[Ranma][FanFic] Interlude: Cupid and Psycho
Chris Willmore
A note on timing: For those of you who've been wanting me to get back to
the 'main' story, this is it. The story takes place *after* Converging
Series and Episode 5, and during Jeff Hosmer's 'Kagami' and the upcoming
Episode 6. (In fact, I was tempted to call it 'Episode 5 1/2'...)
-CW
============================================================================
PROLOGUE
============================================================================
[Tokyo, 2096]
Moonlight glinted off Sable's spatula as he made his way across the
University quad, but not off his eyes. They were lustreless and grey,
mirrors of his mind in the wake of an unsuccessful mission. He'd only
managed to accomplish half of his objective, and that not even fully. The
Thompson girl hadn't been in, so he'd left a bug in her room. That should
be good enough. But as for the Gosunkugi...
With twenty million surveillance cameras in the city, and several
thousand people employed solely in the development of pattern recognition
software, how could the KF lose a person in central Tokyo?
But it had.
And so, he'd failed.
He'd given his promise to Perdita, the guarantee of his _personal_
attention. That brought dishonour, that brought disgrace. He was _weak_,
Sakuin would say.
SE-1B-Y-L punched a hole in a concrete bench as he passed it.
Weak.
The policeman in him grumbled. Property damage was a felony, and even
though he was exempt from prosecution, he liked to think that privilege had
been granted only because his superiors knew that he would never do
anything against their express interests, orders, and their _laws_.
Yes, he WAS weak, and in more ways than one, as this incident amply
demonstrated. He should have had more control of himself. But 'a dozen
should haves do not make a single has', as the Executress was fond of
saying.
The not-quite-human weapon knelt by the bench and started replacing the
fragments into the crater. Puzzle-solving had never been one of his strong
points, but after a few minutes' work, the patch was acceptable.
Good enough. He'd e-mail park maintenance in the mor-
Sable's thoughts were interrupted by two flashes of light not far from
him. One was large - a brilliant burst of purple flame - and the other a
twinkle of green.
Whatever they were, pyrotechnics were illegal in this section of the
city, and a righteous arrest of a red-handed felon was just what he needed
to get him out of his depression.
He pulled a pair of goggles from his satchel and slipped them over his
eyes, blinking as the green night vision filter came alive.
One suspect. Female. Early twenties.
"Computer, identify human in quadrant three."
[CONNECTED]
[KF1.PERSONA.DB - ACCESS GRANTED]
[Searching...]
[SUBJECT IDENTIFIED: GOSUNKUGI SKERIDE]
[DETAILS? Y/N]
* * * * *
Skeride dashed through the familiar paths, occasionally propelling
herself from a tree trunk, and using her hands and the overhanging branches
for locomotion as often as her sneakered feet. Complicated movement always
calmed her.
Right now, she needed a lot of calming.
She should have known something was coming up. Her dreams had been
unpleasant lately, filled with ill-omened ravens, laughing corpses... and
there was that one nightmare... the one where that woman (what was her
name?), the only kill she'd made that she'd later regretted - was the
huntress, and she the prey.
She was a relative of Rat's, no doubt, a Hibiki... But in her wildest
leaps of dream interpretation she'd have never thought it would mean
_this_... that an evil version of one of her own ancestors would now
endanger Reiraku.
Her Reiraku.
She paused to look for a convenient branch, and heard a noise.
Leaves rustling.
Not a squirrel; it had the wrong feel to it.
Not a bird.
Then...
Skeride turned around, moving carefully and slowly and keeping her
right hand over her p'ur-bu's holster. She allowed her rage and
apprehension build up inside her, using it to feed the pathways that her
mind was opening and that the words of the spell she whispered were
solidifying. The end result was a blast of purple light which for a moment
turned the Tokyo night into a disc-jockey's tinted-glass daylight.
The reflections off the giant combat spatula were particularly
appealing.
"Deity..."
A bandolier and purple cloak stepped forward.
"Justice," said the figure.
