"Meeting As if By Chance"
May. 14th, 2013 08:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
butterflydreamingMeeting as if By Chance
It did not matter if Sonomi Amamiya, now Sonomi Daidouji, hadn’t spoken to Chrys since her last visit to Japan over twenty years ago; Nadeshiko still stubbornly called her cousin in the United States several times a year. It was traditional to catch up on each other’s birthdays, but on May twentieth (across the Date Line), Chrys found herself disbelievingly listening to Fujitaka instead.
She wanted to fly immediately to Tomoeda; it was the first thing she could think to do. She wanted to see Nadeshiko. Her second thought pushed the first from her mind, filling her with a calm coldness. Yukito Tsukishiro would have certainly fled after his crime, to somewhere far from Tomoeda. It was possible that he had even left Japan. The chance possibilities of where he had gone were innumerable.
Chrys only had to pull on one. It was something she had the power to do, after all.
. . .
Yukito enjoyed his first airplane ride. The food was bad, and the in-flight movie wasn’t very interesting, but he had a seat by a window. There was something familiar about looking down through the breaks in the clouds and seeing the ocean below, and about the clouds themselves, seen from above. He slept a bit on the long flight, but whenever he woke, the scene through the window was always the same: the distant sparkling of the Pacific, the racing mists, and the hypnotic blue of the sky.
His grandparents had surprized him – they were sending him alone to California while they themselves slipped away to yet another romantic get-away. He had gotten to the airport late, though, because his flight had been readying to leave while he was still getting his electronic ticket. The boarding agents hurried him on; the flight attendant helped him stow his small carry-on and showed him how to buckle the seatbelt; the plane taxied down the runway, and began gaining the speed to make its leap into the sky.
Yukito thought about death in those moments while the engines screamed and the airplane fought the bonds of gravity. He was reassured by the calm of the other passengers, though he himself felt as though the plane could fall out of the air, unable to get free. The moment when the airplane did break free felt like magic.
He was going to see Hollywood, and the original Disneyland, and the famous Venice Beach. It would have been nice to have someone going with him, he thought. He hadn’t made any close friends among his schoolfellows, though. He’d never been able to find anyone that he could be close to, except for Nadeshiko-san, and she had always been like a mother to him.
For some reason, thinking about her stirred a pain inside of him. It was strange that he would miss her so much already; it wasn’t like they were never going to see each other again. He would remember to bring back souveniers -- something for Nadeshiko, and something for little Yuriko, too.
. . .
Yue was trying to adjust to this most current turning of fate’s wheel. He hadn’t dared to sleep while Yukito was manifest, and was tired from constantly adjusting the perceptions of his false form. Taking the plane to Los Angeles had been a matter of chance rather than choice; it was the first flight for which he could purchase a ticket, and it was already boarding. He would have prefered a more familiar destination, and one where he would have had a better chance of finding someone with magic ability. If it had to be America, San Francisco or New York would have ranked higher on his list of choices. This city in the coastal United States was strange and unfriendly, but at least he had been left alone while he tried to find his way.
It was night and Yue was in his true form, though he had tried with a change of garments to look more ordinary. Where he was, on a wide street crowded with car traffic, lights, and people, he didn’t stand out over-much. Though not quiet as flambouyant as some areas of Tokyo, Sunset Boulevard had its population of the brightly colored and the theatrically dressed. He wove through the crowds that stood outside of doorways, pushing the limits of his thin energy. He had sufficent magic to survive, for now, so he was only searching for opportunity: someplace to rest, and someone to use as a point of orientation.
. . .
Chrys was not a vampire of the club scene, but thoughts of Nadeshiko chased her from her house in Silverlake to a busy place on Sunset, a divy club that served passably strong drinks to regulars like she was. It was against the law now to smoke inside the bar, so she stood outside on an upper balcony and listened to the loud music from the ground floor being distorted by the comings and goings through the front door.
She kept her mind blank by concentrating on her efforts to blow smoke rings, which was a skill she had never perfected. She didn’t smoke often enough to practice them, or to become addicted to the nicotine as a daily fix, but when she was upset she needed the comfort of that little filthy habit. No one smoked in L.A. anymore; the act gave her a pathetically rebellious feeling – pathetic because she was nearly forty, and had no one to rebel against.
She blew vaguely-shaped clouds of smoke into the warm night air and watched the people milling on the street below. Her glance wandered to keep them from feeling her scrutiny, and she kept her expression disinterested. She was stubbing out her half-finished cigarette and about to go back inside when her glance snagged on him, an ash-blonde whose hair was long but cut bluntly just above his shoulders, with a fringy length around his face that made wisps of it drift over his eyes. His expression was cold, more stern than aloof, but he moved slowly through the crowd on the sidewalk, as if he was looking for something. Straight-legged Levi’s, boots, and a close-fitting long sleeved shirt -- she liked the way they looked on him. When he crossed under her balcony, she let her voice drift downward.
