Author's Note: Dedicated to the lovely [soul . fairy ]. I couldn't access FF-net lately, but now that I can, I'll be posting my belated Graylu week oneshots as soon as possible!
Disclaimer: you know the drill.
Prompt: Night
"Beware the rain.
Beware the snow.
Beware the man
You think you know."
—Incarceron
It was already well into the night, and the tension stretched out across the surface of certain areas in the homely town of Magnolia was enough to cut a block of ice.
A lone, cloaked figure trekked up the road and stopped in front of the door of a bar, and paused. The wind caught onto the ragged edges of their cloak and blew it sideways, revealing a few strands of soft, golden hair hanging at the sides of the stranger's face. With a sigh, the newcomer lightly stepped towards the side of the quaint building, pleased with their discovery of a seemingly-hidden back door.
As the person raised their loosely clenched fist to knock on the back door, it opened to reveal a pair of concerned cerulean eyes.
"You know, Lucy..." A drink slid across the smooth surface of the bar counter.
Said person raised her eyebrows expectantly, waiting for an answer. She grimaced, and rose the glass set in front of her daintily to her lips. "Yes, Mira?"
Mira—or, otherwise known as Mirajane—blinked her large, thick-lashed eyes, before a smile made its way onto her face. "Just a thought, but maybe you should remove your hood. You might draw suspicion." She glanced around, before her focus made its way back to the blonde sitting sordidly in front of her. "Okay, you're already drawing some suspicion."
"Well, glad I do," the blonde replied acerbically, but the white-haired beauty on the other side of the counter ignored the acidic tone in her voice and dismissed it with another gentle smile. "At least your own... disguise is slightly believable."
"It's nice to see where your concerns lie, Lucy." Mirajane's smile was infectious, but, nevertheless, Lucy wasn't the type to be affected by this stuff. It was great that someone cared so much for her, that was right.
The blonde was brought out of her quiet musings by the sound of the door slamming over the noises of the rowdy bar frequents and their chugging mugs of alcohol, and she raised an eyebrow before discreetly peeking through the side of her hood to glance at the newcomer. Yep—always have to be on the lookout, no matter who it is.
The newcomer had thick, pitch black hair, styled in a somewhat fashionably rough-winded and casual sense, as if he'd just gotten out of bed but knew that he still looked flawless. The features carved upon his face were sharp, defined, and glorious in an all-new sense, as if—cheesy as it sounded—his face had been chiseled to perfection by the angels above. His eyes were a stormy blue-grey, much like the wind-swept sea, and, despite the fact that his attire was baggy and loose-fitting, Lucy could knew immediately about the muscles that corded his biceps and abdomen, the rock-hard, washboard-like packs that decorated his upper half, and—well, knowing your enemies came with its pros and cons.
And indeed, she knew who he was just by looking at him and those wily predator eyes of his.
And, by experience, the more beautiful something is, the deadlier it will be. Like a rose with its thorns, is it not so?
Sometimes having a notorious yet widespread reputation can get you on the wrong end of the situation.
It just so happened that the second newcomer steadily made his way over to where Lucy was seated—she steeled herself, stealthily poised and ready for whatever this guy had to sic her way—but wisely chose to set himself down a few seats away, as if the lady's presence had little to no effect on him. If it affected him, for she was sure that he'd come to terms with that sooner or later.
"A martini, please." The smooth, velvety baritone of his voice, like melted chocolate, set her on edge, causing her to shift ever-so-slightly in her seat. Alarm klaxons blared on in her head.
Danger. Danger. Danger.
As Mirajane's attention turned to the stranger, Lucy glared, fuming. That guy should be grateful, she grimaced, that looks can't kill. Although, in my case, that's not always the point.
"Of course!"
Lucy sighed audibly. Her knuckles—which were artfully concealed beneath the folds of her purposely-oversize cloak sleeves—clenched a grim white on the counter edge. The blonde could swear that she heard a slight cracking sound underneath her fingertips as she vainly attempted to pry away her own fingers from the smooth marble surface.
It was Mirajane who tore her out of her reverie as she delicately slid over the tall, sleek form of another glass, filled skillfully with layers of bright colors, and topped with a perky cherry on its rim. Classy. The blue-eyed barmaid leaned over the counter top, face to face with Lucy as she shifted her weight onto her elbows, and informed her suggestively, "From the gentleman a few seats away."
