The downpour was harsh for someone of his constitution;
bronchitis, pneumonia, and a myriad of other diseases he deemed unnecessary to
commit to memory - he was susceptible to each one and it was a sign of
weakness. (Disgraceful.) He would use this vessel to his liking and what
happened as a result was of little concern. Akutagawa had dealt with far worse
hardships than a heavy storm. It was not as if his viscera was lying upon the
ground because of this child’s pitiful attempt to refute him. He would see this
through to the end, a dog’s tenacity ingrained into his core; he intended to tear
into the remnants of her hope with a vicious precision. A cough preluded his
next string of interrogation, disregarding the ache constricting his lungs and
what weak protest she had to offer.
“Can you?” A challenge issued by the hound, one that spared
no time to lay bare every vice he saw in her. “Can you stop the way your
fingers yearn for a weapon to hold, the way you see others as targets to be cut
down when necessary? Can you stop your instinct to slaughter when it is your
very being? You were raised to kill, Kyouka. You are a killer, and you will
surely kill without hesitation again. It is your nature.” Indeed,
children of the mafia were mere weapons, their value stemming only from their
ability to destroy. He did not know what sort of life she led before carving up
her parents, but he was certain of one thing: Ozaki had saved her from despair
and gave her a reason to continue breathing. Perhaps she was like him and that
person, he once thought.
But his conjecture had been wrong. The mafia was a sanctuary
of darkness for children like her - those who were shunned, left
to choke on the muck of the unforgiving nadir. It was not a merciful haven,
but it was a way to survive, to derive meaning from a dismal reality. She
should have been grateful to be spared from a meaningless existence of
groveling in filth, never knowing the blessing of a purpose. Yet she would
prefer to stand in the rain before him and futilely reject him rather than live beside him, beside the comrades she had been given in the cruelty of the world.
The words of a fool were contagious, promises of blithe days
a poison. She desired a life where she would not have to take another life, but
what could she possibly hope to accomplish when slaughter was all she knew? When
she fell, Akutagawa would not be there to catch her; he would only be a vulture gazing upon her broken corpse.
The rain had thoroughly soaked his garment, the chill now
seeping into his skin and bones. The tightness in his chest had gotten worse;
each breath failed to grant him reprieve, instead coiling around his lungs in
an act of betrayal. His condition made him familiar with this type of pain, but
it had been a while since he experienced it to this extent. It’s an
inconvenience, how the coughs that regularly plagued him were now akin to
daggers thrust between his ribs. A labored wheeze left him when the
cough subsided, his frame lurching forward for a moment before settling upright once more. It would be best to leave now and save himself the grief of both this child’s ignorance and the weather, but he would not rest until the she bent to his truth.
◣ ✿ ◥ Kyouka, of course, had to question what he knew about her life if he was accusing her of being raised to kill; he knew of her parents being killed by Demon Snow, but not the true circumstance of the incident. He didn’t know that her mother, the original possessor of the ability, used it to commit murder-suicide to protect the girl before transferring the ability so that she could use it to protect herself. That even though her parents committed crime, they raised her in a kind and loving home and never taught her to hurt a fly.
Three years didn’t come close to the time she’d spent living with her mother and father. Thinking she’d killed them for three years did damage her, however, making her easily susceptible to the teachings of the mafia. How different would her life have been if someone from the Agency found her instead? Would she have no blood on her hands? No sins to atone for?
Ah, such trains of thought were pointless. If the Agency picked her up, she may never have known the truth behind her parents’ deaths (and lives, for that matter). She could spend years thinking of every possible path her life could’ve taken, and it would never help her deal with anything.
His coughing fit pulled her attention away from thought. She noted that his condition seemed to be getting worse the longer they stood out in the rain. Perhaps she could defeat him by just stubbornly keeping them out there–the hypothermia might be worth it. But after hearing stories of how the Agency’s resident doctor treated her patients, she wasn’t too keen on needing treatment. Maybe a display of mercy would throw him off.