“Hey there,” she said, in a conversational tone and volume. It wasn’t her best line, but she was a woman, and had found that it was better to be obvious than to be clever. He looked up warily, stopped in place and looking like he could slip away at any moment. With his face turned upward, she noted the asian lines in his features, the picture-book attractiveness, and the lack of any tan at all. He was striking in a head-turning kind of way. Chrys turned up the charm; she didn’t want to lose this one.
The woman on the balcony above had an aura that spiked with magic, not potential but active magic. She had a certain amount of physical appeal, in her summer dress and with a pretty face framed by loose brown hair, but Yue’s interest was caught by the more desirable appearance of power. It was possibly just co-incidence that she was Japanese, from what he could tell of her looks and stature, although magic ability seemed to occur more often among her kinsman than other races. He wondered briefly if she had inherited it from her family line, and then dismissed that contemplation, deciding that the source did not matter.
“Come in and have a drink with me,” she said, raising a partially filled Collins glass into the light. Her manner was coquettish and blatantly inviting.
“It’s rather loud,” Yue countered, with a short nod to indicate the club’s interior.
His mellow voice floated up to Chrys’s ear, carrying without effort over the uneven noise. British accent, Chrys thought, feeling the usual response, a warmth deep and low within her. She had a peculiar weakness for certain accents, and his was the clear, refined turn of vowels that had made her an addict to public television. She wanted that voice whispering with intimate closeness into her ear. “Or stay there,” she said with an implication of promise, “and I’ll come down.” The man crossed his arms and looked prepared to wait. Chrys slunk back into the club with nonchalance, but once inside, she hurried down to the ground level, only pausing to check herself in a mirrored column and blot her lips. She moved out the door shortly, and pushed through the loitering crowd.
He wasn’t looking for her when she walked up to him, and for a moment she had a glimpse past the pretense. He had his eyes and his face tipped slightly downward, and he looked… tired. But the mask snapped back in place when she entered the field of his vision, and he regarded her with obvious speculation. Liking the idea of throwing him off-balance, Chrys embraced him casually when she walked up, sliding her hands across his back with a natural ease. He still had his arms crossed over his ribs, and his eyes widened at her suddenly close proximity.
“You don’t waste any time,” he said.
“Life is short,” she answered smugly. “Where are we going?”
His voice, still quiet, still carried to her clearly. “Do you live nearby?” he asked casually.
“Just about twenty minutes,” Chrys said, and she laughed. He looked at her blankly, aware that there was something he was missing. She laughed again and turned her head away. Of course she knew he wasn’t a local, but his lack of understanding confirmed it for her. “In Silverlake,” she clarified. “Around here, we say everything is twenty minutes away. Without traffic. But there’s always traffic,” she explained. She began to walk, keeping one arm around his waist, and he walked along with her. “In the middle of the night, I think it might actually be true.” As they moved away from the businesses and off to a side street, the crowds disappeared, and they became the only pedestrians on the sidewalk. “My car’s this way,” she said, moving ahead. She dislike releasing him, but casualness required that she relinquish her hold. It didn’t take them long to get to her Maxima; she leaned against the passenger door and looked up at him. He was only a little taller than she was, his height still definitely under six feet. She waited expectantly, but he did nothing.
Chrys pushed one of the loose locks that framed her face back behind one ear. She let her eyes wander over his body, not hiding the way she was looking at him, and then brought her gaze up to meet his again. The look in his eyes was one of uncertainty, the look of someone out of his element and unsure how to proceed. “I’ll be blunt,” Chrys said, using a tone that was frank and gently feminine. “I’m looking for a distraction. So… why don’t you kiss me and we’ll see what happens next?”
She tossed her question out like a dare, but whether the challenge was to herself or to him, Yue would not have been able to say. She tilted her head, making her hair fall away from her neck and shoulders. It gave her an appearance of exposure, and with her palms resting behind her against the car door, she conveyed an openess; there was no contradiction to her invitation. Yue reached up an arm, creating a border with his hand against the room of the car, containing the woman between his body and the sedan. Doing so cause him to lean in slightly, and when he did, the brunette’s eyes began to close with anticipation.
“Why would you invite me home,” he asked, instead of kissing her, “when you haven’t even asked my name?”
She shook her head half-heartedly. “Ask me that later,” she said, her bravado gone. She pushed off the car, and walked around to the street side. After sliding into the driver’s seat and putting a key in the ignition, she leaned across and opened the passenger side door. She sat back into her seat. “Are you coming?” she asked, looking at her hands in her lap. The interior of the car was dark, and the woman’s face was hidden with shadow. Yue stepped in carefully. It had not escaped his notice that she had not asked him why he would be going home with a complete stranger.
