"I can't believe you," I grumbled angrily, limping to our horse. My hair dripped icy water, and I felt like punching the nearest passerby. There weren't a whole lot of them, considering it was almost three in the morning here in Montreal.
We somehow managed to find the horse after it had bolted into the great expanse of trees. It had found a nice mill to hide out under, and we followed its example. It rained and rained and rained, and for a few moments I was sure that God had decided to flood the Earth one more time. To our surprise, another band of travelers arrived at the mill, and we ended up in very close company around a campfire.
Somehow, Kanda had gotten a hold of their band's supply of sleeping pills and drugged me.
The next thing I knew, I was woken up by a curious group of sheep, one who was adventurous enough to start eating my hair. To make matters worse, I'd rolled over into sheep poop, and it'd dried in my hair over the trip to the Montreal station. I didn't ask how Kanda had managed to also get the horse on the livestock train, but manage it he did. The horse even had fresh hay and water while I wallowed in sheep crap.
It came as no surprise that Kanda treated the horse better than he treated me.
The only thing good I could say of the whole debacle was that he'd shoved my leg back into the socket while I was out. Honestly though, I felt like someone had tenderized my hip with a ball-peen hammer. Gentility was not Kanda's strong suite.
"The war would've been over by the time we made it to Montreal with your bum leg," Kanda grumbled darkly as he tried to hoist himself up on the horse one-handed. He still wasn't healed from his skirmish with the last roving band of undead freaks we'd come across. He was having trouble with normal things like tying up his hair, getting on horses, and managing a sword and a bag. I couldn't say that I pitied him (Lord knows why).
"Well, maybe we should've just hobbled our way across upper North America, then," I muttered under my breath as I squeezed out my rinsed hair. I couldn't stand the smell, so I had washed it out at the nearest pump. Unfortunately, I'd marinated too long in the scent of animal, wool, and poop. This uniform was going in the trash. It'd touched too many things, seen too many things… better to end its misery now than drag it out.
Kanda crinkled his nose as I stiffly tried to mount the horse after him. It took me almost four tries, but we somehow managed to get me seated without falling over the other side.
"You stink," Kanda complained.
"Well, you're no rose, either," I shot back irately, spurring the horse on. "Maybe if you hadn't let me roll in sheep dung…"
"I didn't let you. You were hitting things, so I moved you."
"Yes, because I would much rather wake up with sheep poop in my hair than with a couple of bruises."
"Next time, I'll let you sleepwalk your way out the train door."
After that last barb, we fell silent as we rode into Montreal. It was very, very early in the morning, and despite my forced nap, I felt like I didn't even know what sleep was. The last time I'd actually slept well was two nights before my last mission with Lavi. That felt like ages ago (though it'd only been about a week and a half since). And then there was Kanda, who didn't seem to need sleep like a regular human. Even on this particular trip, I'd hardly ever seen him close his eyes for longer than three seconds.
The case against his humanity grew stronger by the day. Violet and I had a running list of evidence to present to the Science Department at some point in the future.
I looked around as we rode silently through the dank streets. Montreal was old, and it grew like the rings of a tree. The oldest sections were in the very center of the city, and the newest portions were on the outside. What was also on the outside was the crusty, flaky bark that trees had of one sort or another, the dried up edges of the tree's limited existence. Montreal was no different – and its bark was very, very flaky indeed.
The predawn glow had already permeated the street, illuminating the whores in all their scantily clad majesty. Even at this dead time, a woman had to eat, and now and again somebody would wake up in the middle of the night thinking, "I could go for some French right now." Of course, the prowlers were few and far between, for which I was thankful. Even with Kanda as my personal pessimistic shadow, I didn't think I'd be safe around here on my feet. There were too many blind alleys, close streets, and darkened buildings for my liking.
"Are you sure we're supposed to be in this district?" I asked hesitantly as I looked left and right.
"Mhm. Budget constraints," he said in affirmation, and I sighed through my nose as I took another look at the mission dossier's information. For the first night, we were supposed to hole up at the Scarecrow's End. The address was close, but it looked like it ran farther south than the train yard. It was on the very, very edge of the city, hence the name as the fields ended where the city crept in. I turned us around, and for once Kanda didn't complain that I must somehow be going in the wrong direction.