With that in mind, she raised a shaking hand and pointed a few blocks away, towards one of the few restaurants keeping its business open despite the weather. “Over there. Inside. Hot tea. We can talk there.” If she remembered correctly, the owner of that restaurant was a kind, generous man who would likely offer them warm blankets and dry clothing from his apartment located above his business. She enjoyed going there.
Stepping forward, she used her outstretched hand to grab his wrist before all but dragging him in that direction (as though fearless in the act, but she was, in fact, afraid that he’d recoil and lash out at her). There was some saying about being the bigger person, but even if only to spite him, she’d buy him a cup of tea.
For the most part, she just wanted out of the rain, and getting home without freezing to death was proving more difficult than expected.
◣ ✿ ◥ –what? It had been an odd enough day without hearing those words leaving her former mentor’s mouth, and the girl didn’t know how to feel about it. First, she’d been giving a simple errand (just delivering paperwork!). A normal start to any day, yet when she got there, not only did she come across Akutagawa but an ambush as well, apparently. The attackers were far more than common thugs too, as though the day could get any worse. Holed up in a room with him was far from ideal.
While the words were shocking, and as reluctant as she was to say anything positive about the man, having an ally and an enemy each turned out better than having two enemies. Still, she didn’t want to take any bets as to how long this makeshift partnership–if it could even be called such a thing–would last because she didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him.
But she wanted to get out alive. Preferably without killing the enemies, which she knew Akutagawa would do. And what was that nonsense about protecting her? It sounded like some attempt at kindness, although it was probably a more subtle attempt at brainwashing than what he’d previously employed. She doubted he considered anything aside from how he could use her ability to–
Not the problem at the moment. She needed to figure a way out of there. From what she could tell, they were surrounded; any attempt to leave the building would put them in a firing zone. And could she really trust that Akutagawa would shield her from that? Possibly. At least, the words seemed honest enough, but then again, it was Akutagawa (not that she ever knew him to lie).
Kyouka glanced around the room. The support beams. This building had once been an office space, but after being condemned, it became run down and abandoned–not where she’d been told to go for her job, but where she ended up after the ambush. If she remembered correctly, it was scheduled for demolition anyway. She had a plan.
“Akutagawa,” she spoke up after a couple minutes, “If we knock down the support beams, the building will collapse. Then we can go up and escape onto the roof of a nearby building.” Their enemy would have falling concrete to deal with, and their abilities allowed for such a plan to be completed rather easily. Plus, it gave the men a fair chance at getting out alive rather than her allowing Akutagawa to slaughter them all getting to safety. “We should take at least one of them alive for interrogation.”
With luck, he understood why. It worked out better for her in the end as well, since she wouldn’t have to rely on the man for protection.
Kunikida decided at some point that as a growing child, Kyouka needed to eat better to keep up her health. While she agreed (so long as sweets were not taken out of her diet), the particular food he got her--well, she didn't like it. She was walking around with the box of food in her hands when she saw a certain someone: a certain someone who wasn't picky with food and had given her sweets not long ago. As such, she approached him and held out the food for him to take. "Here. Now we're even."
Just because he wasn’t terribly picky with his food did not mean he appreciated the curious container being thrust out at him as if he was some sort of unwanted food repository.
Furthermore, Akutagawa could not ascertain what warranted this visit, the child usually steering clear of him if she could prevent their meeting. She thought he did not notice the how, at times, long sleeves would disappear around a corner with the soft pad of sandals as accompaniment. It was why the current situation was nothing short of baffling to him; the hound eyed the box with suspicion. (Was it poisoned? If so, he would be a fool to accept. But then again, it would make her a fool to offer.) Akutagawa could refuse her and leave, but the thought of food going to waste disturbed him worse than the thought of taking the box from her hands. He relented, spindly fingers curling around the container and lifting it from her hold.
