Clearly Seedy: Cleaning Up
The stench of blood, sweat, and drugs is palpable, as you stare up at your saviour. She's laughing at you, but that's tapering off. "You're serious."
You stare into her eyes, repeating your statement. "Take me with you."
She leans back against the wall, and fishes a cigarette out of nowhere you can see. "You wanna do some shit out of
The Professional? I don't do charity, kid. You think you can pull your weight?"
You nod, seriously. "Ditch me if you think I'm a burden - I swear, I won't be."
She lights the cigarette and takes a long drag, gazing at you all the while. "So what'd you wish for then, freshie? Exact wording, give me context."
You glare upwards indignantly. "Why-"
She levers herself off the wall. "Shut the fuck up." It's spoken without heat, in a casual tone, but you cut yourself off anyway. "Listen to me. Working on my side of the magical world doesn't work like it does for the Hunters. Different rules, different social order." She shoves a corpse out of one of the folding chairs and takes a seat in it, folding her spindly body enough that she's looking at you eye to eye.
"I don't give a fuck about your sob story or heart's desire or whatever the fuck. I want to know your wish because that tells me how useful you'll be, and if you're serious about your dumbshit idea of sticking with me, that's more than a little bit fucking important. Capiche?"
You swallow convulsively, looking at the bodies on the ground around you -
hers in particular. Good riddance. Finally, you look up. "There's nothing in Hakodate for me anymore. My wish... 'I wish to be able to fix this. To make things better.' " It comes out flat as hell. Fixing things... it's still what you want. But the things you care most about are beyond fixing, now.
She hums. "And how does that currently express itself? Healing? Repair?" She glances at a pair of bodies in particular, swept up into the pile.
You avert your eyes, shaking your head. "A bit of that, but mostly enhancement - boosting attributes, enchanting items, and amplifying other magic."
You take some pride in the way the disdain slides off her face, replaced with contemplation. "Damn you're stupid. Don't tell anyone else you can amplify magic, got it? Healing is common as dirt and everyone can enchant shit, but amping magic is rare and useful. How long have you been contracted?"
You grimace, leaning forwards. "Two weeks. Two and a half."
She pauses, pulling the cigarette away from her lips. "Two
weeks. Damn, freshie, you've got nerve."
You lean forward. "So...?"
She seems to come to a decision. "'Soul Gem' is literal.
'You' are inside the rock, you only pilot your body." She's gauging your reaction.
You fight to maintain your composure, looking up at her defiantly. She won't respect you if you back down. "Yeah, I know."
She leans in. "Magical Girls transform into Witches when their Soul Gem is full."
You blink. "Y-yeah. I know that too.
She told me, to try to...to..."
She doesn't relent, her gaze pressing into you and pinning you down. "And?"
You swallow. "And... and nothing. I already thought I was gonna break from just the pain. And of the things
s-she did... I was gonna die alone, forgotten, without anything left. Knowing that that's literal doesn't... it didn't change much."
The silence wraps around both of you, and it's overbearing. You break it, looking up. "Hah. I thought maybe the magic world would be less cruel then the true... the other one. Shows what I knew."
Now that you're looking, you can see that she's gazing at your soul gem, crossbow at the ready. She keeps an eye on it for a few seconds more, then finally looks back at you. "You can't blame the world for being cruel. The world just
is. We're all just doing our own thing." Her eyes sweep over your refreshed pink outfit, but you're tired far past the point of being self-conscious. Without warning, she suddenly stands up. "...What the hell. You helped me finish the job, you have some spine, and that's good enough for me. Manage not to die and you might even be somebody some day."
She grabs the satchel of money and drugs and unceremoniously walks out of the room, detransforming as she goes, and it's not until her cry of "Keep up, dipshit!" reaches you that you start scrambling to catch up to her.
You stick close to her as you both emerge from the back rooms and pick your way through the crowded dance hall, wincing a bit as she slaps away the questing hand of one of the more high druggies at enhanced speed. You hope she didn't break too many bones.
From the outside, the nightclub looks like just another mildly seedy place. The exterior doesn't even hint at the kind of hell that you know once laid inside. You give it one last look, then turn away from the metaphorical ashes of your life and put on enough speed to catch up. As you get closer to your position beside her, you note she's already pulled out a cheap looking flip phone. She never turns to look at you, but between one stride and the next, all the street noises around you fade away, and you can hear the conversation as if it was happening in person.
"... fast work. I can see leaving this to you was the correct decision." A refined, aristocratic voice, dripping with (insincere?) flattery yet never somehow lowering its own status. "So what exactly was the commotion about, anyway?"
"Flattery won't get you a discount. It was some jumped up local, thought she could take over the local Yak and live large with a mind whammy or twenty. Had some Contractor thralls too. Three, total, Natasha among them. Irreversible, I'm afraid - when she died, so did her puppets." You shiver. "You'll need to replace the staff."
"Humph." You'd call it a cute sound of displeasure, if it wasn't for the circumstances. "Madame won't be happy, but it was always a risk. I'll be generous and call it a full completion. Standard payment."
Your rescuer rolls her eyes. "Don't be stingy, But-ter-fly." Her drawl drags the monicker out, with a sardonic edge. "I'm returning your goods, and if I put word out that I had to take down four Contractors solo and you only payed standard, you'd be out half your mercenaries."
"Oh, haggling is it? That's unlike you, Yumi." You blink. Somehow, in all the confusion... you'd never asked for her name. "Are you falling on hard times?"
The phone switches ears. "Don't even start. I don't have to be poor to not want to be ripped off." She tilts her head up, closing her eyes as her fingers pinch her bridge, but she weaves through the intersection without breaking pace. "I'm not exactly asking for the moon here. Gimme a price that the market would call fair for my work and there won't be any issues. Or do you think you can get service like this for a better rate?"
A genteel laugh. "Oh, you're no fun to tease. Very well, full hazard pay. Also, a bonus Seed, but you have to hear out my next offer in person. It'd be worth calling your debt null." Yumi glances at you, then stops walking. "I refuse."
"Oh?" The tone turns dangerous. "You've begged off before, and that was understandable, but if you won't even hear this offer out... Why, one might think you have no intention of repaying your debt at all!"
Her grasp on the phone is tight. "Don't feed me that. I'll hear you out, I'm just telling you now that if you're gonna tell me to commit elaborate suicide like the last time you offered this bullshit, then I'm not gonna lift a finger."
It's concerning just how flippantly the voice on the phone can go from unveiled threats to peaceful cheer. "Oh, it's nothing like those. You've proven yourself plenty since then, and you have worked down the debt. All you need to do is head to a nice coast, retrieve something for us, and follow up on a ... breach of contract. And that's all you're getting till the next time. I'll be seee~ing you!"
And just like that, the sounds of the street return. As she absently pulls out the SIM card and snaps it in half, Yumi turns to you. "You're
sure you want to stick with me after hearing that bullshit?"
You grit your teeth as you nod again. How many times is she going to ask?
She smiles at that, a surprisingly gentle expression, before turning sharply down a corner as she tosses something to you. "Then we've got three days or so to get you presentable for quote-unquote
'Miss' Butterfly."
You fumble at the item for a second, needing to peel back the elastic before finally recognizing it as a Grief Seed wrapped in a thick layer of American hundred dollar bills. You gaze up past her lanky figure, at the rows and rows of fashion boutiques.
Her smile is as gentle as before, but her voice has a teasing edge. "Don't get lost, fresh meat!"
AN: Confused?
Here's an explanation.