We found it after several minutes of perusing the very edge of the city. The stables were full of carriages and trucks, all of them brightly colored. The circus was in town, apparently. Despite their loud colors and bombastic slogans, all the trucks, horses, and animals were silent as the grave. After a few moments, I could see that there were a few up and about, getting ready for the day. I stopped the horse outside the door of the ramshackle inn with its poor scarecrow standing forlornly in front of the steps.
"Going to talk to the innkeeper. Stay here," Kanda commanded as we entered the main tavern area of the inn. I rolled my eyes at his brusqueness, but nevertheless I looked for a spot to set my tired hind end. The room was surprisingly full, most of them carnies who'd woken up early. I clicked open my pocketwatch, and I was a little surprised to find it was about four in the morning now. We'd made especially good time. I looked over to the bar, and I saw an older woman sitting by an empty seat. Deciding that was reasonably safe, considering every other table was full of burly men with less-than-friendly looks, I headed over.
"Would you mind if I sat here, miss?" I asked.
"Huh? Oh! Actually, I'm a mister," the woman said, turning towards me, and it was only then that I realized my mistake. His beard was full, but so was his corset. I opened my mouth for a moment to shoot back with something apologetic, but I soon realized that I was only making a high-pitched whine.
"I know. It confuses a lot of people. I'm a man with, uh, assets, so it's easier to pass off as the bearded lady," the man… was it… man stammered, shrugging as he went back to eating some kind of porridge.
"Would you mind if I sat?" I asked finally.
"Not at all."
I sat down on the bar stool, got hold of my bearings, and I sighed.
"One mug of coffee, if you've got it," I asked the bartender, and he nodded.
"You like it black?"
"Uh, I usually-"
"Cuz that's the only way we serve it," the bartender continued.
"Sure. Why not."
I made small talk with the bearded lady (or should I say breasted man?), and I found out his name was George Meister from Sasketchewan, Canada. He'd been dressed as a girl when he was a teenage boy to hide his, er, issues, but eventually he was found out by the other girls he'd travailed with, and their fathers had beat him bloody. He'd left on a midnight train to Toronto, and there he'd found the circus. They gladly took him on, and they reworked him to be a little more traditionally carnie.
"That's horrible what they did," I said sympathetically, rubbing my arms. It was enough to give me goosebumps.
"Eh, that's life. But that's how I met my wife, so I don't mind, really. She's helping set up, right now. What about you?" George asked good-naturedly. "What're you here in Montreal for?"
"Oh, I'm-"
"Whatchu talkin' to the ladyman for, girl? Don't you know he ain't got nothin' you're interested in? You could be talkin' to a real man," a deep voice said behind me, and I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rise. George blanched, and I saw his Adam's apple rise and fall as he swallowed. I looked down over my shoulder at the massive pair of boots parked right behind my bar stool.
Oh, great.
"Course, you wearin' pants. You got balls, girl?" the deep voice said.
"Probably more than you do," I spat back automatically. My stomach tried to climb up my throat. Shoot. Open mouth, insert foot, choke to death…
Some of the men 'oooohed' appreciatively, and I could at least take pride in my one good zinger before I died.
"Oooh. You a mouthy one. I like that. You can keep talkin' to me like that, on one condition."
"Come on, Marty, leave her alone," George said, voice wavering only slightly. So far, he was the only one who'd said anything in my defense. My knight in shining armor had breasts. Of course, I wasn't complaining. He was a real sweetheart, considering I could practically see that he was pissing himself sitting there next to He-Man Woman-Ravager.
I was being completely serious – the guy sounded like he could eat me for a midnight snack. He suddenly sat down beside me in an empty seat, and I tried not to inch away from him. I kept drinking my (now cold) coffee, ignoring him as I felt his eyes search my face. If there was anything I'd learned, it was that if you didn't want them to take the bait, don't look them in the eye. They liked permissiveness, and too much eye contact made them aggressive, like dogs in a pit fight.
