Hello! Here's another drabble, and it's much longer than the last! I didn't have a chance to read through it though, so I apologise in advance for all the grammar errors.
Here's somethings you might need to know if you haven't read More Than A Bird (MTAB):
Elsa, in this universe, is a Catholic. If you read MTAB, you might get a hint of why I chose for her to be one. That said, not being a Catholic myself, I apologize in advance for any misrepresentation and errors I make. Oh, Pitch is obviously not a Catholic. Yep.
The boy here is NOT Jack Frost. Where is Jack Frost? Somewhere else – in MTAB. And there are specific reasons why it can't be Jack Frost, anyway.
Remember that this exists in a pseudo-Japanese country, so occasional Japanese terms might pop up. Yakuza facts here are highly inaccurate, by the way, because…fiction.
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Drabble 2: Down like a Dog on the Highway
Takes place sometime when Elsa's 14-15ish. At least a few months before Drabble 1.
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Going to school had been her own idea. Her father would have preferred her to be educated at home, where he could choose her tutors and hence dictate every fact and opinion she was supposed to internalize. But she had argued, in a polite and gentle manner, that school offered her opportunities to grow in social and communication skills. On whole, she would receive a more holistic education in such an institution than if she was closed up behind the walls of the shiro.
These were things Elsa had to remind herself as she trudged through the dreary building that was Roiyaru Burgeshima Academy each day. Her father had gotten to choose the school, so obviously he had picked a private one with heavy right-wing, traditionalistic sentiments. Those who enrolled at this particular institution could also be said to be members of the 'elite', which left her social circle in want of variety.
Of course, everyone around her treated her with a measure of wariness. Cliques that she had been enclosed never seemed very willing and she wasn't invited to more gatherings than necessary. No midnights adventures or sleepovers for her. They always told her politely that their 'lowly activities' were too uncouth and unrefined for a person of her standing, and only 'fools' like themselves could find themselves amused by it. In other words, they didn't want the daughter of such a notorious mobster hanging around them – as if they're own parents didn't have dirt on their own hands.
Perhaps it was for the best. Her 'condition' required her to spend a good deal of time in solitude and it was easier to do so if she didn't have friends pestering her on the phone twenty-four seven. That didn't mean that there weren't some nights went she lie back in the middle of her large, four poster bed and wonder what it was like to have a real friend. A confidant. Someone who she could talk everything about to, like her old parents.
She never spoke of this to her father. If he knew, he would find ways to have the people in the school 'punished' for not meeting her every whim. So when he asked if she was getting along well with the people in school, she would reply that while she enjoyed their companionship, she preferred not to associate too closely with them as to stay focused on her studies. The answer sufficiently acquiesced his curiosity and the very next second he was back to signing death warrants for the offenders of the week.
The idea of a companion, however, did not leave her mind as she found herself gazing longingly at other clusters of girls cooing over images of the hottest boy bands, or the boys who banded together for cricket every afternoon. The more she contemplated it, the more the notion of camaraderie appealed to her. The question was then – who?
It was through her second year of enrollment that she finally found someone who clicked with her. Both of them had run into each other in the library once, when she, having been of smaller stature at the point of time, had been unable to reach for the book on the highest shelf and he had been conveniently present, and enough of a gentleman, to help her with it. She had not dwelled too long on the event itself until they met again.
This time it had been during a string quartet concert at the town's cathedral, a humble little event to raise funds to maintain the old building. She had attended and had been more than willing to dispense more than half of her allowance into the donations box; that had been the best way she had known to use blood money. Perhaps due to her generosity, she had been given the best seat in the house – right in the front. The position made her uncomfortable, especially since she was in clear view of the entire audience as much as the musicians, but she had borne with the uneasiness in smiling silence. Her bodyguards had been stationed at the back of the nave and if she gave the slightest sign of disapproval, adverse consequences would befall the church staff. As long as it was within her ability, she would not let her people be harmed by her father's egotistical need for exert power.
On that rather awkward seat, however, she had discovered that she had recognized the lead violinist in the quartet. By the smile that he had given her, it was obvious that this recognition was mutual. After the concert, which was quite excellent and extremely enjoyable, they had spoken to one another and the rest, some would say, was history.
