming the candles in her head, breathing back from the edge of terror. It has been a while since she has needed to do the exercise. It has been a while since… everything happened so fast.
"Can it be so simple?"
She isn't speaking to Luchist, or really to Shamash. The living man shifts, clearly uncomfortable.
"I wish Marco had been honest with you. I wish… Child, does it have to be complicated?"
She is not sure what he means, or what he is speaking about. She is focused on Shamash. With his guidance, she visualizes the candles in her head, the ones she snuffed to avoid drowning. Now in her head they flare again, one by one, with fire the same color as her brand.
It's immediately there in her head. A mess of thoughts, feelings, shards of somebody else just beyond her psyche.
This place is scary.
How long will I stay here?
I hope this doesn't anger Marco more.
What will Yoh think? I need to contact him somehow.
I hope she's okay.
And it's not just words. Jeanne feels
cold
scared
lonely
She wobbles, falling almost to her knees. Luchist catches, and though her heart wants to climb out of her throat at the terrible, forsaken touch, she has neither the strength nor the will to push him away.
Fire-filled eyes staring into her soul
I can't let you get hurt.
The words should be sweet but she's scared, so scared
I didn't mean this.
For someone who wasn't afraid, Tamao, you don't sound so sure.
I want to stay.
She'll be fine.
I
I promise.
Fire-filled hands ghost over a sleeping woman with hair of silver, the woman , the one she worries about so much. Healing, beyond anything the Asakura House can provide, beyond what Lady Saigan has offered. The sound of breathing, now less stilted. The pained features, relaxing.
Scars, closing.
Luchist helps her back to the bed and Jeanne finds herself out of breath as she examines her arms. Before today, they were adorned with silk-soft lines, a web of scars, a map of her suffering and devotion. They covered her entire body: a mark of pride, a sign of her sacrifice.
Now they're gone.
The other person in her head, she feels
surprised
curious
can you hear me?
It's too much at once. Jeanne's vision blurs, and she slams the door shut.
Luchist is speaking to her, but she cannot make out the words. She cannot hear anything.
It takes embarrassingly long for her head to clear, but at length it does. Luchist has not left her. When she did not protest his proximity, he started to rub her back. Small circles, like when she was little. Very, very little.
She wishes she understood him, now more than ever. When she finally gestures for him to stop, he does, and he goes to the chest, and he draws out a long-sleeved sweater he helps her put on. "Will you be alright?"
He is not meeting her eyes, not anymore. Jeanne has run out of poison to spill, so she simply nods. She will be fine. Fire-filled lips said so.
Luchist nods, stands back up, makes for the door. This entire moment between them – a mistake, best forgotten, best never mentioned again.
Another question drifts out of her before he can reach the threshold. "The – the girl." Tamao. She knows her name. "What does Hao want with her?"
He stops. Jeanne can tell he wants to leave. He's never been good with straight answers or goodbyes.
He taught her to be this way, too.
When he turns, it's to break her heart all over again.
"She is Hao's soulmate."
ꙮ
The two cars come at speed into the town at sunset and screech to a stop before the Gandhara's compound.
Their visit seems to be expected: several burly men are standing outside, arms crossed, faces barred with frowns. Tamao tries not to feel too intimidated. They need to get to the Lady. Explain what happened to her. These men are only an obstacle.
Marco exits his vehicle without any of his usual rigid grace. He holds his side as he stands up, and after a few moments he leans against the side of the car. The shadow of Meene stands by him, trying to support him; her outline shimmers like the edge of a flame.
One of the men, who sports long red hair, steps closer. They start to talk.
At first, Tamao stays still. The situation feels electric. Any wrong move and their tenuous hope will shatter. But as the two adults stand there and talk, the stress gets to her. What if Marco can't convince them? What if they say no? The Lady is nowhere to be seen.
She reaches for the door.
Luchist makes a noise. "Let's not overcomplicate things."
He, too, is tense. He stares at the window like it hides some terrible beast. Is it the Lady he senses? Is he afraid?
Tamao knows he can change his mind at any time. If he guns it, she won't be able to jump out of the car in time. If he guns it, she'll be taken away, and maybe the Iron Maiden will never wake up.