The girl felt the blood drain from her face even as she circled her
opponent. It seemed to be amused as she moved around it, gauging its
motions, intentions and costume as best she could by the dim moonlight.
It was all there. The cooking implement, the long brown hair, the
purple and blue clothes... The cut was different, but the bardo can change
their appearance at will. As for her foe's expression, it was patient,
secure in its strength and biding its time.
What were a few minutes, after all, to someone who had sworn eternal
vengeance and could deliver it? to something which had killed her in her
dreams, and failed to die when she'd sliced a glowing p'ur-bu across its
throat?
For now, there was no question as to the newcomer's identity.
As promised in her nightmare, _she_ had returned.
Skeride paused, and her rival raised a gloved hand towards one of the
throwing spatulas on its belt.
The human mind is an incredible construction. Of all the things the
Gosunkugi could have felt at the moment - rage, panic, curiosity, despair
- she settled on indignation.
<How dare she?!?> was what ran through her head. How dare a ghost
return once it's been fulminated?
It was a mistake. It was an outrage.
It was correctable.
The Assassin's face contorted itself into a twisted mask, distracting
her assailant as she pulled her dagger from her side and lunged. The
target dodged, but not quickly enough, and the p'ur-bu tore through its arm
and continued on, knocking weapon and wielder to the ground.
As Skeride stood up, cursing, her hand fell into the glow of one of
the tiny foot-lights that lined the path. It was covered in blood, and it
wasn't her own.
That didn't bode well.
The girl wiped her hand off on her trouser leg, then across her brow to
sweep off the sweat beads that were forming on it.
Whatever was in front of her, whoever that was crouching a few metres
away, it was _alive_.
Hopefully.
But if it wasn't the Hibiki ghost, then who was it? A spatula wasn't
exactly an everyday fashion accessory.
Skeride took a few tentative steps towards the creature, then cast a
flare spell.
The clearly male face on the body surprised her, but not nearly as much
as the crossed rose and bokken medallion hanging around his neck.
The Kunou Foundation.
If it was possible for the Gosunkugi to become any paler than she
already was, she did so now. She'd learned two things from dealing with
her aunt Sakuin: don't ever cross the Kunou Foundation, and don't eat a
dumpling someone serves you the day after you've been naughty. It's likely
to be squirrel.
Before the man had a chance to recover, Skeride churned dust with her
feet and dashed into the shadows, racing away from her home as quickly as
her legs could carry her.
* * * * *
Sable watched the girl run off, then took off his night vision goggles.
He rubbed his hand over the torn muscle of his arm, shuddering as he felt
the waves of pain, the glorious life-giving spoils of battle course through
him. They washed away his weakness and filled him with power, giving him
the strength he'd thought lost with the day's events.
Somehow... Somehow this brief battle, one-sided though it was, had made
the experience worthwhile, or at least irrelevant. He hadn't made the
necessary arrest, but at least he knew his target was still in the city.
The computers could take care of the rest after he fed them his information.
Now he could see why the video systems had missed her. That fighter
seemed to dissolve into the shadows, and even when she was out of them, her
alabaster skin would melt into the moonlight. Her movements were those of
a dancer - when she fought, her limbs flowed, her balance was perfect, and
her sequencing was... artistic.
And effective.
For all her obvious lack of formal training, for all that she was
infused with weakening emotions, she had managed to damage him.
The young man lifted his warmly-dripping hand to his face, smearing
blood in the hollow around his eyes with his index finger.
<That girl...>
It'd been a long time since anyone had hurt him like that, he thought
as he began to walk back to his office.