Eyes reminiscent of the abyss scrutinized the contents of the box once the cover was lifted. A simple lunch, one that did not seem out of the ordinary, except…ah. Vegetables, most likely ones she was passing onto him in an act of childishness. Kyouka was not as outspoken as Elise, but the way she seemed determined to force her ‘good will’ onto him was certainly indicative of her age.
Out of sheer curiosity (and not the beast growling from the insides of his viscera), he picked up some of the food and brought it to his mouth. Flavor immediately burst on his otherwise caged tongue, his body thankful for the offering even if the hound himself is not. After a moment of contemplation, he gave his judgement. “It’s good.”
Whoever made this had put a calculated effort into it; the rice was not hardened, the vegetables still retaining their rich flavor, and the egg still retaining a fluffy quality. Overall, an acceptable meal having been prepared hours beforehand. Why anyone would want to rid their hands of it was unknown. In the midst of this thought, he turned his attention towards the child once more, his usual glower lessened by a quiet inquisitiveness. “You’d best have some, too.” Because really, there was no way he would be able to finish all of this on his own.
Her defiance fell on deaf ears, for the whining of a disobedient child was nothing but an addition to this cacophony of ignorance. Though she was well-versed in the art of stealth and slaughter, the child knew nothing. Her time in the mafia was a mere fraction of the time he spent writhing in the darkness, her yearning not yet smothered by the reality of her situation. To carry hope was not foolish, but to pray for the impossible was. He thought to do her a service and crush it thoroughly.
“That is correct. You did not simply hurt others; you have killed them, Kyouka. And regardless of how you choose to atone, the dead do not come back to life.” Another cough, fragments of words sputtering into his hand. “You cannot give back what you so cruelly tore away. No amount of helping others will negate what you’ve done, or what you are.” But it was not as if he looked down upon her crimes; killing was a means of survival and she survived beautifully.
At the mention of Dazai, pale lips set into a firm line. Apathy in the abyssal waters of his gaze turned tumultuous, the intent to silence, kill, budding on the brink of his tongue.
(DO NOT BRING DAZAI-SAN INTO THIS, YOU WRETCH.)
Her delicate fingers were clumsily prying into a festering wound, but he is not a stranger to the pain. Her attempt to refute him would be in vain.
“Dazai-san… has had a lapse in judgement. Do not speak as if you know him.” He wields the ache in his hollow chest as a sharp anger, eyes boring into her bowed head. The chill of the rain would not quell the fire that desired to raze her very being to the ground, the same that had kindled his will to live. Kyouka did not know of the mafia’s demonic prodigy, her introduction to the underworld after his defection. She had no right to the pithy string of words that dared to leave her lips. “He was a ruthless executive of the mafia, who cut foes down in cold blood. He was the one who gave me a purpose and taught me how to kill with my ability. You do not know his true nature.” Though the last of his statement was spoken without hesitation, Akutagawa did not know of his mentor’s intentions any more than she did.
Being Dazai’s protege meant he was closer to him than others, but he seemed to know the least about the boy who engraved lessons into his body and mind. Akutagawa barely knew his reasons for taking an apprentice, and nothing about his reason for defection. Memories of that day seared through his mind once more, bile rising in his throat. He despised such a visceral reaction, his weakness rattling his lungs in the confines of his ribs. Each cough was accompanied by a jerk of his willowy frame, the rain threatening to fell him with each unsteady sway. But Akutagawa would remain as the child’s overhanging phantom despite his illness, taking her despair for himself.
◣ ✿ ◥ There were many things she wanted to say, but none of them could leave her tongue. She knew there was no point. That even if she didn’t want to hurt anyone, she still did. She knew that. Even if she didn’t want to kill anyone, she still did. She knew that. Even if it was the man before her who brainwashed her and commanded the deaths, she still did it. She knew that. Even if she sought to redeem herself for her actions, she still committed heinous crimes. She hurt and killed and for what? Because she was told to do it? Because she got to live as a result?
