Disclaimer: I don't own Durarara! (only Maemi, Kyoko Orojima, scrawny twit, Sasouharu, Kumaru)
With the looming weight of being anti-social dragging the woman down, her pessimistic and dreary self seemed to settle in comfortably. Though, it was problematic when Maemi was at work. Her co-workers seemed to think something awful happened to her since she'd normally nod politely and give everyone a sweet small smile. Instead, she'd space out constantly and when she snapped out of her deep thoughts she'd ask, "Huh? What?" rather than her usual sugary, "Pardon?" In their books, she was labeled as depressed but in actuality, the woman was slipping between being herself and being Maemi Shimizu. Since she spent a long time relaxing, letting her true emotions and thoughts out with Izaya, it was hard to contain them again.
She'd worry about that later. The woman may as well relax now while she was at home. Maemi sat at the couch, eating Chinese takeout. She didn't care how bad it was for her! The comfort of a Chinese green curry was doing wonders for her mood. Plus, she didn't feel like cooking after being called in to work a full day shift. One of the girls was sick so she had no choice but to say 'yes'. Or maybe it was a test to see if she really was 'depressed' as they called it. Either way, it didn't change the fact that Maemi had the horrific habit of agreeing to things she didn't want to do. The exact opposite of… 'Jane'. She wasn't used to the long hours so her calves and feet ached from standing and running around all day.
The female popped a honey chicken piece in her mouth when she heard rummaging coming from the front door. A deep voice was mumbling under his breath; she didn't recognize it. Instantly pulling out her knife she clicked it open as the wooden door did the same. 'Shit. Shit.' The woman cursed in her head over and over. Maemi didn't have her disguise on; she was completely exposing her identity to the intruder. Intruders? The voices were too quiet. But they were definitely talking to each other. Why were they here? Was it two people? More?
Maemi listened for footsteps as she quickly turned off the muted TV she previously used for light. She was ready to fight. There'd be no point in hiding. There weren't a lot of hiding places in this house. Waiting to be found or waiting in the shadows to strike. It was obvious which one was the better option.
"This was the address, right?" a male's voice whispered shakily. It wasn't familiar to Maemi at all.
"Of course it is!" another man's deep tones hissed to the first. "You go down in the lounge; I'll check the hallway and her bedroom. She's probably in bed after her long day of work. Maybe if we get lucky, she sleeps in the nude," it said deviously. She could imagine the man licking his lips making Maemi grit and grind her teeth.
'What's going on here? How did he know I worked all day- That fucking dick. This is Izaya's doing, isn't it?' she thought spitefully.
"Y-Yeah," the first voice shortly agreed, Maemi took notice of the anxiousness in his voice.
"Kumaru, you stay here in case she tries to make a break for it," ordered the second through his teeth.
"Right," a third joined, trying to keep his voice steady.
Footsteps were coming towards Maemi as she crouched behind the recliner. It must be the first male. She slowed her breathing suddenly aware of her entire body. The feeling was so familiar. But she swore. She swore she'd never kill anyone again… Break the promise or… This was going to be troublesome. She bit the dull edge of the knife between her teeth for safe keeping.
The skinny male, owning the first voice, out-stretched his arms seeking some sort of guidance in the dark. Stumbling across something suede, he came to the conclusion it was a couch. The thin male made his way around it while his hand dirtied the woman's property with his touch, smearing his existence on it as he stepped.
"Give Nakura the signal to start up the car when I say," the second tone instructed again obviously enjoying his power over the hesitant.
The unknown woman could hear the gliding against soft material and the squeak of her wooden floors under boots. The scrawny twit didn't fucking take his shoes off. Bloody inconsiderate bastard. Even without her sight, the former assassin knew his exact landmark. He was on the opposite side of the lounge to her. Perfect. Still bending low in case he saw her even with the lack of any light, she matched her footsteps with his. It was as if she utterly disappeared. Didn't even exist. The male was about to retreat and relay that no one was there; until the woman, without any warning or sign, grabbed his mouth and nose from behind.
"Mm-" he squirmed in her tight grasp.
"Yes, of course," The third man's voice at the door finally replied. It was raspy but formal.
The first still struggling against her, he might have been stronger but with the imbalance she created, he couldn't throw her off. His attempts only made it harder on himself as he slowly grew limp. She placed him on the ground soundlessly; making sure the couch was blocking the view of the thin body if the lights were to be turned on.
She heard heavy footsteps thumping to her room. 'Shit.' She swore again. The girl heard the pounding make their way back but this time to the lounge room. She ducked down again.
"She in here?" he waited for a response, "That pussy, he ran out on us!" he hissed spitefully clicking his tongue, "I thought he would," he croaked to himself. His heavy feet tracked the first man's, walking toward the couch. He too had solid shoes on… The woman understood why they didn't bother with such but it still annoyed her. Now she'll have to mop the fucking floor.
He was too big to take on without a weapon. Concealing the noise of her feet was far easier with this man. She quickly entered the kitchen to draw a blunt weapon, a rolling pin maybe. The woman could see a bit better thanks to the ajar window which let a gentle breeze blow and separate the curtains, the moon's light streaming through. But even with moonlight, all she could find was a glint of metal from a meat tenderizer. She had killed someone with that before, she'd better be careful.
"What the-?" the large man stepped onto the skinny male's unconscious body but Maemi intruded his thought and slammed the flat side of the mallet to his head and her hand to his mouth to muffle the yell. "MMM!" Not hard enough. She hammered him once again forcing him to the ground. He fell and smashed his forehead on the coffee table. If she didn't knock him out, that surely did. It made a loud crash gaining attention from the nervous male standing guard at the door.