A long time.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
/
____ ___ _ ___ /
| \ | \ /\ | | /\ /\ | \ / /\
| \ | \ . | \ | |. / \_/ \ | \ \ / \
| __ \ | _ \ | | | | | | | _ \ /\ \/ /
| | \ \ | | \ \ .| | | |.| | | | \ \ / \ \ /
| | / / | |__\ | | | \| | | |\ /| |.| |__\ |/ /\ \/
| | / / | | | |\ | |.| | | |.| | | |\ / \
| |/ / .| ___ |.| |.| |.| |.| | | | | ___ /\ \/ /
| |\ \ | | .| |.| |.| |.| |.| |.| |.| | ./ |\ /
| | \ \ .| | | |.| |..\ |.| |.| |.| | | | /| | \
|_|. \__\ |_|. .|_|.|_|...\/..|_|.|_|.|_|.|_|. \|_| \
/\ \ /
Created by Christopher Willmore. / \ \ /
<4c...@qlink.queensu.ca> / / \/
Based on a story by Rumiko Takahashi and /
Developed by C. Michael Schumacher / /
\ /
R2096 pages: http://qlink.queensu.ca/~4cw6/ \/(Logo:Armakuni)
============================================================================
Interlude: Cupid and Psycho
============================================================================
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
For Vilja and Adrian, who are entirely to blame.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Whoo, the Iceman melteth! You may yet be a man, brother dearest.
I would love to help you find out for certain. My room, in an hour?"
-Autolyca, in Jeff Hosmer's 'Kagami'
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
[ Several days later - Kunou Hall, University of Tokyo ]
(Note: This takes place shortly after the end of 'Converging Series')
*KNOCK* *KNOCK*
Skeride closed the news file she had on her monitor, ran a hand through
her hair and stood up.
"Come in," she said.
Childra Jansen opened the door, started to speak, then fell quiet. Of
all the things one would expect to see plastered across the walls of the
room of a young nubile physicist with psychopathic tendencies, e-news
printouts were not the highest on the list.
"Odd decor. Neo-policeman baroque?"
The Gosunkugi girl blushed and played with her thumbs, but didn't
answer.
Not that she actually BLAMED her for her taste. U of Tokyo boys
weren't known for their good looks, and regular posters were disappointing
because you knew they'd been touched up. But now, if you found someone
good-looking in the news photos...
Jansen squinted at the clippings.
It seemed that all of them featured a young man with rather striking
features, dressed in a strange blue and purple outfit which was oddly
reminiscent of-
Wait a minute.
On his back.
That wasn't...
Sable?
* * * * *
[ KF Headquarters ]
Had it been allowed by his conditioning, SE-1B-Y-L would have jumped
out of his seat when he saw Skeride's visitor appear on the viewscreen. As
it was, he merely twitched. There could be no doubt about her identity;
she'd changed her hair colour, the eyes were probably contacts, rather than
transplants, but apart from that...
He'd never forget that face, those hands... And she was still wearing
his bandolier.
A blinking red message appeared at the top right of his viewscreen.
[Extr. Sable, report to Extr. GSakuin STAT]
The Executioner frowned, glanced at the conversation taking place in
Kunou Hall, then at the 'top priority' icon next to the summons.
"Computer, record all data collected from bug S-KH-02 until further
notice, mark read-only and encrypt. Voice check, SE-1B-Y-L."
Whirring for a second or two, then the standard monochrome green
response:
[VOICE CHECK CONFIRMED. COMMENCING RECORDING.]
* * * * *
[Later, at Kunou Foundation Headquarters - during 'Kagami']
Hiro flattened himself against the wall, trying to hear without being
seen. SHE was still talking to him, prodding him, teasing him... Sable was
like a child, and she knew it. Innocent, straightforward, and utterly
uncomprehending. Of what? Everything. KF politics. The feelings of others.
His own. So long as it had to do with police business, he was unbeatable,
but take him even a millimetre outside of his element and-
"The Executress has things under control." Sable's voice. A lovely
baritone, rather high in pitch but powerfully intoned. Hiro smiled. The
conversation was over. Sable was ignoring Autolyca and walking towards him.
"Does she now?" asked the girl, trying to strike a last blow. No use.
Her partner in verbal sparring had made up his mind, and trying to change it
would take more than the proverbial unbeatable force.
