Watchful Wakefulness [Ayumi]

There was no reason to make an elaborate ritual out of preparing for sleep. As soon as indigo and violet buried the warmth of the afternoon and the gentle twinkle of stars caught her attention, Ayumi would balance a steaming cup of tea between her fingers and smile dully. She had work to do, that was all it signified and once more, her spidery fingers would lift a pen and scribble tirelessly; her fatigued eyes would observe, with hints of envy, the strange calm that overcomes her lab. The sort of calm her mind has been craving for decades, chasing after with the fervour of a sunflower turning towards the sun, even if its petals were to droop under the miserable heat.

The poisoner sighed quietly—tonight was a mere metaphorical drop in the ocean, one night among a thousand where her exhausted soul would wheeze under the stagnant burden of memories and anxieties. It’s on nights like these that she dived deeper into her work, hoping the mind-numbing repetition of writing reports and staring at test-tubes would smother the images of dried blood decorating stony cell floors or the hushed whispers that still clung to the walls of her mind like cobwebs.

The room was dark but Ayumi preferred it to the irritation the bright ceiling lights brought her. The lab was her sanctuary, the only location where she could drop all pretences and lick her wounds in solitude. Granted, the feeble attempts she had made in the past to uphold a façade of unflappability hadn’t survived more than a few harsh glances thrown her way, but Ayumi had never allowed herself the right to be weak.

She acknowledged it—with much reluctance—she was frail, doll-like, her still-skeletal frame sobbed miserably with every movement as if she were a thousand years old, begged her to stop. Her mind was fractured beyond anything her body could have withstood and every nightmare, every flashback drove the nail in as a reminder. She was weak and she was well aware of it but she ridiculed herself for it mercilessly. It was the very reason Ayumi had rendered herself a prisoner within the laboratory—perhaps within her own mind—she feared the outside world. How ironic, in all honesty, that the coveted world she could only observe through a sliver near the ceiling of her moss-laden cell in the Maggots’ Nest was the very one that taunted her now. It drove her to this point—to acquaint herself painfully with the four walls of a room that smelled of stale air and bleach.

She hadn’t been seen in months with the exception of her only friend and confidante, Chinda Kiriko, Ayumi corrected herself.

The poisoner had taken an instant liking to the taller woman, in some sort of sisterly manner—or maybe she viewed Kiriko as a mentor, an idol. The other woman’s strength was undeniable, impressive and Ayumi longed for it. She longed for the resilience, the determination her captain displayed proudly—the way she laughed in the face of pain, lifted herself to her feet and demolished every obstacle. Ayumi craved it, she wept at the realisation that she would never wield the same sort of power but rejoiced at having been taken under Chinda’s wing to begin with. The petite woman had never imagined that anyone—especially Chinda Kiriko—would see something of value, something worth salvaging in the mess of emotional stutters and shaking limbs she had been three years ago, upon her release.

When she thought about it, Ayumi realised, she was the sunflower, pathetic and fragile but Chinda was her sun. She turned to the taller woman, blindly, devotedly and she would continue to do so even if her sun were so brilliant it would scorch her to the ground. They had built a strange relationship over a series of conversations that stretched into the small hours of the night—the only other person who remained awake and alert at this hour of the day was their captain. The two of them fit seamlessly beside each other, despite their contrasting personalities; Kiriko completed her, looked beyond the exterior of cracks sewn into porcelain, swept away the dust hanging over her until she was as good as new.

Chinda had been her only framework for support and she still was. In her every action, even in the tiny gleam in her dark eyes, Ayumi found nothing but compassion. It amazed her, time and time again, how the taller female overflowed with such strength—she had more than enough to sustain entire armies.

And Ayumi could only hope whatever little she had to offer to Kiriko in return was sufficient.

She gasped softly and bit down on her tongue just in time to stifle it as a familiar voice called for her. Everything about it brought a smile to her lips, the same way curling your fingers around the hand of a loved one and relishing the warmth of the gesture elicited a smile. Their conversations were normal, to be expected even and if anything, Ayumi held them close to her heart.

She needed this; she needed Chinda Kiriko desperately, she was weak and Kiriko was strong. They were as different as night and day. Ayumi could not imagine battling the unending solitude herself—it would strangle her and Kiriko pried the hands away from her neck. “Taichou,” she greeted quietly before setting the syringe in her hands down and maintaining the small, but genuine smile the woman’s presence brought to her lips. She had the choice of asking what it was that brought Kiriko to her lab but it struck her as wiser to start off with pleasantries, even if they were unnecessary.

“How have you been? What can I do for you?”

