KYAAAAH! Finally!
God, this only took like a month. IlovethemIlovethemIlovethem.
Who: Kasumi and Zetsu
What: ... um, good question. Well, Zetsu’s in the flower shop because he’s Zetsu, Kasumi needs to buy some for her aunt’s death. Conversation ensues.
When: Um... whenever you desire. >>;’
Where: A flower shop and over to the crematorium.
Warnings: Meh, nothing unusual for Oshima. Apart from the painfully obvious fact that Nicole hasn’t a fucking clue what she’s saying.
There was a procedure involved in certain things, a procedure someone playing a role in life couldn't ignore. Kasumi's hair had strayed from the usual pigtails for a smooth bun, skewered by two fancy chopsticks which dangled false china flowers at their ends, and her makeup was dark.
There was only one flower shop on Oshima Island. Kasumi did appreciate beauty, but a true connoisseur of flowers would be able to tell her the mistakes she would make picking a 'mourning' bouquet. Nothing fancy- her aunt was a person she'd not seen in ten years and then only for a month before her death.
She was prettier before she burned, Kasumi still held fast to. The dead weren't interesting- the dead were gone and nothing could bring them back. But the process towards that- watching something die- was what was fascinating. Her thoughts would, invariably, return to wondering if this was how her sisters appeared when they died. But her aunt's death was long coming, long suffering and every step came with deterioration. Her sisters' deaths came suddenly- sleep and pre-birth. Each moment of deterioration was only that.
A moment.
The Parisian by birth, Japanese by blood, girl stood over a bucket of flowers (with some Latin name she didn't care to spend time translating) with a curious look. Purple or white?
How could a person fascinated with plants, be bored surrounded by flowers? The boy tenderly handled the blossom he looked at, gently pulling back the petals for a look at the inside. What might appear beautiful on the outside, would hold rot and decay on the inside. This was one way in which plants were no different then people, Zetsu noted. Overcome by a sudden rage not his own, he slammed the flower back into the bucket, as if it had personally offended him.
Pivoting on the spot, he ran his now damp hand (for while the flower-shop was small and unimpressive, they kept their flowers moist and cool) though his hair. How disappointing. Perhaps some day he would find a shop to his liking, Perhaps one day he will recapture the images that haunted his youth. Violent plants, consuming the innocent prey that dare land upon its leaves.
A small smile came to his haunted face. This was one subject that both his light and dark agreed upon. The viciousness of the carnivorous plant was the most beautiful thing in the world. And while these blooms might be fragrant... he had little interest in them. Heaving a sigh, he wrestled back his sudden anger, and began to leave the shop, when he spotted her.
Her face had a slightly familiar look to it, while her shock of blue hair most definitely did. The black urged him to walk away, to not be bothered, but the white’s interest was whet. He approached her, and looked at the flowers that her attention was fixated to. Purple and white. Royalty and purity, foolish qualities. While keeping his gaze fixed on the flowers he said in a soft voice, “Are you deciding between the two?”
Her expression never wavered though she was surprised by the break in the silence (though more surprising was the silence itself in this shop). The college freshman still held both colours in her hand while she scrutinised the other teenager who had spoken to her.
(Do I know you?)
"Correct." A bouquet for the dead was probably not meant to represent either royalty or purity- and certainly not for the woman she was supposed to be respecting with them. "My expertise lies in what is visually," (and audibly) "appealing, not so much what is actually intended by the colours." There were always others to do such things for her.
The look in her eyes... she did now know who he was. His darkness crowed, no one does. A boy who is quiet to be ignored by all, eyes opened wide to observe the world. It does not matter, responded the white evenly. “My apologies. My name is Kataheki Zetsu, I am in your class at Oshima,” he said quietly, yet crisply. That is how the white spoke after all. Quiet enough for no one else to hear (he knew the power of the spoken word), yet precise and sure in what he said.
His gaze turned back to the flowers. He stroked their petals for a moment before he spoke. Words were as delicate as flowers, “Few care to listen to the flowers colours,” he raised his eyes to hers again, “either would probably be fine, no one will know.” (when do they ever know?)
That name was familiar- her mind no longer queried anything and though not a muscle in her face seemed to twitch, her expression changed. "Of course. Ochiyo Kasumi." (Perhaps a pointless introduction.) Her mind was trained to evaluate certain things, and remember everything- clarity even amongst three languages, an instrument and things no decent person should know.
Her gaze turned back to the flowers and she discarded the purple ones carefully (there was a reverence in the movements of the other teen around the flowers that told her if she were to dump them back it wouldn't be wise). "I suppose the white shall do."
He nodded at the name. He would admit, he had forgotten. As the girl might be used to, he remembered her for her cerulean locks. As he continued to watch her face, he noticed the slight change. For a moment he wondered if he had displeased her, but saw the change was not hostile. Perhaps observant. The girl seemed sharp, something Zetsu was not used to. Perhaps he would have to be cautious around this girl, he could not tell.
Her choice, the white. Such a simple colour. The culmination of all colours? Perhaps she chose in a diplomatic fashion. White, a colour that was pure, no commitment to any colour (the colour of his self). The gentle handling of the plants did not escape his notice either. Unsure if she cared for the plants, or was thinking of some other thing, he filed away the motion.
“These are beautiful flowers,” he murmured, his voice emotionless. “May I inquire as to what these will be used for?” He always asked questions. The worst that could happen is someone would think you nosy, or simply refuse. He feared neither, for rejection had not stung him for a long time (or perhaps it stung, but there were no feelings to feel.)
It was the hair... or the clothes (working in the underground it was usually the former, she supposed after living and observing people at Oshima for over one cycle of the moon, it would be the latter.) Either way she was less than concerned, it wasn't something brought up by most people.
The white... the purple, why such a decision she wasn't entirely sure, but the purple flowers held something that she couldn't allow to associate with her aunt (a silly feeling that she would later scold herself for).
The freshman pulled out her purse from the pocket of DKNY jeans and looked for the right change, lightly hooking the white bouquet in the crook of her arm. "I'm supposed to be bringing these to where my aunt's ashes are." Though her words were honest, there was a tinge to her tone that wasn't normal- wasn't sadness or regret (was it haughtiness?) Whether she trusted Zetsu (she didn't... yet) to know that tone or it was a slip (it wasn't)... it was more likely to be deliberate.
As he heard the explanation, he paused for a moment before she said anything, letting her finish the transaction with the man behind the counter. He felt wary all of the sudden. As if she had dared him to give her sympathy. Dared him to feel pity. He felt neither in any case, but lets the words come any way- “My apologies for your loss,” the words sounded empty and hollow to his own ears, but he did not care. He saw no trace of remorse on the girl’s face, something in her tone suggested other feelings.
What feelings? Zetsu was not sure. This disturbed him greatly. He entertained the notion that she was teasing him with the tone, letting him speculate and wonder. The black already did not like this girl, but the white was fascinated. Contemplating the possible psychological trap laid before him, he continued regardless. “Would I be right to assume you did not know her well?”
She replaced the purse and her face saw one of the first changes since arriving in the shop- a slight quirk of her head to the side as she regarded Zetsu again. He'd paid enough attention to notice everything. "Not at all, in fact." A month of living together, and one meeting prior. The bouquet was secure in her right hand as the left pondered one petal's colour- to lead to one flower that was darker than the others.
Interesting. The blue-haired girl left the flower alone again. "And why did you come here?" Before the questions became an interrogation, became in inquisition.
His eyes were also drawn to the flower. A sick flower. Not quite right, so other haughty flowers might regard it as being lesser value. At times, he detested flowers, now was one such time. Proud creatures, of little worth other then to show of their own colours. Bold foolish things that did nothing useful. His eyes narrowed slightly, a change in expression that would be unnoticeable to any average person. The change passed as quickly as it came, leaving a blank expression.
Still staring at the flower, he heard her question. Why did he come here? Hoping for some joy that had long since been lost, torn down? (Then again, whose dreams are not crushed? Who are so fortunate?) “I had not heard of this shop,” he replied. “I hoped- it would have a different selection,” he finally managed to tear his eyes away from the strange flower, the one bound to be tossed out because it does not fit (just as he never fit). “But perhaps such rare things cannot be found in the everyday world.”
But of course, Kasumi was never trained, never intended to be average- even without her consent she was supposed to be better, a perfectionist in all things as her parents had wanted (but she didn't, it was something she'd let lapse in all things but music and behaviour)- she registered the small change and her lips quirked in slight amusement at a thought.
(We're analysing everything the other does, aren't we?)
"So your passion is nature, then?" Her curiosity was minimal for that part of his statement anyway. The second- the cynicism with which he spoke of the ideas of something rare- did. "I would think there is something, somewhere to carry what you desire but the mainstream doesn’t appreciate most things unless they have constant exposure to them." It was how advertising worked, after all. A name, brand, idea, pressed into a person's mind until they began to conform to groupthink.
Her lips formed a smile, even if just for a short smile. A strange thought came to his mind, she has a lovely smile the white pondered, as the black laughed. The thought came with no emotion; emotion could not be mixed with research. Emotion was far too risky, and something the white could not understand. He redirected his thoughts back to the reason behind a smile. Something amuses her? Pondering what could be amusing, the idea of their analysis came along with many others. He disregarded it in the end, distracted by what she said next.
“Passion?” what a strange word. Perhaps it was passion, although he could not see himself being ‘passionate’ about anything. Such words were reserved for romantic novels that he was far from. “I have an interest in plants, and art,” he finished. He paused yet again, thinking over what she said. “Few appreciate what I seek. They are things to be feared by some, their nature is… strange,” a strange sadness stole over him, and he didn’t like it one bit.
It was so like a person. While plants were silent and provided, humans were noisy and use. They condemn a plant that tries to be like them as strange. A plant that would bridge the gap between the two species (for plants were a species, as alive as any person). These thoughts nearly startled him, nearly (few things could startle him). “Yes, plants are my passion. And what would yours be?” the return of the question was merely for formality, all though he would never admit how interesting he found this strange girl.