No matter how much she wanted to throw the blame back at Akutagawa, at the mafia, she couldn’t do it. It was her own selfishness that allowed her to commit those crimes. It was because she wanted to live that thirty-five people, human beings with lives of their own, died by her hand. No matter how much she wanted to move on from the past, the dark thoughts clung onto her.
She had a choice. She’d always had a choice. And even at the cost of others’ lives, she chose to live, much in the same way her mentor had. In that regard, they weren’t different from each other. The man she resented–and at the darkest of times, they’d survived in the same way. But unlike her desire for the light, she doubted he’d ever leave the darkness behind.
Despite knowing that it was useless to argue with him, she still wanted to point out that no one could figure out Dazai’s true nature; even Ranpo didn’t, as far as she knew, and if the greatest detective couldn’t grasp him, Akutagawa certainly couldn’t. Still, with Dazai being a touchy subject for the other, she decided to drop it. Truce or no truce, Kyouka didn’t want to push her former mentor too far.
Rain rolled from her clothes and skin, joining the puddles that formed in the street. Her hands itched to reach up to wring the water out of her hair, but the act would be fruitless: it’d only get soaked through once more in a matter of seconds. Not only that–she was tired.
“I know all of that.” So much for her determination to disagree. The aching coldness put a damper on her will, however. All she wanted was to go home, yet she couldn’t turn her back and walk away from this man. “But just because I can’t undo what I’ve done doesn’t mean I have to keep doing it. Even if the dead can’t come back, I can stop killing.”
Would he listen? Doubtful. And perhaps the interaction would only draw out longer if she kept retorting him, but in the end, she was still childish.
Food is a near-luxury for beasts, who hunt for each moment their pulse throbs in their veins. Such a creature has little choice in what it kills, dictated by nature to devour the weak. The same can be said for someone for Akutagawa; he consumes only what is necessary, to ensure he is able to move, to fight. Rich tastes are happenstance, and at times even unwelcome. He does not indulge in meals often, merely grateful he has something to pass his lips and stave off inconvenient pangs of hunger.
With his earnings, he supposes he could savor extravagant morsels regularly, but such a thought is alien to him — days of poverty have settled into the way ribs protrude from beneath a pallid canvas, or how sallow skin is framed by gaunt cheekbones. To eat is not a pleasure. It is a means of survival. (The hunger of a phantom cannot be sated by what mortals hope to offer.)
While he is meticulous, his health is subject to negligence, deemed of little import when there is work to be done. He has endured the worst; as long as he can stand, there is no need to coddle this vessel. However, he found himself in a bind, body disobeying the simplest of commands. (Just when had he last eaten? Two days ago? Three? Perhaps more?) It was how he found himself morosely seeking out the nearest source of food, ordering the first item on the menu without bothering to adequately assess his choices. If it’s food, he’ll eat it and quell this stubborn ache.
The crepe he holds should appear enticing, a combination of fruit and cream that should whet his appetite. But it feels heavy in his grasp, the sheer amount of food packed into a single frail shell. His stomach turns when the overpowering scent of strawberries reaches his senses, insides clamoring for sustenance yet all too ready to reject it. An experimental bite is all that is needed to pass judgement.
It’s too sickly sweet for him and while he despises the waste of food, he considers leaving it for another; he physically cannot stomach this. But he is aware of how the child watches him intently from the table next to his, sneaking glances at the confection he’s let rest on the table. And, for a moment, he sees the desire of eight others reflected in her eyes, the same unreserved yearning that was extinguished far too soon because he was far too weak prevent it. Withered roots in his chest coil around something he’s forgotten. Memories tug at a nonexistent empathy, and he relents.
At this moment, he feels nothing for her, the bitterness of her betrayal now smothered embers. Still, pity disgusts him. This is a rational exchange. He responds to the suggestion without gratitude. “Fine, do as you please.” Long fingers deliver the treat to her delicate hands, careful not to spill the contents.
