(no subject)
14_lyrics. Bleach again. Alleybrat antics in the redlight districts. And for the record: yes that's who you think it is, and yes she almost broke his wrist.
She slept discreetly under the mess of a large, heavy cloth, in one of the back rooms after the show. It had gone well, the last hour had been spent helping people out of their make up, and she was tired. In the narrow hall outside, an actor and an admirer were making loud, hurried love. The girl in question--wanting to hear none of this--had burrowed herself under the old costumes from the theatre’s previous production. It was, all things considered, a well earned rest. It was very much enjoyed too, until she heard scrabbling from the other side of the room.
At first she thought that the couple had chosen to relocate--but the sound was much too low. Her second thought was that a rat was crawling around-a situation nearly as irritating, as it would mean she would have to kill it later that evening-but the sound was much too heavy. The third notion was that of a pair of feet were shuffling across the boards, nearer to her. She reacted accordingly, thrusting a leg out from her musty bedding. The third guess turned out correct: a child fell across the floor, crying out at the sudden emergence of a young woman the depths.
One of the hanging masks lay at his side.
“Ah,” she said. “Hisana rather wishes you were a rat.”
She set a foot daintily across his chest. The boy howled as though she’d gutted him. He was a small; a head shorter than her, even. A wiry thing, narrow arms and skinny wrists.
“What the fuck!” he cried. “What fucking fuck-I wasn’t gonna steal it--!”
“You should not sneak into places,” said the girl, helpfully. “Then people will be less likely to misunderstand--”
He flipped over in a surprising feat of flexibility, lifting his shoulders from the floor. He threw an arm out--
She caught him back of his vest. “-and please let them finish speaking to you.”
The boy, thoroughly stuck, slouched miserably in her grip. “…wasn’t,” he mumbled, dejectedly, his thin black hair falling his face. It was the slouch that the girl recognized. She turned him around to look at him. He promptly began to curse again. “What the fuck! What!”
“Oh. You come to watch the shows.”
“That a crime now too!”
She frowned. “You sneak through that gap in the back. You’re very flexible, smaller boys can’t do that.” She tipped her head at him. “And you don’t pay.”
“…ok, so that’s a crime.”
“Yes,” she said, and proceeded to take his wrist and twist a moment. The boy gave a shout, and then she reached for one of the hanging cloaks and threw it over him. She marched him out the door. “…Hisana doesn’t either though. How do you fold your arm behind you like that?”
“Wh-what.”
She pushed him through the halls-empty now, it seemed the couple had chosen to relocate somewhere after all. “Hisana is curious. It seems like a very interesting thing to know how to do.”
“You’re…” She jerked him around a corner. “…not gonna throw me to your boss…?”
“You live at the brothel down the street, yes?”
“....Uh.”
“The Madarame, yes?”
“Uh.”
“You go back there,” she continued. “After shows.”
He dragged a foot in a sullen sort of surrender. “…yeah.”
The girl smiled, serenely. “So that is where Hisana is going,” she said, leading him past the main entrance. People were still loitering there. Still, no one noticed the little stagehand and no one asked a thing. “And she will suggest to your caretakers that they teach you to be more polite. You should ask people who work here, if you want to see things. People who are not very large. People who could fit through tight spaces too, if they could fold their arms behind their backs like you…”
She stopped a few buildings down and flipped the cloak off of the boy’s head. She tucked it around his shoulders. He stared at her. “You...”
His jaw was hanging open. The girl covered her mouth and laughed. “Hisana will take you home now,” she said.
And that is what she did.
She slept discreetly under the mess of a large, heavy cloth, in one of the back rooms after the show. It had gone well, the last hour had been spent helping people out of their make up, and she was tired. In the narrow hall outside, an actor and an admirer were making loud, hurried love. The girl in question--wanting to hear none of this--had burrowed herself under the old costumes from the theatre’s previous production. It was, all things considered, a well earned rest. It was very much enjoyed too, until she heard scrabbling from the other side of the room.
At first she thought that the couple had chosen to relocate--but the sound was much too low. Her second thought was that a rat was crawling around-a situation nearly as irritating, as it would mean she would have to kill it later that evening-but the sound was much too heavy. The third notion was that of a pair of feet were shuffling across the boards, nearer to her. She reacted accordingly, thrusting a leg out from her musty bedding. The third guess turned out correct: a child fell across the floor, crying out at the sudden emergence of a young woman the depths.
One of the hanging masks lay at his side.
“Ah,” she said. “Hisana rather wishes you were a rat.”
She set a foot daintily across his chest. The boy howled as though she’d gutted him. He was a small; a head shorter than her, even. A wiry thing, narrow arms and skinny wrists.
“What the fuck!” he cried. “What fucking fuck-I wasn’t gonna steal it--!”
“You should not sneak into places,” said the girl, helpfully. “Then people will be less likely to misunderstand--”
He flipped over in a surprising feat of flexibility, lifting his shoulders from the floor. He threw an arm out--
She caught him back of his vest. “-and please let them finish speaking to you.”
The boy, thoroughly stuck, slouched miserably in her grip. “…wasn’t,” he mumbled, dejectedly, his thin black hair falling his face. It was the slouch that the girl recognized. She turned him around to look at him. He promptly began to curse again. “What the fuck! What!”
“Oh. You come to watch the shows.”
“That a crime now too!”
She frowned. “You sneak through that gap in the back. You’re very flexible, smaller boys can’t do that.” She tipped her head at him. “And you don’t pay.”
“…ok, so that’s a crime.”
“Yes,” she said, and proceeded to take his wrist and twist a moment. The boy gave a shout, and then she reached for one of the hanging cloaks and threw it over him. She marched him out the door. “…Hisana doesn’t either though. How do you fold your arm behind you like that?”
“Wh-what.”
She pushed him through the halls-empty now, it seemed the couple had chosen to relocate somewhere after all. “Hisana is curious. It seems like a very interesting thing to know how to do.”
“You’re…” She jerked him around a corner. “…not gonna throw me to your boss…?”
“You live at the brothel down the street, yes?”
“....Uh.”
“The Madarame, yes?”
“Uh.”
“You go back there,” she continued. “After shows.”
He dragged a foot in a sullen sort of surrender. “…yeah.”
The girl smiled, serenely. “So that is where Hisana is going,” she said, leading him past the main entrance. People were still loitering there. Still, no one noticed the little stagehand and no one asked a thing. “And she will suggest to your caretakers that they teach you to be more polite. You should ask people who work here, if you want to see things. People who are not very large. People who could fit through tight spaces too, if they could fold their arms behind their backs like you…”
She stopped a few buildings down and flipped the cloak off of the boy’s head. She tucked it around his shoulders. He stared at her. “You...”
His jaw was hanging open. The girl covered her mouth and laughed. “Hisana will take you home now,” she said.
And that is what she did.