She lunges for the door and tumbles out of the car. Marco glances her way, and the man he's speaking to widens his stance, but nothing terrible happens.
Tamao stands up, cheeks burning, and bows deeply.
"I, I am sorry to interrupt you both," she says, throat awfully tight. "You already know but – but we – I am here to beseech the help of Lady Saigan. We were told she could bring people back from the dead."
"Our Lady is able of much," the man agrees, a proud tilt to his head. "You are no X-Law. Why do you care about their fate?"
Marco seems ready to interrupt, to dismiss; the red-haired man raises his hand. "I asked her a question and I will see it answered."
Tamao takes a deep breath. "Hao wanted these three people dead. He sent several assassins after them before he came himself. I," she can barely acknowledge what she did, "I fought him off."
"That does not answer my question."
"It is, however, a compelling story, and a strong argument."
The words fall into her ears like honey, or a secret shared by a friend. Or like nothing at all. Tamao turns her head, and she is there, at the door, arcadian and resplendent: Lady Saati Saigan.
The Lady smiles, at her, and gestures towards the door. "Bring them inside, Jackson. I am sure tea would be most welcome after this ordeal. And perhaps a change of clothes?"
The red-haired man nods and moves towards the car. Marco tries to lift Jeanne by himself but he is wordlessly rebuked. A young, frail-looking woman comes out to help him walk. He scoffs, but she is unrelenting.
Meanwhile, Jackson is carrying Jeanne carefully. The way a sleeping child should be carried, Tamao thinks. Another man does the same for Lyserg.
"Someone bring a tissue for the young lady, too," Saati calls from where she's disappeared inside. Tamao, it is true, is still crying. The water pools in the collar of her ruined shirt.
The Gandhara collectively pause at the sight of Luchist, who leaves his car and then makes a show of holstering his weapon. "I'm with her," he says, nodding towards Tamao.
"Just make sure to behave yourself," Jackson barks, and then they file in, one after the other.
The building surprises Tamao. She didn't really expect anything from it, didn't have time to build it up in her head, but the walls are covered in splotches of orange and pink pigment. Spices waft into her nose. It feels lived-in; not quite unlike, she realizes, their own building. It's irreverent. Soothing.
A very small child walks by them and offers Tamao a fragrant handkerchief. She tries to thank her, but already the child has disappeared behind a door that closes, and she is left with the present.
Finally the Lady Saigan steps out of the hallway and into a makeshift infirmary. Jeanne and Lyserg are laid down on twin beds pushed close together; in the hazaphard process their hands touch.
When the Gandhara men stand back up, their colorful clothes and naked chests are bloodied, but they do not seem to mind. One of them, a stick-thin dark silhouette, crouches near Lyserg and begins a diagnostic of their injuries.
Marco stays close to Jeanne, half-leaning against the wall. Luchist is by Tamao and the door. The Lady Saigan sits on the remaining bed and bathes them in a warm, comforting smile.
Being in her presence is an experience difficult to describe. Tamao shifts, waiting for someone to speak up, but it's towards her the Lady looks. On her that the Lady waits.
Usually, this type of attention would make her tense and uncomfortable, but not right now. Right now, it just feels right.
The Lady Saigan glances around the room. "Have any of you eaten yet? It is almost dinnertime, and I understand you have had an exhausting evening."
The concern doesn't feel fake. Tamao doesn't feel like to admit to hunger would be impolite.
What is the Lady Saigan?
From the two adults and the one ghost standing in her compound, she receives only silence. Marco like Luchist do not appear as charmed as Tamao is; it draws a sigh out of their host. "I understand. Will bringing them back right away ease your fears?"
There are tense nods.
"We will need to talk about this," the Lady continues, staring straight at Tamao.
She nods, and the room fills with golden light. Luchist shifts, as if to shield Tamao from the oncoming wave. She doubts he could do anything, if it meant her harm.
Instead, the light fades, and Tamao's tears stop.
Marco, who was struggling to stay upright, lets out a breath. His face looks less gaunt, now, and his hand stops holding his side. Tamao's bruises stop hurting; she feels warmer, lighter.