"You deserve better." Three words, a quick statement, a sentence that slipped from the girl's lips before she realised it. If she could, she'd take them back ( because who was she to show sympathy towards someone like Akutagawa, who saw value in killing and manipulated her for years? ); however, she also knew that holding onto petty grudges against others wouldn't help her grow in the end. Akutagawa, of course, ignored everything she said anyway, so there'd be no point in worrying too much.
‘ You deserve bullet holes if you can’t figure out how to protect yourself with your ability. ’
The words came from lips fixed in a bored scowl, the devil’s eyes set just above them ━ that was the last time someone had ever told him he ‘deserved’ something. It was scripture etched into pallor, a commandment that was present in every word exhumed from his body; ONLY THOSE WITH STRENGTH DESERVE TO LIVE. With actions came due consequences, each heartbeat the result of a ruthless desire. He deserved to survive, because he devoured the weak without remorse. And he deserved the death that clung to him, preying on the breath from his lungs just as he stole from others. These are the two karmas he had wrought from his existence. Nothing more, nothing less.
It is for this reason Akutagawa was taken aback by her utterance, nearly turning to bore into her skull with a look of disbelief. Were the three words a pithy offering to him? If they were, they tasted foul on his tongue; he was not aware she could craft weapons so saccharine.
He did not know what compelled the statement to escape her, the child often mute before him. Did she seek atonement? Or peace? Their freshly severed ties did not warrant favorable sentiments of any kind, not when all he had done was steep her in darkness when she desperately longed for the light. Akutagawa was a flesh-bound shadow that suffocated her, his mere presence threatening to snuff out the delusion she had finally attained. A new resilience was present in her eyes, but he did not miss the way she faltered, hesitated with each silent movement when his gaze fell upon her.
He was not deserving of ‘better,’ regardless of what it entailed, nor did he deserve the pity of a naive child. Akutagawa only found both to be vulgar in their candor. Perhaps she had truly been blinded when bathed in the sun.
In the end, he chose not to acknowledge the child, for she was victim to another illusion that clouded her judgement in this gilded life of hers. She was dismissed with finality as he strode past without even a glance given at his former subordinate. (Three simple words with not a breath of value. Yet they would remain as a haunting in the back of his mind.)
His previously curved spine straightened so he could properly look upon her frail form. “Home? Is that what you dare to call that pitiful group of vermin?” They were not the ones who plucked her from a pool of her parents’ fresh blood, nor were they the ones who fostered her ability to kill so skillfully. They did not give her a place to flourish or a mentor to study under. They did not bequeath to her a meaning for her pitiful existence.
Contempt sank into sallow features. While he did not crave for her blood dripping over his jowls, he could not fathom why she would spurn all that the mafia had done for her. At her age, he desperately clawed and howled for a place that wasn’t a hollow life in the Nadir. She was given everything he struggled for and more, but forsook it all —
simply because she did not like it. He found it to be quite impudent.
( tell me, does the mire seep into your flesh and rot your bones? would you beg for the earth to swallow you while trudging through the mud? you learn to embrace the bitter darkness yet you are starv’d for the transient light. oh, but your legs are so heavy.)
Another bout of coughs wracked his frame, Akutagawa pausing to catch them in his palm. “To think you can live among them is foolish; you are not a lamb. Your blood is black.” One could never fully break the chains of the mafia; even that person must know this. The child was filled with a misplaced bravado, a quality that irritated him to no end (and even moreso than his throat in the storming atmosphere). “Your name may be cleared, but that does not mean your sins have disappeared from existence.” They would be sure to fall upon her with one false step, much like the current downpour.
◣ ✿ ◥ She knew that. She anticipated the words that fell from his lips, for they were the same words that called to her from every shadow she passed ( and even worse at night when they bathed her in their taunting murkiness ). For years, she listened to every word he said, and each one echoed within her mind despite the times she tried to push them out. She killed thirty-five people. It gave her value. This man both honed and commended that ability. It’d be a shame to let it go to waste.