"Don't let her get to you," he said, putting his arm on the
Executioner's shoulder as he walked past. Sable stiffened. Slightly - he'd
been trained not to give away any signs of emotion - but Hiro could tell.
How could he not? There were days when he LIVED for a smile from the boy,
for a flash of his teeth, a raised eyebrow or the slightest upward
stretching of his cheeks...
"Hiroshi."
"Yes?"
"Why can't I talk to people?" Sable was looking at the office at the
end of the hall, and not at him. It was Sakuin's office.
"You can talk to _me_." He ran his finger around the curves of the
boy's body armour, where he knew he couldn't feel them. Maybe the old girl
was right in the way she'd raised him. Maybe lack of feeling WAS a
strength...
"Yes, but you're the only one. With others, I... I don't know what to
do. They talk, and I listen, but I... I don't think I *understand*."
Then again, maybe not.
"Don't understand what?" There were sweat stains on the joints between
his leg and hip-pieces. He'd been exercising. What would it have been
today? Weapons training? Wrestling?
"Who I am," he answered. "When they look at me... I... They don't look
at me as they look at their friends, or even their superiors. They just...
don't KNOW what to make of me."
"Well," said Hiroshi, "it's not everyone who gets promoted to head of
the police force while still in his teens." He raised his pace. Sable was
walking quickly but distractedly, and if he nudged slightly, made a few
subtle suggestions in body language, maybe he could even lead him...
"I wasn't promoted."
"So much more the oddity. They can't relate to you because everything
you are, everything you do is completely out of their experience."
Shoulder-nudge against his left breastplate, like so, a 'spontaneous' swivel
at the crossroads...
"Why don't they ask, then?"
"Hrm?" Now, where WAS that... Oh, of course. THERE.
"Why don't they ask me what it's like? I'd tell them."
The answer to that one was easy, of course. They were scared. But Hiro
couldn't tell him that - it'd break the poor boy's heart. How could he let
him know that the others were frightened of him, that they saw him as a sort
of supernatural being who would snap them in half at the slightest
misunderstanding? How could he tell this child-mind that his officers
believed that speaking with him would bring on the evil eye, and his
crossing one's path was bad luck for a week?
"Have you tried asking THEM?"
Sable nodded.
"They stared. A few stuttered."
Hiroshi felt like chuckling. That's exactly how HE would have reacted, a
year ago. The Executioner could be quite intimidating. Large, well-defined
muscles, a rigid face with strong features, wild hair kept in rein only by
careful styling and the occasional white bandanna... Coupled with his height
and the grey-and-blue spandex and body armour getup that he was made to
wear, it was enough to make anyone go silent... Even now, Hiro was usually
tongue-tied during a formal audience with him, though for entirely different
reasons.
He held back, though, since Sable felt uncomfortable around laughter of
any kind.
Which explained why he frowned as they entered a new, underlit
passageway where the sonic byproducts of merriment were seeping through the
walls.
"Where are we going?" he asked.
Hiro knocked on a nearby door in reply.
"Nowhere. We're here."
* * * * *
[ Kunou Hall - University of Tokyo ]
"I know someone who can touch those up for you."
"Touch them up?"
"Remove the clothes from that boy in the pictures. I doubt you'll ever
see the chief of police in anything other than his uniform, if you don't go
that route."
"Jansen!"
"What?"
"How could you-"
"You're trying to tell me you're not interested in him?"
Skeride began to speak, but when she raised her eyes, they fell upon
the official portrait of Sable, blown up to life-size and sharing space
above the head of her bed with a signed copy of Rat's high school
graduation photo.
"I... Ah..."
"Can't blame you, lass - he IS quite the looker. But trust me on this
one. His head? I think it's a bit soft." Childra absent-mindedly ran her
fingers along the cartridge slots on her bandolier. "Too many bangs on it
in his line of work."
"You've... Met him?"
Jansen nodded.
Big mistake.
It took her all of ten minutes to convince Nutkin that no, she hadn't
seen him recently and that she would tell her everything about the boy if
she ever DID run into him in the near future.