"You know, I kind of like the whole pants thing," he drawled in his thick Northern accent, and I swallowed another mouthful of coffee to keep myself busy. He radiated heat and testosterone, and his manliness made my stomach heave just by sitting next to him. "What is it you do? Are you a -?"
"A nun," I answered before he could finish, the words coming out harsh and clipped. I sounded a lot more confident than I felt. My insides had turned to water. My legs were made of soft spaghetti. I think my heart had either completely stopped or was going so fast that I only thought it had stopped. The only thing helping me keep composure was that George looked more scared than I did, but that wasn't exactly a stretch.
"Should I ask how old you are?"
I gripped my mug and sat there as he chuckled at my response.
"Nun. I like 'em innocent. Breaking 'em in is the fun part, am I right?"
I threw my coffee in his face.
I don't know what possessed me. It was like, for a whole moment, I had been taken over by someone else. I'd been so beside myself with fury that I'd somehow morphed into another person altogether. I did have the presence of mind to realize that the coffee wasn't hot, so it wouldn't hurt him, but that wasn't the point. It's the thought that counts.
I watched the coffee drip down his face, and my mouth was sapped of all moisture. I flexed my hands as he wiped his face off with his shirt slowly, deliberately.
"My apologies. My hand slipped," I stated as he stared at me with a set of blue eyes. His face was craggy, and he had a boxer's nose, the kind that had been broken ten too many times. He had hands like ham hocks and feet made for stomping in faces and not much else. His mouth was hard, his face had stubble, and he might've been handsome once. His personality was a definite mark against his eligibility though.
He leaned towards me, leaving just enough space to breathe. I solidly stared across the bar, realizing that I should've gotten up and walked off the minute I'd thrown the coffee at him. But, of course, pithy, stupid me had to make a retort. I stayed glued in my seat, pretending he wasn't there.
"Marty…" George hissed, but Marty wasn't having any of it.
"No, no, no, I understand, an accident. It was an accident. But there are ways she can make up for it. Right, doll?" he said silkily, and I bit the inside of my lip. He was close enough that I could smell him. Horses, dung, whiskey, something else that was sweet, like rotting trash, the stench of human body odor, a musk... I scrunched up a fist with my bracelet in hand -
A sword tip rested on Marty's clavicle, and a familiar voice said, "Hey. You're in my seat."
I didn't think I'd ever been so glad to hear his voice. I almost fell off my stool with relief.
"This is your seat?" Marty asked quietly.
Kanda quirked a bored eyebrow.
"I know I have an accent. You want me to say it slower?"
Marty stood up, and the room fell silent as the chatter of a few tens of carnival workers realized that there was a small hurricane spinning in their midst. And, of course, yours truly was in the eye of the storm. I buried my face in one hand, trying to forget the pain in my hip and the bile in my throat and the two men playing tug of war with me. Not a single person made a move to get up, and I muttered, "Thanks, boys, you're a real help."
"Oi. You guys wanna have it out, do it outside. I just varnished the interior last Monday," the bartender suggested.
"Nah, Cole. He can have the seat with the other girls. He fits right in," Marty finally said, enunciating every word. Between the two of them, there was an obvious weight class difference, but what Kanda didn't have in bulk, he more than made up for with his oppressive aura. He had enough bottled hostility to make a screaming Hun army pack up and go home. There was also the small matter of Kanda having a pointy metal stick and Marty lacking one. Of course, I didn't know if either had more brains than hormones. It was all good and likely that they'd start a brawl over a bar stool.
Finally, Marty started to get up and back away, never taking his eyes off the Japanese man with the sword. He put up his hands, swaggering backwards, which even I had to admit was impressive. My partner lowered his sword once Marty turned his back and started to leave altogether. It wasn't until he was out the door that I collapsed against the bar and pressed my head against it.
"Thank you, Jesus," I muttered to the wood.
"Tch," Kanda complained, ordering a mug of tea. I noticed, belatedly, that he was still using his left hand instead of his right. Dear Lord, he'd bluffed the whole thing.
Not that he couldn't take the other guy one handed, and with the wrong hand, but man if he didn't have nerves of steel. But, if his nerves were steel, mine were pudding.