The surprise registered upon the aforementioned blonde's face was unidentifiable; only a master of body language would be able to scrutinize upon the defiant flare in her eyes. She glanced through her peripheral vision at the newcomer, questioningly, and, as if knowing that her gaze was upon him, the brunet's head swiveled around, and he smirked at her.
Smirked.
Fury burned through Lucy's core, like a wildfire set ablaze in the driest of forests, but she maintained her composure and instead turned back to Mira, as if barely acknowledging the brunet. His face fell—yes! —for a brief moment, before another smile and simple shrug graced his features and he turned back around.
"Mira," the blonde muttered. The waitress reached for her dishrag, wiping the interior of an empty glass. Despite the fact that she wasn't looking her way, the blonde took that as a cue to resume. Her voice emerged as a low whisper, but she was sure that Mira could identify every word that escaped her mouth. Lucy eyed her stranger-sent gift beadily, and plucked the cherry off. "Are there any rooms booked upstairs?"
Mira's wink would be indistinguishable to any other. "Indeed," came the short reply, and Lucy promptly nodded.
"And, by any chance..." She twiddled the stem between her index and thumb thoughtfully. "The room number?"
"Three."
"That's all I needed to know." The blonde discreetly observed her surroundings, before faking a greatly exaggerated yawn. Her smile was ineffably realistic, but Mira knew better. "Well," she drawled loudly, among the roar of the other pub locals, "it's late. I'll be going to get some rest. Thank you for the lovely drink." Wink.
"Have a great night! Enjoy your stay." Although the true intent was friendly, the phoniness was seemingly truthful. As if she would stay. Mira hid her smile, and rushed over to serve a bunch of newcomers.
The amber martini remained untouched on the counter, and the cherry submerged in the colorful liquid.
Alone.
Hidden in the shadows on a beam that stretched across the ceiling, Lucy crouched, poised, deadly dagger in hand. Occasionally, her weapon of choice emitted a menacing gleam—be that the only factor that could reveal her location. Catlike irises scanned the darkened halls of the second floor, lying in alertly in wait for its prey.
As if on cue, a morbidly obese, egg-shaped man with immensely horrifying features—who, for the record, was blatantly drunk—tottered dangerously to the base of the stairs, with two scantily clad, unkempt women doting on him, clinging to either side. Their adoration was sickly to the level that Lucy resisted the urge to throw up all her insides right there and then. He stopped momentarily—Lucy paused, discreetly hiding the dagger behind her forearm—but only chuckled. "Weeeell, ladies..." he drawled with a yawn evident in his voice, "I'll be... going to rest. Seee you tomooorrow!" Waving the two pouting females off without so much more as a second glance, he blew a series of grotesque air kisses, which the duo lovingly accepted, and teetered up the flight of wood. There came a heaving creek with every struggling step he took. Lucy's eyes observed as he wobbled through a large wooden door near the landing, slamming it shut behind him.
Yep, that was it. Room Three.
Leaping into action, the blonde swung herself down with the prowess and silence of a credible African savanna predator, grabbing the outstanding golden plaque pasted above the door frame and hanging there, upside down, by her legs. She cautiously peeked through the peephole, only to be astonished by the fact that not only were the lights off, but the bed lay bare, and the window flung wide open. The curtains danced in the light breeze. A wariness filled Lucy, and she tore herself away from the beam, unlocking the bolted lock with a single swipe of her dagger; it creaked open delicately. She stepped in onto the carpeted floor, half expecting to be jumped on by the target, but was greeted with a deadly silence and no signs of life anywhere. She cursed under her breath—her boss had already informed her ahead of time that this one would be tricky...
Lucy leaped out the window, and, using the window sill and the curtains, she swung herself up onto the low-lying, slanted tile roof of the cozy bar. Night had long since settled, and the darkness and shadows cast around her comforted her. The assassin paused in her step momentarily, getting up from her crouch, to absorb the breathtaking sight of Magnolia, sleeping beneath the regal blue sky, alit only by its night lights and the bright moon, and a sense of serenity comforted her, filling her with a peace unknown. Beautiful.
"Well, well, well." The masculine voice pierced through the air, startling the blonde, who swore under her breath, eyes widening. Shit. She knew she shouldn't have stopped for such a trivial thing while undergoing a mission, but her eyes were hard and cold as ice as she pivoted around. "What do we have here?" Standing a few feet away from her was him, the stranger in the bar. Lucy's eyes narrowed into slits.
