Chapter 15. From Defense to Offense.
(Author Note: Edited 7/15/16 - I felt it was necessary to the story to add in more interaction with Mephisto.)
Warning: Language
The room was fuzzy when she cracked open her lids, head pounding hard enough to knock her eyes out from her sockets. Her mouth was as dry as a desert; she fought a great battle to pull her chapped lips apart from one another, and to detach her tongue from the roof of her sticky mouth. Groaning, she suddenly detested the layout of the room – why was the bathroom all the way on the other side? Her bladder was full from the night before, but moving her legs of jello quickly became apparently impossible. Cloudy vision faded in and out to black routinely throughout the morning.
A light knock woke her once more. Her body felt like it had been struck by an eighteen-wheel truck as she attempted to lift her twenty-pound head from the confinements of the moist pillow it had been shoved into. "Come in," she grunted with a raspy voice, before plopping back into the linens. She didn't even think about whether or not her door would be unlocked or not; but the door creaked open quietly. The ringing in her ears changed pitches as it seemed the room was closing in around her, a change in the air which she barely noticed at the moment. The sounds of muffled footsteps approached bounced around in her skull like bombs. They paused by the bedside, as the figure took in the sight of the girl, face down and sprawled out on the bed with the covers strewn about in a way which appeared as a war zone, breathing slow and deep with a slight whistle.
Feeling something staring down upon her began to wake her more and more. She used her lashes as a sun visor to shield herself from the light coming in through the windows by barely opening her lids; just enough so she could see who had entered her room.
Faust stood with his arms crossed behind his back, hovering over the side of the bed with soft eyes, and a slight smile. Her heart surged for one beat, flipping her over and throwing her forward until she was sitting, peering up at her headmaster, head pounding as hard a construction crew next door at seven a.m. The man let out a soft titter as the girl winced, caressing her own throbbing head. "You didn't need to get up. I just came here to check on you after last night," he said as quietly as he could before breaking into a whisper. "How did you sleep, little flower?"
Sleep. Even just the word was trying to seduce her back into the sheets, to get comfy and rest the day away. A yawn erupted from her, which she covered with her hands as an uncontrollable stretch coursed through her muscles. "I feel like death," she muttered, smacking her lips together.
"I'm afraid I know death, and I can assure you this is far from it," he chuckled. She smiled and let out the beginning of a laugh with a hum, only to wince once more as the vibrations resonated within her. "Let me get you something for that."
Watching him move toward the kitchenette, the girl hurriedly flipped her drool-covered pillow over and wiped the smudged make-up out from under her eyes that made her look like a raccoon with mange, before he could turn around. He came back with a glass of cold water and a couple of pain pills, which she had in her cabinet. Sitting on the bed next to her, he held out the tablets, which she took in her hands eagerly, and then handed her the cold glass.
"Do you remember much from last night?"
Pitching the medication to the very back of her throat and taking in multiple gulps of the fresh water, she thought hard about the night before. Her memories were jumbled and scattered, and what she could piece together was hazy at best. "I don't remember much after going to the bathroom," she started, assuming the alcohol had hit her hard once she stood up. "How did I get here?"
He looked deeply into her sweet, innocent face, absorbing her dazed expressions as she tried to recall the events which had taken place. "I took it upon myself to make sure you returned safely," he said, putting a hand to her cheek. "I wouldn't let anything happen to such a pretty little flower."
Her ears grew instantaneously hot as his words entered them so casually. Tipping her chin down, she sucked on the remaining bit of water, attempting to hide how flushed her face had become while thinking on the previous evening with spotty, scarce memories that she wasn't sure was true in nature, pure fiction, or truth laced in fantasy.
He admired the sight before with sharp pupils before standing to his feet. "As a man of my word, I have taken the initiative of pardoning you from your classes today, cram classes included," he spoke as he glided across the plush carpet. "That being said, you may want to see what that teacher of yours is up to," he said, giving her a sly look over his shoulder, while his hand rested on the doorknob.
A chime came from her phone on the nightstand.
"Speak of the devil," came Faust's low chuckle before he left.
Reaching her heavy hand over to grab the cellphone, her pupils sluggishly browsed over the text from Yukio. 'Class is cancelled today. Please come see me ASAP. I want to go over some things with you.' The time finally caught her eye: It was well past noon.
Groaning, she got out of her bed and stumbled to the bathroom, still unable to grasp how late she had slept in – she had missed a majority of her University classes already, and decided to take up the pardon from the headmaster and skip out on classes for the day. As she brushed her teeth, she sent her young teacher a message back to let him know she would be leaving as soon as she was finished getting ready, while her mind lethargically tried to wonder what was so important.
A bit later, she arrived at the meeting site – the training room inside the academy – and found Yukio waiting, cleaning his hand guns on the bench.
"Hey, Yukio," she said as she plopped her bag down onto the ground. He looked up and gave her a half smile. "What's going on?" She asked, peering over his shoulder at the three firearms he had sitting out.
"I want you to be able to defend yourself as best as possible," he spoke as frankly as possible while he loaded the magazines with strange bullets. "I've been teaching you ways to pick up on demons in the vicinity, and the best verses, chants, and spells for self-defense to the best of my knowledge, but unfortunately those are not my strong-suits. And one day or another, you'll need to be able to protect yourself by being on the offensive, as well." Slamming the magazine into the butt of the gun, he held it out for her to take.