"Why is it I leave you for five minutes, and you've somehow picked a fight with the biggest carnival freak in the room?" he asked bitterly, taking a sip of his hot tea.
"It wasn't my fault! He came over to me."
"She's right. Marty started it. Most of the guys here haven't had a new woman in over six months. They just swap through the gymnasts and the fortune tellers," George vouched, playing with his food. He reached across from me and offered a hand. "George Meister, bearded lady."
To his credit, Kanda didn't sneer, but he also didn't accept the hand. He looked at me, shook his head, and slapped something down on the bar.
"Your room key. You lose it, I take a finger," he threatened, got up, and left with his mug. I forlornly looked after him, rubbing my temples. I could feel another headache brewing on the horizon. Of course, one headache had just left, so I should be able to handle this one. At least for this kind, I could take willow's bark and expect it to go away. The other one was more…permanent.
"He's a real sweetheart," George mumbled.
"Yeah. Sugar wouldn't melt in his mouth," I sighed.
"He your beau or something?"
"Thank God, no!"
After having a nice talk with George over the merits of wearing a brassiere over a corset, I walked upstairs with my room key. The hastily built inn smelled like sawed wood and varnish, and the boards slightly squeaked under my feet. I could almost see through the stairs to the room below, and I tried to keep my mind off that fact. The walls here were only slightly better at blocking sound than an open window, so I could hear muffled conversations, some angry and others more congenial. Now and again, I heard a rather loud curse, and then a scuffle, but that was the extent of my eavesdropping. My room was on the third floor and down the middle of the hall, and I tried to keep from looking over my shoulder. I couldn't help but think my footsteps were mirrored by a heavier, bigger set, and knowing that I'd upset Marty the Muscle Man had not helped my paranoia.
I stood in front of the door and fumbled with the key, just barely putting it in the lock when the door was jerked open. I let out a slightly muffled scream as I covered my mouth and jumped backwards, but it was just Kanda, glowering at me with a bag slung over his shoulder.
"You're late. Come on, we're going."
"W-what? What do you mean, leaving? We just got here!"
"Don't you remember? Oh, right, you have butter where you should have brains. We're meeting His Royal Pisspants to discuss details."
I huffed, trying to think of the itinerary on our dossier. Was it already almost eight o clock? We were supposed to meet Duke Savon at his estate where they were holding the summit this morning, but I hadn't realized how early.
"Can I at least shower? I can't meet a duke smelling like sheep crap."
"Wanna bet?"
I pressed my lips together into a straight line. Appearances were very important, especially for a woman. It was the only way we made any kind of impression, and I'd rather mine not be 'she smelled like a stable that needed mucking out.' I crossed my arms and planted my feet, biting down a shout as my hip protested.
"I can be done in thirty minutes," I offered.
He deliberated that answer, leaning against the door frame. He looked down at me over his thin nose, narrowed his eyes and said, "Twenty."
"Twenty-five."
"Done. If you're not out here, I'll drag you there naked."
True to my word (and so he wouldn't have to fulfill his), I finished with about thirty seconds to spare. I had to change into an older style uniform, but that was alright. As long as I wasn't smelly, I would be fine.
As we walked to the horses, I looked over at him and said, "You didn't have to do what you did back there."
He hardly looked at me, continuing at a brisk clip towards the horse. The only indication he'd heard me was a brief glance in my direction.
"If you fought the way you talked trash, I wouldn't have to teach you. Besides, he took my seat," he said simply as he saddled up the horse. Oddly, I felt a glow of pride. I could do something right. Even if it was just insult my enemy to death.
"But next time, do me a favor and pick on a smaller target."
"Ugh. I didn't pick him. He picked me."
It took us about an hour to get to the estate, mostly because we bickered over the map. It was a well wooded area on a hill somewhere to the northwest, and despite the tall gate, other estates nearby, and the brick walled fence, it almost felt like a wilderness unto itself. The mansion was beautiful, and the grounds were extensive. I could feel the opulence from the gate, and I practically got richer just breathing the air. Someone was burning serious money in this place.
"Old money," I murmured as I stared at the delicate friezes, ornate columns, and flying balconies.