That done, she peeled Squirrel Girl's fingers from her wrists and
sobered her expression.
"I'm afraid this isn't just a social call."
"I'm sorry?"
"I have some... serious business to discuss."
"Serious? What kind of..." The image of a smirking Gosunkugi Hikaru
holding a glowing umbrella flashed through Skeride's mind. "Rat!" she
cried. "Don't tell me he's-"
"Nothing's wrong with Rat. No more than the usual, anyhow."
"Then..."
"It's about Akane."
"Akane?"
"She's dead, Skeride."
* * * * *
[ KF Headquarters ]
When they entered the employee bar, it fell silent, as Hiro knew it
would. All eyes were on them as they walked towards the corner table. All
watched the lank youth leading an armoured behemoth by the forearm, and it
was hard to tell whether the expression on the face of the former was
indicative of shame, pride or triumph.
"Take a seat," said Hiroshi, motioning at a bench. Sable looked at him
briefly, then clanged onto the natuplast surface.
"Why did you bring me here?"
The other didn't reply immediately, taking time to arrange himself
luxuriously upon his chair.
"I thought you could use a drink."
"I don't drink. You know that."
"Why'd you assume I meant alcohol?"
Silence. Complete silence. Either the rest of the bar still hadn't
recovered from the shock of the Executioner's unexpected arrival, or, as
Hiro hoped, they suspected something and were waiting for confirmation.
"What else can one order here?"
Hiro shrugged.
"Water, fruit juice, tea, coffee, hot chocolate, white hot chocolate..."
"White hot chocolate?"
Hiro's eyes bulged, and he thrust his head forward.
"You're serious?" If he didn't know any better, he'd say Sable had
smiled at that. "Okay, then... waiter!"
The bartender wiped his hands on his apron and promptly strolled over.
He'd normally be furious at the slight, but it was Unwise in the greatest
degree to be angry at one of the Executioner's... companions.
"Your order, sirs?"
"Two white hot chocolates, please."
"I'm terribly sorry, sir, but we're down to one pellet."
Hiroshi didn't know whether the barkeep was doing this intentionally or
not, but either way, he was grateful.
"No worries. We'll share." He covered Sable's fisted hand with his own,
and was pleased by the slight tremor he felt.
"Very well, sir. One white hot chocolate, two straws."
"Hiroshi..." began Sable. His tablemate cut him off with a grin and
widened eyes.
"I thought you were strong, Sable. Afraid of my germs?"
The warrior stiffened.
"No, of course not. The order is acceptable."
"Then I'll be right back with yer drink, sirs."
As the bartender left, a man picked himself up from a seemingly
permanent slump at the drinks counter and hobbled towards the Executioner.
He was lanky and pale-skinned, and the black trenchcoat and floppy hat he
wore identified him as a KF technological surveillance agent.
"Ovue-kun," acknowledged Hiroshi with a quick nod.
"How long have you known the Executioner?" asked the newcomer.
"Why don't you ask him?"
"Almost a year," answered Sable.
"And have you two..."
"We're close friends," interrupted Hiro.
"Ah. And this..." A wave at the table, and their joined hands.
"A _private_ moment."
"I think you'll find the Executioner's cot rather too stiff to use as a
springboard to a promotion."
"Oh, but it _will_ be stiff - more than yours... As I recall, your own
quarters sported a rather soggy waterbed."
"I've managed to find a spring mattress since you left."
"FIND, or BUY? I hear they're not as costly as they used to be."
"Still too much for you to afford."
"I think you're just bitter because _you're_ not getting any white
hot chocolate."
"SOME of use weren't born with extra antibodies, and aren't immune to
your diseases."
The bartender stood back a respectful distance, drink in hand.
"Our snack has arrived, and I would appreciate it if you left us alone,
Ovue-kun."
The surveillance agent grumbled, tipped his hat and walked out of the
bar, swiping his salary card in the payment slot on the way out.
