Hello everyone! An update for you. I am sick with the flu, so I stayed at home and worked on this for a week. Coolness. I hope you like it!
Spotlight
Chapter Eleven: Bryce The Bully
Machi sat idly in the break room, impatiently waiting for the coffeemaker to finish brewing her gourmet dark roasted blend. Being in The Celestial Tower reminded her of that bastard Hisoka and how he successfully betrayed Kuroro with the help of the scarlet-eyed man. How did she fail to notice the very fake tattoo on his back even as he stood nearly naked before her? She shuddered with disgust.
The door swung open behind her.
"Oh, I didn't think anybody would be in here. Hi there, Machi."
The golden-eyed Spider didn't return the greeting. She knew who it was anyway. Only two out of the sixty-something female employees ever bothered to learn her name, and one of them just so happened to be the reason she was there in the first place.
The newcomer plopped onto the seat across the table and slipped out of her pink baggy uniform, revealing a blue tight fitting tank top and over-worked arms. Every inch of her skin was riddled with scratches and bruises at different stages of healing, and even her face had faint signs of an old lingering infection. Didn't she care how ugly she currently looked? Machi didn't care enough to ask.
"You don't remember my name, do you?" the girl asked as she carefully folded her uniform and used it as a pillow. "It's Ayaka. A-ya-ka."
Everyone in the building knows your stupid name, Machi thought to herself, still silent. You introduce yourself to literally everybody you meet.
Ayaka ran her fingers through her messy ponytail. "You know, I'm only telling you this because people who work here usually need the money… but you realize that when you don't smile or talk, customers won't want to give you tips, right? You're probably losing around… let's see… 20 to 30 percent."
Machi poured her coffee into a plain white mug and took a small sip. "I don't need the money."
"Oh… then why are you working in a place like this?"
Machi took another sip in silence when she saw Ayaka's patient expression. Oh, was she still waiting for her to say something back? Didn't she make it clear that she wasn't fond of pointless conversation?
Machi's phone suddenly rang and she immediately picked up the call. "What do you want? Right now? Fine, I'm on my way." Without uttering another word, she left the room, not bothering to bid her one-way friend goodbye. That was enough conversation with the subject today anyway.
Bryce Copperopolis was reading an article from the Combat! magazine when Machi arrived on the elevator, having changed out of her work uniform and into the more flattering pastel pink kimono she used for her real job. "Let's see it," she demanded, walking over and using her teeth to pull out one of the sewing needles embedded on the pincushion that was tied to her wrist. Without tearing his olive eyes away from the page, he placed his bloody hand on the cotton towel on her lap. Three fingers were missing.
"Where is it?"
"Where's what?"
"The rest of your hand."
"Oh. Somewhere."
Machi fought the powerful urge to strangle him, but it was unwise to kill an employer who paid well enough that, by her calculations, she would have no need to work at all the next twenty years. She began searching for the severed fingers using En. Meanwhile, Bryce's cellphone suddenly vibrated on the table, indicating a message from an unknown number.
From:
Unknown (xxx-xxx-xxxx)
Subject:
Ayaka
Message:
Have u met her yet How is she
Bryce hit the Reply button.
Subject:
Re: Ayaka
Message:
Yes, I've met her. She's okay.
P.S. Learn some grammar.
Bryce hit send. In a matter of seconds, he received a reply.
From:
Unknown (xxx-xxx-xxxx)
Subject:
Re: Re: Ayaka
Message:
F u
Bryce snickered as he looked about the big room for Machi. "Did you get to speak with Ayaka Benneteau at all?"
"Sure."
"About what?"
"Stuff."
"Like?"
"How to pronounce her name and how much money I'm losing because I don't smile."
"You're useless."
As soon as Machi had located and repaired his fingers, which he had apparently severed while chopping a whole chicken in an attempt to make a homemade chicken sandwich, Bryce went to find the very girl in question.