"Too much money," Kanda answered in an uncharacteristic moment of talkativeness.
We walked into the parlor, and a butler led us to the main ballroom where everything was supposed to be taking place. The ceilings were high, and the floor was made of polished marble. I could practically see myself in the floor, it was so well-waxed, and the windows had to be at least fifteen feet tall. There was a whole second-floor wrap-around balcony, and there were plenty of recesses where people could escape to have private conversations. Paintings lined the walls and decorated the hallways that branched off into the rest of the mansion. All in all, it was very, very impressive.
"What do you see? About this place?" Kanda asked quietly at my back. He was almost standing on top of me he was following so close, and I resisted the urge to speed up. He was impatient like that.
"I don't know. Lots and lots of paintings of dead people," I said. I'd been counting them for a lark, and so far I had almost twenty-seven.
"No, idiot. Think security. Think like prey," he commanded irritably, and I brushed off my initial wounded pride. I looked around the wide ballroom with its high, vaulted ceiling, the balcony, the windows, the… exits and entrances…
"There are too many doors. Too many people can go in and out and we wouldn't be able to keep track," I said slowly, looking back at him. His expression didn't betray his thoughts on the matter, but I knew that I'd hit my mark.
"Ah, there you are! Bonjour, mon amis. It's a beautiful morning, isn't it?" a young man said as he approached us, very obviously the duke despite his almost casual attire. He wore an unbuttoned vest with a watch, a starched shirt that was undone at the neck. His pants were so well-ironed, I think I could've cut paper with the pleats. He wasn't very tall, maybe just a few fingers shorter than Kanda, but he was still taller than me. His hair was thick, his eyes twinkled, and he had a generous mouth. All in all, a handsome man with a pleasant disposition. I found myself smiling.
"Good morning yourself, my lord. Yes, it is a beautiful morning. Thank you for having us," I said in French, suddenly glad that I'd showered. He wasn't much older than I was…
Of course, I was a nun, but nuns can dream, right?
Kanda shot me a nasty look, and I momentarily forgot that he didn't know what I was saying. If Lavi were here, we'd all chat in French, but Kanda wasn't nearly so well educated (though I couldn't say I was either). I'd managed to teach him a few sentences, the very basics, but when it came to conversation… Well, immersion was supposed to be the best way to learn. It just wasn't the easiest.
"Ah, you speak French! Though I apologize, I recognize now that only one of you does. Come, come, we have much to discuss. As you can see, this is the main ballroom…"
He lead us to the balcony areas, the grounds immediately outside of the ballroom, the bathrooms that were situated just outside the ballroom in a set of dead ended hallways, the kitchens and servants' quarters. It was a huge mansion, but we'd only be guarding a small portion of it.
"So guests will only be allowed in the ballroom?" I said, just to set the record straight.
"Yes. We'll have the rest of the mansion cordoned off, and my own personal complement of guards will make sure that no one wanders where they shouldn't," the duke assured me, and he smiled warmly. His sort of smile was infectious, and I smiled along, nodding my head as I looked around the parlor area where the guests would enter first.
"Where is your …?" He searched for the right word, trying not to be rude and presume too much, or too little for that matter.
"Partner? He's probably wandering around himself. He likes to do things at his own pace," I sighed, as I looked around the lushly decorated parlor. It was comfortably silent as I looked at more paintings of people long dead. Fifty-nine, sixty – wait, I might've recounted that one. It was a young woman dressed in a luxurious pink samite gown, looking at the painter with beatific eyes.
"Who's this?" I asked, pointing.
"Oh. That's my mother. Helena Savon. She was a Duchess of the French before she moved here to Montreal with my father, may they rest in peace," he said almost dreamily.
"Oh… I'm sorry," I said, suddenly awkward, wondering if I'd touched a raw nerve. He didn't sound altogether unhappy or angry, but royals could afford to be offended. Heaven knows there was more money in this room than I'd ever make in a lifetime.