"I-Is everything okay, Sasouharu-san?" he called off his leader.
Maemi quickly checked the big man's pulse. It was beating. She dropped his wrist immediately, repulsed by the touch.
"S-Sasouharu-san?" he stepped forward, at the entrance of the kitchen he peeked past the wall into the living area. But not before Maemi sneaked into the hallway, he pointed a gun out in front him. From the way he held the handgun, with his crossed over thumbs and locked straight elbows; his grip wasn't even tight enough. The male was obviously inexperienced. When he was in reach, Maemi grabbed the barrel of the gun, with a swift pull of the firearm and sweep of his arms; she had the gun in her hands. Though, she subtly put the safety on.
The young male stared at her in shock and backed away. She took him by the collar of his shirt and threw him against the wall, pinning him in place. The woman let the blade between her teeth fall into her sweater and be caught on her bra, it was the only safe place since her hands weren't free. "Who sent you here?" she asked darkly, sure to give a glare that froze anyone to ice.
"I-I won't tell," even now the stranger tried to sound strong.
"You're not fooling anyone, buddy. Who?" she asked again pointing the gun to his head.
"No! Please, I didn't want to do this! Please don't kill me," he pleaded pathetically.
"I won't if you tell me why you're here and who it is behind this." Maemi still had her dark aura surrounding her, maybe even darker than the pair's surroundings. She didn't really need to fake it because her temper had already risen a long time ago. It almost suffocated the male and she noticed he wouldn't even be twenty years old.
He seemed to think about it while sweating furiously, "Then… p-put the gun down."
"You don't have the right to order that nor are you in the position to give orders in the first place. Quit stalling, your friends aren't going to wake up any time soon. And the guy in the car isn't going to come out either." Her mouth spilled empty threat after empty threat. She made lying as easy as simply blinking. "Better start getting on topic, boy, or a bullet's going through your head." She pressed the tip of the barrel hard into his skull. "Or maybe you'd like me to slit your throat."
"Okay! Okay. We're here to bring you to Yoyogi Park in Shibuya," he hurried out his words causing built up saliva to unattractively drip from his lips. "I don't know why. Please believe me."
'Yoyogi Park, huh?' she mused to herself, "Who?"
"His name's Izaya Ori-
Sighing, she hit the handle of the gun to his head instantly forcing him unconscious cutting his words off. He didn't really need to finish. She made her way to the front door and let it ajar; peeping through in search for… Nakura, was it? The man whose duty was to start up the car when the group retrieved her. She saw a black van with the driver's window slightly down. That would have to be it. There was a silhouette of a male in the driver's seat gripping the steering wheel rather tightly, checking back and forth.
Back… and… NOW!
Maemi ran to the van and with the footsteps, the male turned back again. But only to see nothing had changed.
"Hmm…" he said thoughtfully and opened the door to step out. However, once he did he was grabbed from behind; Maemi's hand wrapping tightly around his throat and nose. He fell limp far too soon. She was good but not that good. The woman saw right through him, she knew he was still conscious. He most likely assumed she'd let go of him, how wrong he was.
"Nice try," the woman whispered partly to ridicule him. She gripped harder and he started struggling again. The male slammed her against the van with his back. Maemi bit back her yelp and continued to squeeze, suffocating him. He was hitting every inch of her he could get to and clawed at her hands. What was he? A girl? Sure, it hurt but he couldn't think of anything else? She thought he'd be a little more experienced after his little stunt. Guess not. Two minutes had past and he finally stopped thrashing about. Maemi let him fall to the ground, noticing the similarities to the man's face with Izaya's. 'What the fuck?' she questioned but shrugged it off. She slid opened the door to the back seats of the van. Ropes were rolled up on one of the seats. "This will do," the woman said to herself, picking the thick ropes up that were intended for her.
It was time for the cleanup… Damn it. Still working in the dark, to not attract any attention from her neighbors, she dragged all the men into the vehicle one by one. First up was Nakura since he was out in the open from then on in order of her assaults, the more likely one to awaken. Keeping in mind the handgun she snatched, the woman looted them all for any weapons before securely tying them up together back to back. She didn't have enough rope to bind them separately. The girl's muscles were screaming at her to stop but she wasn't done.
Breathing heavily she wiped the sweat from her forehead with a gloved hand. "I need to start working out again," she noted feeling how much harder the task was than before. Maemi slid the door of the van shut and made her way back inside to dress as an old identity, Kyoko Orojima. She had kept the short black wig because… she… simply liked it. She slapped on a cream that made her skin starkly white and heavily put eyeliner on. Kyoko was the girl to like rock or heavy metal music and live off cigarettes and coffee. The woman rather liked the look but at the moment she was just taking advantage that Kyoko looked a lot like her bare face. She couldn't change it too much due to the third male seeing her. Not to mention Kyoko's attitude…
Miaka H. here! Okay... The audience to 'normal Durarara' is meant to assume Nakura's face looks, at least a little, like Izaya (thanks to Shinra)... right? Right? You don't get to see Nakura's eyes but since Shinra managed to change Mika's eye color blue... there's a fair chance the doctor turned his stabber's eyes to deep red. And maybe Nakura just doesn't keep up with dying his hair black like what he's told to do. His harmless and pathetic way of rebelling I'd say.
But then again, this could just be my imagination getting the better of me...