She who's winsome
Does not win him
Hisoka was sitting idly on a big oak tree somewhere in Redrum Island and he was bored out of his mind. On a whim he had joined the Redrum Island Contest, or RIC for short, an annual game where contestants killed everyone else until there was only one man or woman standing. This year, around ten thousand people had registered in the hopes of being crowned the Redrum King or Queen, but after the six-month mark, only three of them remained alive, and Hisoka was pretty sure that one of the two was grievously injured. For weeks he had been patrolling the big island by foot, calling his fellow survivors and pleading with them to come out and play with him, but of course they wouldn't show. He gave them some credit: they were very skilled hide-and-seek players.
He checked his phone for any new messages, but his screen immediately beeped and went dead. Going to a re-charging station was risky since it was out in the open and smack in the middle of the island, but he headed towards it anyway.
As he was walking, he wondered whether the little mosquito had understood that the kiss was his goodbye present, but knowing her thought process, she was probably just angry. After all, she was always angry with him no matter what he did. She even called him crazy! Huh, like she didn't already know that.
He gripped his last deck of cards. It was time to end this game and return to the Arena.
Ayaka sucked on a lollipop, the only meal she was in the mood for that day. What was Machi's deal? If it was up to her, she wouldn't have even bothered with such an unfriendly and anti-social character, but Honmei insisted that if she wanted to be considered for a promotion, she needed to get along with everyone. She was doing just that until the pouty woman came along.
She cleared her sore throat and rested her head on her makeshift pillow once more. She had been feeling feverish since last night, experiencing pinching pains in her tired joints, a debilitating headache, and an uncharacteristic lack of appetite. She hated being sick.
"Might as well use this time to train. Nen, switch on!" She snickered. It was her new catchphrase. Wing and Zushi both believed that she had reached an all-time low, but so what? She felt cool and empowered whenever she said it out loud, like she was the heroine of a cheesy comic book that kids of all ages adored.
She closed her eyes, placed her hands on the plywood table of the breakroom, and concentrated. Nen flowed willingly through her body, traveling along the circulation of her veins and arteries and capillaries, through her heart and back again. Her ability wasn't just about creating something from nothing – it was about using her imagination to forge a weapon, to manipulate what was at her fingertips and mold it into something she could use. Kind of like building blocks for toddlers or play dough for kids who didn't eat everything within reach. She was a manipulator not of people but of objects.
And she sucked at it.
With nen, she could feel the smooth laminated surface of the wooden table, the four legs connected to the top board, the iron nails that held them together, the little bit of coffee that Machi had spilt a few minutes earlier. The sensation was phenomenal, almost addicting, like the moment she was handed the sealed white envelope containing her first paycheck sometime after middle school. But she had hit a wall. No matter what she did, she couldn't use any of the weapons she had created. There was some void that needed filling and Wing seemed to know exactly what the remedy was, but he was adamant that she had to figure it out on her own.
Defeated, she left the break room and almost bumped into Bryce. He had been standing right in front of the door, one hand situated deep in his pocket, smoking a lit cigarette like a talentless punk. He said hi. She said hi back.
"Bryce, you're not allowed to smoke in the building." She pointed a finger at his lips. "What are you doing down here anyway? Can I help you with anything?"
"No." He took one last puff of nicotine-filled smoke and killed the cigarette on the carpet.
She stared at the mountainous 6'7" man, his broad shoulders and thick torso, layers of hard trained muscle that were stacked everywhere, even in places she didn't think was possible. How could a man be so large? He was definitely an awkward one, only relying on short sentences and one-word replies to communicate with people, but he was definitely classically handsome enough to offset any potential ridicule from people who didn't know him. According to Honmei, he had been asking around about her, expressing curiosity on everything from her personality to the size of her feet, and it made her feel very, very self-conscious. She was about to leave him alone when she felt it. The terror. The forced knotting of the wires in her brain. She recognized the sensation immediately.
In a tenth of a second, she pushed her right foot behind her for support and leaned backwards. Swoosh! She watched in slow motion as his gigantic fist flew right past her face, almost making the briefest contact with the tip of her nose, a very fierce right hook that could have torn her head clean off of her neck had it been a hairsbreadth closer. Almost simultaneously, she threw her arms behind her head, pressing them against the floor in a gymnast bridge – which in the past she hadn't been flexible enough to do – and then, propelling her feet towards the air, she attempted to kick him in the chin. His reaction time was lightning fast. He caught both her legs mid-air and flung her against the wall like he was dusting an area rug, effectively cracking the paper-thin material and crashing her body into an empty room. She felt a sharp pain cut beneath her shoulder blade and screamed in pain. She definitely broke something, but there was no time to evaluate the injury.