He was a bright young man from a wealthy, reputable family – well, as reputable as families in a crime-ridden town like Burgeshima got. He was two years her senior, but her bleak childhood had matured her suitably pass her years, so intellectually they were definitely equals. Both had a fondness for classical chamber music, though he had admitted that he enjoyed the occasional modern remix of such. He was also quite well-versed in matters philosophy and sociology, which was quite different from the family business he was expected to follow into. His knowledge in theoretical ethics and the fact that both of them attended the same church made it convenient for them to discuss moral matters in the context of their faith. Elsa found that it was much easier to share with him the burdens of her heart than anyone else she knew, even her priest, and his answer often set to ease her troubles.
"Familial crimes are not inherited, Elsa," he had told her once as during one of their conversations, strolling down the streets with her bodyguards trailing them a mere thirty feet away. "His decisions are what caused these evils, not yours. We don't get to choose our families, after all." His eyes were trained forward when he said, looking almost hatefully into the distance.
It was then that she had first timidly laced her gloved hand into his, and to her surprise, she didn't turn him into a block of ice.
Of course, her father came to know about the young man who she had been 'going on walks' with. After all, little went on in Burgeshima without him knowing about it. Her companion's background had been thoroughly researched and it was found that he had no evident affiliation with rival gangs and his family had not committed recent offenses against the Nightmare Yakuza. Though he lacked the traditional Japanese upbringing that her father would prefer, there was no real reason why she should not continue being in the company of this young man, so in his company she stayed.
It was freeing to be with someone who thought so much like her, who believed in what she believed in and most importantly, accepted her despite her familial connections. Not to mention, he was also very pleasant and even humorous at times. Elsa found herself smiling in a way that she had never smiled since she was eight. She was happy.
Obviously, when he asked her to be his girlfriend, she almost immediately said yes.
'Almost immediately', because she had to ask for her father's approval first. The last thing she wanted to happen was her father to suddenly discover that his daughter was in a committed relationship without consulting him first and sending someone to chop her newly acquired boyfriend's head off.
Boyfriend. She liked the sound of it. She liked what it implied.
And as a boyfriend, he certainly delivered. Dates were never too lavish to be artificial, but never too simple to be insincere. Gifts were granted according to preference and only after observation. He respected her entirely and never made her do anything that she wanted to do. Communication between them was always straightforward and clear, with no fear of asking for clarification and no chance of misunderstanding. He was all she could possibly ask for as the truest companion and there was no doubt that if there was anyone she could trust, it'd be him.
So one day, while on a picnic by the sea, they were discussing secrets.
"-and yes, I collected them till I was, like, fifteen. It was a terrible obsession – a little too expensive too, but what can I say? Superheroes fascinated me," he said in a laughing manner. He nodded at her, before biting into his sandwich. "What about you?"
She paused, looking down at her gloved hands. When he had first asked why she wore them, she had said that she had 'a thing about dirt'. If there was anytime she was going to tell him the truth, it would be now.
So she took one of her gloves off and asked him with a trembling voice, "Do you mind pouring me something?"
Noting the seriousness of her expression, he had then then sat himself up straight, examining her in a puzzled manner. With a nod, he did as she had asked, pouring some juice into her own cup. He then placed it in her bare hand. The minute her fingers touched the plastic surface ice curled around it, stretching the white claws around sides and climbing up the rim, engulfing the base and hardening the liquid.
He jerked back in shock and she winced. Perhaps this was a mistake.
But after getting over the initial surface, he leaned forward, tilting his head slightly to examine the object, murmuring, "Fascinating." He glanced up at her with an amused expression. "So, have you always been a closet cryokinetic?"
After that, everything was okay.
For a while.
It came to the time when he prepared to enter college. It was considered a little early for his age, but he was smart enough to try it, and he definitely wanted it – she knew by the way he talked about it. Unfortunately, the college that he had picked was out of state. Visiting would be difficult and long-distance relationships didn't have the best reputation, which was why she thought of the perfect solution.
"I'll go with you," Elsa told him. "I'm sure there's a high school I can enrol down there. And after graduate, I can study there too."
Her father was the first to object to this. She was still too young to be living out of his supervision, but rationally, she knew that she was mature enough to look after herself. Expenses was not a problem. She did the research on the accommodations and possible schools. She even found appropriate members of her father's faction who were willing to be her guardians on the other side. There was no logical reason on why she couldn't go. Her father, after much grudging thought, granted his permission but not his approval.
When she presented this to her boyfriend though, he was hesitant. He argued with her about it – the cost, the time, the requirement to build a new social circle, a new environment. He even pointed out that being placed in a foreign place might be a strain on her emotions, which might eventually lead to her losing control of her powers. Despite the reasons, she was unmoved. She was determined to do what was necessary to maintain the relationship.
So it was then he sighed, and finally confessed, "Elsa, I don't actually like you."