The French were passionate about everything (and if you were British, you'd add, especially surrendering- something which she should, was supposed to, feel ashamed about laughing about on numerous occasions) so the word was second nature to Kasumi's tongue. She stepped towards the door of the shop, her eyes never wavering from her classmate's face and gave a small nod.
"..." A pause before she answered. The answer she knew by heart- her harp and languages. "Music. And languages." As subjects, as part of what she truly enjoyed- watching people deteriorate. Though she would rarely let it show, one of her real reasons for her choices was watching those people who seemed so on top dying without their cravings and drugs of choice, and conversation was a way to seek weaknesses in every person.
This girl was very smart, that much he was certain of. He cared about plants for the deep connection he felt with them, and he wondered for a moment what the drive of her ‘passion’ was. He would not ask such a thing publicly of course, but wondered all the same. She looked as if she could be a musician. Graceful and mysterious. Isn’t that what music is? Noise meant to distract us, and pull unwanted feelings that we did not know existed? He had never been one for music, save the sounds of falling water (he enjoyed a rainy day). And language, he would admit, he was not surprised.
“I’d imagine you’re quite good,” he mused out loud, although it was less on the side of thought, and more of a comment (true thinking was best to be done in one’s own head). “You came here from France, correct? Despite that your Japanese is nearly flawless,” if said from the lips of some other boy, some girl might have taken this as a compliment, but he meant no such niceties, these were only observations.
The drive of music, of the harp, she couldn't answer however. Though she would wager a bet that it was to keep herself sane with everything else, plucking the strings and listening to the soft, constant notes of the instrument stopped her from doing anything rash.
Because that would be suicide.
"Ah, thank you." It was a formality that came out without thought, to reply in such a way. "I wouldn't allow myself to be less." By now they were out of the shop (it was still sunny- was summer staying late?) and the china flowers blew back slightly in a small breeze. "Yes. My parents insisted on me speaking Japanese at home- their accents never suffered." Hers would always still hold that tinge of French regardless, her schooling wouldn't allow less, being trained in two languages to perfection from birth left no other alternative.
Something had to give.
The sun, he looked up at the flawless blue sky for a moment, and resented the lack of clouds. While he understood both sun and rain was needed, he preferred the darkness of a rainstorm. Or maybe it wasn’t the darkness, but the smell of the moist earth and the sound of thundering rainfall brought him closer to happiness then anything else could. Returning his meandering thoughts he contemplated her words.
There seemed to be a tinge of bitterness in her voice. Perhaps regret? No, she did not seem the type to regret anything she did. Perhaps the word ‘nearly’ had stung her? He did not particularly care either way, but it was an interesting thought. “Languages can be beautiful, but I have not considered travelling enough to pursue them,” he lied. He had once thought of travel, as a little boy who wanted to wander the rainforests of the world. But that was the past, not to be brought up.
“You transferred to Oshima recently have you not? Are you enjoying it?” Again, words of formalities. To the students of the school, it did not matter if you enjoyed it. Such a feeling was a luxury. Oshima was a place for children of talent, yet children of troubles. Perhaps you couldn’t have talent without some inner turmoil, the white mused, while the black listened impatiently.
Had she known, they could have agreed on the weather, but her motivations were more selfish than the atmosphere. Her skin suffered in sunlight too much.
What Zetsu said, thought, didn't bother Kasumi- something she'd learned a long time ago was to detach herself from others' opinions (though at the same time, would she be who she was without those opinions? The spoiled little rich girl without a clue.) "It can be that the travel comes to you." The people who didn't know your language and imposed themselves on your country/city/home (those people were foolish.) "Though I don't understand the appeal of travelling without the knowledge of how to comprehend the natives."
She knew formalities- they were the drab, small talk things that no-one cared about. As was this. "Indeed. The island is different to what I am accustomed to, but the school hasn't given me any reason to be disappointed yet." Well, apart from certain occurrences on the first day (that redhead...) but it was a story the boy (man? She wasn't sure) didn't need to hear.
"How long has it been for you?"
How long has he been at Oshima- it felt like eternity. Two lives, one of his childhood, and one lived here. Childhood was horrid, yet familiar (most children make the un-friendliest situation familiar). Oshima seemed almost as an exile from his life he once knew. Yet, it could possibly be some of the best years of his life. He could never decide, and so the years drug on in the same uncertainty.
“I have come here since ninth grade,” he responded. “Although I was absent for my senior year,” that fact was still a sore spot. His parents’ decision to pay attention, only when it affected him. A whirlwind of therapists and foolish people prattling about what they did not know. An angry bubble seemed to form within his chest, but he made no outward sign of it. “I’m glad I was able to return though, I suppose I missed it.”
There were things unsaid between the two of them- it was too early to delve or reveal any of these things either- so the game was to pick up everything from body language and what little was said.
Kasumi was beginning to think she'd found a challenge in Kataheki Zetsu.
How... interesting. (She lightly bit her lip for a moment as she regarded him again- not in light of words said but words unsaid.)
"I don't miss it." Paris. She didn't like the change between a city and this island, but she didn't miss Paris. Kasumi watched the less crowded road... and that was a reason why. Traffic games were fun for the criminally suicidal but her death would never be so public. (Was she sick to know what it would be already?) Nothing she did betrayed what she was thinking- or the small surge of emotion as her fascination allowed her a brief fantasy.
He knew of the silences that she pondered. He saw them as well. Gaping spaces between the words she said, where more might be filled. Fascination did not come along very often, and while it might start with startlingly blue hair, it would lead to a person, as closed as he. He prided himself on understanding others, and the knowledge that he did not understand her frustrated him. The fact that he could not compartmentalize her into a shelf in his mind stopped him from walking away. The darkness laughed at light’s obsession, and continued to linger in the recesses of his mind. His feelings all lay within that darkness, and there they were removed unless coaxed out.
But she must feel things too, but where does she hide them… Ah- she bit her lip, a signal of sorts. That was a sign of thinking. ‘Perhaps we are sharing thoughts,’ he mused, it was apparent they were strikingly similar. Another note to go in her near empty file.
He wondered for a moment if this girl was… similar. More then her appearance? That much he was sure of- “Strange, I would imagine this small island would seem- dull after the fast life of a city,” he suggested. He knew cities, or at least the city of his childhood. True, foreign cities might be completely different, but he was willing to bet some aspects were the same.
There was silence for a moment (there seemed to be a lot of silence) as the gap between two streets was crossed. She knew what to say (she always did- always had to) but how much of it she would allow herself to say she wasn't entirely sure. It certainly wasn't like the other people she had encountered to understand through idle conversation.
He was perhaps something that would take time. (A game she'd be willing to play, admittedly. If only to better herself. To take so long figuring out another was something she couldn't allow again.)
"A city is everywhere at every time. I suppose it's the intimacy issues of somewhere smaller." A place where you could recognise and name everyone in your own head- whether their actual form of address or not- it was something she was growing to like about this island. Paris was a place you would be lucky to see the same stranger twice.
He nodded in what might have seemed to be an absentminded manner, “Intimacy is an odd concept,” he murmured. “But yes I suppose, on a small island you would know everyone-“ he paused, mulling it over. He could now conclude that the girl liked to be informed. What she would do with such information? He was not sure. Weather it be of a sinister nature, or something innocent, it could truly be either. From a distance one would assume her innocence, but talk with her a little you would deduce she was very bright.
“Some students complain about that,” he paused again, “sloppy ones, that cannot clean up after themselves. To you and I, it is more of a blessing.” His eyes lingered from the street, and he watched her face for a moment. He was not sure if what he said would draw any response, but he did not want to miss anything. The white was having a good deal more fun- no, fun was not the right word. One of the more interesting talks since returning to the island.
Kasumi wondered just how much he'd realised from that statement, and knew it was stupid of her to assume anything less than 'a lot'. (At least, a lot in terms of what they knew so far). Her use of information? Simple- control. But shrouded so deeply in what she disguised as innocence, regality and the training of years, if Zetsu realised in one sitting what she'd spent years perfectly hiding...
It would bother her.
"You speak possibly the truest words I've heard since my arrival." Though, she enjoyed having to exert effort. Getting fed lines on a silver platter wasn't quite as satisfying as having to find it for yourself.
That sense of accomplishment couldn't be beaten.
"Oh? And you have a good faith basis for why you think we are of the same ilk in that respect?" One of her more forward ways of trying to discover what he knew, even as she spoke with a tone that almost sang like laughter.
There was music in inflections. But anyone who believed them true music was a fool.
Music… her tone was like music. The kind of music he knew- those of voices, and rain, and the whisper of wind in the grass. Perhaps that was one thing that would separate them- their reality (for his was warped). He could not know of course, but he might assume she was... worried? He certainly hoped so. The dark argued this side, after years of being ignored, the black longed for respect, while the white knew it was better to remain small and invisible. What he wanted to appear in front of her? He was not yet sure.
Innocence was the best part to play if you weren’t sure- he had learned that long ago. And so the façade stayed, a dizzying dance of words, allusions to something greater- but never to the point. “You flatter me,” he responded, returning his eyes to the road. At the next words she spoke, his mind stopped for a moment, and he had to give great effort to not respond (although a flicker of a flinch came over it- he tried to pass it off as a shiver of sorts, but he knew she would notice).
He tried to shrug in an innocent manner “Our actions speak louder then words, and we listen more then that- I can tell a like soul,” he responded casually. He hoped the laughing tone in her voice meant that she was not at full attention, but he seriously doubted it.
Everything logged and appreciated for what it told her- another courtesy made for the sake of conversation's norms and hidden values. "Flattery is reserved for those whose affections you are trying to win." Though, in a way, she was trying to win his (but she suspected that flattery would be useless in that). It didn't prevent her words being any less true.