* * * * *
[ Kunou Hall - University of Tokyo ]
"D... Dead?" The announcement sent Skeride toppling onto her bookshelf,
and knocking onto the floor substances that were considered evil by nine
out of ten major religions. "When was it?" she asked, pressing herself
against the wooden shelves in an attempt to melt through them. Her eyes
were wide, her hands were shaking and wandering over her thighs, and her
tongue seemed to find infinite interest in over-moistening her upper lip.
"When did she die?"
Childra put her index finger to her temple and looked up for a few
seconds.
"Oh, about a hundred years ago," she concluded. "Give or take a few
months."
Nutkin's jaw took the opportunity afforded by the ensuing pause in
conversation to snap shut.
"Say that again?"
All playfulness left Jansen, and she looked the ghost-hunter in the
eye.
"Tendou Akane died a century ago."
"No."
"She's a ghost, Skeride."
"NO!" The girl's eyes were pleading, and she was beginning to
hyperventilate. "She... she can't be... You..."
"Can see her? Aye, but not as well as you can. To me, she's
translucent."
"But... the classes, the conversations..."
"She stopped going to lectures once you showed up, and when you think
about it - when has she talked to anyone but me or you?" Childra crossed
her fingers and hoped Skeride was too much in shock to remember that she'd
seen Akane speak to Ranma, Rat and Kim.
She was in luck.
The Assassin looked at the ghost-lover with ice in her eyes. Her
breathing was relaxed, now, but her muscles were tense.
"You betrayed me," she hissed. Childra stood still. This wasn't the
Nutkin she knew. "You... You've been taking care of the bardo... You
_befriended_ her... You made ME befriend her! I TRUSTED YOU!"
A metallic 'clang' resonated through the small room as Skeride's
p'ur-bu was blocked by Jansen's machete.
"Not so fast, little one," said the historian in a quiet voice. "There
ARE other ways of settling this."
* * * * *
"So, Sable," said Hiroshi, turning back to his companion, "what did you
think of that conversation?"
"I did not understand it."
"Good. Then all is as it should be."
"The _drink_, sirs."
"With pearls?"
"Not the hot one, sir."
The bartender sat the mug down in the middle of the table, slipping two
large straws into it, and promptly retired to the liquor counter.
Little time was lost as Hiroshi bent his body over the drink to take a
large sip.
"You're the one who asked for it," he said after raising his head. "Why
don't you try some?"
The Executioner lowered his head hesitantly, keeping his eyes on Hiroshi
at all times - he wasn't used to letting down his guard, even during social
events. When the constraints of physics and biology no longer allowed him
to maintain eye contact, he gave in fully and closed his eyes, wrapping his
lips tightly around the stiff pink cylinder.
He remained in his hunch for a long time, enough for Hiroshi to build up
courage for a more daring move. Several times he started, then withdrew,
but eventually he found the boldness necessary to reach out and stroke the
surface of Sable's ponytail with the palm of his hand. He did it carefully,
below the knot and lightly so that the boy (the man, he corrected himself)
wouldn't feel it. The strands were smooth and soft to a degree which only
genetic engineering could achieve.
He allowed himself further liberties, gently stroking the small curly
fibres growing at the base of Sable's neck. Hiroshi moved his index finger
over them in a spiral, daring himself to perform actions he knew would make
a shiver diffuse through the Executioner's skin. And it did. After a few
seconds, Sable jerked slightly, stopped his sipping and opened his eyes,
raising his iri to meet those of his friend.
Hiroshi smiled, without taking his hand from its place on Sable's neck.
The Executioner quickly raised and lowered an eyebrow, then went back to
his drink as if nothing had happened. If anything, he seemed to be sucking
with gusto - his already-sunken cheeks retracted even farther in as he
pulled the warm, sweet liquid into his mouth.