She panted as she scrambled to her feet, the adrenaline pumping through her system a hundred miles per hour, and sprinted towards the nearest escape route. She had never been hit this punishingly before and it was frightening her. Was she going to die today? Those gangs of high school kids she recently went up against were like little ripples in a koi pond compared to this guy. He was a tsunami. No way could she take on this floor master all by herself!
He grabbed her ponytail and yanked her towards him. It was like being dragged into the deep ocean by a ship's anchor and she was definitely going to drown. She tried to remember what the self-defense class taught her to do back in middle school. Solidifying the series of instructions in her head, she turned theory into action.
Step one! Latch onto the assailant's arms and twist it in front of you!
Step two! Pull the assailant down with the help of gravity!
Step three! Smash his nose against your knee!
Crack!
She let go and staggered backwards, wincing as she felt a zap of pain resonating through her leg. Her knee was throbbing from the impact. Good. That should have done major damage to him as well. Or not. Her eyes widened in disbelief as she watched him compose himself in a matter of two quick seconds, straightening himself out and wiping his bloody nose on the hem of his camouflage t-shirt. He showed no signs that he even felt any hint of pain at all. "You look shocked? I'm a floor master, remember?"
She wiped the sweat from her forehead. Her fever was rapidly advancing and she was already exhausted after one attack against this mammoth. She was completely unprepared for this warfare. He wasn't just stronger and quicker, he was a million levels beyond her reach and weighed three times as much. She swallowed hard and took a few steps back to lengthen the distance between them.
"What do you want from me?" She reached into her pocket where she kept an easily breakable vial of Zushi's blood, wishing to the gods that she could make a sword that worked this time. With a sigh, Bryce tucked his raven hair behind his ear and scratched his clean-shaven chin, running his tongue against the piercing on the side of his bottom lip. "Why are you fighting back? You aren't going to win."
She sent him an incredulous look. "Well, why are you fighting me at all?"
He took his cellphone from his pocket and clicked a few buttons. "I'm sorry." His apology sounded genuine. "I just wanted to learn more about you. I didn't think you'd react in this manner. Whenever I'm in a fight, you see, I just… like to win. Always."
She found herself sneering at him. "And you think that wanting to win all the time makes you special?"
He re-tucked his hair behind his ear and stared at her. He wasn't sure if it was a trick question.
"Tell me, have you ever met somebody who doesn't like winning? Or better yet, somebody who enjoys losing?"
He held his ground and didn't speak.
"So you decided to pick on me because I'm weaker than you?" She snapped her fingers to get his wavering attention. He continued to stare. This was definitely a trick question. "Let me get this straight. You attacked me because you were sure that you'd win...because... you like the feeling of winning."
He nodded once. Ayaka frowned from the insult. "Unbelievable. Have you ever heard of choosing your battles? What, did you think that winning against me would constitute a real victory? I admit that I'm no match for someone like you, but knowing this makes me fight harder because in the off-chance that I happen to be the winner, that means that I've earned it. But if you win, you wouldn't have earned anything at all. Why don't you pick on somebody your own size? Raise your standards a bit? I hate bullies like you."
He didn't answer. Ayaka suddenly realized that their little moment in the park, the time he spent teaching her how to throw knives, wasn't him just being nice or even altruistic. He was simply showing off. The bastard was showing off and she didn't even know it! Hisoka liked showing off too, but he was different. He only counted true victories if it was an opponent deserving of his strength and, sure, he killed weaker people too, but in his own twisted way, he didn't even count them because of his pride.
"I'm sorry," he said again.
"Quit saying that. Quit saying things you don't mean."
"No, really. I'm sorry. I don't want you to hate me. I don't want Ryuu's sister to hate me."
End of Chapter Eleven!
DUN DUN DUN. How did you like it? I know it's short, but it felt complete as a chapter. Please make my day by leaving a review and let me know what you honestly think!
Ayaka really needs to learn when to shut up.