These little games would break most people- or leave them clueless to greater intent. Her eyes caught that moment (moment. Always a moment.) and narrowed imperceptibly (though he probably perceived it.)
"Your perception is well." (Most don't bother to look this deeply into the truth. Because fools never want to know it.)
What the hell does that even mean? the black raged, but the white whispered soothing words and thought about those words. But more importantly, her eyes narrowed. The image of a cat, crouching before her pray, tail waving in a manner that might seem peaceful and lulling to the un-expecting mouse. Ready to pounce, ready to learn a secret. But what secrets is she searching for? Probably the same ones he is looking for. Intentions, and actions.
He nodded his head, “Thank you,” he responded flatly, feeling a smidgeon of irritation. She thought she had him cornered. He knew better then to assume she would get cocky and careless (their kind rarely did). “As is yours. What might have bred such- alert behaviour?” The white gave a rare smirk of satisfaction within.
He knew she would not answer the truth, but he hoped it would give her some speck of insight. There was more to her, that much was sure- what was it?
His question wasn't entirely unexpected, but she allowed the hitch in her breath anyway- a sign of something, perhaps a lure. Her heels clicked along the pavement, loud over that small hitch as Kasumi wondered about her answer. Wondered about how much was prudent to give.
As ever, the silence lingered.
"You're welcome." Manners first, manners first. "It is what I needed." To impress my family's contacts as I said all the right things. Her eyes looked away from him as she spoke this time- until now she'd been watching him quite intently. Now that same gaze turned upon the cement.
Her thoughts so far? He had more competency than others and what could make him that way was still undecided. His interests were important (but whose wasn't?) and she'd have to tread carefully around what city girls never thought of.
Nature.
The hitch. How things can be deceiving, how little illusions can be cast. But for Zetsu, those illusions assured something. There was something deeper about this girl. He was going to assume that she took part in deeper business, something that Paris probably had far more of then this tiny island. He wondered for a moment if he was leading her off track, but dismissed it as a foolish thought. If she let that slip unintentionally, then the way she gained these skills was not innocent. If she put it there on purpose- it did not make her innocent, for innocent people were never this careful.
Their secrets would come bursting out of a flushed face long before this, not danced around, with only tendrils of blue hair lingering behind to taunt his empty hand. If the truth would elude him- no matter. This assurance that this was not all for naught was enough.
“The world is a hard place,” he responded, careful with what he said, “strange skills are needed to make one’s way.” He pondered for a minute about her homeland. He did not know very much about the city of lights. He would have to do a little research. Was it completely necessary? No (but nothing is truly necessary). He noted the shifting of her gaze. Perhaps she wished to put up the illusion of a girl embarrassed? No- there was no need. He would wager she might be collecting her thoughts.
They were closing in on the crematorium, a fact she hadn't paid much attention to until now, her interest caught by an enigma (and if it wasn't clear already, she wanted to no, would solve this enigma... somehow). Kasumi moved her gaze back to Zetsu- yet another point of similarity- the strangest lessons that no-one would think necessary were usually the most useful. (And that was why they were trapped in a world of fools. Perhaps some of the few to realise that point.)
There was the faint whisper of china flowers again and she felt the threads of unnaturally blue hair loosen slightly as her free hand again played with the flower- the sick one, the off-white.
"There's a saying about the one that stands out. It makes the others pale in comparison." Literally true in this case- the sick little flower made the others seem whiter, purer in her hands.
He looked up at the building the pair had found their way to. Her interest seemed to be minimal in the building they had approached, so he made no mention of it. He wondered for a moment if she was as unwilling to halt this conversation as he, and felt a strange satisfaction that he could not explain
His gaze was brought to her hair, and noticed the shift the wind brought. While he did not mind the wind (it made beautiful music) it carried the scent of the dead here. He wrinkled his nose in slight distaste, but smoothed his expression again when she parted her lips to speak.
Her words brought a strange fury upon him, and the flower caused black to lash out, “Well those guys would be fucking morons,” he hissed, eyes suddenly narrowed, and face slightly contorted. As the black withdrew seething into the back of his mind, he brought back his mask of calm, but not before displaying flickers of shock, and frustration. This was no time for emotions of any kind.
The black argued back. The foolishness of humans, that bubble of anger from only a few minutes ago still remained. The boastful nature of flowers, and the humans enticed by their pretty nature. The black argued, how is she different? She’s just a pretty little French flower. The white protested, hidden inside is some ferocity, and he will find out what it is. But he couldn’t do that with the other coming out
Attempting to seem that nothing was wrong he gave a nod and continued, “just because a person says it and others repeat it, does not make it wise.”
Kasumi couldn't help but blink, rather surprised, and it took all her will to resist the smirk that bubbled inside. (It seemed she'd found something.) And her instincts to tread carefully around nature were correct. The building was irrelevant, mostly. (She still remembered why she was here, but it could spare a moment.)
It could spare more than a moment when she'd found the trigger, so to speak. And it was a trigger curiosity wished her to press and wisdom told her not to. She tilted her head- that pretty little head that seemed too fragile to hold what it did- upwards slightly (for he was taller than her and as much as she scrutinised she'd never actually looked at his appearance.)
"And most of the time it makes it purely the opposite." There was some wisdom in what that saying stated, for those insecure about their differences.
"But that saying was created by a philosopher who wanted to make his eccentricities seem positive." A pause as she looked down again, pondering momentarily. "Do you believe it is correct for people to justify their eccentricities?" It was human nature, but was it the correct one? She was cruel, curious and fascinated by the dying more than the living- but she justified each one to herself in ways no-one would understand. The cruelty was that fools deserved what they got, curiosity that she only wished to know whether she knew a fool or not, and dying because when all the fools died, she wanted to be there to allow herself to bask in it.
Not since returning to Oshima, had Black become this angry. She’s fucking going to smirk isn’t she? That little flower bitch thinks she’s so- white struggled with himself. He would not let this be ruined. Zetsu held tight to his face of calm, attempting to overthrow every desire to punch this little darling’s delicate face. It wasn’t a normal thing to be angry about. No one else would be angry- Zetsu was strange, and always had been.
“Yes,” he replied softly. “Eccentricities have always fascinated the human mind, and they can be used for or against the masses,” he could not look at her, at that self satisfied flicker in the back of her eyes. He diverted his gaze, looking at the building for a moment.
Dead, that is where the dead went. He personally favoured cremation. Humans into soil, sinking into the earth, they aren’t so different then plants any more? (But they were never different, both feeding, both living-). “One could say our eccentricities make us different, thus worse,” he stared at the sad little dim flower held in her hand. “Or, another could say eccentricities make us unique, thus better-“ he stared her down, his eyes holding a new sort of intensity. “what is your thought on the matter?”
Black was screaming in protest, and Zetsu supposed some of that unreasonable anger showed in his face, but taking a stab at an idea, he tried a new tactic. “Your hair is not naturally blue I assume,” he began, “does changing your hair to make you different cause you to stand out? Or seem-“ he paused, “damaged?”
As he spoke of her hair, Kasumi reached towards it idly- loose strands finally falling from their path and framing her face. A finger twirled the loose strands a little as she ignored that pause. An artistic pause. She (tried to) ignore it and its implications (and his stare which, admittedly- a thing she loathed to admit to herself- was hard to stop herself from being wary of, and so her eyes never left him), concentrating on other things he had said.
But it didn't stop the irritation flickering in her face- something pure and uncalculated. The college freshman could care less about his opinions of her hair, but the pause pissed her off annoyed her. Because he was trying to annoy her with it- and it worked.
'Kasumi, dear, Kasumi! Tell me, what do you need to remember?'
'That no matter what they say I don’t show any emotion that would displease them.'
A lesson she prided herself on maintaining. (Though, in this case, the reverse would be true. Don’t show him anything he wants.)
"To say it is only our eccentricities that make us unique is unwise. Our differences start with something as small as DNA." And only become bigger from there on. Her lips pursed slightly as she contemplated the two opinions. "Personally I don't see why they should be mutually exclusive, or even the only options." (But what were the other options?)
"I cannot imagine why anyone would believe it was natural," she replied easily.
Silence rang again as she touched the china flowers. What was it about this ornament? It balanced beauty and danger- the flowers were false with a fragile mask, but touch the petals and you would shock yourself with the sharpness.
"I suppose it would all depend on the person viewing my hair, it is not my place to manipulate others' opinions of me." A lie if ever she spoke one- she relied on the false opinion most fools had of her. "What do you believe? Am I different, or damaged?" Had this been any other place or time or person speaking those words, it could have sounded a flirtatious invitation for him to compliment her, but this wasn’t another place, time, and Kasumi was talking- all she wanted was an insight.
It was almost strange that it could come with something as simple as hair.
He continued to stare at her, not quite sure if he saw a touch of hesitance in her. But she was meeting his gaze. She was serious- completely serious at this moment. Now was the time when one of the two would walk away with an understanding of the other. He knew this moment all too well, and it had to be handled with- delicacy.
Ones opinions were a dangerous thing. A rule he learned early on (and the more he talked with her, he became sure that she knew this too) not to give one's opinion. It is something to be used against you by an observant being, and something to be disregarded by the average person. People did not really care what you think; only what they want to know- or perhaps to give an opportunity to talk about what they know. Humans- such vain creations.
"It is not?" he asked, using a tone of mildly surprised. "Humans strive to be noticed- such hair is a common teenage tactic for the attention they wish." he stopped again, deciding to fish for an answer he longed for. "Which I find strange, you do not seem like to sort of person who would strive for any sort of attention."
He continued on to her next statement quickly, allowing his question to be drowned amongst words. He was not so foolish as to assume she would not notice a question of that sort, but he did not want to give her any extra time to contemplate.