< Silence gives consent... > Emboldened by Sable's mild reaction,
Hiroshi allowed his finger to wander away from the hairline. He traced the
arboreal patterns of the young man's veins with his finger, being careful to
brush against the tops of all the tiny, nigh-invisible golden hairs that
covered his skin. Once in a while, as he worked his way down, he'd find a
round scar where an arterial line had been, or deep purple tracks from a
careless blood test. He continued for as long as he could, even reaching
below the first layer of plastic-fibre mesh that made up Sable's shirt, but
the body armour put an end to his probing.
Sable, who had stiffened during the informal examination, now relaxed in
the same way that he did when he was told to stand 'at ease'. Without
saying so - without saying ANYTHING - he was waiting.
For what?
Ah. Of course.
Hiro's grin spanned the breadth of his face as he gave one of the vein
junctions a quick, sharp, tweak.
Sable jerked.
Hiroshi pinched, now, in a different location, and he could almost
_hear_ the increased suction in Sable's straw. The boy's cheeks formed a
hyperbola when seen from the front, now, and before he'd covered half the
neck in blue-green bruises the entire drink was gone, but Sable kept drawing
in air, and expelling it from his lungs in ragged bursts.
"If you're looking for fleas, I assure you he has none."
Sable straightened himself almost convulsively, going from semi-prone
to a formal, straight-backed seating stance in under a second. Hiroshi's
hand was crushed between his body armour and the back of the bench.
"Executress."
"Sakuin-sama."
"And that trouble breathing had better be from one of Onocorp's
experimental viri."
"Yes, Executress."
Hiroshi decided to remain silent. His attempt at flattery had not gone
well, and he'd been answered with a glare many times worse than an insult.
"Where were you for our appointment, SE-1B-Y-L?"
A barely noticeable pause, then,
"I forgot."
"You are fortunate that a capable memory was not one of your original
specifications. But it will be." She pointed at the empty glass. "What
was that?"
"White hot chocolate, Executress."
"Have you deserved it?"
"I trained well, Executress."
"Ah, but did you accomplish a mission?"
"I was assigned no mission."
"Precisely. Hence, you were not entitled to that white hot chocolate."
"It was bought for me."
"Regardless. I expect you to regurgitate the beverage and present the
contents to me."
"Yes, Executress."
"After our appointment."
"Yes, Executress."
"Say goodbye to your colleague, SE-1B-Y-L."
Sable nodded and stood, allowing Hiro to retrieve and nurse his
throbbing hand. Almost absent-mindedly, the Executioner looked at Hiroshi,
raised the corners of his lips somewhat and placed his right hand firmly on
his shoulder, staying that way for perhaps half-a-dozen heartbeats.
"If the honourable Executioner would deign to set his legs in motion and
walk towards my office, the Executress would be most grateful." There were
far too many things that Sakuin was good at, and sarcasm was one of them.
Still silent, Sable regained his usual granite composure and practiced
posture, walking towards the exit with measured steps.
Hiroshi watched him go, but he wasn't worried.
He'd seen his smile, he'd felt the pressure of his large palm through
his shirt...
He would return.
Soon.
* * * * *
"Tendou Akane." Skeride's face was grim, and the contrasts in its
colouring were greater than usual. Her skin seemed paler, the odd rings
around her eyes darker... She looked... tired, worn out.
*What is it, Ske-chan?*
The Gosunkugi lowered her eyes to the floor while the fingers of her
right hand played with the holster at her side.
*Is something wrong? Is it Rei-*
Skeride let out a small chuckle.
"No. Not about Rat. It's about you."
*Me?*
The Assassin looked up.
"You."
*M... Me?*
Skeride's eyes glazed over and her mouth began to tremble slightly.
Akane noticed a slight bulge go down her throat as she swallowed.
"I trusted you," she whispered.
*I... I'm sorry?* It was the ghost who now felt like shaking.
"I _trusted_ you, Akane," she repeated, now with more emphasis. "I
believed you were of the living. I thought of you as my _friend_!"