She was taken aback.
He explained hastily, "Not that I haven't enjoyed your company – because I really have. You're smart and amazing and beautiful, and I tried to like you, but I don't. Romantically, at least."
She went quiet for a good long moment. Both her gloved hands were clenched under the table as she asked him, slowly, "Why did you even ask me, then? Why the charade? Why even drag it this long?"
He glanced around them first, before saying in a low, voice, as if ashamed, "I was told to. They implied I didn't have a choice."
She didn't really need to guess who 'they' were. After all, he had been checking to see if her bodyguards, whose were all loyal members of the Yakuza, had been listening.
Call her cold-blooded because of her powers, if you want, but at that moment, her blood was boiling. Her father, once again interfering with her life, calling the shots, making all the decisions such that it favoured his diabolical schemes. She wouldn't have been surprised if he had hoped that she would marry into wealth one day so that she could kill the husband and steal the inheritance.
"I don't want inconvenience you this much for something that isn't real," he told her plainly, trying to be as kind as possible. "It wouldn't be fair to you."
It was like a stab in her heart - it wasn't real. She didn't have a real friend, and certainly not a real boyfriend. She should have known. She should have never believed. How could someone like her ever have a genuine relationship with another?
"We should break up," Elsa finally said, which made him lift his brows in shock. She didn't know why he seemed surprised about it – what other reaction could she have after such a revelation? "There's no point carrying this on. Relationships should be based on mutual consent-" Her lips quivered in both fury and bitterness "-not threats."
No words were exchanged for another bout of quiet, till he broke it at last, "You're really nothing like him. You're a good person, Elsa."
She gave a wry smile, because that's all she could offer.
After the Porche had arrived to send her home, he did ask, "You sure you'll be okay?"
She nodded, even if it was a lie. She had to make sure that it looked like this hadn't affected her in the slightest.
"We can still be friends," he said, appearing a little guilty. She also noticed he seemed, too, nervous about another matter. By how his eyes kept flitting to her bodyguards, who were getting on the motorbikes that were to follow her own ride, it was only too obvious what was on his mind.
She allowed herself a watery smile. A platonic companion would be better than nothing, though she hated how normal 'friend' alone sounded now. She wished she had never believed otherwise.
Feeling the ice burning under her gloves, she quickly hid them behind her back before she said, "I rather hope we would."
"Great. I'll write when I get there. I promise." He beamed, but he was still glancing warily at her father's footsoldiers, who after strapping on their helmets slung their MP7s behind them, within easy reach.
So she told him, "I'll speak to my father about this. Don't worry. I'll let him know that it was my decision."
He nodded gratefully.
Her attendants open the door for her, and she slipped onto the smooth leather seats and said her chauffeur impassively, "Home, please."
He waved through the window as the car began to drive off. From the rear view mirror, she could see that the taxi had called for himself earlier had also arrived. She kept watch over the guards who followed her own car, making sure that none of them took any unexplained 'detours'. She kept her focus on this task, trying desperately not to feel.
Once they drew up to massive shiro – the big, black castle that was the centre of Burgeshima's most powerful crime syndicate - she was only too happy to be freed from her metal prison, running up the steps in haste. Her speed alarmed her attendants, who struggled to keep up with her as the ground below them began to gleam and shimmer white. Doors were quickly swung open for her and she dashed through the grand halls and the decorated corridors, ignoring the elaborately designed courtyards. People around her either stepped forward in concern or shrouded back into fear, but that only made her feel more wretched. Apparently, fear was the only genuine emotion she could possibly stir in the hearts of another. What else did she expect? Her father was a criminal – no, a tyrant – and in the eyes of others who didn't know otherwise, she was nothing but his hellish spawn.
"Father! We need to talk!" she called as she hurried at the stairs. In her current state of mind, it would be too dangerous to take the lift. Emotions that had been usually held within a tight grip manifested into ice pouring and surging everywhere. Her teeth were clenched together, as were her hands. "FATHER!"
"He's not home, Ms. Black," a voice quietly spoke to her after she had rushed up to the third floor.
"What?" she panted, both from rage and exhaustion.
"The Kumicho-sama has gone out tonight to attend a very important meeting," this person, whom she recognized to be one of her father's secretaries, gave her a bow as she reported this news to her. "He will not be home until very late. It would be best perhaps to see him tomorrow."
Elsa bit her lip. She supposed she could give him a call, but such an act would be highly disrespectful, especially if it was a meeting. Moreover, she needed a face to face confrontation with him. If it was a battle of words alone, he would win. He was much better at talking than her, and he enjoyed doing so in a condensing, mocking manner. "Well, I'll wait for him to return then."