But she wanted to prove him wrong: that desire kept her from letting those words take hold of her once again so that she could keep fighting for the light. If she allowed herself, even for a moment, to fall back into those old habits, she’d be going back on her word to Atsushi, to Fukuzawa, to the entire Armed Detective Agency. They allowed her to join their ranks because they believed in her promise. On the other hand, all the man in front of her believed in was how much death and destruction could be brought on by her ability.
There were plenty of words Akutagawa spoke that Kyouka disagreed with; in fact, most of his lessons had been disregarded as false or delusional. That didn’t mean he didn’t know what he was talking about. Some of his words were truer that she would admit: “Your blood is black. Your name may be cleared, but that does not mean your sins have disappeared from existence.” She knew that. As much as she tried to convince herself otherwise, that was a fact she couldn’t ignore. That first day with the Agency–she should’ve been taken to the police to receive any punishment they saw fit.
Kyouka wouldn’t admit it. “So what?” she ground out, tone bitter. She didn’t look up at him. “Just because I’ve hurt people means I can’t help them? That’s stupid.” These words were to spite him–paraphrased from Akutagawa’s precious ex-mentor. “Even Dazai-san knows that.”
Thin fingers rested over his mouth as his frame shook, expelling a few wheezing coughs after his mission had been accomplished. The weather was unkind, prompting him to be even unkinder to those he was assigned to eliminate. The humidity constricted his throat and lungs much like how Rashomon coiled around its prey just minutes before, and Akutagawa did not want to spend any additional time outside than was necessary.
His throat rattled again as he traversed the streets of Yokohama, intent on reporting back before the rain grew too heavy. However, his attention was diverted by the unexpected contact and equally unexpected person who was responsible. Normally he would carry on without acknowledgement, but he paused, noticing the way she trembled at the sight of him.
Even through the rain and discomfort in his respiratory system, dark eyes narrowed at the girl before him. What an ungrateful child, to betray the one place where she was given worth. A twinge of irritation laced his thoughts and words at the memory of her defection. “I will not kill you, if that is what you are so afraid of.” Confrontations with members of the Detective Agency were prohibited for the time being, and that included clashing with traitors.
◣ ✿ ◥ Of course, her trembling could be easily accounted for by the cold rain soaking her hair and clothes, but there he went, assuming she was afraid of him–how arrogant of him (even if he was right)! Her plan to sneak away failed either way, not that it’d been likely from the start and only managed to put in a couple feet of extra distance between them; as far as she was concerned, the farther away from Akutagawa, the better.
One assumption he did get wrong, on the other hand, was that she’d be afraid of him killing her. She wasn’t. All things considered, that was the least of her concerns. No, she was afraid of him and the thought of being dragged back to the mafia, and while she would avoid getting killed if at all possible, it didn’t fill her with dread. (Some part of her still didn’t care about her own life after taking so many others under his control. Best to continue repressing that.)
“It’s cold and wet,” she responded, offering an alternate explanation. “I just want to go home.” While he didn’t seem intent on preventing her from doing so, she couldn’t just leave with him speaking to her. Call it an old habit she hadn’t had the chance to break, but his gaze rooted her to the ground.
◣ ✿ ◥ The weather was unpredictable at the most inconvenient of times. Kyouka had been on her way home from the store when it started raining, and though she had the books wrapped well in the plastic bag, she didn’t want to risk them getting soaked either way. With them hugged to her chest, she rushed through the streets. Most people had already made their way inside–good, since the heavy downpour blurred her vision. Most people were already inside, but she managed to collide with the one other person who wasn’t. She stumbled back, opening her mouth to apologise, only to freeze up when she saw who she ran into. Her fingers curled up around her books in a white-knuckled grip as she attempted to back away before he took note of her presence. Despite the rain washing everything away, she could still make out the scent of fresh blood.