She hadn't handled a gun since she was a child, back when the only father figure she had ever had in her life taught her how to shoot little BB guns and .22 rifles. After he left, she had no reason, nor any interest in firearms, and was reluctant to use the one Yukio was offering her. After a pause, she cautiously took the gun within her hand, holding it limply and away from her body. She wasn't scared of it; but the cold metal felt erroneous in her palm.
"You have to hold it like it's a part of you," he spoke, correcting her form by physically wrapping her fingers around the hilt, and lifting her arms up to support and aim correctly.
"It's heavy," she said with a grimace; she didn't remember firearms being so substantial when she was young.
"Yes, it is. Which is your dominant eye?"
"Like I have a fucking clue," she said brashly, not even attempting to hide her irritable mood. Closing one eye over the other, she continued this back and forth for a bit, trying to lock onto the target and see which eye was more focused. "Maybe my…left?"
He hummed. "Since you instinctively grabbed it with your right hand, it's easier to make your right eye more dominant than it is to make your left hand more dominant. You can practice at any time by closing your left eye and focusing in on anything at a distance."
"Cool. So then, you just—" she imitated a bang noise with her mouth.
Yukio chuckled humorlessly. "You need to learn how to accept it as an extension of your arm. Get used to the weight. Get used to holding it correctly—" he said with a snap as he adjusted her arms once again.
"Alright, alright, I got it!" the girl yapped, peering down the sights at the target, adjusting herself accordingly.
"Keep your stance wide. Wider. Core strong." He heard her grumble under her breath. "They're pretty powerful and have quite the recoil, but with proper training, you shouldn't be affected. Now, aim. Take a deep breath."
She drew in a deep breath once she honed in onto the red target across the room.
"Let your breath out, and pull the trigger," Yukio said, standing off to the side.
BANG.
The gun flew upwards into the air as it unloaded the bullet and sent it ripping through the air like lightning striking; the girl, startled by the noise and the kick from the gun, and lacking proper strength that day, was blown backwards so much that she nearly landed onto the ground. Ears ringing as if a landmine had just gone off, she scowled up at the young teacher. "What the hell, man!" she yelled louder than necessary.
"I told you to keep your feet wider and to tighten your core," he said, grabbing his two guns and heading to the other standing marker. Pushing a red button, the targets began to move rapidly and erratically around the wall. He took in a deep breath, and swiftly drew up his pistols and began shooting a flurry of bullets, never missing a single target or coming off balance. The girl watched, marveling at his skill.
Once the timer went off, the paper targets stopped, signaling the end to the training session. He holstered his two guns before turning back to the girl. "I want you to practice here with me for an hour, three times a week starting Monday," he ordered. She nodded her head in bewilderment. "Now, get back up on your feet and try again."
The girl did as the young professor ordered, practicing her shooting and aiming skills over the next couple of hours. She was able to land a few rather good shots, but most of her bullets missed the target paper altogether. Yukio kindly kept reminding her to think about her stance, her arms, her core, her breath, to steady her heartbeat, and to aim as best as she could – he would tell her after a series of missed shots, that practicing and training her dominant eye would help her accuracy over time. It was difficult; her body was virtually too fatigued to hold the gun straight for very long at a time, and she repeatedly had to sit down to recollect herself and get something to drink, but she tried as hard as her body would let her. After a while of assisting the girl's training, Yukio's demeanor gradually transformed to something much sterner.
At last, she girl finally took notice of her teacher-turned-friend. Letting the warm firearm hang along her side, she finally addressed the moody elephant in the room. "What's up, Yukio?"
"It's nothing," he assured her with a smile.
"It's definitely something." She sat on the bench next to him, leaning forward nonchalantly. "Seriously, what's up?"
He tightened his lips for a moment. "I hope I'm not out of line by asking this, so please don't take it the wrong way." She cocked her head, waiting for his question. "May I ask what the nature of yours and Sir Ph-Fausts' interactions are?" He knew all too well what kind of man director actually was, and that his true identity was something kept hidden from most of the subordinates, until they became entrusted within the True Cross Order. It didn't take him long to figure out that the headmaster had something planned for the girl beside him, but what exactly Faust's reasons were, he was never certain.
She nearly fell backwards from seat from laughing so hard. "Oh god, nothing! It's strictly friendly," she roared, wiping her eye. It was then that her mind, being jogged by the question, began sending flashes of the evening before. The drinking. His hungry green eyes on her all night. Was it really only friendly interactions? She wondered. All of her memory was very obscure and scattered about; she couldn't replay anything within succession, but she kept remembering a few words, Fenrir being quite prominent. Who brought up Fenrir? Why was he brought up, she thought to herself.
"Yukio – who is Fenrir, exactly?" she questioned, staring at the ground with a scowl on her face, thinking hard about the words the demon had spoken to her the day she managed to summon him.
He turned and looked at her, searching her face for a reason for such a question. He was quiet for a long while, trying to find the rights phrases for the right words, to say it just right without giving too much confidential information. Information he was sworn to secrecy. Once she turned to face him, he coughed to clear his throat.
"Fenrir, is a high class demon," he sputtered. "It is said that he was bound in chains by Odin and other demons long ago to contain his power." His voice trailed off a bit, unsure, before it returned. "He's the son of the shape-shifting demon-god, Loki." Inspecting one another's faces, Yukio's eyes softened with despair. "Be careful."
