Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Crazy Sunday Mornings ❯ Quite Askew Saturday Evenings ( Chapter 2 )

Wasn't it nice to see?

 

The cool summer evening came quietly to the house of Assassins, whose occupants were (as per usual) silently going about their way. Down in the living room, the chopsuey-ed music and scripts of quickly changed T.V. channels mingled with the long gulps of cold beer as Ken surfed the cable for a suitable program to watch, which can only be, of course, a good soccer game (replays accepted). Somewhere in the kitchen, the busy clicks of a laptop keyboard mingled with the quiet gush of tap water and clinking china as Aya finished the dishes and Omi his assignment in history. No exchange of words, only darting eyes noting body movement, sensitized ears listening to even breathing, prickling body hair feeling the temperature, nose picking out any unusual smell. As Aya reaches the stairs Omi calls out a goodnight, and Aya nods. Omi didn't need to look at Aya to know Aya nodded. He heard Aya's steps stop, which means he acknowledged Omi's greeting. Besides, it's an Aya thing to revert all bespoken and unspoken acknowledgements to simple nods and eyebrow rising. And Aya didn't need to know how Omi knew he was gone, though his movements gave no sound at all. It's an Assassin thing. Besides, it all seems so cool done that way.

 

Aya contemplated the stairs. It was carpeted, to muffle any sounds. But damn were those stains hard to take out. It was a straightforward kind of stairs, no unnecessary mock landings. Just up and down, simple as you please. Well, except for the carpet, but that was necessary. Aya liked climbing the stairs with his right hand trailing the wall. He doesn't know why, he just does. Maybe he's memorizing the feel of the wall, the cracks and plasters, so that when someone gets lucky one day and be so talented to blind him, well then he'll be ready. Or maybe, he just likes doing it.

 

“Cosa mai te lo ha fatto pensare?” he told himself, because Aya was, or liked to think he was, a complex man. Sometimes this is what he thinks, but sometimes the other him asks him, rather smugly, “Whatever gave you that idea?” which is the translation of what he just told himself in Italian. That's the time Aya wrinkles his brows, closes his eyes, clamps both hands over his ears, and quietly (but if no one's around, loudly) sing out angrily “la la la la, I'm not listening to you…” And when he reached the top of the stairs, that's exactly what he did. Sometimes, that voice in his head gets on his nerves.

 

When he was sure the voice went away, actually stalked off rather grumpily because it hated when Aya did that, so in the end they both annoyed each other (which could explain why Aya's annoyed all the time), Aya opened his eyes to see a slightly bewildered Yohji who was midway out of his own room, trying to choose between laughing or staring. This annoyed Aya even more. This is one of the situations when he judges that he has to say something, and that something should be barbed and dripping in venom.

 

“What?” Which is a simple word, really, but the way Aya said it, it could mean the vilest cuss word there is, or perhaps, `what-the-fuck-are-you-standing-there-for-you-asshole?'

Yohji, besides all the self-berating sessions he had with himself to NOT stand down from any unpleasantness Aya did, promptly `eeped' and went back inside his room, careful not to slam the door lest Aya thought he was annoyed or something. Damn, he thought. There goes your dignity, stupid. And he gave himself a mental smack on the head.

 

Aya indulged himself to a smug smile, gave Yohji's door a look equivalent to `hah!' and went to his own room. Other than these peculiar instances, Aya normally acts sanely, which is not to say that he is insane, mind you.

 

* * *

 

The cool quiet summer evening drifted into Yohji's room to the reggae beat of Bob Marley's “I Don't Want to Wait in Vain” in a reasonable volume, because he couldn't really turn it up to his volume of taste, because that would be impolite to his next wall neighbor, who happened to be Aya. The first few times he'd been impolite with the noise coming from his room (which consisted of creaking hinges, wall thumping and loud moaning bed partner/s), Aya had a word with him in the privacy of the stock room. Now, Yohji's a nice person, and he likes to chat with people because, well, he's socially chatty and he was a P.I. But that word with Aya wasn't the word he would like to hold with, if ever, with the laconic man. In fact, it made him wish never to have another word with Aya ever again.

 

Not that he's easy to bully about, mind you, he's an Assassin who is superbly effective when drunk, what more if sober. It's just that Aya's extra-creepy. Make that really extra `give-you-the-heebie-jeebies' creepy. Aya acted as if he didn't have a life outside Assassinating. Well… come to think of it none of them technically had a life, because they're all (supposedly) dead, but at least they had their hobbies.

 

Omi had his studies and classmates and adolescent worries, which consisted mostly of growth pains (or lack thereof), failing grades (or lack thereof), girl problems (or lack thereof) and general `me-against-the-whole-fucking-world' angst (or lack thereof). Mostly, it's lack thereof.

 

Ken had his obsession (soccer), hobby (soccer), sport (soccer), contribution to the local community (teaching soccer), and dreams (soccer). Occasionally, he'd practice soccer in between.

 

He (Yohji the magnificent) had flirting for past time, a black book that could be considered the yellow pages for women of Tokyo, and women in between. He had friends who gave the best advices (who all had the job of bartender), nights of debauchery and in times of solitude, the good company of Mr. Johnny Walker and associates Mr. (insert name of any- and he means any- alcoholic liquor here) plus Mr. Marlboro. Sometimes, he'd `go hippie' as his Mumsy used to say, which means to generally smoke pot and… well, go hippie. But most of all, he had his Seven, to which Aya's white Porsche (and this is pronounced by way of a sneer) can never compare.

 

Paltry though these may seem to normal lives, well, what is normal anyway and who's dictating it? He'd like to give the smart-aleck a good walloping. Anyway, theirs are a feast compared to Aya's dry toast without any kind of spread left on the counter for days kind of a life. Yes, indeed. Better than Mr. I'm-holier-than-thou's life. Yup… uh. Yeah. Right.

 

Yohji grinned to the handsome devil looking back at him from the mirror. The Bob Marley song ended and was replaced with the first guitar strains of Lenny Kravitz' “Lady”. Yeah, he thought, this is how things will be this SATURDAY night. Yeah, no going out, just staying PUT in my room innocently. Listening to music. Right. He stopped his hand as it betrayed him by reaching to the secret drawer under his bed where he hid his stash from prying Omi eyes. Nope, none of that stuff tonight. Just plain, clean fun with… solitaire. And later, a house of cards! Right! And after that, crossword puzzles! AND large puzzles! Oh Joy! And he sang out gleefully the lines of the song.

 

Another person would note that, if one was watching Yohji in his room, there seems to be something off. The way Yohji gleefully indulged in solitaire perhaps. And the extra restraints and locks on the door. And that rather heavy looking wooden dresser placed in front of the windows. And the handcuff that connected Yohji's foot to his bed, which in turn is nailed down to the floor. Especially the fact that it's a Saturday, and Yohji's INSIDE his room, ALONE. Something's off indeed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Another seemingly inane chapter folks. Reviews are appreciated. REALLY. No kidding. So don't hesitate and review! Hehe.