10/16/14 — As always, thank you all your your kudos/favorites/follows/bookmarks/reviews/etc.! Don't be afraid to point out what you think about this chapter as well, especially if it has to do with a mistake you spot... and doubly so if it's about something you like. Heaven knows I need to find myself a beta reader.
ALSO, I'll admit I was very tempted to stick the juicy bits into this chapter. So tempted. You'll see what I mean once you get to the last line of this chapter. ;)
(But, in all honesty,
a love story just isn't that much of a love story
without its cliches.
So let us turn back time for exposition's sake.)
( turn back time )
The men below her are having a pleasant conversation.
She does not care to understand nor listen to what they are saying.
What she does care for is the sickening squelch the younger investigator's body makes as it comes apart oh so very easily, skin and bone parting and rushing to meet the ground in less than two seconds. His companion fails to notice what has happened until there is a pool of blood at his feet. By then, her body is already in motion. She is ready to eradicate Ryouko's enemies from the face of the Earth. She is righting a wrong.
This does not happen.
She fails to notice the third investigator. Her sources had not mentioned him during her investigation.
Skidding across the pavement and nearly losing her balance in the process, she quickly regains her momentum in order to continue with her assault. Determining the third investigator to be the biggest threat, she rushes to meet him. A kick, a jump and a punch—and her body collides with his, leaving a gash on the right side of his face. Her body is a flurry of movements and he is no match for her. Not like this. Not when he is so obviously unarmed.
An unarmed human is no match for a ghoul's strength.
An armed human, however, is a completely different story.
She's face down on the ground, right arm throbbing in pain and head reeling by the time she's realized what has happened. A fourth investigator has shown up, adequately armed and ready to fight against a ghoul of her caliber.
He's scolding his co-workers. That much she can tell. However, his exact words are lost in a haze of pain and adrenaline. She needs to get up. She needs to fight. She didn't come all this way in order to die. Not like this. Not without getting rid of Ryouko's enemies. That would be too (lonely) pathetic.
She manages to pull herself off the ground a second before that thing can crush her into itty-bitty pieces.
"Oh!" the fourth investigator exclaims, dragging his weapon behind him. The look of absolute delight that crosses his face is not lost on her. "How spectacular. It's been a long time since I've met someone who can dodge this!"
This being that thing that resembles the unholy offspring of a whip and a scorpion's tail. She does not know what to make of it, but she does not have to be a genius in order to figure out it's what the Doves carry within their briefcases. As if begging for an audience, the fourth investigator continues to ramble on, tone laced with glee and excitement over finding what he may or may not consider an ant to crush underneath his boot. Her stomach churns in disgust and she's all too ready to tune him out in order to think of a way to beat the hell out of him, but her train of thought is cut short by his following words.
"Ah. Come to think of it... that ghoul wife I killed some days ago was pretty weak, wasn't she? She didn't put up a good fight," he says, a lopsided grin on his face as he reaches into the inside of his coat. A second later, he takes out a flat and rectangular object and tosses it her way. "And all she did was try to protect this. It was pretty hilarious!"
At her feet, stained with blood and covered in filth, laid the cover of The Black Goat's Egg.
So much for thinking about how to beat the hell out of him.
Driven by nothing but pure rage, she ignores how outmatched she is and charges at the bastard in front of her. Punches are thrown and her kagune burns from the intensity of her actions, but no matter what she does, nothing seems to hit him. The only thing she's doing is tiring herself out—and she's sure he knows it judging by the smirk on his face and the much-too-technical explanation he's giving her. She does not give a damn about the way her kagune works. She is not capable of giving a single fuck about the shit this decrypt old man was spewing. She does not care about anything but smashing her fist into his face and making his skull concave.
But that's not to be. Not when she's so out of focus, every inch of her body humming with adrenaline that's soon to sputter out. She doesn't even get to land a single hit before he slams that weapon against her side, knocking her down and effectively forcing her to use the last bit of her energy in an attempt to keep him from snapping her in two.
She wheezes.
The fucker laughs.