"But it is a sad thing-" he felt no sorrow for it at all, or not anymore. "Two people will see something strange, and see something unique or damaged." his gaze shifted to the poor little flower. "That ornament would be viewed as different from its more lustrous companion." he turned back to her eyes. Never let their stares break for longer then he could help to make a point.
Eyes were the window into the soul, so some wise man once said. But Zetsu thought little of this man, for the eyes were doors. Left open by anyone foolish enough to forget them, but closed and locked by those with half a mind for security. "But when one is asked of your hair- they would say it is "unique" in fear of hurting something as fragile as your feelings," if he was correct, they were anything but. But a new theory had blossomed, one of her pride.
"My thoughts," again, something to handle carefully. "you are as damaged as I."
There was the click of her heel against the pavement as she stepped forward slightly, her head tilting for a split second before it snapped back to a perfect straight line. Well- never perfect, for she knew perfection was unobtainable, though the right challenge to strive for. But to the untrained eye it looked perfect but she could tell by the chime of her flowers that it was a degree to heavy to the left. Always the left.
She’d blocked every question back at him as best she could but it was obvious he knew her strategy and was playing the same game. If her opinion was asked and answered candidly, the world was full of fools who deserved their cocaine cut with cyanide but that was too dangerous to tell to people. There was still much to do. Much, much to do.
"Attention is relative. I'd prefer to live without it but it cannot be done. The attention is given to the brilliant too, whether we want it or not. Don't you agree? I don’t believe my hair affects much either way." He was the 'we', she knew it already. And when the brilliant were looked for, they were looked at to fit in, to be official and bland and covered in black.
"Ah, you think so? I suppose so-" she couldn’t care quite honestly (and for a moment she wondered why they kept talking about these things when mostly nothing at all was said, or lies, or questions)- and her stare tilted again, heavy to the left.
Security was for houses, most people would say. Hearts and feelings were to be shared. But then they were manipulated and crushed and the person was left as worthless (not to say that most people weren’t already). Kasumi’s lips curled slightly- allowing her amusement to show as he spoke of fragile feelings. Fragility was for the weak, was for the stereotype.
"Is that so? We are of the same 'ilk', that much is true. But whether we’re equals--" she paused for a moment, leaning her body weight forward, towards him- "I’ve yet to decide."
Intelligence leads to curiosity, and curiosity leads to boredom. It is natural then, that those of brilliance find themselves bored by the interests of those around them. It is only when one of like sense is found that they can be truly entertained. Zetsu was bright enough not to call himself a genius; such titles were reserved for the cocky.
This girl though- she was of a like mind. She knew it, and they continued their game of cat and mouse. Gathering information about the other- looking for imperfections (her head was tilted to the left). Looking for true feelings hidden under years of ice and lies.
"Attention is irritating," this was true- there was a time when he sought attention from the people he cared for most, but any such desire had long since disappeared. "The shadows provide a place to observe the world." he paused again. "But it does give people a reason to remember you. The only reason I recognized you today was admittedly your hair." Perhaps she needed such recognition for whatever her trade? This still puzzled him.
Her smile- she should not be smiling. Perhaps he misjudged her. Just a moment ago she seemed tense and troubled- but perhaps she was out of whatever corner he had led her to. She was confident, did not care about whatever he insinuated. But if her insecurities were not as clear as his own- well perhaps it was one advantage she could hold. He was rarely challenged.
He raised an eyebrow. She talked of equality. As if such a thing could be measured. Another thing he had measured incorrectly. She did have a sense of pride; otherwise she would not mention equality. The white felt no desire to prove himself, while the black murmured in annoyance. "I suppose we will learn soon enough."
Just who was hunting, and who was hunted here? That was the most important question, and something that reminded her of another time, another lesson- that the prey can lure the predator into a corner and get them to reveal everything in that moment of overconfidence.
Kasumi knew it was to hope too much at the notion of making this one slip up so easily.
Her smile lingered, for whatever reason- confusion's sake, perhaps?- and she paused after he spoke of recognition. "By my own admission, it works to my advantage." And so it did. The linear couldn't- wouldn't accept a business run by cobalt and the people high on everything else wouldn't recognise her without it.
Her mind ran through everything she knew so far- silent, boxed up, possibly vicious?- admittedly it wasn't much. It wasn't enough for anything. The thrillseeker wanted to see the viciousness again and the wise wanted to continue this little chase for information dangling out of her grasp like the flowers too high on the trees she was never allowed to climb. (But she did it anyway- of course she did.)
Kasumi folded her arms, the bouquet poking out between the crook of her elbow and still securely in her hand as she watched that quirk- scepticism, it seemed. But what was he sceptical about? (Or perhaps she'd read him wrong- there was also a touch of 'oh really' within him... superiority.
One thing she mastered and couldn't stand in another. When she was impatient enough to express dislike.)
"Ah. In that case I'll prepare myself for more battles of wit with you, Kataheki-san. It seems this event will continue, even after today, doesn't it?" Was that the first time she'd spoken his name aloud? Indeed it was, and so formal. The Japanese language had so much more to it in terms of honorifics and formality... And she rarely counted anyone close enough to touch.
He rarely thought in terms of animals. Hunting was to crude to describe their business. They waited like the writhing plants that stand motionless, waiting for the fly to accidentally land upon their swaying leaves. That is when they would pounce. Such tactics took a long time- far longer then the crude ways of animals. He had learned to accept such facts.
That smile was still upon her face. But now he recognized it. Perhaps once it was a smile of confidence, but now it was there for show. The sort of smile painted onto the face of dolls- the smile used to fool the masses. Her listened to what she said about her business. There was a business- but that would require more research. But he was a person who hated wasting time, so that comment was reassuring if nothing else.
As little as she knew about him, he knew less about her. She had a business- one that she found wise to avoid mentioning. She was polite to an extreme- and she was smarter then she would initially let on. But perhaps she was suppressed in some way. Or maybe naturally an ice princess? No- few children are born with that level of secrecy.
If he was some other sort of boy, he might have taken that as a compliment- or her asking for a second date. But instead, he saw it as a challenge, perhaps the closest people like them could ever some to something like a friendship. An undying thirst to understand the other. A battle of wits- she had worded it well. He was pleased to accept such an invitation. He considered mentioning this girl to Tayuya. But perhaps this was his battle- and if she was of any importance the two would find each other.
"Very well," he started for a moment at the mention of his name. Few found his name worth remembering- and he made a point to remember everyone who did. "I will look forward to that day Ochiyo-san."
She would liken them to animals- or at least herself. The huntress used to quick kills and now perhaps she had to have patience. Kasumi could have patience, would have patience, but she wouldn’t always like it. Her eyes were alert- they always had been and so was her mind (of course) to the bitter end.
Those old, familiar words. Even if it wasn’t always wise to listen to the sayings people threw around, they would always crop up somehow. The end was only bitter with the taste of sweat as the exhaustion left one panting. It usually never happened though- they tended to reveal who they were before now and she could flitter off like a butterfly, carefree and successful.
She had dolls- once, a long time ago- they would smile endlessly and never blink. (Not to say that she didn’t practice her stares on them, but that was information to never leave her mind.) Now the dolls walked, talked and blinked. Most humans kept that smile on them at all hours. Its only purpose was to confuse.
A challenge was something to never back down from, for to do so showed weakness- just as when one revealed too much about themselves too quickly. She had a new goal in mind...
And she wanted to meet this ‘bitter end’ that was so fabled. Just how far away was it? (She speculated far.) And would she reach it? (Of course- when had she ever not?)
“As shall I,” she replied, eyes finally moving away from his for a second to glance at the sky- it had advanced somewhat (should that be surprising?) before that plastic-china smile disappeared to be replaced by a familiar blank slate. He would see her around, she would wonder about her foolproof plan for explaining a person working on him. (Just how did he react to the touch of another, anyway? He was so like her in so many ways, after all.
She hated being touched in surprise.) He would (hopefully) definitely continue to wonder about her, and eventually she’d pull every last bit of truth from his breathing lips.
Ochiyo Kasumi did not fail.
Cliché- if only she were so simple as a cliché. If only he could categorize her into a neat little compartment, easy to pull out at a moment's notice. Yet her resume stared back at him, tattered pieces of paper dancing in the breeze. He plucked them from the taunting winds as he could, to hurriedly stuff them into the recesses of his mind, only to find a piece that contradicted the first. He could only hope he was giving her no satisfaction from this- only hope that she was as frustrated as he.
But perhaps frustrated was not the right word. When someone is frustrated they throw up their work and stalk away, leaving their project to collect dust where they only might remember it. He was not so near to frustration. Perhaps he was- mildly irked (for he only felt emotions in mild quantities). She would haunt his thoughts more then he would like. Despite his analogy to a doll, she was not such a simple device.
She was a puzzle- another game that the more intellectually gifted children enjoyed. And so he would enjoy this puzzle, one he would not abandon to collect dust. His determination matched hers, except while hers was based on a matter of pride- he did not know why her pursued her so. Perhaps it was pride, or perhaps it was curiosity at a person so much like him. Or perhaps it was only his incessant desire to understand- to know.
He predicted their correspondence would not end soon- they would haunt one another’s footsteps at school, waiting for the other to do something, anything to betray their inner nature. But what would lie at the end of such a journey. Perhaps they would ignore the other once they knew all they wanted to- (or perhaps you are trapped to deep).
He followed her gaze to the sky. It had become late. A day wasted? Not so. A mystery was never time wasted (time is never wasted, except perhaps listening to the insipid talk of fools). If he had known her pondering of touch- he could not predict his own feelings. Physical contact was not something he had much of, and not something he longed for (except perhaps as a child, with outstretched arms). A spicy kiss with lady leader would be different then any contact with Kasumi- he would be sure of that. But anything else would be guesswork.
As she hoped he would ponder her, he hoped the same in return. He gave a nod of courtesy, considering saying something more, but deciding against it. As she was determined to win this battle- so was he. This perhaps made their game that could not be won or lost just played- to the bitter end.