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966 words // 19 GP 

That face turned towards her, reiatsu radiating outward with the need of the sea, swallowing her own soul like a buoy beneath the waves. Bobbing in the eddies of Takasugi's emotions Kiriko brushed a stray piece of hair behind her ear, calloused hands rubbing roughly at her cheek as she tried to hold to the sharp bitter pain that clenched somewhere inside. It was hard to keep a hold of all her anger when she was around Takasugi. Hard to remember why she hated so much, and just what that hate did for her when she was outside in a world that would only ever hate her back.

Takasugi was the brief reprieve, the secret weakness that was solace only so long as it was never fully uttered. Oh, how Tsukimiya-taichou would laugh at the two of them if he'd stuck around long enough to see what became of his toys. Two women twisted beyond all recognition, thrown and shattered against the rocks of what was supposed to be freedom. Oh, hadn't he thought the world a gift, something to bestow on the two of them. But for all his strengths he forgot that others weren't as strong. That they couldn't be as strong as he was. And she had watched over the long months and years as Ayumi succumbed to the very same creeping pain that threw Kiriko to her knees.

It was a shame that she'd curdled that blood, twisting it all inside until she had nothing left but to jump off the cliff of despair. Takasugi was different than that. A better type of soul. No matter how she fluttered in the cruelties of the wind she never broke, never completely, maintaining a powerful sense of personhood. It had taken her many midnight meetings to realize what it was that Ayumi had that set her so far apart from Kiriko herself. They both had dreams. They both had the spiritual power to push on and on and never give up. They both had at one point been good at things, been innocently childish, been the favorite of a great man.

But Kiriko had been afraid. Afraid in a way that Ayumi never was. She'd thought, originally, that fear was important. It had always been a good goad in the past. Her Father had liked it. Aneue had shown the mastery of that emotion. And even Tsukimiya-taichou had implemented it. The false Tova had breathed it out with each word. Was it really so surprising that she had clung to it as if it was the sky above her head, blue, so blue, no matter that people called it green.

Hahaue, the very thing that was supposed to be her strength, her goodness, she had intuitively understood fear as well. Lashing at Kiriko's mind with these concepts of guilt, of persecution and sin. As if she could somehow motivate Kiriko into making penance. Only she'd couched it all in poetry and sprigs of plum blossom, those cold hands pressing against her forehead like a mother would as she murmured forgiveness.

That was the difference, Kiriko knew now. The difference between Ayumi and herself.

Ayumi had never forgotten how to hope. But Kiriko, Kiriko had never known how. Or perhaps, if she had, it was back so far that only her Oneesama had pulled it out of her and the loss of that tiny flickering light had been enough to snuff such aspirations from her very bones.

Once, she'd thought that maybe she would be a good Shinigami. Once she'd used to dream, of a future filled with accolades and success. That was before the dreams had started, before the sea of blood. Aneue had haunted her mind, but the truth was that Aneue was just a part of her, the aspects she'd tried to emulate while refusing to accept what they fully meant. She was a dark and sinister monster, just as Aneue had always tried to force her to admit. Aneue hadn't been successful at much other than making Kiriko blame the wrong target, but the sword spirit had taught her an important lesson.

It was better to be hopeless than to face yourself and the stark reality that dogged you. So she'd tossed it away one last time. And that was probably why Takasugi was here in this room, toiling away for endless hours, twisting and crying on her proverbial hook, but never truly breaking. While Kiriko, Kiriko had gone on a trajectory for the stars only to break right through the sky and crash not into heaven but Hell.

It was too late to learn about hope though. The closest thing she had was being near Ayumi, watching the byplay of emotions that shuttered beneath that paper-thin skin. The girl was all tangled up inside, and yet she could so easily turn that brilliant light upon those at her side. It was a gift, something Kiriko cherished more than she would ever admit.

Stepping forward, fully escaping the safety of the darkness now, her hand lifted slowly as she brushed tenderly at the other woman's face. Hair stuck to Ayumi's forehead, marring that beautiful expression as Takasugi smiled, and it wasn't until Kiriko had swept it back that she responded to the woman's greetings.

“I am fine, as always. But you are not, Takasugi-san. You must take better care of yourself. Rest is important if you want to complete your work,” her hands fell with a soft pressure to the girl's shoulders, pushing her down into the nearby chair with steady strength. Her threats went unspoken, swallowed back behind teeth that were so used to intimidation. It was not her place to stress the other woman more, not when she was lying to her face already and it was only the first few sentences into their conversation.