"You," she spat distastefully, but regained her composure, punctually speaking, "as of you."
The brunet grinned then, crossing his arms. "Well, I do say it's a pleasure to meet you."
"And you are...?" She faked innocence, but, by the deceiving look in his eyes, she knew that he knew. "I suppose my reputation precedes me. Tell me, who am I, hmm?"
"You..." The intruder's eyes were dark. "Don't act innocent. Everybody near and far knows of you."
"Inclusive, or exclusive of you?" Lucy challenged, swiveling around so she was completely facing his way, prepared for a full-on attack. Dangerous.
"Inclusive, of course." He smirked. "You're the Heartbreaker."
"Maybe so. Then again, it may not be," Lucy responded. "And you?"
"I think you know very well who exactly I am."
She relented. "... You're right. They call you the Ice Devil Slayer, am I right?" Said assassin made no reply, so, after a moment of shared quiet, the blonde continued with an icy glare, "We're fellow assassins then, aren't we?"
"I am on no level with anyone, let alone you." The Slayer eyed her with an equally acetic expression. The tension between the two was strained.
"Good dogs know when to get out of the way..." Lucy traced her finger down her dagger. "Bad dogs," her eyes narrowed, "are to be shot down."
As if on cue, both her and the man across the rooftop from her pulled out their guns in syncopated unison, flinging them up in the air and catching them single-handedly, twirling the weapons around their fingers—this man was good, Lucy hated to admit—and charged at each other. This was the way of the Fiorean assassins; something in much similarity to an assassin's creed: an assassin will always be an assassin. Lest you are on a team, then you must never trust another of your kin. When two enemy assassins meet? You must fight, until one admits defeat; ultimately, defeat will cost you not only your dignity and honor, but also, in many cases, your life.
Lucy packed him with a quick roundhouse kick, which he skillfully blocked with his forearm, and, grabbing her ankle, he threw her aside. Agilely, she flipped, and landed a powerful hit with a backwards kick. She somersaulted a few feet back, surveying her enemy as he ran a hand over his abdomen and smirked. The two clashed once again, each sending flurries of punches and hits, but the opposition would continuously block and evade. The blonde swept her foot under his ankle; he fell, but caught himself with one hand and flipped her over with a crash. Tiles cracked and fell. As they exchanged blows, any unsuspecting passersby would think that they were not fighting, but instead dancing, their moves in cue with one another. When one hit, the other hit back; when one blocked, the other would also block. At some point, they had landed on top of each other, but—never mind the matter. The constant banging of bullets rang through the night air.
Eventually, the two rolled back to their original positions, and Lucy skidded back with a curse. "My boots," she remarked quietly, gazing at the trail of missing roof tiles. She fingered a narrowly-missed-gunshot cut she had obtained on her cheekbone, when suddenly, an abrupt scream sounded from the alley nearby, and she stiffened. Crap, I'm late.
"I'll admit, you're good." The stranger winced as he felt the back of his head. "Gray."
"You'll learn to stay out of my way... Gray." Lucy closed her eyes, pushed past him without another word, and leapt off the rooftop, with him blinking aimlessly in her wake.
"Man," was all he managed. "So... Lucy is her name?"
The atmosphere was eerily quiet. The assassin ceased her footsteps in the entrance of the alleyway, glancing with a squint into the darkness, but the shadows enveloped her; she saw nothing. With a sigh, she stepped onto the narrow path, and began stalking forward, calculating her every step. Wasn't there a scream here earlier? The culprit was probably still here. Lucy halted in her step as a soft crackling sound emerged from someways behind her; as she turned her head, nothing noticeable was there to see. The sky above her blinked innocently, but, as if on cue, dark, flippant rain clouds blotted out the glow of the moon, and everything was silent once more. She resumed her pacing, when a rustle sounded a few meters ahead of her. The blonde sighed, hands in her pockets. Absentmindedly, she gently ran her finger over her cut. "Come out," she called softly, but was only greeted by the angst-ridden howling of the wind—the breeze had picked up all of a sudden.