(Part II)
Who: Kasumi and Zetsu
What: ... um, good question. Well, Zetsu’s in the flower shop because he’s Zetsu, Kasumi needs to buy some for her aunt’s death. Conversation ensues.
When: Um... whenever you desire. >>;’
Where: A flower shop and over to the crematorium.
Warnings: Meh, nothing unusual for Oshima. Apart from the painfully obvious fact that Nicole hasn’t a fucking clue what she’s saying.
There was a procedure involved in certain things, a procedure someone playing a role in life couldn't ignore. Kasumi's hair had strayed from the usual pigtails for a smooth bun, skewered by two fancy chopsticks which dangled false china flowers at their ends, and her makeup was dark.
There was only one flower shop on Oshima Island. Kasumi did appreciate beauty, but a true connoisseur of flowers would be able to tell her the mistakes she would make picking a 'mourning' bouquet. Nothing fancy- her aunt was a person she'd not seen in ten years and then only for a month before her death.
She was prettier before she burned, Kasumi still held fast to. The dead weren't interesting- the dead were gone and nothing could bring them back. But the process towards that- watching something die- was what was fascinating. Her thoughts would, invariably, return to wondering if this was how her sisters appeared when they died. But her aunt's death was long coming, long suffering and every step came with deterioration. Her sisters' deaths came suddenly- sleep and pre-birth. Each moment of deterioration was only that.
A moment.
The Parisian by birth, Japanese by blood, girl stood over a bucket of flowers (with some Latin name she didn't care to spend time translating) with a curious look. Purple or white?
How could a person fascinated with plants, be bored surrounded by flowers? The boy tenderly handled the blossom he looked at, gently pulling back the petals for a look at the inside. What might appear beautiful on the outside, would hold rot and decay on the inside. This was one way in which plants were no different then people, Zetsu noted. Overcome by a sudden rage not his own, he slammed the flower back into the bucket, as if it had personally offended him.
Pivoting on the spot, he ran his now damp hand (for while the flower-shop was small and unimpressive, they kept their flowers moist and cool) though his hair. How disappointing. Perhaps some day he would find a shop to his liking, Perhaps one day he will recapture the images that haunted his youth. Violent plants, consuming the innocent prey that dare land upon its leaves.
A small smile came to his haunted face. This was one subject that both his light and dark agreed upon. The viciousness of the carnivorous plant was the most beautiful thing in the world. And while these blooms might be fragrant... he had little interest in them. Heaving a sigh, he wrestled back his sudden anger, and began to leave the shop, when he spotted her.
Her face had a slightly familiar look to it, while her shock of blue hair most definitely did. The black urged him to walk away, to not be bothered, but the white’s interest was whet. He approached her, and looked at the flowers that her attention was fixated to. Purple and white. Royalty and purity, foolish qualities. While keeping his gaze fixed on the flowers he said in a soft voice, “Are you deciding between the two?”
Her expression never wavered though she was surprised by the break in the silence (though more surprising was the silence itself in this shop). The college freshman still held both colours in her hand while she scrutinised the other teenager who had spoken to her.
(Do I know you?)
"Correct." A bouquet for the dead was probably not meant to represent either royalty or purity- and certainly not for the woman she was supposed to be respecting with them. "My expertise lies in what is visually," (and audibly) "appealing, not so much what is actually intended by the colours." There were always others to do such things for her.
The look in her eyes... she did now know who he was. His darkness crowed, no one does. A boy who is quiet to be ignored by all, eyes opened wide to observe the world. It does not matter, responded the white evenly. “My apologies. My name is Kataheki Zetsu, I am in your class at Oshima,” he said quietly, yet crisply. That is how the white spoke after all. Quiet enough for no one else to hear (he knew the power of the spoken word), yet precise and sure in what he said.
His gaze turned back to the flowers. He stroked their petals for a moment before he spoke. Words were as delicate as flowers, “Few care to listen to the flowers colours,” he raised his eyes to hers again, “either would probably be fine, no one will know.” (when do they ever know?)
That name was familiar- her mind no longer queried anything and though not a muscle in her face seemed to twitch, her expression changed. "Of course. Ochiyo Kasumi." (Perhaps a pointless introduction.) Her mind was trained to evaluate certain things, and remember everything- clarity even amongst three languages, an instrument and things no decent person should know.
Her gaze turned back to the flowers and she discarded the purple ones carefully (there was a reverence in the movements of the other teen around the flowers that told her if she were to dump them back it wouldn't be wise). "I suppose the white shall do."
He nodded at the name. He would admit, he had forgotten. As the girl might be used to, he remembered her for her cerulean locks. As he continued to watch her face, he noticed the slight change. For a moment he wondered if he had displeased her, but saw the change was not hostile. Perhaps observant. The girl seemed sharp, something Zetsu was not used to. Perhaps he would have to be cautious around this girl, he could not tell.
Her choice, the white. Such a simple colour. The culmination of all colours? Perhaps she chose in a diplomatic fashion. White, a colour that was pure, no commitment to any colour (the colour of his self). The gentle handling of the plants did not escape his notice either. Unsure if she cared for the plants, or was thinking of some other thing, he filed away the motion.
“These are beautiful flowers,” he murmured, his voice emotionless. “May I inquire as to what these will be used for?” He always asked questions. The worst that could happen is someone would think you nosy, or simply refuse. He feared neither, for rejection had not stung him for a long time (or perhaps it stung, but there were no feelings to feel.)
It was the hair... or the clothes (working in the underground it was usually the former, she supposed after living and observing people at Oshima for over one cycle of the moon, it would be the latter.) Either way she was less than concerned, it wasn't something brought up by most people.
The white... the purple, why such a decision she wasn't entirely sure, but the purple flowers held something that she couldn't allow to associate with her aunt (a silly feeling that she would later scold herself for).
The freshman pulled out her purse from the pocket of DKNY jeans and looked for the right change, lightly hooking the white bouquet in the crook of her arm. "I'm supposed to be bringing these to where my aunt's ashes are." Though her words were honest, there was a tinge to her tone that wasn't normal- wasn't sadness or regret (was it haughtiness?) Whether she trusted Zetsu (she didn't... yet) to know that tone or it was a slip (it wasn't)... it was more likely to be deliberate.
As he heard the explanation, he paused for a moment before she said anything, letting her finish the transaction with the man behind the counter. He felt wary all of the sudden. As if she had dared him to give her sympathy. Dared him to feel pity. He felt neither in any case, but lets the words come any way- “My apologies for your loss,” the words sounded empty and hollow to his own ears, but he did not care. He saw no trace of remorse on the girl’s face, something in her tone suggested other feelings.
What feelings? Zetsu was not sure. This disturbed him greatly. He entertained the notion that she was teasing him with the tone, letting him speculate and wonder. The black already did not like this girl, but the white was fascinated. Contemplating the possible psychological trap laid before him, he continued regardless. “Would I be right to assume you did not know her well?”
She replaced the purse and her face saw one of the first changes since arriving in the shop- a slight quirk of her head to the side as she regarded Zetsu again. He'd paid enough attention to notice everything. "Not at all, in fact." A month of living together, and one meeting prior. The bouquet was secure in her right hand as the left pondered one petal's colour- to lead to one flower that was darker than the others.
Interesting. The blue-haired girl left the flower alone again. "And why did you come here?" Before the questions became an interrogation, became in inquisition.
His eyes were also drawn to the flower. A sick flower. Not quite right, so other haughty flowers might regard it as being lesser value. At times, he detested flowers, now was one such time. Proud creatures, of little worth other then to show of their own colours. Bold foolish things that did nothing useful. His eyes narrowed slightly, a change in expression that would be unnoticeable to any average person. The change passed as quickly as it came, leaving a blank expression.
Still staring at the flower, he heard her question. Why did he come here? Hoping for some joy that had long since been lost, torn down? (Then again, whose dreams are not crushed? Who are so fortunate?) “I had not heard of this shop,” he replied. “I hoped- it would have a different selection,” he finally managed to tear his eyes away from the strange flower, the one bound to be tossed out because it does not fit (just as he never fit). “But perhaps such rare things cannot be found in the everyday world.”
But of course, Kasumi was never trained, never intended to be average- even without her consent she was supposed to be better, a perfectionist in all things as her parents had wanted (but she didn't, it was something she'd let lapse in all things but music and behaviour)- she registered the small change and her lips quirked in slight amusement at a thought.
(We're analysing everything the other does, aren't we?)
"So your passion is nature, then?" Her curiosity was minimal for that part of his statement anyway. The second- the cynicism with which he spoke of the ideas of something rare- did. "I would think there is something, somewhere to carry what you desire but the mainstream doesn’t appreciate most things unless they have constant exposure to them." It was how advertising worked, after all. A name, brand, idea, pressed into a person's mind until they began to conform to groupthink.
Her lips formed a smile, even if just for a short smile. A strange thought came to his mind, she has a lovely smile the white pondered, as the black laughed. The thought came with no emotion; emotion could not be mixed with research. Emotion was far too risky, and something the white could not understand. He redirected his thoughts back to the reason behind a smile. Something amuses her? Pondering what could be amusing, the idea of their analysis came along with many others. He disregarded it in the end, distracted by what she said next.
“Passion?” what a strange word. Perhaps it was passion, although he could not see himself being ‘passionate’ about anything. Such words were reserved for romantic novels that he was far from. “I have an interest in plants, and art,” he finished. He paused yet again, thinking over what she said. “Few appreciate what I seek. They are things to be feared by some, their nature is… strange,” a strange sadness stole over him, and he didn’t like it one bit.
It was so like a person. While plants were silent and provided, humans were noisy and use. They condemn a plant that tries to be like them as strange. A plant that would bridge the gap between the two species (for plants were a species, as alive as any person). These thoughts nearly startled him, nearly (few things could startle him). “Yes, plants are my passion. And what would yours be?” the return of the question was merely for formality, all though he would never admit how interesting he found this strange girl.