"Miss, this is really not advised," the secretary insisted, shaking her head even as her body was crooked to a bowing position. "The meeting's far on the other side of the city and is very important. It will be very, very late."
"I'm going to wait for him," the girl insisted, as a shower of snow began pattering from the ceiling. "So please," she let out an exhale, trying to sound at least a little civil, "get me a chair."
So as she demanded, a chair was brought to her and she sat outside her father's office, waiting. Hour after hour passed, and attendants came by to offer tea and snacks, which she accepted. She tried to use the time to collect her emotions, but in truth, she felt miserable and angered. She had been deceived. She had been conned. The bitter part was that she thought she was really improving, in terms of controlling her ice and her relationships with normal people. With her emotions stable enough as not to spout ice out every second and her temperament merry, she had been ready to fly off with some boy who never liked her as much as she liked him. She was a fool.
And her father - he knew this whole time. Not only that, he had been the mastermind behind it himself.
As livid as she was, Elsa knew that she had to put a cap on the snow. Already, all the attendants were shivering with every step that they took, and no doubt there was probably a raging storm happening somewhere in the castle. So she took deep breaths, and try to remember the mantra she had chanted as a child - "Conceal. Don't feel. Don't feel."
Because clearly, feelings were overrated. Young love was overrated.
Despite her determination, she did fall asleep, and when she awoke, it was mid-morning. Her attendants had transferred her back to her bed after she had worn herself out. As they came to bring her breakfast, she quickly inquired after her father, only to discover that he had already returned to the shiro but had left again for another errand an hour ago – an hour which she had slept right through. Aghast at what had occurred, Elsa quickly transferred herself back to the chair had sat in through the night and now sat in it through the morning, as well as the afternoon.
Her father only returned at evening later and he seemed unusually blithe – probably just axed a few rebellious clusters in the Yakuza or something. That always cheered him up. When he saw her seated, his gold eyes danced in interest. "Well, well, to what do I owe the pleasure of my darling daughter's company?"
"Father," she said, raising to her feet and bowing, trying not to seethe at his patronising tone, "I would like very much to talk to you."
He let out a sigh. "Yes, I suppose you would." Rolling his eyes heavenward, he gestured towards his office door. "C'mon."
The minute the sliding door was closed behind them in the office, Elsa opened her mouth to speak, but her father got it first, "Well, I suppose there are only two things you could be here to harp about. One is how I'm an evil person and I'm clearly going to burn in hell."
"You are," she said without even bothering to think it.
"Well, anything's better than living," he answered with a shrug. "The second thing you could be here about is your ex."
"Yes, I'm here about-" she broke herself off when she realized what he had said. "How did you know we broke up?"
"I know everything that happens in this city, Elsa," her father said in a plaintive manner, as if he told her this a million times before. "Besides, I don't know why you're still fussing over the matter. I've already taken care of him."
"I'm not here about that. I'm here to ask-" she stopped herself short once more. Her eyes went wide. "What do you 'taken care of him'?"
"Oh, I'm sorry." He shot her a quizzical expression, thumbing behind him. "Didn't you read the news this morning?"
She stared at him, before tearing out of the room.
"Close the door on your way out!" her father called to her as she dashed down the corridor, dread pooling in stomach.
She went straight to the administration offices, where she knew there were always newspapers brought it for the workers there to read. She picked up one of the stacks and hurriedly unfolded it. Turning a few pages, she found the relevant article. The photographed scene made her lurched back and her hand flew over her mouth. She scanned the words quickly, praying desperately that the bloodied body medics had lifted from the gutter was not who she thought it was, but the name confirmed everything. The report stated that the attackers were 'unidentified', but the mention of rice paper bearing the words 'meibatsu' was all she needed for a confirmation.
Rage oozed out in the form of snow and when she dashed back to her father's office, a trail of white followed her steps. Usual protocol was tossed aside as she pushed back the door and shot in, screaming at him, "HOW COULD YOU?"
He was seated at his desk reading something, completely undaunted by her display. He waved at the door with looking up. "Elsa, you're letting a draft into the office."
"You knew I liked him, didn't you?" she hissed, stomping nearer towards his desk. There were cracks of ice appearing on the ground below her and the still air in the office was starting to move in a swirling movement. "Didn't you!"
Her father sighed. "Great. Now you're making a draft. Brilliant."