Luchist has the decency to at least look sheepish.
"Now," the Lady says, as one of her helpers goes around with hot cups of tea, "can somebody tell me what happened?"
"We were attacked," Marco explains in clipped tones. "Hao and his lackeys. And his soulmate," and he spits the word out like an insult. His ice-blue eyes lash at Tamao in what very much feels like a physical attack, and Tamao's face flushes hotly. The ghost who still stands behind him crackles like a forest fire barely contained. It's hard to believe they worked together to attack Anahol. Meene could tear her throat out, right now.
"I didn't know," she says, and she doesn't know if she is trying to lie – I didn't know I was his soulmate – or the truth she means – I didn't know he would attack us.
"Now, there will be no yelling at each other within these walls," Saati intervenes. "So you were attacked. And then you," she smiles at Tamao and the world is alright again, "fought Hao to protect these three."
"Y-yes, ma'am."
"Why?"
Tamao opens her mouth and nothing comes out.
How can she explain it to her – to any of these people – without sounding like a complete lunatic?
All she knows is the siren song of a soft smile, and the absolute certitude that she cannot and will not let the Iron Maiden die.
"She…"
"Yes?"
Tamao bites her lip. "The Iron Maiden asked for me to guide them. We were – the X-Laws helped my friends, and appeared willing to make an alliance. So they needed to talk to… Yoh and the rest of the group."
"So you helped the X-I because of this potential alliance?"
Tamao shakes her head. Lying to the Lady Saigan is a sin beyond her ability.
"I helped her because she asked for me to come to her, and guide her safely to our place," she enunciates clearly, eyes only on Saati. "I helped her because I wished I could have helped her before she died, and… And during her match against the Niles. I helped her because I wanted to – ever since I have seen her, I have wanted to talk to her. I can't explain why. I just… I want to talk to her. Help her, if I can. Be her. Friend?"
Since Jeanne has started breathing again Tamao has stopped crying, but now she feels near sobs again. The origin is different; this time it's from tearing off all the veils covering the naked truth, exposing it to people who have no right to it.
Still, Saati smiles, and Tamao doesn't melt down.
"That is commendable," the leader of the Gandhara says gently.
"There is no proof any of this is true," Marco spits. "For all we know, she could have led Hao right to us. They're the ones who set the time, the location, the…"
"You have no proof of that being true, either," Saati points out. "Being one's soulmate does not require your desires to align with their own. In fact, having such a sweet soul bonded to Hao's should give us all hope, not this unpleasant display."
Marco opens his mouth, and then closes it. Luchist coughs to stifle his laughter.
Saati turns her attention to him. "Did I say something funny?"
It is not a threat. Nonetheless, it has teeth.
Luchist, to his credit, does not back down. "To hope that will be enough to sway a soul as old as Master Hao is more foolish than I would have thought you to be," he says clearly, before taking a sip of tea.
The men at Saati's side bristle, she does not. "To scoff at the mere idea makes me wonder what you are afraid of, yourself. That there might be possibility there you did not expect?"
"You are grasping at straws."
"Find enough straw and you may yet be able to craft a roof," she replies, her smile silk soft.
Tamao looks at her feet. She feels talked about, and not talked to. Is she the straw? The possibility? She does not feel like either.
Marco is also growing antsy. "Well, thank you for your aid. Now we should head back to base with our people." He stands a little too fast, and though it is immediately controlled Tamao sees him waver.
Saati looks on him, not unkindly. "Perhaps you want to call your friends and eat something before you move on." It sounds like an offer, but it looks like an order. "Your two teammates could use more rest, and we are making far too much noise."
There is a little more pointless fighting on the part of the X-Laws' Captain, but his willpower is nothing next to the Lady Saigan's. Tamao gets to her feet and follows the group out of the room. Then, as they march down another hallway, she slows her walk, mumbles something about a bathroom, and tiptoes back into the infirmary.
Jeanne is covered in warm blankets. They sit a bit low to Tamao's liking; she carefully draws them up to her neck, fusses over them for a minute, tries to keep her mind busy.