The French were passionate about everything (and if you were British, you'd add, especially surrendering- something which she should, was supposed to, feel ashamed about laughing about on numerous occasions) so the word was second nature to Kasumi's tongue. She stepped towards the door of the shop, her eyes never wavering from her classmate's face and gave a small nod.
"..." A pause before she answered. The answer she knew by heart- her harp and languages. "Music. And languages." As subjects, as part of what she truly enjoyed- watching people deteriorate. Though she would rarely let it show, one of her real reasons for her choices was watching those people who seemed so on top dying without their cravings and drugs of choice, and conversation was a way to seek weaknesses in every person.
This girl was very smart, that much he was certain of. He cared about plants for the deep connection he felt with them, and he wondered for a moment what the drive of her ‘passion’ was. He would not ask such a thing publicly of course, but wondered all the same. She looked as if she could be a musician. Graceful and mysterious. Isn’t that what music is? Noise meant to distract us, and pull unwanted feelings that we did not know existed? He had never been one for music, save the sounds of falling water (he enjoyed a rainy day). And language, he would admit, he was not surprised.
“I’d imagine you’re quite good,” he mused out loud, although it was less on the side of thought, and more of a comment (true thinking was best to be done in one’s own head). “You came here from France, correct? Despite that your Japanese is nearly flawless,” if said from the lips of some other boy, some girl might have taken this as a compliment, but he meant no such niceties, these were only observations.
The drive of music, of the harp, she couldn't answer however. Though she would wager a bet that it was to keep herself sane with everything else, plucking the strings and listening to the soft, constant notes of the instrument stopped her from doing anything rash.
Because that would be suicide.
"Ah, thank you." It was a formality that came out without thought, to reply in such a way. "I wouldn't allow myself to be less." By now they were out of the shop (it was still sunny- was summer staying late?) and the china flowers blew back slightly in a small breeze. "Yes. My parents insisted on me speaking Japanese at home- their accents never suffered." Hers would always still hold that tinge of French regardless, her schooling wouldn't allow less, being trained in two languages to perfection from birth left no other alternative.
Something had to give.
The sun, he looked up at the flawless blue sky for a moment, and resented the lack of clouds. While he understood both sun and rain was needed, he preferred the darkness of a rainstorm. Or maybe it wasn’t the darkness, but the smell of the moist earth and the sound of thundering rainfall brought him closer to happiness then anything else could. Returning his meandering thoughts he contemplated her words.
There seemed to be a tinge of bitterness in her voice. Perhaps regret? No, she did not seem the type to regret anything she did. Perhaps the word ‘nearly’ had stung her? He did not particularly care either way, but it was an interesting thought. “Languages can be beautiful, but I have not considered travelling enough to pursue them,” he lied. He had once thought of travel, as a little boy who wanted to wander the rainforests of the world. But that was the past, not to be brought up.
“You transferred to Oshima recently have you not? Are you enjoying it?” Again, words of formalities. To the students of the school, it did not matter if you enjoyed it. Such a feeling was a luxury. Oshima was a place for children of talent, yet children of troubles. Perhaps you couldn’t have talent without some inner turmoil, the white mused, while the black listened impatiently.
Had she known, they could have agreed on the weather, but her motivations were more selfish than the atmosphere. Her skin suffered in sunlight too much.
What Zetsu said, thought, didn't bother Kasumi- something she'd learned a long time ago was to detach herself from others' opinions (though at the same time, would she be who she was without those opinions? The spoiled little rich girl without a clue.) "It can be that the travel comes to you." The people who didn't know your language and imposed themselves on your country/city/home (those people were foolish.) "Though I don't understand the appeal of travelling without the knowledge of how to comprehend the natives."
She knew formalities- they were the drab, small talk things that no-one cared about. As was this. "Indeed. The island is different to what I am accustomed to, but the school hasn't given me any reason to be disappointed yet." Well, apart from certain occurrences on the first day (that redhead...) but it was a story the boy (man? She wasn't sure) didn't need to hear.
"How long has it been for you?"
How long has he been at Oshima- it felt like eternity. Two lives, one of his childhood, and one lived here. Childhood was horrid, yet familiar (most children make the un-friendliest situation familiar). Oshima seemed almost as an exile from his life he once knew. Yet, it could possibly be some of the best years of his life. He could never decide, and so the years drug on in the same uncertainty.
“I have come here since ninth grade,” he responded. “Although I was absent for my senior year,” that fact was still a sore spot. His parents’ decision to pay attention, only when it affected him. A whirlwind of therapists and foolish people prattling about what they did not know. An angry bubble seemed to form within his chest, but he made no outward sign of it. “I’m glad I was able to return though, I suppose I missed it.”
There were things unsaid between the two of them- it was too early to delve or reveal any of these things either- so the game was to pick up everything from body language and what little was said.
Kasumi was beginning to think she'd found a challenge in Kataheki Zetsu.
How... interesting. (She lightly bit her lip for a moment as she regarded him again- not in light of words said but words unsaid.)
"I don't miss it." Paris. She didn't like the change between a city and this island, but she didn't miss Paris. Kasumi watched the less crowded road... and that was a reason why. Traffic games were fun for the criminally suicidal but her death would never be so public. (Was she sick to know what it would be already?) Nothing she did betrayed what she was thinking- or the small surge of emotion as her fascination allowed her a brief fantasy.
He knew of the silences that she pondered. He saw them as well. Gaping spaces between the words she said, where more might be filled. Fascination did not come along very often, and while it might start with startlingly blue hair, it would lead to a person, as closed as he. He prided himself on understanding others, and the knowledge that he did not understand her frustrated him. The fact that he could not compartmentalize her into a shelf in his mind stopped him from walking away. The darkness laughed at light’s obsession, and continued to linger in the recesses of his mind. His feelings all lay within that darkness, and there they were removed unless coaxed out.
But she must feel things too, but where does she hide them… Ah- she bit her lip, a signal of sorts. That was a sign of thinking. ‘Perhaps we are sharing thoughts,’ he mused, it was apparent they were strikingly similar. Another note to go in her near empty file.
He wondered for a moment if this girl was… similar. More then her appearance? That much he was sure of- “Strange, I would imagine this small island would seem- dull after the fast life of a city,” he suggested. He knew cities, or at least the city of his childhood. True, foreign cities might be completely different, but he was willing to bet some aspects were the same.
There was silence for a moment (there seemed to be a lot of silence) as the gap between two streets was crossed. She knew what to say (she always did- always had to) but how much of it she would allow herself to say she wasn't entirely sure. It certainly wasn't like the other people she had encountered to understand through idle conversation.
He was perhaps something that would take time. (A game she'd be willing to play, admittedly. If only to better herself. To take so long figuring out another was something she couldn't allow again.)
"A city is everywhere at every time. I suppose it's the intimacy issues of somewhere smaller." A place where you could recognise and name everyone in your own head- whether their actual form of address or not- it was something she was growing to like about this island. Paris was a place you would be lucky to see the same stranger twice.
He nodded in what might have seemed to be an absentminded manner, “Intimacy is an odd concept,” he murmured. “But yes I suppose, on a small island you would know everyone-“ he paused, mulling it over. He could now conclude that the girl liked to be informed. What she would do with such information? He was not sure. Weather it be of a sinister nature, or something innocent, it could truly be either. From a distance one would assume her innocence, but talk with her a little you would deduce she was very bright.
“Some students complain about that,” he paused again, “sloppy ones, that cannot clean up after themselves. To you and I, it is more of a blessing.” His eyes lingered from the street, and he watched her face for a moment. He was not sure if what he said would draw any response, but he did not want to miss anything. The white was having a good deal more fun- no, fun was not the right word. One of the more interesting talks since returning to the island.
Kasumi wondered just how much he'd realised from that statement, and knew it was stupid of her to assume anything less than 'a lot'. (At least, a lot in terms of what they knew so far). Her use of information? Simple- control. But shrouded so deeply in what she disguised as innocence, regality and the training of years, if Zetsu realised in one sitting what she'd spent years perfectly hiding...
It would bother her.
"You speak possibly the truest words I've heard since my arrival." Though, she enjoyed having to exert effort. Getting fed lines on a silver platter wasn't quite as satisfying as having to find it for yourself.
That sense of accomplishment couldn't be beaten.
"Oh? And you have a good faith basis for why you think we are of the same ilk in that respect?" One of her more forward ways of trying to discover what he knew, even as she spoke with a tone that almost sang like laughter.
There was music in inflections. But anyone who believed them true music was a fool.
Music… her tone was like music. The kind of music he knew- those of voices, and rain, and the whisper of wind in the grass. Perhaps that was one thing that would separate them- their reality (for his was warped). He could not know of course, but he might assume she was... worried? He certainly hoped so. The dark argued this side, after years of being ignored, the black longed for respect, while the white knew it was better to remain small and invisible. What he wanted to appear in front of her? He was not yet sure.
Innocence was the best part to play if you weren’t sure- he had learned that long ago. And so the façade stayed, a dizzying dance of words, allusions to something greater- but never to the point. “You flatter me,” he responded, returning his eyes to the road. At the next words she spoke, his mind stopped for a moment, and he had to give great effort to not respond (although a flicker of a flinch came over it- he tried to pass it off as a shiver of sorts, but he knew she would notice).
He tried to shrug in an innocent manner “Our actions speak louder then words, and we listen more then that- I can tell a like soul,” he responded casually. He hoped the laughing tone in her voice meant that she was not at full attention, but he seriously doubted it.
Everything logged and appreciated for what it told her- another courtesy made for the sake of conversation's norms and hidden values. "Flattery is reserved for those whose affections you are trying to win." Though, in a way, she was trying to win his (but she suspected that flattery would be useless in that). It didn't prevent her words being any less true.