"HOW COULD YOU?" She slammed a hand against the table. Even with the gloves on, ice had started to leak out flooding the table with white, freezing his papers to the surface.
"ELSA BLACK!" The bored expression suddenly slipped and his voice was deep at terrible. He had risen to his full height, and against her own small stature, he seemed to be towering over her. His pale features suddenly turned a deathly shade of grey and his gold eyes glowed. The colors of evening sunset was drowned out by the sudden darkness that enveloped the office. "IF YOU DO NOT HOLD YOUR TEMPER RIGHT NOW, I SWEAR I WILL DO MUCH WORSE!"
In shock, she backed away. The ice suddenly ceased it growth, even seemed to shrink back a little in the presence of the looming shadows. Against her will, she found herself shaking under his terrible glare, which appeared to be on the border of ripping her to shreds.
But then, her father let out a tight exhale, and the shadows scattered. He sank himself back into his chair and gazed up at her. Elsa tried to stay expressionless, but even if he couldn't see in her mind as he could with others, her quivering shoulders gave away everything.
Finally, he leaned himself back and began to explain, "After you started going on 'walks' with your special, little friend, I had him checked up. When that turned up clean – well, as clean as it goes-" her father amended while flicking a stray black grain off his fingers "-I had a talk with the boy. Of course, I took a look into his head and my, my, my-" he shook his head emphatically "-his fears were pathetic. I never seen such a coward in my entire life! Did you know that he only hung around you because of money? I'm not joking," he added in response to her skeptical expression. "Apparently, your so-called 'Prince Charming' had some family trouble concerning insecure finance pools, so his plan was to charm it all out of you."
"You're lying," she told him flatly.
"Would I do that?" he said in a mockingly hurt expression.
"Yes. And you wouldn't have let me date him if that was the case." Elsa folded her arms, hardening her jaw. She didn't want to believe that the conversations, the company, the connection were truly worth nothing. She wouldn't believe. There had to be something - just a little something that could be salvaged from this.
"I suppose you're right," he conceded with a thoughtful expression. "Except for one minor detail,-"he tapped his slender, claw-like fingers against the table "-perhaps I did what I did because I cared about your happiness. "
"You don't," she contradicted.
"You're my daughter, of course," he scoffed at her. "Of course, I do. You were lonely. You wanted a friend. So voila!" He waved a hand about slightly for flourish. "You have a friend. You started to like the friend as more than a friend, so voila! That friend became your boyfriend. Of course, once he outlived his usefulness, it was best to dispose of him. After all-" he narrowed his eyes at her, grave all of a sudden "-the dead spill no secrets."
Elsa drew in a sharp breath. She glanced down at the gloves, which now were covered completely in ice, failing their intended purpose. She lifted her head to her father, whose nodded her at her knowingly.
"Unless you want a mob lined up outside our door tomorrow, I suggest you don't tell every sweetheart you have about your powers," he said in an amicably condescending tone. "Not that a mob would be a huge problem since I could probably, well, -" her father made an exaggerated shrug "-just kill all of them, I suppose."
And just like that, the fight in her was drained. Unshed tears still hovered behind her lids, and she had no idea if she should weep about having no real reason to weep.
"Well, go on then." He waved at the doorway. "And for goodness' sake, close the door."
Subdued, Elsa dragged herself towards the gap in the walls, feeling hollow and horrified. She didn't know if she still felt mad, or betrayed, or sorrowful, or bitter. She did know, however, that she would have much rather bury all them and feel nothing.
Nothing. That sounded nice. Feeling nothing.
"Elsa," her father's voice rang behind her. She halted her steps and reluctantly spun about to face him. His expression seemed to be thoughtful, maybe even a little regretful. "Perhaps I shouldn't have gone about it in such manner, and maybe – just maybe – I should have taken your feelings into consideration." He pressed his fingers together, contemplating in silence.
Then he said to her with a wane smile, "I suppose I should have killed him the first time I met him, don't you think?"
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If any MTAB reader remembers, Elsa's POV in Chapter 2 mentions that she once had a boyfriend. I've always wanted to expand how it happened, but it's not quite relevant to the main story (yet?) so…side drabble!
Oh, 'meibatsu' means 'divine revenge' in Japanese.
Guest Mailbox:
Guest (Aug 11): Thank you! I do like Pitch a great deal. I doubt that in the start, he probably had troubles with his own powers, and that's a really good question – did Pitch here and in the movies ever have a chance to choose his own role?
Fan (Aug 15): Thank you! I hope to continue them to so… here's one!
Reviews would be appreciated.