It is not working too well. She feels exhausted. Empty. All the information piling up in her head at once: the Iron Maiden's death, Marco's hostility, the fusion with Meene, Luchist's warnings, Saati's hope, Hao's…
Hao. In general.
And she's supposed to change him? To make a roof of straw over the whole world?
It's all so absurd, so impossible that she finds herself crying. Plain exhaustion working itself out. She closes her eyes and just lets it out, hoping that whatever comes next can wait a little.
But why would it?
"Ne pleure pas," someone says through the fog, and her body goes still.
It's not like Hao at all. With Hao, it came slowly and then all at once, a bond, a channel, a door opening between two souls.
With her, it's quicker but guarded. A tower of steel and ice, suddenly emerging before her feet. Her heart catches, stammers, but there are no thoughts, no sudden understanding.
She raises her eyes, slowly, too slowly, and meets open red eyes. They're blurry, almost unfocused, but maybe that's just Tamao's own tears. She wipes at them furiously, her mouth running ahead of her brain.
"Y-you're alive," she hiccups. "You're back, I…"
She sees the Iron Maiden's eyes widen a crack. Realization? Fear? She seems to lose whatever hold she has on reality, her pupils slowly rolling back to stare at the ceiling. Tamao leans in, heart gripped by cold fingers. Saati saved her once, surely it was enough? Surely the Iron Maiden won't…
"C-can you," she stumbles, "can you hear me? Squeeze my hand." Her fingers are uncomfortably cool and loose when Tamao grabs them. "Please, I beg you, don't..."
Too late. Jeanne's eyes close.
Barely breathing, Tamao checks for a pulse, feels for a breath.
She is asleep. Not dead. Just asleep.
With a deep sigh, Tamao sinks above the woman's chest. If Marco could see her right now, he would no doubt do something horrible, but they're alone.
"Please," she whimpers, "you have to get better. You…"
Warmth fills the room. Not Saati's, unobtrusive and comforting; this heat is stifling, demanding acknowledgement.
Immediately Tamao knows and suffocates. Hao is there, standing behind her. She can hear him in her mind, surprise-mockery-impatience-look at me.
Taking a deep breath, she sits up and turns.
He is leaning against the windowsill, eyes on the body beneath her. When their eyes meet, it is deliberate; the fire-filled gaze striking at her very soul.
"Hello again, Tamao," he smiles. "I left a little too fast earlier, so I decided to double back."
Instinctively, she draws an arm in front of the Iron Maiden. "Really?" Her voice is annoyingly squeaky. Then, experimentally, she thinks at him, pushes words into his head. You said it was a warning. You can't come back to kill them now. Please?
He snorts. "Now, you think very lowly of me. I'm not here for them."
She relaxes, slightly, and then goes still. "Then…"
"Then someone must protect you from people like the X-Laws. I can't let you get hurt, now."
It's said with a smile, and the words should be sweet, but it's almost a threat: you won't get hurt, because that would hurt me, or perhaps I will let you get hurt later, when it suits me, as revenge. As a treat.
"I didn't mean it," she squeaks. She didn't mean to flare him; to make him attack the X-I; to get into this situation, right now.
He laughs. "For someone who wasn't afraid, Tamao, you don't sound so sure."
She swallows. It's true: she wasn't afraid of him before. So why is she sweating?
He said he couldn't let her get hurt. And she doubts he would sit quietly in Lady Saigan's court, unlike Luchist.
So he's going to leave, and take her with him, she realizes, and that's what she's afraid of.
Tamao glances at the Iron Maiden's sleeping face. "I, I want to stay."
"She'll be fine," he says dismissively. Then, when she looks at him dubiously, he adds: "I promise."
And, as if to cement the words into reality, he steps over to them. Tamao tenses, but he ignores her and raises a hand over the Iron Maiden's forehead. She tries to stop him, but his free hand catches her. "Be still, now."
Their bond opens a crack, and she feels impatience-pity-honesty-I won't hurt her. Somehow she trusts him.
Even if she didn't, what could she do?
A radiant wave overtakes the Iron Maiden's body. Her features relax, silver scars close, and her chest start to rise easier on each breath.