These little games would break most people- or leave them clueless to greater intent. Her eyes caught that moment (moment. Always a moment.) and narrowed imperceptibly (though he probably perceived it.)
"Your perception is well." (Most don't bother to look this deeply into the truth. Because fools never want to know it.)
What the hell does that even mean? the black raged, but the white whispered soothing words and thought about those words. But more importantly, her eyes narrowed. The image of a cat, crouching before her pray, tail waving in a manner that might seem peaceful and lulling to the un-expecting mouse. Ready to pounce, ready to learn a secret. But what secrets is she searching for? Probably the same ones he is looking for. Intentions, and actions.
He nodded his head, “Thank you,” he responded flatly, feeling a smidgeon of irritation. She thought she had him cornered. He knew better then to assume she would get cocky and careless (their kind rarely did). “As is yours. What might have bred such- alert behaviour?” The white gave a rare smirk of satisfaction within.
He knew she would not answer the truth, but he hoped it would give her some speck of insight. There was more to her, that much was sure- what was it?
His question wasn't entirely unexpected, but she allowed the hitch in her breath anyway- a sign of something, perhaps a lure. Her heels clicked along the pavement, loud over that small hitch as Kasumi wondered about her answer. Wondered about how much was prudent to give.
As ever, the silence lingered.
"You're welcome." Manners first, manners first. "It is what I needed." To impress my family's contacts as I said all the right things. Her eyes looked away from him as she spoke this time- until now she'd been watching him quite intently. Now that same gaze turned upon the cement.
Her thoughts so far? He had more competency than others and what could make him that way was still undecided. His interests were important (but whose wasn't?) and she'd have to tread carefully around what city girls never thought of.
Nature.
The hitch. How things can be deceiving, how little illusions can be cast. But for Zetsu, those illusions assured something. There was something deeper about this girl. He was going to assume that she took part in deeper business, something that Paris probably had far more of then this tiny island. He wondered for a moment if he was leading her off track, but dismissed it as a foolish thought. If she let that slip unintentionally, then the way she gained these skills was not innocent. If she put it there on purpose- it did not make her innocent, for innocent people were never this careful.
Their secrets would come bursting out of a flushed face long before this, not danced around, with only tendrils of blue hair lingering behind to taunt his empty hand. If the truth would elude him- no matter. This assurance that this was not all for naught was enough.
“The world is a hard place,” he responded, careful with what he said, “strange skills are needed to make one’s way.” He pondered for a minute about her homeland. He did not know very much about the city of lights. He would have to do a little research. Was it completely necessary? No (but nothing is truly necessary). He noted the shifting of her gaze. Perhaps she wished to put up the illusion of a girl embarrassed? No- there was no need. He would wager she might be collecting her thoughts.
They were closing in on the crematorium, a fact she hadn't paid much attention to until now, her interest caught by an enigma (and if it wasn't clear already, she wanted to no, would solve this enigma... somehow). Kasumi moved her gaze back to Zetsu- yet another point of similarity- the strangest lessons that no-one would think necessary were usually the most useful. (And that was why they were trapped in a world of fools. Perhaps some of the few to realise that point.)
There was the faint whisper of china flowers again and she felt the threads of unnaturally blue hair loosen slightly as her free hand again played with the flower- the sick one, the off-white.
"There's a saying about the one that stands out. It makes the others pale in comparison." Literally true in this case- the sick little flower made the others seem whiter, purer in her hands.
He looked up at the building the pair had found their way to. Her interest seemed to be minimal in the building they had approached, so he made no mention of it. He wondered for a moment if she was as unwilling to halt this conversation as he, and felt a strange satisfaction that he could not explain
His gaze was brought to her hair, and noticed the shift the wind brought. While he did not mind the wind (it made beautiful music) it carried the scent of the dead here. He wrinkled his nose in slight distaste, but smoothed his expression again when she parted her lips to speak.
Her words brought a strange fury upon him, and the flower caused black to lash out, “Well those guys would be fucking morons,” he hissed, eyes suddenly narrowed, and face slightly contorted. As the black withdrew seething into the back of his mind, he brought back his mask of calm, but not before displaying flickers of shock, and frustration. This was no time for emotions of any kind.
The black argued back. The foolishness of humans, that bubble of anger from only a few minutes ago still remained. The boastful nature of flowers, and the humans enticed by their pretty nature. The black argued, how is she different? She’s just a pretty little French flower. The white protested, hidden inside is some ferocity, and he will find out what it is. But he couldn’t do that with the other coming out
Attempting to seem that nothing was wrong he gave a nod and continued, “just because a person says it and others repeat it, does not make it wise.”
Kasumi couldn't help but blink, rather surprised, and it took all her will to resist the smirk that bubbled inside. (It seemed she'd found something.) And her instincts to tread carefully around nature were correct. The building was irrelevant, mostly. (She still remembered why she was here, but it could spare a moment.)
It could spare more than a moment when she'd found the trigger, so to speak. And it was a trigger curiosity wished her to press and wisdom told her not to. She tilted her head- that pretty little head that seemed too fragile to hold what it did- upwards slightly (for he was taller than her and as much as she scrutinised she'd never actually looked at his appearance.)
"And most of the time it makes it purely the opposite." There was some wisdom in what that saying stated, for those insecure about their differences.
"But that saying was created by a philosopher who wanted to make his eccentricities seem positive." A pause as she looked down again, pondering momentarily. "Do you believe it is correct for people to justify their eccentricities?" It was human nature, but was it the correct one? She was cruel, curious and fascinated by the dying more than the living- but she justified each one to herself in ways no-one would understand. The cruelty was that fools deserved what they got, curiosity that she only wished to know whether she knew a fool or not, and dying because when all the fools died, she wanted to be there to allow herself to bask in it.
Not since returning to Oshima, had Black become this angry. She’s fucking going to smirk isn’t she? That little flower bitch thinks she’s so- white struggled with himself. He would not let this be ruined. Zetsu held tight to his face of calm, attempting to overthrow every desire to punch this little darling’s delicate face. It wasn’t a normal thing to be angry about. No one else would be angry- Zetsu was strange, and always had been.
“Yes,” he replied softly. “Eccentricities have always fascinated the human mind, and they can be used for or against the masses,” he could not look at her, at that self satisfied flicker in the back of her eyes. He diverted his gaze, looking at the building for a moment.
Dead, that is where the dead went. He personally favoured cremation. Humans into soil, sinking into the earth, they aren’t so different then plants any more? (But they were never different, both feeding, both living-). “One could say our eccentricities make us different, thus worse,” he stared at the sad little dim flower held in her hand. “Or, another could say eccentricities make us unique, thus better-“ he stared her down, his eyes holding a new sort of intensity. “what is your thought on the matter?”
Black was screaming in protest, and Zetsu supposed some of that unreasonable anger showed in his face, but taking a stab at an idea, he tried a new tactic. “Your hair is not naturally blue I assume,” he began, “does changing your hair to make you different cause you to stand out? Or seem-“ he paused, “damaged?”
As he spoke of her hair, Kasumi reached towards it idly- loose strands finally falling from their path and framing her face. A finger twirled the loose strands a little as she ignored that pause. An artistic pause. She (tried to) ignore it and its implications (and his stare which, admittedly- a thing she loathed to admit to herself- was hard to stop herself from being wary of, and so her eyes never left him), concentrating on other things he had said.
But it didn't stop the irritation flickering in her face- something pure and uncalculated. The college freshman could care less about his opinions of her hair, but the pause pissed her off annoyed her. Because he was trying to annoy her with it- and it worked.
'Kasumi, dear, Kasumi! Tell me, what do you need to remember?'
'That no matter what they say I don’t show any emotion that would displease them.'
A lesson she prided herself on maintaining. (Though, in this case, the reverse would be true. Don’t show him anything he wants.)
"To say it is only our eccentricities that make us unique is unwise. Our differences start with something as small as DNA." And only become bigger from there on. Her lips pursed slightly as she contemplated the two opinions. "Personally I don't see why they should be mutually exclusive, or even the only options." (But what were the other options?)
"I cannot imagine why anyone would believe it was natural," she replied easily.
Silence rang again as she touched the china flowers. What was it about this ornament? It balanced beauty and danger- the flowers were false with a fragile mask, but touch the petals and you would shock yourself with the sharpness.
"I suppose it would all depend on the person viewing my hair, it is not my place to manipulate others' opinions of me." A lie if ever she spoke one- she relied on the false opinion most fools had of her. "What do you believe? Am I different, or damaged?" Had this been any other place or time or person speaking those words, it could have sounded a flirtatious invitation for him to compliment her, but this wasn’t another place, time, and Kasumi was talking- all she wanted was an insight.
It was almost strange that it could come with something as simple as hair.
He continued to stare at her, not quite sure if he saw a touch of hesitance in her. But she was meeting his gaze. She was serious- completely serious at this moment. Now was the time when one of the two would walk away with an understanding of the other. He knew this moment all too well, and it had to be handled with- delicacy.
Ones opinions were a dangerous thing. A rule he learned early on (and the more he talked with her, he became sure that she knew this too) not to give one's opinion. It is something to be used against you by an observant being, and something to be disregarded by the average person. People did not really care what you think; only what they want to know- or perhaps to give an opportunity to talk about what they know. Humans- such vain creations.
"It is not?" he asked, using a tone of mildly surprised. "Humans strive to be noticed- such hair is a common teenage tactic for the attention they wish." he stopped again, deciding to fish for an answer he longed for. "Which I find strange, you do not seem like to sort of person who would strive for any sort of attention."
He continued on to her next statement quickly, allowing his question to be drowned amongst words. He was not so foolish as to assume she would not notice a question of that sort, but he did not want to give her any extra time to contemplate.
"But it is a sad thing-" he felt no sorrow for it at all, or not anymore. "Two people will see something strange, and see something unique or damaged." his gaze shifted to the poor little flower. "That ornament would be viewed as different from its more lustrous companion." he turned back to her eyes. Never let their stares break for longer then he could help to make a point.