Changing the subject could be called controlling the direction and therefore being master over the dialogue. Kiriko realized though that what it really was was escapism. She was too hesitant to speak on herself, not right now, with her soul torn to bits and the screams of her past self still ragged in her ears. So she shifted, avoiding like always the heart of the matter and falling into a role of responsibility. This was a familiar path for the two of them, from the very first meeting to the last it would be her job to take care of Takasugi. She might sometimes hate the man who had asked that of her, but she would never abandon her duty, never abandon what it meant to the two girls now to have this faith between them.

WC: 1108 | GP: 22 | Total GP: 41

Under her admiration, a sense of pride rustled; pride that she had the chance to not only meet but befriend someone so utterly perfect, someone she looked to once and wholeheartedly wished to emulate. Kiriko was ambitious and daring, she leapt at the prospect of change and improvement. She worked ceaselessly, climbed up the ranks, clenched her teeth and bore the pain of every hurdle that dared to stand in her path until her power grew exponentially. It truly felt like standing beside the sun, to stand beside Kiriko—her strength was fierce, limitless. And Ayumi’s—the sunflower’s—was finite, she was bound to wither one day.

Ayumi had made one too many excuses for herself over the years, she had allowed herself to grow comfortable with placating her fears and distress by running away from the source of them. Now, a mere shell of a being, always reticent and uncertain, she’d come to realise with disheartened tears in the corners of her eyes. She had thrown away every opportunity to even hold a candle to Kiriko’s strength and bravery. Like a coward, Ayumi had hidden herself from everything that had ever frightened her, she may as well have scrabbled at the soil and dug herself a grave with her bare hands. It was only a matter of time—she rose every morning and the only thing she’d learned to hope for was to be safe and sound, away from the jaws of death.

But what use was hope; what was the pointing in dreaming of a better future and hoping for the present to not worsen when her hands lay limp by her sides, her legs tucked under her slender frame and her time wasted by her inertia? And what use was there in coming to that realisation when the only result it yielded was more regret, more guilt? This was hardly what Tsukimiya-taichou had envisioned when he agreed to her release. A second chance, maybe, a restart—not for her to wallow in misery and indolence, not for her to be reduced to a ragdoll, barely resisting the increasing futility of her existence.

She had Kiriko today; the very person Tsukimiya-taichou would have expected her to learn from.

Her smile faltered for a moment and in the blink of an eye, Ayumi attempted to hold it back in place but she could not manage more than a silly stretch of her chapped lips and a flash of her pearly teeth. Her chestnut eyes betrayed her disappointment at Kiriko’s gentle gestures. The brunette appreciated her careful touch and the concern that emanated from every pore in her hand, even the almost maternal way she brushed Ayumi’s hair away and let her palm graze the side of her face.

It was her words that left the smaller female deflated. Even as she allowed Kiriko to softly press down on her shoulder and guide her into a nearby chair, even as she recognised no malice in the simple action, Ayumi was disappointed at herself. She was weak and Kiriko had acknowledged it.

The poisoner swallowed thickly and distracted herself by draping her long fingers around her captain’s wrist lightly, still seated. The words came to her after several moments of deliberation—whilst Kiriko could guard her emotions with a snap of her fingers, bury even the tiniest twitch of her eyes under a stern expression, Ayumi struggled to maintain a hold on her own.  “I am well, taichou. I really am, please don’t worry about me.”

She knew how … self-sacrificing Kiriko could be, Ayumi had noticed a pattern of placing others before herself over the years. A little nervously, the brunette guided her eyes upward and scratched at the passive expression, the hardened eyes constantly fixed on the next goal, hoping to find an answer under the surface if she scrabbled for long enough. Kiriko always maintained an impeccable façade, always wore her mask the way anyone else might wear clothes. Nobody was privy to what lay beneath it.

Ayumi’s voice was a hair’s width above a whisper. It wavered and she reprimanded herself internally for it, but her concern was embedded in every word, every syllable. Perhaps she was afraid of the answer that awaited her, perhaps she was afraid to digest that the woman she adored with every fibre of her being, the one she idolised, the one she would follow like a dog after its master to any corner of the world, any depth of hell—Chinda Kiriko—was subject to the same troubles as any other being.

The woman who led her by the hand, taught her to walk again could be nothing but perfect.

And yet when Ayumi glanced upwards, she felt a distinct uneasiness creep over her; not at Kiriko’s presence but at the possibility that something was different tonight. Something about the other woman struck her as heavy and fatigued and it rattled Ayumi’s heart, it begged her to do something, anything.

She offered the only thing she had left to spare—her company.

“Are you really well, taichou?” The poisoner implored. “Whatever it is, I’ll—I’ll help. I’ll try to help.”

Please let me help. 

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865 words // 17 GP // 36 GP