*Living? W... what are you talking about, Nutkin? I-*
<I'm bluffing? I'm trying to find out where to run to?>
"What am I talking about?" The Assassin's face hardened into the
cynical mask feared by all of Tokyo's dearly not-quite-departed. "You
don't belong here," she hissed.
A moment's hesitation on the part of both, and Skeride's right hand
darted from her side to Akane's shoulder-
-where she let it rest gently so as to not go through the fragile
ki-form of the woman.
The ghost was petrified, and rather than try to speak, merely stared at
Skeride with widened eyes.
Nutkin smiled slightly as she noticed that Akane had instinctively
turned a few shades paler.
"You don't belong here, Akane, but I'll do everything in my power to
make sure that you do." Tears threatened to block her speech.
*W... why?*
"I thought of you as my friend."
The ghost looked at the Assassin uncomprehensively.
"I would still like think of you as my friend. If... If you will allow
it."
*Skeride...*
The two girls exchanged smiles, and began to plan their future.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hunter, prey
What is the distinction?
Spirits' sway
Driven to extinction
Feelings once cast from this world
Should stay buried
In a grave both permanent and
Acrid, arid
Why do I then feel so drawn
To this... figure? Demon-spawn?
Rising from the shadows as into them I melt
Mockery of what until this night I felt
'Dead that roam,
Bardo who the live fear
Send them home,
They do not belong here'
Surely this boy's an exception
His undeath a cruel deception...
'Til I'm sure I sheathe my dagger
And with trembling steps I stagger
Home.
- Gosunkugi Skeride
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
END 'THE ICEMAN MELTETH'
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Author's notes:
This story was originally two and a half... Quite some time ago, Adrian
Wong had asked me to write a Sable/Skeride story, and I quickly complied
with a short called 'Cupid and Psycho'. I wasn't entirely pleased with it,
though, and set it aside, only showing it to people when they asked for
previews of Episode 6. (I'd toyed with the idea of making it part of that
episode.) The Childra/Skeride scenes were written when I had a sudden flash
of how to introduce a major post-Converging Series plot arc. Nope, I'm not
telling you what it is, but you can be sure that this is the first important
foreshadowing of it. (There ARE minor hints throughout Converging Series...)
Anyhow, these bits were languishing in limbo until Vilja Väisänen wrote to
me with a rare complaint. She pointed out, quite rightly, that though I had
lesbian and bisexual women and romances in my stories, I'd failed to include
any gay or bisexual men. I promptly answered her, saying that her complaint
was justified, and I'd noticed it myself (I had). The problem lay in that I
don't use any more men than are absolutely necessary in my stories, and
those that are present are largely spoken for... (And I am *NOT* touching
the Mikado/Konatsu story with a twenty-foot pole.) As I was going through
the list of men, explaining exactly why I couldn't use them, I pointed out
for Sable that even if I *did* get him into a male/male relationship, he'd
have to be bisexual, since I wanted him to end up with Skeride. (Is that a
spoiler? Oops.)
That got me thinking.
And thinking.
And thinking.
The more I thought, the more attractive the idea appeared... First off,
Sable's being bisexual with a gay bias (or even better, fully sexually
confused) would explain a few things in Jeff Hosmer's 'Kagami', and would
lead to BEAUTIFUL comic/dramatic/tragic potential whenever Skeride started
to chase after him. (She's rather persistent. Y'all remember what happened
when she tried to woo Rat, right?)
So... anyway, here's the result. I was originally going to have the
Sable/Hiro story be on its own (heck, it WAS on its own until five minutes
ago!), then I cut-and-pasted my old scenes into it. I'm quite pleased with
the result...
Many thanks to the (streamlined) R2096 ML for their helpful commentary!
Let me know what you think!
-CW
P.S. To write this, I basically set Shirley Walker's score for 'Batman: Mask
of the Phantasm' on auto-repeat. It fits Sable's character beautifully.
P.P.S. - Yes, I *did* compose music for Skeride's song (the end quote), but
I don't have any way to record it.
Kingston
November 14th, 1998
5:22 PM
----------------------------------------------------------------------------