"No, it's alright. It was a long time ago. She was a supporter of your Order, as I recall it. Her sister was a… what is it? Exorcist? So she funded them in the hopes that perhaps by chance she might run into her again," he said. "What is it that you do, anyhow? I had heard of the Exorcists, and I know a little of what Auntie Yvonne did, but…."
Ever eager to please, I snapped one of my bangles off my wrist, and I activated it. It expanded into a disc, and he stared with awe.
"It's kinda neat," I said demurely. "It's God's personal gift to each of us. There are only so many of them. We use them to fight… uh, demons." It sounded childish to my own ears, but he was soaking it up.
"Really. That's fantastic! How exciting!"
Oh, he wouldn't be saying that if he knew about all the bruises, sweat, puke, and tears. I tried not to grimace.
There was a sharp sudden pain in my leg as something narrow and hard was rapped against my shin, and I let out a short yelp. The barrage continued and I could vaguely hear the sound of an old woman, and I wondered at the back of my mind if Kanda was trying some new torture technique because I'd let my guard down.
"What is this vileness? This woman is wearing men's clothing in my house?! What abomination! Uncouth! Common!" an old woman shouted, and I looked behind me as I crouched and tried to get away from the cane she was using to give me a hiding.
"Grandma! Stop it, she's from the Church!" Savon tried to tell her, but Granny wasn't about to let a little thing like the Church stop her.
"And you, talking to her unchaperoned! You know better than that," Grandmonster continued with glinty, beady eyes, and I stared between the two of them with open mouthed horror. This was his grandmother…?
"I was just showing her the mansion, Grandma. She's part of the security detail for the peace summit, the one that we hold every five years. Do you remember?"
His grandmother deliberated, finally putting down her evil cane. She glared at me as she racked what was left of her brain, and she nodded shrewdly. She'd finally calmed down enough to stop the steam from pouring out her ears.
"But if she comes in that harlot's get-up, I will throw her out immediately! She is to look the proper young woman!"
"Um, ma'am, no disrespect but I actually –" I started, but of course, this old biddy wasn't about to listen to a common girl like me.
"I don't believe I gave you leave to speak, girl. Women are to be seen and not heard. I am of higher station than yourself, you will remember, and you will be dressed as a young lady. Is that understood?"
"Yes, ma'am," Savon answered for me. "My apologies."
I gave him a glare, but his grandmother seemed appeased for the moment. She gave me another piercing stare and she said, "Go on with your conversation. I will sit here and cross-stitch. You have made me tired."
Oh, I made her tired?
After another few minutes of awkward conversation, Kanda finally arrived. Grandmonster gave Mr. Grouchface her best squinty-eyed stare, but she was no match for the cutting gaze of my teacher. There was a short battle of wills, but she finally went 'hmph!' and went back to her cross stitching. Kanda stood at my elbow and said, "We'll have Finders tomorrow. Each one will be at every entrance. We'll be in uniform."
Duke Savon stuttered, "W-well that's all and good, but this is a formal dining party, so perhaps it would be best to have your partner dress up more… traditionally." His grandmother looked up with a slight squint, as if she knew that she was getting what she wanted. She nodded as she went back to her pattern. I, on the other hand, huffed quietly.
Kanda frowned, looked to me, and made a motion for him to explain.
"He wants me to wear a dress," I stated simply.
"Say that next time," Kanda said bluntly to the duke, and I almost winced at his impoliteness.
"My only problem is, we don't have the money to buy me a dress, and I don't even know where I'd get one on short notice," I said, hoping to weasel my way out of it. Court dresses were very, very pretty, but they were also very heavy and uncomfortable. After wearing a brassiere for so long, wearing a corset sounded abominable.
"You can borrow my aunt's old things. She was about your height, and she was also… er, lacking in, ah, certain attributes," Duke Savon said with a bright, forced smile, clapping his hands together. I deigned to ignore that last bit.
"What about if we actually need to do something? Like, fight?" I asked seriously. "I'll be trapped in a—"
Monkey suit.
"—dress."
"I'm sure we can figure something out," the Duke said, signaling the end of that discussion with a wave of his hand. "Go ahead and follow Marie, and we'll meet tomorrow at noon before the final preparations. Does that sound good?"