Eyes were the window into the soul, so some wise man once said. But Zetsu thought little of this man, for the eyes were doors. Left open by anyone foolish enough to forget them, but closed and locked by those with half a mind for security. "But when one is asked of your hair- they would say it is "unique" in fear of hurting something as fragile as your feelings," if he was correct, they were anything but. But a new theory had blossomed, one of her pride.
"My thoughts," again, something to handle carefully. "you are as damaged as I."
There was the click of her heel against the pavement as she stepped forward slightly, her head tilting for a split second before it snapped back to a perfect straight line. Well- never perfect, for she knew perfection was unobtainable, though the right challenge to strive for. But to the untrained eye it looked perfect but she could tell by the chime of her flowers that it was a degree to heavy to the left. Always the left.
She’d blocked every question back at him as best she could but it was obvious he knew her strategy and was playing the same game. If her opinion was asked and answered candidly, the world was full of fools who deserved their cocaine cut with cyanide but that was too dangerous to tell to people. There was still much to do. Much, much to do.
"Attention is relative. I'd prefer to live without it but it cannot be done. The attention is given to the brilliant too, whether we want it or not. Don't you agree? I don’t believe my hair affects much either way." He was the 'we', she knew it already. And when the brilliant were looked for, they were looked at to fit in, to be official and bland and covered in black.
"Ah, you think so? I suppose so-" she couldn’t care quite honestly (and for a moment she wondered why they kept talking about these things when mostly nothing at all was said, or lies, or questions)- and her stare tilted again, heavy to the left.
Security was for houses, most people would say. Hearts and feelings were to be shared. But then they were manipulated and crushed and the person was left as worthless (not to say that most people weren’t already). Kasumi’s lips curled slightly- allowing her amusement to show as he spoke of fragile feelings. Fragility was for the weak, was for the stereotype.
"Is that so? We are of the same 'ilk', that much is true. But whether we’re equals--" she paused for a moment, leaning her body weight forward, towards him- "I’ve yet to decide."
Intelligence leads to curiosity, and curiosity leads to boredom. It is natural then, that those of brilliance find themselves bored by the interests of those around them. It is only when one of like sense is found that they can be truly entertained. Zetsu was bright enough not to call himself a genius; such titles were reserved for the cocky.
This girl though- she was of a like mind. She knew it, and they continued their game of cat and mouse. Gathering information about the other- looking for imperfections (her head was tilted to the left). Looking for true feelings hidden under years of ice and lies.
"Attention is irritating," this was true- there was a time when he sought attention from the people he cared for most, but any such desire had long since disappeared. "The shadows provide a place to observe the world." he paused again. "But it does give people a reason to remember you. The only reason I recognized you today was admittedly your hair." Perhaps she needed such recognition for whatever her trade? This still puzzled him.
Her smile- she should not be smiling. Perhaps he misjudged her. Just a moment ago she seemed tense and troubled- but perhaps she was out of whatever corner he had led her to. She was confident, did not care about whatever he insinuated. But if her insecurities were not as clear as his own- well perhaps it was one advantage she could hold. He was rarely challenged.
He raised an eyebrow. She talked of equality. As if such a thing could be measured. Another thing he had measured incorrectly. She did have a sense of pride; otherwise she would not mention equality. The white felt no desire to prove himself, while the black murmured in annoyance. "I suppose we will learn soon enough."
Just who was hunting, and who was hunted here? That was the most important question, and something that reminded her of another time, another lesson- that the prey can lure the predator into a corner and get them to reveal everything in that moment of overconfidence.
Kasumi knew it was to hope too much at the notion of making this one slip up so easily.
Her smile lingered, for whatever reason- confusion's sake, perhaps?- and she paused after he spoke of recognition. "By my own admission, it works to my advantage." And so it did. The linear couldn't- wouldn't accept a business run by cobalt and the people high on everything else wouldn't recognise her without it.
Her mind ran through everything she knew so far- silent, boxed up, possibly vicious?- admittedly it wasn't much. It wasn't enough for anything. The thrillseeker wanted to see the viciousness again and the wise wanted to continue this little chase for information dangling out of her grasp like the flowers too high on the trees she was never allowed to climb. (But she did it anyway- of course she did.)
Kasumi folded her arms, the bouquet poking out between the crook of her elbow and still securely in her hand as she watched that quirk- scepticism, it seemed. But what was he sceptical about? (Or perhaps she'd read him wrong- there was also a touch of 'oh really' within him... superiority.
One thing she mastered and couldn't stand in another. When she was impatient enough to express dislike.)
"Ah. In that case I'll prepare myself for more battles of wit with you, Kataheki-san. It seems this event will continue, even after today, doesn't it?" Was that the first time she'd spoken his name aloud? Indeed it was, and so formal. The Japanese language had so much more to it in terms of honorifics and formality... And she rarely counted anyone close enough to touch.
He rarely thought in terms of animals. Hunting was to crude to describe their business. They waited like the writhing plants that stand motionless, waiting for the fly to accidentally land upon their swaying leaves. That is when they would pounce. Such tactics took a long time- far longer then the crude ways of animals. He had learned to accept such facts.
That smile was still upon her face. But now he recognized it. Perhaps once it was a smile of confidence, but now it was there for show. The sort of smile painted onto the face of dolls- the smile used to fool the masses. Her listened to what she said about her business. There was a business- but that would require more research. But he was a person who hated wasting time, so that comment was reassuring if nothing else.
As little as she knew about him, he knew less about her. She had a business- one that she found wise to avoid mentioning. She was polite to an extreme- and she was smarter then she would initially let on. But perhaps she was suppressed in some way. Or maybe naturally an ice princess? No- few children are born with that level of secrecy.
If he was some other sort of boy, he might have taken that as a compliment- or her asking for a second date. But instead, he saw it as a challenge, perhaps the closest people like them could ever some to something like a friendship. An undying thirst to understand the other. A battle of wits- she had worded it well. He was pleased to accept such an invitation. He considered mentioning this girl to Tayuya. But perhaps this was his battle- and if she was of any importance the two would find each other.
"Very well," he started for a moment at the mention of his name. Few found his name worth remembering- and he made a point to remember everyone who did. "I will look forward to that day Ochiyo-san."
She would liken them to animals- or at least herself. The huntress used to quick kills and now perhaps she had to have patience. Kasumi could have patience, would have patience, but she wouldn’t always like it. Her eyes were alert- they always had been and so was her mind (of course) to the bitter end.
Those old, familiar words. Even if it wasn’t always wise to listen to the sayings people threw around, they would always crop up somehow. The end was only bitter with the taste of sweat as the exhaustion left one panting. It usually never happened though- they tended to reveal who they were before now and she could flitter off like a butterfly, carefree and successful.
She had dolls- once, a long time ago- they would smile endlessly and never blink. (Not to say that she didn’t practice her stares on them, but that was information to never leave her mind.) Now the dolls walked, talked and blinked. Most humans kept that smile on them at all hours. Its only purpose was to confuse.
A challenge was something to never back down from, for to do so showed weakness- just as when one revealed too much about themselves too quickly. She had a new goal in mind...
And she wanted to meet this ‘bitter end’ that was so fabled. Just how far away was it? (She speculated far.) And would she reach it? (Of course- when had she ever not?)
“As shall I,” she replied, eyes finally moving away from his for a second to glance at the sky- it had advanced somewhat (should that be surprising?) before that plastic-china smile disappeared to be replaced by a familiar blank slate. He would see her around, she would wonder about her foolproof plan for explaining a person working on him. (Just how did he react to the touch of another, anyway? He was so like her in so many ways, after all.
She hated being touched in surprise.) He would (hopefully) definitely continue to wonder about her, and eventually she’d pull every last bit of truth from his breathing lips.
Ochiyo Kasumi did not fail.
Cliché- if only she were so simple as a cliché. If only he could categorize her into a neat little compartment, easy to pull out at a moment's notice. Yet her resume stared back at him, tattered pieces of paper dancing in the breeze. He plucked them from the taunting winds as he could, to hurriedly stuff them into the recesses of his mind, only to find a piece that contradicted the first. He could only hope he was giving her no satisfaction from this- only hope that she was as frustrated as he.
But perhaps frustrated was not the right word. When someone is frustrated they throw up their work and stalk away, leaving their project to collect dust where they only might remember it. He was not so near to frustration. Perhaps he was- mildly irked (for he only felt emotions in mild quantities). She would haunt his thoughts more then he would like. Despite his analogy to a doll, she was not such a simple device.
She was a puzzle- another game that the more intellectually gifted children enjoyed. And so he would enjoy this puzzle, one he would not abandon to collect dust. His determination matched hers, except while hers was based on a matter of pride- he did not know why her pursued her so. Perhaps it was pride, or perhaps it was curiosity at a person so much like him. Or perhaps it was only his incessant desire to understand- to know.
He predicted their correspondence would not end soon- they would haunt one another’s footsteps at school, waiting for the other to do something, anything to betray their inner nature. But what would lie at the end of such a journey. Perhaps they would ignore the other once they knew all they wanted to- (or perhaps you are trapped to deep).
He followed her gaze to the sky. It had become late. A day wasted? Not so. A mystery was never time wasted (time is never wasted, except perhaps listening to the insipid talk of fools). If he had known her pondering of touch- he could not predict his own feelings. Physical contact was not something he had much of, and not something he longed for (except perhaps as a child, with outstretched arms). A spicy kiss with lady leader would be different then any contact with Kasumi- he would be sure of that. But anything else would be guesswork.
As she hoped he would ponder her, he hoped the same in return. He gave a nod of courtesy, considering saying something more, but deciding against it. As she was determined to win this battle- so was he. This perhaps made their game that could not be won or lost just played- to the bitter end.
(Part II)