[Week 18, Day 5] Dream #5, or the fabulous mafia nonsense of 18, 96, and 69, with occasional NC-17?

[fakeorgans]

ooc: And warnings in this part of the dream for some racist/sexist/otherwise charged "banter" in one scene, and again, some violence. See prior note about the pics. All are uploaded to my account to spare bandwidth, etc.

THIS IS PART NUMBER TWO. PART ONE IS BELOW. ♥

PART ONE

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[action]

[fakeorgans]

[ Remembering is always the most unusual part, and sometimes the most difficult. Here, where she can witness her memories played before her eye like DVDs; there's almost something funny about that, when you think of it in this exact way. But no. Here we have it: Chrome as she was some eight odd years ago, fresh-faced, button-nosed, with a bob for hair and a silly dress which to her current sensibilities looks hideously over-bright and girlish (we always think this of her younger fashion, do we not? save perhaps Mukuro, who may miss that horrid green school uniform); what had she been thinking, carrying on like that? Walking about in her uncomplicated daze?

Because, in a way, that's what the teenage years often were. What life still is, really. The complications are asserted by retrospection. So, now: How silly. A young woman running down an alley barefoot, hailing a cab, attempting to infiltrate an operation with no real thought paid to back-up. (Here, now, a woman recently exposing her own operation on a network such as this. Do things ever really change? Do people ever really outgrow themselves?) She knows what she felt because she can feel it here, again. She knows, also, what she feels now. What she felt yesterday, and how she feels when she re-watches her recent mistake, and how she feels when she thinks of the future which is coming.

Life never really untangles itself.

She would like to believe that she has outgrown that girl.

It's good if she has, but Chrome also allows herself a small moment of satisfaction. Even now. Even now.

She had succeeded, hadn't she?

It does not occur to her to wonder what Mukuro had been thinking back then. His goals are, as ever, his own. It's maybe a little strange to consider the distances which had existed when he was imprisoned, to look back in this direction, but -- so it was. So he planned. So he had his way. There is nothing to ask into.

And Hibari. Hibari, who has not changed. Who Mukuro sees fit to comment upon.

She listens. Thinks. Chooses not to reply to most of what he has said (it goes without saying: yes, Hibari is interesting. And cynical), because one aspect in particular catches her attention: ]

What did you do for him, Mukuro-sama?

[ Her voice is thick with sleep. She sighs as he touches her. ]