She started the engine and pulled on her shoulder belt. When the buckle clicked primly into place, she glanced over his way, but refrained from commenting . He made no move for his own seatbelt; his broken ribs were already shooting lightning pains just from the act of sitting. He had bound them with bandages and was healing himself slowly, but the bones had just begun to knit, so he was concentrating his thin magic on keeping the swelling of the surrounding tissue down. Once he had realized that it took less strength to be in his true form than to be tightly controlling his false form, he had done his best to normalize his appearance. Cutting off his hair had given him a few moments of wounded vanity, especially because he had had to use one of his own crystal daggers, and the cut was not even. But his head felt strangely light afterward, and the act had been almost liberating.
She didn’t say a word as they drove through the brightly lit streets, onto and off of the dark freeway, and through darker streets lined with houses. An upward winding hill led to her house, on a tree-lined street. She pulled into a carport and led him into her home through a side door. “Come in,” she said, extending her hand as they passed through the doorway.
“My bedroom is upstairs,” she said, pausing in the dark interior with her keys in her hand. A few lights were on, dimly illuminating the neighboring room and an upward-leading stairway. They stood in a kitchen, and the reflected light gleamed mutedly against steel counters and fixtures. She hesitated, passing her keys from hand to hand, looking at anything but her guest. After a few aborted attempts to speak, she looked up with a slow exhalation, and said, “I’ve done this before. And as long as you don’t take too much, I’d be willing to donate to you again. But if you kill me,” she added, her voice shifting slightly with her first showing of fear, “your brethren might not find that…” she swallowed, looking for the right word, “neighborly.”
Yue’s eyes narrowed and a frown creased his brow. “What do you…” he started to ask.
“Aren’t you?” Chrys asked, almost shyly, puzzlement crossing her face. Her guest looked at her warily. “An immortal,” she clarified.
Yue was unable to keep the shock from showing on his face. His hostess smiled gently while meeting his eyes. She then stepped into him, close enough to bring her lips to his neck, and softly dragged those lips across his skin, pressing gently against his pulse. It was extremely sensual, and in the closeness of their bodies he could feel the glowing hum of her magic. She brought her chin up to rub against his jawline, and moved her kiss to his mouth.
He kissed back, drawn in by the taste of her magic. His hands gripped her waist, and her hands rested on his back, lightly where his wings would be if they were not hidden. She couldn’t have known that their placement would stir a response. He kissed her a bit harder to control the shiver that her fingers were sending through him.
In her bedroom, in the brighter light, he could see the lightly-colored scars on her wrists, on her inner arm, on her neck and thighs and anywhere a major blood vessel was close to the surface of her skin. They were puncture marks that no one would have mistaken for the path of a needle, but Yue didn’t even come to that conclusion. After leading him onto her bed, she pulled him close to her in a possessive embrace. His injuries screamed, and he could not hold back his own vocal exclamation.
She released him immediately with a startled expression. Yue tossed his head and breathed to dampen the pain. Chrys looked at him with confusion, her eyes running along his torso with suspicion. She reached out and ran a hand carefully under his shirt, touching bandages, causing Yue to flinch. She cautiously peeled the shirt from his body; Yue was too tired, and too pained, not to allow her undressing.
Chrys looked at the abundant bruises and half-healed cuts that patterned Yue’s skin, and brought her hand up to slowly cover her mouth. She guessed at the wrapped ribs; it was a simple conclusion. “Just lie down,” she said, in a voice full of sympathy. “I didn’t know you were hurt.” She tucked her legs under herself. “I’m a little disappointed, but… you can feed, and –” she shrugged her shoulders, let her gesture fill in the blank air, “Maybe another time.”
Yue stared at her. “What is your name?” he asked, preamble to a further question.
“Kikuu,” the woman said, giving him the name of her childhood, the name she used to think of herself. “Chrysanthemum.”
“Kikuu,” said Yue, “what do you think I am?”
Chrys met his eyes with question. “You have skin too pale for the sunlight,” she said carefully, “and your eyes… looked hungry.” Yue laughed, a sound that was anything but merry. Chrys nervously moved a tendril of her hair back behind one ear. “Aren’t you?”
“Not the way you think,” answered Yue. He moved close to her with care. Putting a hand under her chin, he kissed her almost without touching her lips. With very tight control, he pulled a small thread of her magic into himself.
She gasped, and tumbled backwards. “What did you just do?” she asked, her eyes wide.
Yue tasted her magic clearly, and his own eyes widened to stare back at the woman. It was… too much like Nadeshiko’s. The auras had a close kinship. “The power that you have…” he started.
“You’re not a vampire,” said Chrys, with a shaky laugh that edged toward hysteria. “That’s funny.” She laughed again, and edged backward off her bed. “Or are you?”