As he works, Tamao glances at his face. It's like she can feel the healing as it happens. Her own bones feel like they are being repaired; she breathes easier, and the fog in her head lifts. Is this another trick of the mind, to think she sees the same mirrored in Hao?
"Yes," he says sharply, "you're making that up."
"S-sorry," she swallows. Without looking at her, the man sighs.
At length, he straightens up, and offers his hand.
"Now," says her soulmate, the Iron Maiden's murderer and healer, "come."
And she does.
ꙮ
In a flash of fire, they appear at the entrance to the bunker.
The good thing is, she has been here before. It helps with the pit in her stomach, and its echo in his head. He can still feel apprehension-hesitance-regret. Hears even through his gloves his hands are warm. Dangerous.
None of this, he feels, will help in the long run.
"No harm will be done to you here," he tells her as he drops her hand. "You can relax."
Tamao nods, and he can tell she tries, but she does not relax. His little rabbit is curled all up around herself and her notebook, muscles tense, eyes darting around. For someone who said she was not afraid of him, she is certainly radiating fear at the moment.
"I will introduce you to my team," he decides. "They will know not to touch you, and to protect you if necessary. You will be free to move through this place as you like, although I would advise you respect the privacy of my people. This is an inconvenience to all of us, so let's not make it any harder than it needs to be."
Her mind blooms confused and something else, more pressing. "I-inconvenient?"
He cocks an eyebrow. "You like being the loathsome family ancestor's soulmate?"
She flushes. "I – I didn't mean…"
"You don't mean much, though you say a lot."
She shuts her mouth, redder still.
"We are bound," he continues. "I know what you mean. I can hear everything that goes through your head."
Somehow that makes her frown. "Everything?" But I don't hear his every thought. He has to want it, to push them to me… Right?
Right. She can hear him when he wants her to, like this, little rabbit, but this is no reishi. The world operates differently for him.
He leans forward. He's not even that much taller, but he knows the effect he has on people.
He shows teeth, and she shrinks obligingly. "What do you think?"
He expects her to run. Fear is what he knows to expect from people. Perhaps he is still vexed by her 'not afraid?'. Perhaps he wants her gone.
Instead, she stands her ground. "I don't know that I like being your soulmate, because I don't know that much about you. I know you did as I asked twice already, and you gave me my notebook back, and you healed her when she was already alive again."
He bristles. What's this nonsense?
"So you think I am a beast easily tamed," he drawls, voice low, dangerous.
She raises her chin in defiance. "I think you're trying to make me scared of you."
"Anyone with a modicum of sense would be scared of me."
His voice is severe, cutting. She has forgotten herself; forgotten his age, and his power. This is worrying, and he does not quite know, yet, how best to handle it. Even now, she is not afraid?. Even now… Her mind is a mess of colors, sentences half-thought and words without meaning.
"Anyone with a modicum of sense would have given up and left her to die," she finally says. "But I didn't, and she's alive."
"Is her name so hard to pronounce for you?"
"I…" She flushes again. So despairingly transparent. Looking down, she fiddles with her notebook. "I still haven't talked to her," she says out loud. "How long will I have to stay here?"
And that is the real question, isn't it. Hao sighs, and walks into the bunker. After some hesitation, she follows.
With Ashil now up and about, and the girls freely roaming in the hallways, there is but one room he can be sure she will be safe in before he talks to the group.
He leads her to his bedroom in silence. She is nervous, but she does not repeat herself; does not push for an answer.
When he finally pushes the door open, he stands to the side.
"When I become Shaman King," he decides to tell her as she moves to enter, "there will be no more marks. You will be free to romance the Iron Maiden all you like." Shock and mortification wash over her face; his twists into a vicious grin. It's too easy. "Of course, that's if she bends the knee. Otherwise, I suppose you will have to find somebody else to save."
She stares at him, color all but drained from her face. He hurt her this time, for real. Good. He meant to.
Unfortunately, now that it's done, he is not feeling as triumphant as he hoped.
What did she expect? He's already being far too courteous with her. She is an inconvenience; he did not choose this.
"Remember I'm a monster," he tells her flippantly, and then he closes the door between them.