Out of the blue, there came the icy sensation that pricked her throat wickedly, and a hand was laid to rest on her shoulder; however, Lucy didn't move. Amidst the dull gleam of the lamplight filtering into the stripped opening of the alley, a small figure with a bulbous head, armed with a revolver in one hand, smartly dressed in a tuxedo, and guarded by two oversized men with bulging biceps trotted in, as if he was bagging a stage spotlight of some sort. Lucy's hands tightened on the rim of her pockets, yet she remained deadly silent.
"I must say," this new authority figure remarked arrogantly, not a single trace of drunkenness hinted in his tone, "I'm quite impressed. To think you managed to fend off my most trustworthy adversary; I commend you, Miss Heartfilia. It is all but a pleasure to grace your presence, my dear." The voice was mocking, scornful, causing her scowl to deepen. A moment of silence passed between the two, not unlike that of a tossed, yet discarded, baton. Outside, the street light flickered faintly, before it too fizzled out lifelessly. Lucy could only mildly catch the muttered command of, "Toss me another." A lighter flared to life, its flame latching itself onto the stubbly end of the obese man's smoke, and died out as quickly as it had appeared.
"Well." Smoke clouded the blocked lane, clambering up the walls, and she found it difficult to resist covering up her nose. It wasn't as if she didn't care for her own wellbeing, for that matter. "Down to business. Due to inner sources..." The revolver shone dangerously in the shadows cast by the cigarette. Lucy eyed it warily. "It has come to my attention that that dirty scoundrel Makarov—" Her boss' name seemed like acid on his tongue, and he spat it out indignantly, "—has filed an assassin request under your name. And, coincidentally, it seems here—" He stabbed at the picture pasted like a curse on a poster he held up with his chubby index finger, and bit into his cigarette in frustration. "—that your so-called target is me."
Lucy obstinately raised a brow, and nothing passed through her lips once more. "You may think your silence is eloquent," the duke continued, "but I have my own ways of getting what I want. For instance, what if I were to kindly inform you that your scroungy little bar is currently brimming with visitors, and that among them I have placed a few very special employees who will have it their way with your dear friend, the barmaid, on command?" At this, the blonde bristled ever so slightly, her hackles skyrocketing. Instead, her wavering thoughts came out blithely calm.
"... Mirajane can take care of herself, for your information," she said simply, and the man tutted sympathetically, clicking his tongue and twirling his stringy mustache.
"Oh, dear, dear..." Lucy winced at the casual honorific. "You are so naive, so innocent. Indeed, she may be, but if my top employee can even stand against you, then how is she a match for an entire band of my elite? You take me for nothing, do you not? Many, including I, know of miss Strauss' past. She would hardly stand a chance, with all that. What can she do? She'd wreck the place. You'd lose your business.
"Do you think..." He stalked forward, creeping at a hazardously slow pace. "... that I am a fool? Is that what you take me for? Honestly. You think that I myself lack human resources? I have my sources. I have my spies. I know what goes on. Miss Heartfilia; you are a notable assassin. Usually, in this situation, an average worker would find their heads rolling on these very cobblestones not within a second." His shoes tapped the cement floor beneath their soles for emphasis. "But, per se, this will not be the case. In fact, vice versa, I have one rather simple request of you."
"I have no interest," Lucy responded, and immediately the blade pressed further into her neck. Her jaw tightened a margin.
"No worries. I only require your services, seeing that you are definitely a force to be reckoned; I'd gladly admit that. Surrender to the Everlue Corps, Miss Lucy. After all, it is best. Those dirty Fairies will do no good for you. They are the scum of this society, and you, for a fact, do not belong there." Duke Everlue's grin was creepy beyond measure, but said blonde held her ground defiantly.
"Says you," she observed, "who has killed thousands of innocents to get your way, has installed countless radioactive material and useless masonry factories around our nation, and has a preceding reputation of being by far the sickest, the most dangerous, and the most unreliable drug lord?" The hand on her shoulder maintained its vice-like grip, but instead pinioned her arms behind her back. Talk about annoying.
"That is none of your business, Heartfilia," Everlue snarled, "for you meddle too much. I am merely asking a favor."
"And that favor I will merely decline," Lucy fired back.
"It's far too late for that."
"I should've ended you on the stairwell."
"If you do not agree, I will send the signal immediately. Your comrades at the bar stand no chance," Duke Everlue threatened greedily, and Lucy held back a restricted sigh.