"What? It's already over?" he asks, a grin plastered on his face and his tone light. Her suffering must be highly entertaining for him. "I guess I shouldn't expect much from trash like you. You ghouls can only put up so much of a fight before you're inevitably erased. "
Touka's anger resurfaces, boiling beneath her skin and threatening to seep out through her pores. She grits her teeth, hoisting herself to her feet with a shaky and suffering breath. The investigator readies his weapon, undoubtedly preparing to strike her down once and for all.
She's not very eager to give him that chance.
And so, she escapes with her jaw clenched and a metaphorical tail between her legs. She's had better days, that's for sure.
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She feels very much like a coward.
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But she is not ready to die.
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(Not yet, anyway.
Not before she can find—)
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(It shouldn't matter to her anymore. The past should stay in the past.)
Between her arm and her pride, she isn't sure what's more critically wounded.
But she can't say she expected to get away unscathed. She knew the consequences of openly challenging the Doves very well. Any ghoul with half a brain knows. She is not nearly young and reckless enough to think her actions have no repercussions. She supposes the quiet but scathing look of disapproval Yoshimura keeps giving her forms part of those repercussions.
Catching a glimpse of Hinami in the room upstairs, huddled up under a thick blanket and reading a book by an author called Takatsuki Sen may be another one of those repercussions. It's not a coincidence, she thinks, that the cover that was tossed her way the other night carried the same name below the title. Ryouko must have gone out to buy Hinami a new book that day, and then—she never came back.
It was a gift she would never be able to deliver now. It makes Touka almost regret not picking the cover up from the ground, but Hinami probably wouldn't appreciate seeing her mother's last gift to her torn and sullied.
She closes her eyes and forces herself to stop thinking about it before her rage can turn to despair and despair can turn to nausea.
Try as she might to stop thinking about it, however, her attempts end up being for naught. Insomnia gets a hold of her during the wee hours of the morning and her thoughts become consumed by feelings of guilt. She should have done something to help Ryouko. She should have told her to get out of the 20th Ward the moment she was told why the Doves were here. Even she could have done that much before things went downhill like this.
Taking care of a mess that's already been made is never pleasant. Much less so, when the mess involves the death of someone who used to be a dear friend.
(And also someone she looked up to in a certain sense. But, of course, she would never admit to this. It was too embarrassing.)
Instead of recklessly endangering her life again, she somehow ends up at a local bookstore.
Hinami would want to read that novel if it was something Ryouko picked out for her.
Ignoring the incessant throbbing of her still healing right arm, she carefully browses the shelves one by one Neatly stacked and ordered before her are rows and rows of thick novels, neatly wrapped up in protective plastic and decorated with incomprehensible covers and even more incomprehensible titles. She's not sure if the author's family name was Akatsuki or Takatsuki and, honestly, she's beginning to regret coming here without having made sure she remembered the details correctly. While the heat of the moment made it impossible for her to remember everything that happened that night, she wasn't entirely sure she could trust herself to remember the title accurately.
She was having trouble enough with the author's name, after all.
Still, she wasn't quite ready to leave the store without buying something for Hinami. Though it certainly wouldn't do much to help her sleeping habits as of late, having a new book would probably help ease her mind. If only a little. It's the least Touka could do, after failing to take down the Doves that killed her mother.
Sighing in an attempt to get rid of the heaviness within her chest, she continues to browse the shelves. This would be a lot more easier if she knew the genre of the book she was looking for, or maybe—
(Someone bumps into her right arm, and
it hurts more than she thought was possible.)
She's on the ground before she can get a hold of herself, left hand clutching her injured arm and jaw clenched in an attempt to stifle a yelp. It works to a certain extent, but it does little to keep the person that bumped into her from fretting, their worried hands hovering inches from her shoulders as they decide to join her on the ground.
"A-Ah! I'm sorry! I..." the person begins, tone laced with hysteria before they trail off just as quickly as they begun. In the back of her mind, the voice strikes Touka as somewhat familiar. "...Kirishima-san?"
She looks up at that exact moment.
Quite suddenly, she finds herself staring at Crush Boy's worried face.