Alphabets 1: In Another Land, Chapter 2, by DarkBeta
(Warning: harm and threats of harm to a child. This chapter is the reason the story is rated not for kids.)
The discussion continued long after sunset. Casablanca had dinner brought, fine china and silver on a white linen cloth, his favored dishes, and a choice of everything from milk tea to Chablis for drink. She knew far too much about his life. Nokoru respected an opponent whose research was so thorough, but he did not eat.
He did not show her his chagrin at being so easy to kidnap. He knew better than to remove himself from the Clamp Campus surveillance net.
Takamura's dislike had been unexpected. The thread of wariness that flared under it was even worse. That any student on the campus should actually fear him . . . ! He shouldn't have risked a private meeting though. Especially since he hadn't changed Takamura's dislike, nor begun to understand it.
Casablanca's arguments deteriorated to repetition. Nokoru found his mind returning over and over to the few words he and Takamura had exchanged. The pain of that rejection was still pleasanter than what he felt from Casablanca. Some of her desires were contradictory, and none of them were pleasant.
Loaded words matched with clouds of emotion said he was to be her key to wealth and power and security, and a substitute for the child she chose not to have, and a confidant too helpless to betray her. At the same time he'd be her avatar, young and male and cunning, and live the life Casablanca wanted for herself and couldn't have. She'd punish him for that, consciously or not. As victim, scapegoat and trophy he'd prove her strength and cunning.
There was worse. He didn't want to know these things. He didn't want to sympathise with the child Casablanca had been, who had no choice but to learn these desires.
The sign on his fan read, 'Immoveable Mountain' as he offered her an alternative. The Imonoyamas could build another life for her, a place to use her talent for better goals. He felt the match between her needs and his offer . . . so her rage took him by surprise.
Casablanca had less restraint than the adults he was accustomed to. Her slap knocked him sideways on the divan. Nokoru sat up. He'd bitten the inside of his cheek. He swallowed blood, feeling sick, and used a handkerchief to wipe the corner of his mouth.
"You agreed this exertion can't give you what you want," he said. "You cannot force me to think for you."
He saw the blow coming this time. He tried to move away from it, but athletics were not his strength. He landed on the floor. Somewhere under him an engine rumbled, but he had no time to consider uses for that knowledge.
"Do you think I'll give you back? Do you think you can go back to your happy life, because you've beaten me?" she snarled. "I'll see you broken, even if that's the only profit I get!"
Casablanca kicked him until he stopped trying to get up. She avoided his head and his belly. In spite of her words, she still hoped to use him. He went on trying to explain her mistake, until her dark-suited thugs arrived with handcuffs, a blindfold, and a gag.
He went like a parcel where she sent him, on the floor of a sedan with a guard's foot on his back. The driver was stolid. The guard was uneasy. Nokoru could have used that uncertainty, if only he could talk! Casablanca hadn't made the mistake of underestimating an eight year-old opponent, but her respect was onerous.
He would escape. He didn't doubt it. He wasn't going to fight his way free of the car and the guards though.
He was often clumsy. He'd hurt himself before. It seemed very strange that someone would hurt him on purpose. Hatred was worse though. Fear was worse. Did Casablanca guess how much harm her storm of emotions did?
With love and gratitude for the cells working so hard to heal him, he set pain aside. The situation wasn't difficult. It didn't involve the campus and people he cared for. He would have liked to help Casablanca to a place where she'd be happier, but she chose otherwise. Really, all he had to do was get loose and go home.
By now campus security was searching Tokyo. It might be fun to make his own way back to Clamp Campus. He could nap under his desk until someone found him. The Campus Chair wouldn't worry yet, not with so little reason.
He didn't like being alone though. Dealing with adult thoughts and desires was harder when there weren't other children around. Sometimes even his bodyguards, though he respected their loyalty and duty, hurt to endure. The Chair was always patient when he scheduled yet another school festival, so he could wash himself in the easy joy of children having fun.
Nokoru let himself drift, just for a little while, into his favorite fantasy. It didn't differ much from real life. He hadn't lied when he told Casablanca he was satisfied. The friends he imagined liked him (of course) and admired him (of course). (People mostly did.) They were with him on the campus, because he couldn't imagine being anywhere else.
They were athletic. They could smash a gang of kidnappers instead of suborning them. They cooked delicious food. (All the Imonoyamas did like their food!) They saw he wasn't perfect. If he got lazy or silly or arrogant (which he knew he did, when everything was so easy and so boring) someone scolded him. And they never left him.
It couldn't happen. People were too happy with the face he showed to look for anything else. And if he liked someone it would be disgraceful to drag them into the plots and violence he attracted. What if Takamura hadn't run away before Casablanca's goons were in position? They might have hurt him. They might have kidnapped him too, and there would be a second bruised, terrified child in the car.
For pride, for family, and for logic, he couldn't have surrendered to Casablanca. If she'd threatened his schoolmates though, the people he was responsible to and for . . . . No, it was better to be alone.
The car turned off the street and turned into an echoing space. A concrete garage, he guessed, but not a big one.
"We're here," the driver said.
The guard opened the door and got out. Nokoru risked feeling about him on the floor. Finding a pick for his cuffs would have been nice, but there was no useful litter. Instead he dropped a few threads worried from his uniform shirt, wedging them along the edge of the carpet.
He froze. Something was coming. Someone . . . . He drew shields in around his mind and reinforced them until the driver and guard were nothing but voices to him.
"Where is he? I don't see anyone," the guard complained. "Maybe we should just drive back."
"So the arrogant Lily wants a puppy taught obedience? How nice to be valued – since she's always turned up her nose at my section before!"
The guard was startled. He tried to sound threatening, but Nokoru could hear his uncertainty. Hear it, but not feel it.
"If you're not going to cooperate . . ." the guard said.
"Now, now. No need for threats! I'm happy to do a favor for the queen of lilies. Fetch out the puppy."
Pulling him out of the car, the guard was not ungentle. Nokoru tried to fix his mind on that. People could be kind. The world could be sane.
"Ooh, pretty, pretty. I see why the Lily's willing to bend her standards a bit. Put him on the cart. Tell your boss he'll do what she wants when he gets back, whatever she wants. He'll be sobbing for the chance. Such a pretty noise. Pretty, pretty."
Nokoru heard an electric crackle and had estimated the wattage – low enough not to do a child much harm, probably, so the taser must be custom-made, and who would make such a thing? – when existence flared and tore.