"As I said," she repeated, feeling like a mantra, "I have no business with you—"
"Men," the opposition interrupted shortly, and his two body guards automatically moved in on both her sides. The open-ended side of the barrel trailed softly down the side of her face, as if it were a caress, and Lucy didn't bother to hide her disgust as Duke Everlue leaned in close. The two were nose-to-nose, and his putrid, dank breath puffed out in fumes along her neck. She inched away, to no avail. "Lucy Heartfilia." His voice was dangerously soft. "I worked with your parents once. Such worthwhile business partners... But your dear mother so trusting. No wonder she didn't suspect a thing about that cup of tea, even on her deathbed... Whoops, I let it slip. Anyhow, my assumption is that you are much like your parents, and while therefore hereby obey my commands, won't you? You'd be willing to sacrifice for your friends, hm?"
Lucy grit her teeth, subtlely averting her gaze. "Let me go," she demanded adamantly, harshly enunciating each word. "Now."
"My love, you made that impossible the moment you stepped into this alley—" As the lord spoke, a new voice cut in from the mouth of the opening, in front of them, and a gunshot rang out suddenly, cutting through the stillness of the night like a knife does to melted butter. Next to Lucy, a burly guard wheezed valiantly, blood spilling in gushes from his newly-attained fatality, and collapsed into a heap onto the ground. In shock, Everlue whirled around, still clutching the revolver with white knuckles, and Lucy's eyes widened.
"You heard the lady." Wisps of smoke arose from the recently-used barrel, attached to an outstretched arm and... a certain someone. He smirked. "Get moving, Everlue."
"G-Gray?" said man spluttered uselessly. The cigar lay, discarded, on the ground, and his polished soles stomped down violently onto it, crushing the last breaths out of it. "Y-You..." He trembled in fury. "You traitor! What on Earth Land are you doing?"
"Well, long story short, I met a person who made me realize that working for you was probably the shittiest decision I've ever made before," Gray shrugged nonchalantly. He absentmindedly flicked the trigger. "Now, hand her over unless you want fifty bullets in your heart." He motioned at Lucy.
"It'll be your own life hanging on a thread," replied Duke Everlue, and he lunged at Gray, crashing full-force into him with an agility unseen before any thoughts passed through anyone else's head. The two tumbled onto the empty road together, having accidentally shed their guns, wrestling and fighting. Securing an entrance, Lucy leapt into action, elbowing the two brawny fellows behind her sharply and kicking their faces in with a feral growl. One made a grab at her, and she dodged skillfully to the side, kneeing him in the gut, before twisting against the wall and kicking herself off the elevated surface. Airborne, she smiled satisfactorily as she stomped onto the second's shoulders with deliberate force and was greeted with a deafening series of cracks. She flipped off him as he fell, and snatched up Gray's neglected gun, racing out into the open. Gray and Duke Everlue were now on their feet, exchanging blows and kicks—Duke Everlue wasn't labeled 'dangerous' for nothing. With her heart's constant pounding reverberating in her ears, Lucy shakily raised the weapon, aimed, and firmly pressed down on the trigger.
Bang.
Both men suddenly came to a standstill amidst their duel, and Lucy's eyes widened in fear that she had accidentally assaulted the unintended person. However, much to her relief, it was Duke Everlue himself whose hand numbly felt its way to his chest and came back stained with his maroon blood, soaking his tuxedo. His eyes rolled to the back of his head slowly, and he frothed slightly at the mouth—ew—before falling—it seemed as if everything had advanced into slow motion as he fell.
Gray staggered back the moment he hit the ground, and Lucy, eyes still wide, deftly picked her way over to the scene, but the minute she reached him, he had resumed his usual stance. Out of the blue, he stepped forward and wrapped Lucy in a warm, tender hug. The blonde stiffened, too astonished to return the embrace, even when he pulled back and slammed his mouth against hers. A previously unknown warmth erupted in her chest, blossoming with color, and she felt herself naturally reacting and wrapping her arms around his neck, returning the passion caught in the notion.
"... Thank you, Gray," she whispered against him almost inaudibly, but a smile caught onto his face and she knew.
High above them, the moon seemed to wink and shine brighter.
Night used to be her duty; her darkness. Night was his shadow; his heightened fear.
Now, together, it was both their requiem.
For the record, I'm not proud of this one, but I hope you somehow managed to enjoy it...
Please remember to R & R!