“No,” said Yue.
“Then what are you?” she asked quietly.
Yue was still trying to understand what he had just become aware of. “I need a source of magic,” he said. “One. Strong enough to keep me living and to restore my abilities. I am… as you said… an immortal, but – with what power I currently have, I am too…” his voice dropped, “weak, to continue much longer.”
“All you need is magic power?” Chrys asked.
Yue nodded, still distracted.
“You can have mine,” Chrys said evenly. Yue looked at her sharply. “Only I have something unfinished. When it’s done, you can have mine.” She sat back down on the bed’s edge. “I stopped using it. Except for this last thing. Because the consequences for what I can do have to balance out the things I’ve done. And it’s not worth it.” She placed her palms flat against the quilt. “So, you can have all of it.”
“What is this thing for which you are waiting?” Yue asked, his own voice quiet. He watched her sigh, her head dropping forward as if with great weight. Her fingers made fists in the bedcover.
“My cousin,” she said. “Someone she thought was a friend attacked her. They don’t know what he did, but she’s…” she looked up toward the ceiling, and a thin track of tears chased down the side of her face. She exhaled heavily. “Her husband says she’s like a sleepwalker. She doesn’t respond to anyone. She doesn’t know Yuriko –”
Yue, already cold with understanding, felt the name slice through him like ice.
“— or Fujitaka, and she doesn’t speak. She’s… just… fading away! So,” the woman said with a fierce swallow, “I’m bringing him to me. The one who did it.”
“What will you do then,” Yue asked quietly.
Chrys turned a hopeless look toward him. “I’ve been asking myself that all night,” she replied desperately. “I thought I would kill him.” She shook her head. “I can’t. I know I can’t. Talk to him, maybe?” she wondered. “Ask him why. Why? Why Nade?” She hugged herself tightly.
Yue picked up his shirt and rose quietly. “I should go,” he said.
Chrys looked up at him in confusion. “No,” she said. “You need rest. You can stay the night, no expectations.” Her eyes looked into his; he was staring at her as if trying to communitcate something that he could not say. When he continued to move toward the doorway, she moved quickly to stand in front of him, blocking his path. “What was that look?” she asked.
Yue put a hand against her bare shoulder, in an attempt to move her aside, but Chrys held her ground and covered his hand with one of her own. Yue carefully extricated his fingers. “It would be better for you if I left now,” he stated.
“I’ll take my chances,” answered the woman.
“Kikuu-san,” said Yue, in carefully slow Japanese, “I am sorry.”
Chrys thought that she shouldn’t have been surprised that he spoke with native fluency, but hearing his words startled her nevertheless. There was something that he was pointedly not saying. As one who kept secrets, she recognized a secret, hidden. “What do I need to forgive you for?” she asked. All at once, realization brushed her mind and sank into her stomach with an undigestable solidity. Her lip trembled. Her eyes, scrutinizing Yue’s averted face, welled with acid-hot tears. “Tsukishiro?” she questioned, knowing already that it was true, remembering that this was the cruel aspect that her magic wore. She stepped back and slightly to the side, out of Yue’s path.
Yue began to move, to take the opportunity to leave. Stress and fatigue caught up to him before he finished a first step. His injured body and his depleted magic collapsed simultaneously, and renewed pain shot through him as he crumpled to the floor. His vision spiraled and then darkened.
Chrys jumped back in startlement when Yue collapsed. Then she stood over him, only staring, while the minutes passed. She thought carefully.
Nadeshiko had been drained; Chrys understood that, now. She didn’t know if it was possible to recover from such a thing. Chrys wondered if Yuriko, the only one who could do something about it, knew. It was… a possibility.
She knelt by Yue’s head, and gently turned him onto his back. His skin felt cold, but cold skin was not something that repulsed her. Was it too much, to be merciful?
She had intended to offer him her blood without question, because his nature, she had thought, demanded blood to sustain him. And then, again without question, she had offered him her magic. Did it make a difference, knowing that he had been the one to take the vitality out of her cousin? It did make a difference, she decided. But it was not enough of a difference to let him die.
Chrys touched a palm to his forehead, brushing back Yue’s ragged hair. If she could have lifted him, she would have moved him to her bed; instead, she stayed beside him, quietly waiting for him to regain a measure of consciousness.
By the time his lids parted weakly, it was early morning, and Chrys had had many hours to become certain in her decision. She had gotten up to cover Yue with a light blanket, and had propped herself against her bed, letting herself drift into periodic napping. She was vaguely awake when he rolled up to all fours with a low moan.
He looked at her warily, questioning the situation wordlessly. He was unprepared for the first words that the woman spoke.
“Can I offer you breakfast?” Chrys asked.
. . .
(Chances are… “to be continued”)