"Hm," was all Kanda said, and a young maid walked up beside me. The duke, meanwhile, went to appease his fire breathing dragon of a grandmother. Kanda looked at me and said, "She beat you up, didn't she?"
I spluttered for a moment, but he merely shook his head and breathed, "Pathetic."
"This isn't going to work," I gritted out. I did another push-up, my arms straining to hold up my weight. You don't know the extent of your own gluttony until you have to lift it with only your two arms. All of Lavi's chocolate bars were adding up, and it was not pleasant. I took a shuddering breath and put my knee down so I could take a break.
"You've only done one," Kanda called from the bathroom. "You have to do at least ten before you take a break."
I rolled my eyes and went back to doing my push ups, groaning as my ribs strained to keep my torso intact. My ribs had yet to fully heal, and my pinkie was also on fire. I took a deep breath, trying to ignore the pain in my hip as well. Exorcists had no vacations, no breaks, as Kanda liked to remind me ad nauseum. I stared at the wood planks underneath my hands, hoping to distract myself from the agony in my leg. After a few moments, I realized I was looking down through the slats at a pair of carnies doing... something, and immediately I averted my gaze instead to the low table in front of me. I took a deep breath and let it out, lowering myself to the floor once more.
"I bet I won't fit into any of those dresses, anyways. I bet I'll just fall right through them. I'm too skinny to fit," I grumbled with a smile, sweat dripping down my forehead and into my eyes. Oh lord, death was coming for me this second, I know it. All it had to do was dangle a chocolate bonbon on a stick, and I would be do its bidding, just so long as I didn't have to do these darn exercises.
"Concentrate, moron. You're distracting yourself. How many have you done?"
"Um... four. I think."
"God."
"Don't say the Lord's name in vain!"
"I can say whoever's name I want."
I pursed my lips with distaste, and I continued with my routine. After I'd somehow completed three sets of ten push-ups, I moved on to stretching. Kanda had decided that running, while helpful for my stamina, did nothing for my actual speed or strength, so he'd put me on a different regimen. Also, just the fact that running put a strain on my joints, including my bad hip, forced us to seek other alternatives to going for a jog at the butt crack of dawn. Honestly, I should've been happy about the change, but if I was truly honest, I never wanted to hear the word 'sit-up' ever again.
Suddenly, I heard the sound of water splashing, and a string of curse words seemed to sprint out of the bathroom. I frowned, getting up from the floor, and walked over to the bathroom slowly. The door was ajar, and he'd already taken a bath, so heaven knew what he was doing. I peered in through the crack, and I put a hand up to my mouth to stifle a laugh. I bit my lip, and the Japanese man turned his head to glare at me.
"Not a word," he grumbled, his head partway under the faucet. Water was all over the floor, and his shirt was soaked through. His injured arm was cradled against his side, and he looked like he was awkwardly trying to only bend down at the waist, rather than hunch his back. I leaned against the doorjamb, hand still over a grin.
"You sure you don't need any help?" I asked. His hair half-filled the tiny sink, black as coal and more well-kept than any woman's I'd ever seen.
"I think drowning in the sink would be less embarrassing," Kanda retorted, trying to maneuver his head out from under the running faucet. He winced as the lip of the faucet hit him in the forehead, and I reached out instinctively with teeth gritted. His thin, white-lipped stare was enough to deter me from trying to 'help' him, though. I stepped back, putting my hands on my hips as I looked at the mess. There were bubbles all over the sink and the mirror, and there was water on the floor, dripping through the cracks.
"Now look what you did. The wood's going to warp," I sighed. Kanda wrung his hair out slowly, wincing as he lifted his arm. Typical, stubborn man - he couldn't even let someone help him wash his hair. Of course, I didn't know what I expected.
"Here. Sit down," I said, grabbing a small stool from the hotel room, and he looked at me with suspicion. I deflated with sigh, letting my arms flop to my sides.
"Seriously? I can hardly hurt your hair," I protested, but he still looked skeptical.
"Bathrooms have never been kind to you," he mentioned with a deadpan expression, and after a minute's thought, I realized I couldn't very well dismiss that claim. Nevertheless, I walked in with the stool and set it down, patting it. He gingerly sat down on it, as if just by having touched me the chair must now be defective. Much to his displeasure, the stool seemed just fine.
I gestured for him to sit back with his hair in the sink, and he begrudgingly allowed me to manhandle him into position. He closed his eyes, looking like he was waiting for someone to give him an appendectomy without anesthetic, and I just gave him my best motherly deadpan stare. For a moment, I hesitated as I looked at his long locks of hair, wondering if I really was about to come this close to this man and... wash his hair. That was a little like a small anchovy deciding to clean off a shark's scales.
Realizing it was too late to back out now, I soaped up my hands and started to run his hair through my fingers. It wasn't as soft as I'd though it'd be - in fact, it was rather coarse and thick, though it wasn't tangled or matted. I tried not to gag as I washed out dried blood (that was in there the whole time?) and dirt, and once I'd gotten over that, it was actually quite calming to let my mind wander and just scrub. Kanda didn't seem to mind, as he only berated me twice about being more gentle.
"Ca va?" I asked quietly, kneading his hair between my hands. How are you?
He looked at me with slitted eyes, but I merely cocked my head at him and gave him my best 'mother' look. I'd wait, and he knew it.
"Je... Je vay bee-an."
"Tres bien. We can practice a few phrases while you're here, I guess." He made a face at me, probably figuring out that I had him as a captive audience now that I had his hair hostage. So, he decided it wasn't worth it to fight too hard, and we went through our stock phrases.
Heaven help me, his accent sounded like a dog trying to mouth La Marseillaise. I think a monkey could've pronounced 'bien' better, but at this point I wasn't going to complain about him actually talking back.
"That's good," I finished after he'd told me where he lived and what he did. "You're getting better at French."
"Thank... you," he said haltingly, and I paused for a second as I rinsed his hair, scrunching my brow. He continued to close his eyes, hands folded over his navel as I moved on to his scalp and bangs. He had some luscious hair. I knew a couple of women who'd offer their firstborn in a trade.
"You're welcome," I finally said, looking into his face. Did he just... say... thank you? I hoped he wasn't sick or anything like that. "You... okay?"
"Yeah. I'm fine," he said as he sat up from the stool, his hair dripping but clean. I wrapped a towel around it, but he shooed me off with a single hand, leaning down and rubbing the towel over his sopping hair instead. I stood back to give him room, arms crossed over my nightie, and he looked up at me.
"You don't have to hover," he mentioned with a dark look.
"I know."
He seemed to weigh my words before getting up and hanging the towel on a hook on the door. I took a step back to give him room as we both stood in the doorway, so close I caught a whiff of sword polish and lavender soap. He took a look at me, and for a moment, it was as if he were seeing me, actually seeing me, for the first time. His eyes searched my face, and my stomach cramped as I recognized something in his stare. He frowned and walked past me to his bedroom, his footsteps ringing through the wood beneath my feet. Silence suddenly hung in the air like a pregnant raincloud, waiting for the right moment to break. Besides the occasional shout from another tenant, there was only the sound of my own breathing.
He poked his head out the door, eyes like searchlights, and he stated firmly, "Sleep." With that, he shut the door, leaving me on my own.
I walked back to my room, left to wonder about what had just happened.
A/N: Another day, another destiny, on this never ending road to... Well, you know the rest. Here is yet another chapter of Art of War! As always, I hope you enjoyed this little chapter of mine and the continuation of Mag's adventures as a student and as an Exorcist. Obviously, there's a whole lot about to go down now, and it's just the calm before the storm.
I'd like to thank you all for continuing to read even after such a long hiatus. Things have been spottier than usual (obviously - the last update was from last year). I'm hoping that this can tide you over while other chapters are fleshed out, written down, and polished for you!
Now for the discussion! What do you consider Mag's defining trait? What about Kanda's? How often have you read this story? What kind of events are you expecting? There are relatively few canon characters at the moment - would you like more of them? What is the pacing like so far? Is the story still interesting and fun, or has it gotten dry and plodding? What has been your favorite thing about this story so far?
That's all I have for now. God bless you all, and happy ready for everyone!
